The century-old house’s kitchen was quite a bit more austere than the one in the States, but Claudia had made the best of it. He wandered to a pot steaming on the stove and peeked under the lid.

“Shrimp bisque,” she said. “But I substituted whole milk for the cream.”

He ladled some out and took it to an old farm table by the open windows. Claudia brought him a plate piled with grilled vegetables and ringed with carpaccio before sitting.

“It’s really good, thanks,” he said through a mouthful.

“How’d shutting down the house go?”

“No problems.”

“The animals?”

“Scott’s got it under control.”

“And you remembered that face sunscreen I wanted for Anna?”

“Three tubes in my bag.”

She smiled. “I like the new Mitch Rapp. So calm. So efficient. So free of oozing wounds.”

“I’m growing,” he said, tearing off a piece of bread and using it to sop up a little olive oil.

“I think you are. And I think we could be really happy here if you’re willing to give it a chance.”

“I said I would, Claudia. And I meant it.”

In fact, his meeting with the president—and even more so his wife—had made him mean it even more. He’d thought about his conversation with Catherine Cook for much of the thirty-hour trip there and come to a couple of conclusions: First, he probably was capable of evolving to meet the new threats facing America and the world. That realization was overshadowed by his second epiphany, though. That he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“But how do you feel about it?”

“Better than I thought.”

She leaned back against the wall to examine him.

“What?”

“You’re taking this too well.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted?”

When she spoke again, it was in French, the language she returned to when she needed to get across something nuanced. “I admire what you’ve done, Mitch. Everyone does. But it has to come to an end eventually. Maybe the change in administrations is fate giving you a reprieve.”

“I feel like we’ve had this conversation before,” Rapp responded in the same language.

“It’s true. We have. But you weren’t ready for it. Now, I’m wondering if you are.”

“I’m not interested in getting myself into something I don’t understand and don’t know how to get out of. It’s a little early to know how it’s all going to play out, though. Maybe I never fire another gun again in my life.”

“Or maybe you do.”

He just shrugged.

“I’m not really asking you to change, Mitch. I like you the way you are. I just think it might be time to start turning down the volume a little bit. There must be some happy medium between what you do now and going into business making scented candles. We—”