Carter fished a mobile phone from his pocket and dialed. “We’re on,” he said. A moment later a large black Suburban rounded the corner and parked illegally on Q Street adjacent to the escalators. Five minutes after that Gabriel saw her again, this time rising slowly out of the depths of the Metro station. She was no longer speaking into her telephone, nor was she alone. Two of Carter’s agents were with her, a man and a woman, one on each arm, in case she had a sudden change of heart. The back door of the Suburban swung open, and Sarah Bancroft vanished from sight. Carter started the engine and headed back to Georgetown.

17. Georgetown

Georgetown

THE BLACK SUBURBAN CAME to a stop fifteen minutes later outside a large Federal-style town house on N Street. As Sarah mounted the curved redbrick steps, the door opened suddenly and a figure appeared in the shadows of the portico. He wore creaseless khaki trousers and a corduroy blazer with patches on the elbow. His gaze had a curious clinical detachment that reminded Sarah of the grief counselor she’d seen after Ben’s death. “I’m Carter,” he said, as if the thought had occurred to him suddenly. He didn’t say whether it was his first name or his last, only that it was genuine. “I don’t do funny names anymore,” he said. “I’m Headquarters now.”

He smiled. It was an ersatz smile, like his brief ersatz handshake. He suggested she come inside and once again managed to leave the impression of sudden inspiration. “And you’re Sarah,” he informed her, as he conveyed her down the wide center hall. “Sarah Bancroft, a curator at the well-regarded Phillips Collection. Sarah Bancroft who courageously offered us her services after 9/11 but was turned away and told she wasn’t needed. How’s your father?”

She was taken aback by the sudden change in course. “Do you know my father?”

“Never met him actually. Works for Citicorp, doesn’t he?”

“You know exactly who he works for. Why are you asking about my father?”

“Where is he these days? London? Brussels? Hong Kong?”

“Paris,” she said. “It’s his last post. He’s retiring next year.”

“And then he’s coming home?”

She shook her head. “He’s staying in Paris. With his new wife. My parents divorced two years ago. My father remarried right away. He’s a time-is-money sort of man.”

“And your mother? Where is she?”

“Manhattan.”

“See your father much?”

“Holidays. Weddings. The occasional awkward lunch when he’s in town. My parents divorced badly. Everyone took sides, the children included. Why are you asking me these questions? What do you want from—”

“You believe in that?” he asked, cutting her off.

“Believe in what?”

“Taking sides.”

“Depends on the circumstances, I suppose. Is this part of the test? I thought I failed your tests.”

“You did,” said Carter. “With flying colors.”