“Before I begin my remarks, and before President Callaghan delivers hers,” Martin said, “it is my great pleasure to introduce the Young People’s Chorus from Washington, D.C., who are here today to welcome us all with their moving rendition of ‘The Face of the Waters.’”

The children began to sing. The harmonies of their angelic voices engulfed the remarkable scene.

“You don’t have to be afraid of us,” Darlene heard a man’s harsh voice say. “You come well recommended for this part, so all you have to do is follow my instructions.”

This was a different voice from the one she had attributed to Double M. Her stomach dropped as if she had fallen off a roof. She glanced over at Kim, who looked curious but also apprehensive.

The man continued. “We’re not going to take the blindfold off you. If we do that, we’d have to kill you.”

Darlene gasped. The voice was calm and as clinical as a science teacher. Educated and probably middle aged, she thought. She wondered briefly about the technology being employed. Was the voice being transmitted, or was it actually held in the device itself?

“You can speak any time something isn’t clear to you. Understood?”

A stuttering woman’s voice—no, a girl’s—said, “Yes. I … understand.”

Darlene felt bile in her throat. In front of her, macabrely, the children continued their pristine hymn.

“All right, then. Let us review the role you have agreed to play. I need to be certain you understand it perfectly. Where are you going to meet Secretary Evans?”

“At the Motel Six on Georgia Avenue. I’ll take a cab and have it drop me off a block away.” The girl sounded less fearful now. There actually was some strength in her voice.

“How will you get the key?”

“Room twenty-four is registered to William Betancourt. I’ll show the front desk clerk my ID and tell him that I lost my key. The clerk will see that I’m on the room registration, and give me a replacement.”

“What time will you do this?”

“Three o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Good. What will you do inside the room?”

“I’m going to get undressed. And then I’ll wait.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“A man—Secretary Evans.”

“Can you describe him from the photographs we gave you?”

“He’s in his fifties. He’s not very fit. He has brown hair, but not a lot of it.”

“Good.”

“When he knocks on the door, what will you do?”

“I’ll drag him into the room. Then I’ll push him onto the bed.”

“You’ll straddle him?”

“Yes.”

“Kiss him?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“What else will you say?”