I turned to the counterintelligence agent.

“Keep him secured,” I said. “Do not let anyone near this vehicle.”

“Yes, Colonel,” the agent said, saluting.

I walked back toward the main house, my boots sinking into the wet turf of the lawn.

General Vance was standing under the cover of the grand portico, his hands clasped behind his back.

His aide stood next to him, holding a ruggedized tablet.

“Did he give you anything?” Vance asked as I climbed the stone steps.

“He claims the Belgrade files are in the carriage house,” I said. “In the old tack room. Under the floorboards.”

Vance turned to his aide.

“Take a team and check it,” he ordered.

The aide saluted and hurried down the steps toward the waiting tactical vehicles.

Vance looked at me, his eyes studying my face under the brim of my cap.

“Are you holding up, Allison?” he asked.

“I am fine, sir,” I said.

“This is a difficult day,” he said. “Even for a counterintelligence officer.”

“The difficult part was two years ago, sir,” I said. “Today is just the paperwork.”