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“Who are you hiding in there?” Javier shouted.

“A hostage,” said Inkface.

“Show me.”

“Blow me.”

“You’re protecting Olga!”

The shouting came to an abrupt halt, but the tension was palpable even on the other side of the door. In his mind’s eye, Patrick could see the staredown between the two drunk and overheated men. Finally, Javier spoke, saying something that Patrick couldn’t quite hear, but he presumed it was on the order of “This is far from over.”

Javier’s boots pounded the floor, and as the sound faded at the end of the hallway, one thought consumed Patrick. Javier clearly didn’t know her whereabouts. Inkface had lied about not seeing her.

Where the hell was Olga?

Chapter 33

Kate walked to the National Mall and called Noah on a burner phone.

Buying a “burner” had been Noah’s final instruction at their meeting in Dumbarton Oaks Park. As any drug dealer would attest, the only thing safer than talking face-to-face was a conversation—no texting—on a prepaid cell purchased for cash with no long-term carrier contract. Prosecutors were of the same opinion.

“Meet me at the Fun House,” said Kate.

“Be there in five,” said Noah.

The call lasted all of five seconds, and Kate switched off the power. Even though Kate had disabled Wi-Fi and Bluetooth on the burner, she powered it on only when away from home or other locations that could link her to the phone via GPS tracking, and it remained on only when in use.

The Fun House exhibit was inside the National Building Museum, located in the historic Pension Building, one of the most spectacular interior spaces in the city. The soaring Great Hall, adorned with eight colossal Corinthian columns, was home to Grover Cleveland’s Inaugural Ball before the building was even finished, and many others followed. Kate entered from Judiciary Square and took a seat on the large bench shaped like the letter F. It was part of a popular temporary exhibit, and seven other benches completed Kate and Noah’s code name:fun house.

Noah sat on the letter U, facing her.

“I’m feeling manipulated,” said Kate.

A five-year-old girl was doing a handstand on the H. A frantic mother rushed over and turned her right-side-up.

“Manipulated byme?” asked Noah.

“Yes. You told me Project Naïveté morphed into something bigger than personal data on citizenship. You led me to believe that’s the reason Patrick is in danger.”

“All that’s true.”

“But you didn’t even begin to tell me what I needed to know going into my meeting with Sandra Levy.”

“Exactly what do you think I’m holding back?”

“I want to know: Did she steal secrets from Buck Technologies, or didn’t she?”

The little gymnast was back, using her body as a bridge between letters, her hands on the N of the word “fun” and her outstretched toes on the H of “house.” Kate wanted to sign up for her planking class.

“We have proof she did,” said Noah.

“Then why wasn’t she charged and convicted with espionage?”

“The FBI moved in and arrested her too soon. My section chief thinks they would have caught her red-handed if they’d waited. The bottom line is we don’t have proof of guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“What did she steal—or what do you think she stole?”

“I can’t tell you. That technology isn’t just proprietary to Buck. It’s classified as a matter of national security.”

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