“I’m going to go into this mall and get you some clothes,” he said. “Then we’ll go to a hotel.”

She nodded. “Twin beds,” she said.

“You don’t want to pick up where we left off the first night we met?”

She began crying again and he had to calm her down all over again before leaving her alone in the car.

When he left, she lay on the back seat and covered her face. She shut her eyes. It would take time before she was ready to face the world again. When he got back, he tapped lightly on the window. He’d brought her clothes and food and waited outside while she got dressed. His taste in clothing wasn’t quite to her standard but the fit was close enough.

“Not bad,” he said when he got back into the car.

“Not bad? I look like I’m about to enroll in a convent.”

“It suits you,” he said.

She shook her head. “What now?”

“We need to get you to a hotel. Your body is exhausted. You need sleep.”

They got back on the highway and made their way into the city. On the way, Lance pulled out a cell and handed it to her.

“Roth’s worried,” he said. “You should call him.”

73

Roth entered the oval office and took a seat. He’d been told the president would be along shortly and poured himself a scotch from the bottle on the bar cart.

It was a liberty, giving himself a drink before the president arrived, but he felt a celebration was in order.

Laurel was alive. He’d just gotten off the phone with her. She was recovering at a hotel in Moscow, was operational, and she and Lance were ready for their next mission.

Roth took a sip of the scotch, it wasn’t bad, and went to the window.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home,” the president said, entering the room.

Roth turned to face him. “Oh,” he said, embarrassed, “I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all. I heard you had some good news.”

“And about time we got some, if you ask me.”

“The Russian lab has been destroyed?”

“Yes, sir. And we recovered my captured agent.”

“So you have a clean house now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ready for action.”

“I hope so, Mr. President.”

The president nodded. “Always at the ready,” he said.

Roth looked at him.

“I feel I owe you an apology, Levi.”

“Not at all, sir.”

“I was the one who forced Mansfield down your throat.”

Roth looked at him.

The president poured himself a scotch and held up the bottle. “A top up?”

Roth nodded and the president topped up his glass. They sat on the sofas in the middle of the room and the president let out a long sigh.

“That was not your fault, sir,” Roth said. “Mansfield was a traitor, pure and simple.”