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elevator to arrive.
    The doors opened and a thin man, with a long sharp face and bushy silver hair, strolled out.
    Edwin Davis.
    Like her, he was career civil service, starting two decades ago at the State Department where three secretaries had used him to whip their ailing departments into line. He possessed a doctorate in international relations and was blessed with an uncanny political sense. A folksy, courteous man people tended to underestimate, he’d been working as a deputy national security adviser when President Danny Daniels elevated him to White House chief of staff.
    She instantly wondered what was important enough for Davis to fly five hundred miles from Washington, D.C., unannounced. Her boss was the U.S. attorney general, and protocol mandated that he be included in any chain of communication from the White House.
    Yet that had not happened.
    Was this business? Or a social call? Davis was a close friend. They’d endured a lot together.
    “Were you going somewhere?” he asked.
    “To the cafeteria.”
    “We’ll both go.”
    “Am I going to regret this?”
    “Possibly. But it has to be done.”
    “You realize the last time you and I stood right here, at this same spot, and had a conversation just like this, we both were almost killed.”
    “But we won that fight.”
    She smiled. “That we did.”
    They descended to the cafeteria and found an empty table. She munched on carrot sticks and sipped cranberry juice while Davis downed a bottled water. Her appetite had vanished.
    “How is the president?” she asked.
    She and Danny Daniels had not spoken in three months.
    “He’s looking forward to retirement.”
    Daniels’ second term ended soon. His political career was over. But he’d had quite a ride from a small-town Tennessee councilman to two terms as president of the United States. Along the way, though, he lost both a daughter and a wife.
    “He’d like to hear from you,” Davis said.
    And she’d like to call. But it was better this way. At least until his term was over. “I will. When the time is right.”
    She and Daniels had discovered that feelings existed between them, an attachment perhaps born from the many battles they’d endured. Neither of them was sure of anything. But he was still the president of the United States. Her boss. And it was better they keep some distance. “You didn’t come here just to pass that message along. So get to the point, Edwin.”
    A crease of amusement touched her friend’s face. She knew he was nearly old enough for Social Security, but his youthful physique cast the pose of a much younger man.
    “I understand you’ve drawn some interest from Capitol Hill.”
    That she had.
    Six written requests for classified data from the Senate Committee on Appropriations had arrived last week. Which wasn’t uncommon.Congress routinely sought information from the intelligence community. If the particular department or agency was uncooperative, the “requests” were followed by subpoenas, which could not be ignored without a court fight. Public brawls over classified information were rare. Congress had to be placated. After all, they held the purse strings. So usually disputes were privately compromised. These six, though, had not left room for negotiation.
    “They want anything and everything to do with my agency,” she said. “Top-to-bottom. Financial, field reports, internal analysis, you name it. That’s unprecedented, Edwin. Nearly all of that stuff is classified. I passed it on to the attorney general.”
    “Who passed it to me. I’ve come to tell you that those requests relate to that favor I asked of you on Josepe Salazar.”
    Six months ago a call from Davis had started a Billet inquiry into Salazar. The White House wanted a complete dossier, including all financial, business, and political associations. From the cradle to the present. Salazar held both a Danish and a Spanish passport, thanks to his parents who’d hailed from different countries.