“Laurel and the Russian opened fire on him. Laurel hit him, but he hit her too. Then he followed the Russian. Security footage in the Christopher Street subway station shows her being shot and falling into the path of an oncoming train.”

“But you didn’t get her body either?”

“We found her blood, but no body. We’re still trying to figure out what happened.”

“And what about Laurel?”

“She was bleeding out in the street. People came to her assistance. They say she was in critical condition. Blood was coming from her neck, from her mouth. An ambulance was called.”

“But?”

“But the man came back before the ambulance got there. He stole a car outside the subway station. He fired his gun in the air. The people dispersed. Laurel was unconscious. He picked her up and put her in the back of the car.”

“What a mess,” Lance said.

“Yes.”

“Do we have any idea who this man was?”

Roth pulled up another photo on the tablet. It was a man in his fifties.

“Recognize him?” Roth said.

Lance shook his head.

“We’re running him through the system now. So far we’ve got nothing.”

“Without the bodies, there’s a chance both of them are still alive.”

“There’s a chance,” Roth said, but his tone wasn’t optimistic. “If Laurel’s alive, you know what they’ll do to her.”

Lance nodded. He looked at Roth then down at his coffee.

“This is my fault,” he said.

Roth said, “There’s still something you’re not telling me.”

“About what?”

“About why this Russian put your name on the vial.”

Lance shook his head.

“Tell me, Lance. What are you holding back?”

“Something happened in Damascus.”

Roth leaned forward. “I’m all ears, Lance.”

“The details don’t matter.”

“What do you mean, the details don’t matter?”

“The only thing that’s relevant is that she felt I was someone she could trust.”

42

After the meeting with Roth, Lance went to Laurel’s apartment on U Street. The ground floor of the building was a furniture store, and he made his way to the back. Next to the steel delivery doors was a set of concrete steps that led to a second door. It was also steel, not the kind of door you could kick in, but above it was a fire escape leading to a metal balcony.

Lance leapt and grabbed the bottom of the fire escape and pulled himself up to the ladder. He climbed to the balcony and tried the window. It was shut but a window air conditioning unit meant it couldn’t lock. He pulled it open and climbed into the apartment.

Inside was a spacious room with a kitchen at one end and a luxurious four-posted bed at the other. In the middle was a sofa and TV, a few bookshelves, and a coatrack by the door.