Sasha’s wrinkling her brow. “I know the District is loaded with private schools, but I don’t remember a prep school by that name. Is it new?”
“No,” Hank tells her. “In fact, it’s very old. Established in 1919, shortly after the end of World War I. But I’m not surprised you never heard of it. It’s very discreet. Very exclusive.”
“Aren’t most private schools?” Leo counters.
“Not like this one. Foggy Bottom Prep caters to a specific type of family. The students are the children of spies and diplomats.”
“Ours?”
“Ours, and everyone else’s. Some people with overseas postings enroll their children at Foggy Bottom and they board there while the parents are abroad. Foreign nationals posted in DC send their kids. Some intelligence agents and officers from foreign countries posted elsewhere send their kids. For instance, the German Ambassador to Spain’s daughter is the lacrosse captain.”
“So Rye might have a source through the school,” Leo muses.
“It’s possible. Your job is to get close to Caleb Rye. Figure out what he knows, how he knows it, and who—if anyone—he’s working for.”
“How are we supposed to do that?”
A shadow crosses Hank’s face. “There’s an opening for a long-term substitute history teacher. Rye’s wife, a British national, is about to go out on maternity leave. With your history degree, Leo, you’re the perfect candidate. The job pays peanuts. But …”
“But what?” Leo’s not concerned about the salary. He’ll be paid by the Lighthouse.
“One of the perks is free tuition for the substitute’s child. Or, in this case, children.”
He stares at Hank. Sasha stares at Hank. Then she drains her wineglass.
“Our children?” she asks.
Hank looks back at her for a long moment. He nods. “Yes. Finn and Fiona would finish out fifth grade at Foggy Bottom.”
“You want us to use our children as our cover?” Sasha’s tone is dangerously calm.
Leo would step in to warn Hank, but he’s not interested in getting in the line of fire.
He needn’t have worried. Hank knows Sasha almost as well as he does.
“I hear you, Sasha. I do.” He opens the messenger bag at his feet, takes out a thick booklet, and hands it to her. “Look through the school’s materials. Talk to Finn and Fiona. I think you’ll be impressed. It’s just for the rest of the school year.”
While she flips through the materials, Hank reaches back into his bag.
He hands Leo a folder. “Here’s a copy of your application for the history teacher job. References, resume, the works. You’re using your actual life, minus the Lighthouse and the classified bits.”
“The classified bits are most of it,” Leo points out.
“Start thinking of explanations for the gaps. You have an interview the day after tomorrow.”
“When would I start?”
“Rye’s wife goes out on leave next Monday.”
Sasha’s head snaps up. “They want us to uproot our lives in five days? What about me? I’m not supposed to send my husband and children to DC and stay here, am I?”
“No. You’re taking that sabbatical you’ve been threatening to take from your law firm.”
“To do what? Look at the cherry blossoms? Visit the Smithsonian?”
Hank rubs his forehead and mutters something Leo doesn’t quite catch. Sasha must not either because she turns her head toward Hank.
“Pardon?”
