The gate opened and shut quietly. At the door, Jose rapped with the polished brass knocker. He was about to knock again when the door swung open. A compact black man in a black suit, white shirt, and black bow tie stood like a statue in the doorway.

Marcus was into his never-blink routine. Deciding against a stare-down standoff, Frank held up his credentials and badge.

“We’re here to see Ms. Lipton, Marcus.”

Marcus’s eyes moved almost imperceptibly, first taking in the credentials, then scanning Frank’s face as though he’d never seen him before.

“Wait.” Marcus’s shearing whisper was like a razor cutting through stiff paper. He swung the door shut. It made the heavy, cushioned sound of a vault closing. The snicking of a deadbolt followed.

Frank glanced out at the empty street, then at Jose. “I thought he was still in Lorton.”

“No,” Jose said. “Maybe a month, two months ago, I heard he was out. Nice uniform.”

“Looks like he got religion.”

“If you can call it that.”

More time passed.

Impatient, Frank rolled his shoulders. “Think he’s coming back?”

“I don’t hear anything.”

Jose had the knocker up when the deadbolt slid back. Another second and the door swung open. Marcus did a short rerun of the statue game, then motioned Frank and Jose in with a twist of his head.

Walking with feline grace, he led them down a narrow hallway and into a glassed garden room filled with potted palms, orchids, and climbing vines.

Sharon Lipton, a large, exotic woman, sat in an even larger wicker chair. Like a throne, the chair back swept out and up, forming an oval frame for her face. Beside her, a similar chair, empty.

“Thank you, Marcus.”

Marcus gave the slightest nod. He waited for a moment, eyeing Frank and Jose in warning, then left.