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A mbassador Hansen was dressed professionally in a navy pantsuit with her brown hair pulled back and very little makeup.

After all the federal law enforcement agents had departed her residence, she had probably spent a good chunk of the night next door at the embassy relaying everything that had happened back to her government in Oslo.

With the residence having been breached, two Norwegian security agents dead, and her Norwegian chef in the hospital, the powers that be would want to know everything.

There would also be concern over the upcoming NATO Summit, scheduled to be held in only a few days, right in downtown D.C.

It was one of the first big international meetings to be hosted by President Mitchell and his new administration.

Not only was the NATO partnership on the agenda, but so too was a proposed European-wide missile defense system known as Sky Shield.

The Norwegian Prime Minister would be flying in to represent Norway and was hoping to sway the handful of members not yet signed on.

The safety and security of the summit would be of more pressing interest than it had been just twenty-four hours ago.

Despite the tragic circumstances of the night before and the very little sleep she had likely been operating under, the Ambassador was the picture of professionalism and composure.

With a leather briefcase slung over her shoulder, she exited the car, strode confidently forward, and greeted them warmly.

Out of respect for Scot, both the Ambassador and S?lvi spoke English.

After a few pleasantries, S?lvi asked, “How is Chef Markus?”

The Ambassador’s expression grew grim. “As you know, he lost a lot of blood. They had him in surgery for seven hours. I’m headed back to the hospital after this.”

“Please know that we are thinking of him.”

“Of course. That is very kind of you.”

“Would you both like to come inside?” Harvath asked, speaking to the Ambassador and then nodding at her driver, who, judging by his build, probably also doubled as her security. “We have coffee.”

“Ah,” the Ambassador replied, “a Norwegian’s three favorite words.” Looking at her driver, she raised an eyebrow and asked if he would like some coffee. He politely declined and stated that he would wait for her outside.

Smiling, she said, “Looks like it’s just me.”

S?lvi led Ambassador Hansen inside and, as Harvath poured three fresh cups of coffee, gave her a quick tour.

She explained the history of the property, known as Bishop’s Gate, and how the small stone church, rectory, and various support buildings had been constructed by the Anglicans before the Revolutionary War, how the estate had gone on to become a site for Naval Intelligence, and how it eventually had been deeded to Harvath by a grateful former U.S.

president—provided Harvath continue to pay his one-dollar-a-year rent and maintain, if not improve, the property.

“And Mount Vernon is the adjacent property?” the Ambassador asked.

S?lvi smiled yes. “We have fun telling friends that George Washington is our next-door neighbor.”

“Mine is the pope, so we’re both in excellent company.”

S?lvi smiled again. “We are.”

“What’s this?” Hansen asked, pointing to a very old, hand-carved sign that had been mounted to the wall.

“Scot found that up in the attic. Transiens Adiuva Nos ,” S?lvi said, reading the Latin phrase. “It’s the motto of the Anglican missionaries. Roughly, it means I go overseas to help.”

“Quite appropriate considering your husband’s background. It’s almost as if this house was meant for him. And for you as well, considering your service to Norway.”

She couldn’t tell if it was a casual remark, meant to be flattering, or if the Ambassador was hinting at something else entirely.

As an exceptional spy, S?lvi was comfortable with silence and let the Ambassador’s observation hang in the air without a response.

Keeping the smile on her face, she continued the tour and walked Hansen into the kitchen, where Scot was placing the coffee and a few other things on a tray to take out to them.

“Perfect timing,” he said. “How about we sit in the living room? Or, if you’re up for it, we can walk down to the dock. There’s a great breeze on the Potomac this morning.”

“How about we just sit in here?” the Ambassador responded, pointing at the kitchen table.

“Are you hungry?” S?lvi asked.

“No, thank you. Coffee is all I need.”

Harvath carried the tray over to the table and they all took a seat.

Centering her mug in front of her, Hansen said to him, “On behalf of the Norwegian government and especially me and Chef Markus, I want to thank you for what you did. For what you both did.”

“We’re very sorry for what happened,” Harvath replied. “For all of it.”

“It would have been much worse had you not been there.”

“Is there anything we can do for you? Your staff?”

“Actually,” said the Ambassador, “that’s one of my questions for you. I not only wanted to thank you, but I also wanted to make sure that you’re doing okay. Is there anything that either of you need? Anything that we can do for you?”

Scot looked at S?lvi and they both shook their heads in unison.

“I think we’re good,” he stated.

Hansen held up her index finger and said, “Wait,” as she bent down and removed a small manila envelope from her briefcase. Sliding it across the table, she continued, “I think these belong to you.”

Opening it, he looked inside and pulled out his Ray-Bans.

“The FBI found them outside, by the fence.”

“The FBI ,” he repeated, glancing at S?lvi. “They’re amazing.”

“Indeed,” Hansen agreed. “Although we still don’t know much more this morning than we did last night. They’re still trying to identify the attackers and come up with a motive.”

“Well, if anyone can do it, they can. They’re the absolute best when it comes to this kind of thing. I’m sure they’ll have something soon.”

The Ambassador nodded, took a sip of her coffee, and then said, “That brings me to my other question.”

“What’s that?” Harvath asked.

“Technically, it’s a question for S?lvi.”

“Okay,” he responded, leaning back in his chair.

Hansen looked uncomfortably at her and then at him before saying, “Would it be okay if S?lvi and I spoke in private?”

Leaning forward, he picked up his mug and stood up from his chair. “Of course.”

“Thank you. I just have a couple of things I have been asked to speak with her about.”

“I totally understand.”

Topping off his coffee, he poured one in a to-go cup for the driver, just in case the man had changed his mind, and headed outside.

He had no idea what business the Ambassador might have with S?lvi.

Technically, she was still a deputy director with the NIS, even if she was on an open-ended leave of absence.

And while her position had been primarily focused on Russia, there was no end to what topics the Ambassador might want to discuss with her.

But there was something about Hansen’s visit, so soon after the attacks, that bothered him. She wasn’t here to drop off a pair of sunglasses and she hadn’t come for a simple chat.

There was something more, and already Harvath didn’t like it.