Olivia said, “I waited until I heard a car start up half a block away, called 911 and Mr. Grace. Then, yes, I searched him. Nothing in his pockets, not even change or a matchbook, a motel key, not a thing. He had a suppressor on his weapon. It was a Smith & Wesson 9 mm semiautomatic and it was on the ground beside him. I checked the magazine, saw I was wrong, he’d fired off eight rounds before I shot him, not seven. Given his features, I’d say he was Iranian, the one who was speaking Farsi.”

Savich said, “Can you describe the other man?”

“As I said, they both wore black masks, but when he fired at me, I saw his wrist—he was light-skinned, probably Caucasian. He wasn’t tall, but he moved well, looked fit from what I could see. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Do you have any idea why those two men were there to kill you?”

Carlton Grace’s fingers began to tap on the tabletop, but he said nothing.

If it was a signal to keep quiet, Olivia ignored it. “It seems likely they were there because of my last mission.”

“You were in Iran?”

Grace said, his voice firm as a judge, “We’ll leave off discussing anything concerning that mission until Mr. Lodner arrives.”

Savich nodded, said easily, “Tell me why you were in Walter Reed Hospital.”

“An RPG—rocket-propelled grenade—landed near me and the blast knocked me out. I woke up in Balad Military Hospital in Iraq.” She stopped cold when there was a knock on the interview room door and Agent Davis Sullivan stuck his head in.

“Savich, a Mr. Fulton Lodner is here from the CIA.”

Savich saw Olivia stiffen, but she said nothing, stared down at her clasped hands. He expected Carlton Grace would look relieved, like the cavalry had arrived, but instead he looked stoic, as if he knew there was going to be blood spilled.

After stiff introductions, Fulton Lodner sat beside Grace, clasped his hands in front of him on the table, and stared at Savich. He did not look happy, shook his head at the offer of coffee. He sat squarely in his fifties, his light hair thinning, mostly gray, and worn short. He looked like he didn’t compromise often, or wanted to. He was on the tall side, fairly fit, his slight paunch well disguised in a dark blue conservative suit. Savich saw calm intelligence in his eyes, felt Lodner sizing him up as well, imagined Lodner would rather shoot him than have to be in the same room with him and pretend to cooperate. He nodded to Grace, gave Olivia a stingy smile. He said in a calm, stiff voice, “Olivia, I trust you are recovered from your disturbance last night?”

That’s what that was? A fricking disturbance? Olivia nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m fine.”