Savich said, “For whatever reason, the person who hired him believed Danny O’Malley and Eliza Vickers were greater and more immediate threats.”

“All of this is quite terrifying, Agent Savich,” said Mrs. LaFleurette. She looked young enough to be Fleurette’s older sister, with the same hair, the same eyes, same tilt of the head. “You know as well as we do that Elaine won’t be safe until the assassin is caught or dead.”

Sherlock said, “That’s right. And we have a lot of people hunting him right now. There are witnesses, there always are. We’ll find them, just like we found Mr. Avery last night. But you’re right, Fleurette isn’t safe until we take him down, and that’s why she’s staying right here. Inside.”

Sherlock paused a moment, then pulled two photos out of her shirt pocket. “I know we already showed you these photos, Fleurette, but would you look at them again?”

Fleurette took the photos, walked over to the window, and studied them in the bright light, for a very long time. Finally, she shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“Think back to Friday when you were walking with Danny. Did you see anyone looking at you?”

Again, she shook her head. “No, if he was there, I wasn’t aware of him at all.”

Sherlock said, “Okay, why don’t we go downstairs to a conference room where there’s a TV. Dillon, it’s been thirty minutes. Okay, let’s all go see if Director Mueller is on yet.”

Director Mueller was just coming on. Fox TV had mobilized fast. Director Mueller looked stoic, grave and solemn. His eyes sheened with tears when he spoke of Luther Lindsay, the dead SWAT team member from the Washington, D.C., field office. He was tremendously apologetic to everyone. As for any other casualties, and who was behind the assault, he promised full disclosure as the information became available. Even though he took responsibility, he managed to convey the impression that he was doing his best under trying circumstances. He took no questions. As far as Savich could see, it was a flawless performance of bureaucratic cover-up. There wasn’t a word about Fleurette. And Günter would start to wonder why.

As for Savich, he wondered whether Director Mueller’s mother would be on the phone to him right after the press conference demanding to know what was really going on. He wondered if Director Mueller would tell her.

Savich’s cell phone rang. His first thought was Giffey. But it was Callie, who said immediately, “How is Giffey?”

“I don’t know anything yet. Did you do it?”

“Oh yeah. I just faxed Coombes a note about how badly the FBI screwed up in trying to protect Fleurette, how Director Mueller was trying to keep it all quiet. I told him I thought Fleurette was the one shot and they’d taken her to Bethesda. Old Jed will eat it up, bet he’s claiming he knew Director Mueller was covering his ass by not admitting she’d been shot at Quantico. Made me sick to give that slant, but I did it, as you asked. Jed will write it up as a scoop and make it really contemptuous of the FBI. He and I will both be in trouble when Fleurette shows herself safe and in one piece. So I hope this was worth it to you.”

“I hope so too. I owe you one, Callie.”

Not three minutes later, his cell rang again, and this time he knew it was about Giffey. He didn’t want to answer it. He stared down at it like it was a snake about to bite him. Sherlock’s hand suddenly covered his. She didn’t say anything, smiled up at him, and nodded.

“Savich here.” He listened for some time, then said, “Great news. Thank you, Dr. Peterson. We’ll be here.”

There was silence in the conference room, only the movement on TV, muted now, by Sherlock.

Savich said, “That was Dr. Peterson. He said that Giffey’s got Dr. Edward Bricker operating on her. He’s one of the best thoracic surgeons in the world. They’ve got the bleeding stopped, and Giffey’s hanging in there. Dr. Peterson thinks she’s going to make it. She still has to pull through surgery, and the next twenty-four hours will be critical, but I could hear the optimism in his voice. She’s got a good chance.”

“Thank God,” Fleurette said. “Oh, thank you, God.”

An hour later, Savich walked back into his office to see Ben and Callie in close conversation. When they saw him, they stepped quickly apart, and looked embarrassed. Well, well, Savich thought, and smiled at them. He could think fast on his feet, and he did so now. “I’ve got a favor to ask of you guys, that is, if you’re both free tonight.”

“Sure, no problem,” Ben said. Callie nodded.