Wednesday, September 14, 2:45 p.m. EDT

Washington, DC

Khadi Faroughi took a deep breath. She had no idea what to expect when the door opened. Had it been long enough that the welcome she received would be forced, with wide smiles, stiff hugs, and overblown greetings—“Wow, Khadi, it’s sooooo great to see you! You’re looking sooooo good!”—that would quickly fade into an awkward silence?

Who said, “You can never go home again”? she asked herself. Wasn’t it Thomas Wolfe? I’ll ask Scott, the human encyclopedia. Without a doubt, he’ll know. Speaking of . . .

She looked at the familiar glossy black door again, one she was in the peculiar role of having to knock on, something she’d never done in the past. How many times had she barged through that door on some sort of mission—analysts or ops team in tow?

This is my element, my habitat. Now I’m standing on the outside looking in like an old man who desperately wants to walk through the house he grew up in but is too timid to leave the car. She was tempted by a momentary impulse to punch her old code into the touch pad, just to see if it would work.

So much was riding on this moment—her future, her happiness, her life’s purpose. I honestly can’t imagine spending the rest of my life protecting Mr. Opportunity and other amoral, self-important political hacks like him. That decision is already made. I’m out of there! But is this really the best alternative? Am I just running back to what’s familiar?

Remember how much this job takes out of you. Remember the hours. This place takes over your whole life. That’s one of the reasons I left to begin with. What will happen with Jonathan? I might as well say good-bye to any future with him if I return here.

But do I really care?

She stared at the door for a time, trying to keep back the name that was forcing itself into her thoughts. Finally, she gave in. And what about Riley? What would he think? Would he see this as some feeble attempt to try to get closer to him?

Ultimately, though, does it really matter? After the way I treated him on Monday’s call, the whole Riley issue is probably moot anyway.

She set her heavy shoulder bag on the floor and looked at it with a twinge of embarrassment. It was full of presents for the analysts who were waiting beyond the door in the Room of Understanding—little things from special moments or inside jokes. Suddenly, the goofs that seemed so fun at the store now seemed foolish, like she was trying too hard. Tears welled in her eyes as she pictured the fake smiles the trinkets would bring, the rolled eyes that would be exchanged as soon as she turned away.

What have I given up? What was I thinking? These people were my family! You can’t just walk away from family! But that’s exactly what I did. And now I want to come back like some prodigal who realized that life isn’t all that good away from home.

What makes me think Scott will even take me? Sure, he’s made lighthearted offers in the past, but was he just being nice, encouraging me? Like when you invite someone to come to a concert with you when you know full well they’ll be out of town. The last thing you expect is for them to actually take you up on your offer.

She looked up at the door, then at the bag. This is stupid! You can’t go home again!

Picking up the bag, she turned to go. But the electronic sound of a bolt being drawn stopped her. The door flew open, and there stood Scott and the rest of the gang.

“What are you doing?” Scott cried out. “We’ve been standing here in an odorous cloud of Gooey’s foot sweat watching you on the video monitor for five minutes.”

“Hey, my feet sweat,” Gooey protested. “I can’t help it. It’s what they do.”

“It’s hard to get over it when the smell is still clinging to my clothes when I get home at night,” Virgil Hernandez said.

Khadi watched this exchange with an ever-increasing sense of relief. This was her family—her bizarre, irreverent, oftentimes dysfunctional family. And she loved them.

Suddenly, arms were all around her, hugging her, pulling her in, slipping down into her bag after she let the word presents slip out of her mouth.

“Back off, everyone. Give the girl some room,” Scott commanded. When no one listened, he added, “So she can pass out her gifts.”

Everyone obediently took two steps back.

Khadi started to say something, but emotion stole the words away.

“You okay?” Scott asked, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. But after examining it, he thought better of the gesture and tucked it away.

“Yeah,” Khadi answered, drawing in a deep breath, then slowly letting it out. “I was just wondering who the fool was that said you can never go home again.”

“I think that was Thomas Wolfe,” Evie Cline offered.

“That’s what I—” Khadi said, before Scott interrupted, his head shaking.

“Actually, it was the Moody Blues. Side two, cut three of their Every Good Boy Deserves Favour album.”

“You’re both wrong,” said Gooey. “It was from a Ren & Stimpy Christmas episode. Can’t remember the name of it, though.”

Hernandez and Williamson quickly took sides, and a debate began to heat up. Khadi watched with wondered amusement until Scott noticed her smile.

“Hang on, gang! Am I to assume that was a rhetorical question, Miss Faroughi?”

“Nothing’s rhetorical with this group,” she answered. Her eyes began to well up again. “It’s just so good to see you all again.”

A second round of hugs ensued, and then Khadi passed out her presents. Evie received a long, slender box that held a single white rose to go in the bud vase of her VW Beetle. Hernandez and Williamson were given a new set of Stiga table tennis paddles to use when the long days ran into each other and they’d drop a net onto the conference table to hold Ping-Pong tournaments.

As she reached in for Gooey’s present, she suddenly realized what had been bothering her. Everything had felt like coming home, but still there was something different about the place—something just off enough to be slightly unsettling. And now it hit her. It was the smell. Gone was the heavy, buttery air that usually filled the room—the pungent aroma that permeated the walls and ceiling, causing mooches from the other offices to come knocking on the door most afternoons looking for handouts. She turned to where Gooey’s full-size carnival popcorn cart had stood for the last year and a half and saw that it was no longer there.

“It’s gone. I’m sorry, Gooey, I didn’t know,” she said as she handed him a popcorn-seasoning sampler that contained flavors like malt ball, gummi bear, and sardine-dill.

Ignoring her apology, Gooey’s eyes lit up. “Sweet! These are awesome!”

“Don’t worry; the cart’s not gone, just temporarily incapacitated,” Scott said. “Gooey blew a heating element, so he traded the tech geeks in advanced weaponry a month’s worth of free popcorn to repair it.”

With everyone focused on their gifts, Khadi gave a little nod toward Scott’s office. Scott nodded back.

“Hey, gang! Enough goofing. We’ve got a world to save. Time to get back to work.”

There was a little bit of grumbling, but not a lot. Within seconds, the analysts were back at their stations, totally focused on the tasks at hand.

Something must be going on around here, Khadi thought. They didn’t put up much of a fight.

“Come on back,” Scott said with a smile, leading the way to his office.

“What’s keeping the kids so occupied . . . if I may ask?”

“You may. There’s tons of chatter going on,” he answered over his shoulder. “Mostly about more of these smaller-scale attacks. We’ve got warnings all the way from Des Moines to Dubuque.”

“Wow, Des Moines to Dubuque? What is that, 150 miles? You guys must really be stretched.”

Scott stopped and turned. “Okay, Bangor to Bakersfield. That better?”

“Much. Speaking of attacks—how are you doing?”

Lowering his voice, he admitted, “Still a little sore. Gotta tell you, it freaked me out a little more than I’m letting on.”

“As it should. You going to be okay?”

“Yeah, just have to process a little more. Having a little squirt at home changes things.”

“Again, as it should. So, do you see any connections within all this intel—any threads tying the attacks together?”

“Some. All the players are homegrown. All individuals or small-cell. I’m just looking for a bigger picture to all this other than them wanting to be a giant pain in the collective American keister.”

Khadi thought for a moment. “Could they be white noise? You know, trying to distract you from a bigger play?”

Scott nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, could be. That would certainly give a purpose. Give me a second.” He moved off toward Evie. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable,” he called back to her.

That was easier said than done. The room he called his office was really little more than a closet. There was just enough room for his desk, an executive chair, and a rolling secretary’s chair that was missing a caster. It was on this second chair that Khadi now precariously balanced herself.

“So, no present for me?” Scott asked a couple minutes later as he breezed into the room and began organizing into a pile some papers that were spread across his desk.

Here goes, she thought. “Don’t you think it would be bad form for one to butter somebody up with a gift just before asking said person for one’s old job back?”

Scott stopped short, his eyes lifting to meet Khadi’s. She could tell that he was trying to read whether or not she was serious.

Leaving the papers where they lay, he sat down and said, “Well, truthfully, I’ve never really seen anything wrong with buttering someone up, especially if I’m the butteree.”

She bent down to her bag. When she came up, she was holding an infant onesie. It was black and on the front were written the words:

Mommy’s All Right!

Daddy’s All Right!

She could see Scott’s face light up.

“Wait for it,” she said. With as much flair as she could muster, she flipped the outfit around. On the back was written in a half-circle arc:

They Just Seem A Little Weird!

“No way! Tara is going to kill you,” Scott shouted as he snatched it out of her hands. “It’s awesome!”

It was so good to hear Scott laugh—to see the sheer delight he took in the moment. When he laughed, everything seemed right in the world. Somehow, some way, all things would work out, and good would always find a way to triumph over evil.

Please, God, let this work out. Let him say yes.

“Yes,” Scott said, the smile still big across his face.

“Yes what?” Khadi asked, taken off guard.

“You buttered me up for a reason. I’m telling you it worked. When can you start?” he asked, folding the onesie and setting it on his desk.

“Don’t you want to hear why? I’ve got a whole sob-story speech prepared for you.”

Scott leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “You know, as appealing as that sounds, I think I’d rather just say yes.”

For what seemed like the hundredth time today, Khadi’s eyes filled up with tears. She was coming home. Back to the people she loved. Back to where she was making a difference, protecting people who truly deserved protecting.

“Now, of course, we’re going to have to start you at the bottom. Wouldn’t be fair to everyone else if we just put you back in your office. I figure maybe we’ll start out with you assisting Evie and let you work your way up.”

“Of course,” Khadi said, her heart falling as she tried to keep a smile on her face. “That would only be fair.”

Wow, that was unexpected. But then again, why should it be? Why should you expect to be able to simply waltz back in and . . . Her thoughts were brought up short by a mischievous grin that was beginning to spread across Scott’s face.

“Jerk,” she said with a laugh, relief flooding her body. “But seriously, I’d be willing to step into whatever job you want me in. I don’t care where or what it is. I just want to be in a place where I can most help out the team. I know I have no right to expect—”

Scott held up his hand to interrupt her. He was still laughing. “Please, Khadi, stop! You’re slipping into your prepared speech, and the absolute pitifulness of it is going to either have me crying or busting a gut laughing.”

“So I’m back in?”

“You’re back in.”

“At my old job?”

“At your old job.”

“At my current salary?”

“This is the government.”

“It was worth a shot,” Khadi said, amazed at how quickly their old bantering habits fell back into place. “When can I start?”

“You tell me,” Scott said, picking up the onesie and admiring it one more time.

“Let me give my two weeks to the senator today. How about September 28?”

“Perfect. I’ll have Gooey move his boxes out of your office, and we’ll give it a coat of fresh paint.”

“Ummm, I almost hate to ask, but . . .”

Scott leaned back in his chair so that its back was against one wall and his feet were propped against the wall opposite. “Not much to it. It’s just the typical guy finds apartment, guy moves into apartment, guy’s seven-foot boa constrictor busts out of its cage and escapes into the walls of the apartment building only to be rediscovered when it falls through a bathroom vent fan onto the lap of another tenant who just happens to be availing herself of the facilities at that precise time, guy gets evicted story.”

“Happens all the time.”

“No doubt. So Gooey’s been in a motel for the last couple of months, and he needed a place to store some of his stuff. Just a heads-up, though. When you start, you may want to bring a supply of scented candles.”

“Already on my list.”

“It’s good to have you back on the team, Agent Faroughi,” Scott said.

“It’s good to be back, sir,” Khadi said with a wink.