OBIE WAS IN the basement gymnasium of his building. It was nearly nine p.m., but the place was open twenty-four/seven for the residents. All you needed was your key card. In one respect Robie’s workout routine never varied: He never did the same workout twice in a row. He focused not on strength or stamina or flexibility or balance or coordination or agility. He focused on them all. Every exercise he did required at least two and sometimes all of those elements.

He hung upside down on the pull-up bar. He did stomach crunches and then worked his oblique muscles while holding a medicine ball. The U.S. Army had devised a functional fitness regime that mimicked what soldiers did in the field, the sorts of muscles and skills required on the battlefield.

Robie held to the same concept and worked on things he needed to survive out there. Lunges, thrusts, explosiveness from his calves up. He worked everything in synergy. Upper body and lower body at the same time that he was pushing his core past the breaking point. He was chiseled but never took his shirt off. No one would ever see him strolling along displaying his six-pack unless he needed to as part of a mission.

He did a half hour’s worth of yoga until he was drenched in sweat. He was holding an Iron Cross on the pull-up bar when the door opened.

A. Lambert stared over at him.

She didn’t smile or even acknowledge him. She closed the door behind her, went over to a corner, and sat down cross-legged on an exercise mat. Robie held the cross for another thirty seconds, not to impress her, because she wasn’t even looking at him. He held it because he had to push his body past what it was used to. Otherwise he was just wasting his time.

He let go and dropped lightly to the floor. He snagged his towel and wiped off his face.

“I think you’re the only one who uses this room.”

He slid the towel down to find her now looking at him.

She was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. The shirt and jeans were tight. No place to conceal a weapon. Robie always checked that first, male or female, young or old.

“You’re here,” he said.

“Not to work out,” she replied.

“What then?”

“Tough day at the office. Just chilling.”

He looked around the small, ill-lighted room. It smelled of old sweat and mold.

“Must be nicer places to chill than this,” he said.

“I didn’t expect to find anyone else here,” she answered.

“Except me, maybe. From what you said, you knew I used this room.”

She said, “I just said that because I saw you here tonight. I’ve never seen you down here before, or anyone else, for that matter.”

He knew the answer but asked, “So, tough day at the office. Where do you work?”

“The White House.”

“That’s pretty impressive.”

“Some days it doesn’t feel that impressive. What about you?”

“Investments.”

“Do you work at one of the big firms?”

“No, I’m on my own. Always have been.”

Robie draped the towel around his shoulders. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to your chilling.” However, he didn’t really want to leave just yet. Perhaps she sensed this. She rose and said, “I’m Annie. Annie Lambert.”

“Hello, Annie Lambert.”

They shook hands. Her fingers were long, supple, and surprisingly strong.

“You have a name?” she asked.

“Robie.”

“First or last?”

“Last. It’s on the mailbox.”

“And your first?”

“Will.”

“That was harder than it should have been.” She smiled.

He found himself grinning back. “I’m not the most outgoing guy you’ll ever meet.”

“But I saw you at the party on the third floor the other night.”

“It was a little out of character for me. First time I’ve had a mojito in a long time.”

“Me too.”

“Maybe we can go out for a drink sometime.” Robie had no idea why that offer had come out of his mouth.

“Okay,” she said casually. “Sounds good.”

“Good night,” said Robie. “Have a nice chill.”

He closed the door behind him and took the elevator back up to his floor.

He immediately made a phone call. He didn’t really want to do it, but any contact like that had to be reported. Robie didn’t think there was anything to be worried about with Annie Lambert, but the rules were clear. Annie Lambert would be investigated to a greater degree. If anything turned up Robie would be notified and appropriate action would be taken.

As he sat in his kitchen Robie wondered if he should have made the call at all. He could not look at anything normally ever again. Someone being friendly to him was a potential threat. It had to be reported. A woman “chilling” and saying hello to him had to be called in.

I live in a world that isn’t remotely normal anymore. If it ever was. But it won’t always be like this. And there’s no agency rule against having a drink with someone.

So maybe he would. Sometime. He left his building and walked across the street. The high-rise there had a perfect view of his, which was the point. On the fourth floor was an empty apartment. Robie had a key for it. He entered the apartment and went directly to the corner of the front room. Set up there was a surveillance scope that was rated as one of the best in the world. He powered it up and turned its muzzle toward his building. He pushed and pulled on dials, making corrective adjustments until a certain part of his building came into sharp focus.

His floor, down the hall three doors. The lights were on, the shades raised three-quarters. He waited. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. It was all the same to Robie.

Annie Lambert’s front door opened and closed. She moved down the hall. He swung the scope in measured movements, following her trek. She stopped at the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a Diet Coke. With his scope he could read the label clearly. She closed the fridge with a swipe of her hip. She filled a glass halfway up with the soda and the other half with rum pulled from a cupboard over the stove.

She walked down the hall. Before she got to her bedroom she unzipped her jeans, slipped them off, and tossed them into a laundry basket. She set her drink down on the floor while she pulled her top over her head. Her underwear was pink. She was not the thong type; her underwear fully covered her bottom.

Robie had not seen this. He had turned his surveillance device off when she had started to unzip her pants. The scope cost nearly fifty grand. He was not going to use it for pathetic voyeurism.

Robie returned to his building and rode the elevator to the top floor.

An access door that was locked led to the roof. The lock was not a complicated one for him. Robie took a short flight of steps up to the very top of the building. He ventured to the edge and looked out over the city.

Washington, D.C., looked back at him.

It was a lovely city at night. The monuments looked particularly magnificent when mood-lighted against the darkness. In Robie’s mind, D.C. was the only city in the United States to truly rival the great cities of Europe when it came to official decoration.

But it was also a city of secrets.

Robie and people like him were one of those secrets.

Robie sat down with his back to the wall of the building and gazed upward.

A. Lambert had officially become Annie Lambert. Knowing it from the briefing paper wasn’t the same as hearing it in person.

And he had reported her for nothing more than probably just being friendly.

Tough day at the office. Just needed a place to chill.

Robie could relate to that. He had some tough days at the office. He could use a place to chill.

But that would never happen.

He showered and changed into fresh clothes. Then he gunned up. It was time to go to work.