“A woman after my own heart. Right this way.” He led the way into the bedroom.

She unzipped her dress. “I want to hang this up,” she said, “since I’ll be wearing it tomorrow morning.”

“Right over there,” he said, pointing at a closet, then he went into the bathroom. “Excuse me a second.”

Marie-Thérèse opened the closet door to find a small collection of outfits. She plucked one off the rack and held it up to her. “Not bad,” she said aloud.

“Don’t mess with my wife’s things,” he said, coming out of the bathroom. “She’d notice, believe me.”

“Don’t worry, sugar,” she replied, hanging up the dress. “I won’t disturb a thing. Tell me, have you got an early day tomorrow?”

“Nah, the session doesn’t open until after lunch. We can sleep in, if you like.”

“Oh, good,” she said, hanging her dress in the closet and shedding her underwear. “You ready for me, sugar?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She slid into bed with him. This wouldn’t take long, then she could get a good night’s sleep.

Stone’s cell phone vibrated. “Hello?”

“It’s Carpenter.”

“Hi, there.”

“Turns out we’re in the presidential suite, but I’ve managed to get a room with a lock on the door that opens into the hallway. Why don’t you join me?”

“I can’t, but you’re going to like my news.”

“What’s that?”

“She’s staying at the Carlyle. Dino’s people have got her suite staked out now. They’ll wait for her to come home and go to sleep, then take her in the morning.”

“God, that’s a relief,” Carpenter said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait her out in the presidential suite?”

“I want to be here. You sleep well, and we’ll talk in the morning.” Stone hung up. “Carpenter’s staying in the presidential suite of the Waldorf Towers, with the director.”

Dino laughed.

“She says there’s a lock on her door.”

Carpenter called Mason.

“Hello,” he panted, on the fourth ring.

“You sound a little winded,” she said.

“What is it, Carpenter? I’m busy.”

“The director wants a meeting tomorrow morning at eight. Think you can manage that?”

“I expect so. Can I go now?”

“I should have talked with the home secretary by then.”

“How nice for you. Good night.” He hung up and returned to his FBI agent.

The following morning at eight o’clock, Carpenter took her seat at the suite’s dining room table. Mason had been on time, though he looked a little worse for the wear, and he was wearing the same suit and shirt as the day before.

“All right, let’s get started,” the director said.

Carpenter’s phone rang. “Excuse me, sir.” She stepped away from the table and opened the phone. “Yes?”

“It’s Stone.”

“What happened?”

“She didn’t come home last night.”