Had he heard something? He didn’t see anyone. He peered into the shadows, between the parked cars, beneath the fire escapes. No one. The glasses he wore for driving at night were askew. He straightened them. Across the alley—he thought he saw a figure. Using a finger, he tried to wipe the mist from the lenses. Nothing there. But be sure, he told himself.

“Hello, hello?” he half-whispered. No reply. After a long wait, he opened the gate to the garden behind his brownstone. The clicks of footsteps? He could not tell. He recalled the security briefing held for the White House staff two days ago. Or was it three? The previous days held no fine distinctions. One of Dunne’s assistants had warned all White House personnel to be cautious. Make sure to inform the duty officer where you will be at all times. Report anything unusual at home or work immediately. Use common sense. Don’t take risks. Addis was sure that looking for a stranger in a wet, dark alley fell into the don’t-do category.

A clear footstep. Addis looked in its direction. A woman stepped out from behind a parked van. A ray of light fell across her face. Addis squinted to see through his glasses. She had long hair—dark red?—and a pointy chin. She was wearing sunglasses.

“Mr. Addis?” she said.

“Yes,” he said and started to walk toward her.

She stopped abruptly, and, as a reflex, he did too. They were still fifteen feet apart. Her face was now in the dark.

“I think, that is, I … I have some information that might be useful.”

She was nervous. He stood still.

“About what?” he asked.

“The, the …”

He thought she was crying.

“Why don’t you come in and we can talk,” he said, realizing he was further violating White House security guidelines.

She stepped in his direction—hesitantly.

A beeping sound went off. And Addis heard the rush of a car racing through the alley. He fumbled for the cellular phone in his jacket pocket and again dropped the file. The beams from the car’s headlights flooded the alley. Addis looked for the woman. All he saw was glare. The car—a dark-color sedan—drove by, missing him by inches. He fell and landed on his side. The car moved through the alley. Addis hurried to his feet, while pulling the phone out of his pocket. It was still ringing.

She was gone.

“Hold on a minute,” he said into the phone.

He ran through the alley and to the street. He did not see her. He did not see the car. Was there a connection between her disappearance and the sedan? Too many people desperate for parking in his neighborhood sped through the alley in the evenings. Might have been merely another diplo-trash club crawler.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said into the phone, catching his breath. “You still there?”