Meg sat on the outdoor terrace of the Sculpture Garden's Pavilion Cafe, tapping her fingers on the wrought-iron tabletop. It was one of her favorite places in the city - just steps from the National Gallery of Art and filled with awesome displays like a Roy Lichtenstein optical illusion or The Thinker  featuring a bronze rabbit instead of a man - but today she wouldn't get to enjoy any of that. Today, she was waiting to meet her mother for lunch.

Barb Brandon was a tenured professor with her summers completely free and for whom not having seen her daughter for a week constituted an emergency.

"I got you a Caesar salad," Meg said, pushing the plastic container across the table as soon as her mother arrived.  She loved the woman just like any child would love a parent, but that was no reason to extend the meeting. There was also the issue of laundry and packing. Her flight for Europe left in six hours and she was wholly unprepared.

"I had one of those for brunch yesterday, but I suppose eating the same thing two days in a row won't kill me." Barb sat and made herself comfortable. Wearing white Capri pants, a flowing yellow top, and oversized turquoise sunglasses, she looked more ready for the beach than downtown DC.

Meg took a sip of her icy lemonade to keep herself from saying something she shouldn't. "How are you, Mom?" she asked, instead.

"Regretting not having accepted my cousin's invitation to use her cabin in Yellowstone." Barb sighed, opening the lid to her meal. "I only stayed in town because I thought I could spend more time with my daughter before the fall semester began, but we both know that's not going to happen."

"Sorry, but I told you I'd be busy." Meg scooped a bit of tuna on a cracker and popped it in her mouth. She never promised to make plans with her mother, and Barb knew it. That, however, still didn't stop her from attempting a good, old motherly guilt trip.

Barb used her plastic fork to mix the chopped leaves together with the grated Parmesan. "Viola Foster's daughter Suzie took her to Dollywood."

Ah, Viola Foster. The chair of the university's history department and Barb Brandon's social arch-nemesis. Whatever Professor Foster did, Barb wanted to out-do three fold. And now that Viola's daughter apparently took her mother to the greatest family vacation destination in the Smoky Mountains, Meg was expected to step up her game on the 'hanging out with mommy' front.

But as an agent at CANDY who had to be ready to go on a mission at a moment's notice, Meg's life didn't work that way. How awkward would it have been if Barb had planned to join her on vacation in Greece? With the Macedonia assignment now pre-empting her downtime, she'd have to scramble for excuses and explanations.

No, leaving her mother out of her life right now as much as possible was her only option.

"Dollywood? Really?" Meg asked in an attempt to downplay Suzie Foster's good deeds. "Isn't that the place that doesn't serve alcohol?"

Barb stopped pushing chunks of lettuce from one part of the container to the other. "Is it?" The corners of her lips slowly curled upward. "I wonder where Viola will be getting her afternoon G&Ts?"

Meg took a deep breath. Maybe that was enough for her mother to see that the grass wasn't always greener in the neighbor's lawn - or during a colleague's vacation, as it were. And although she'd thwarted the 'you're always too busy for your dear mother' conversation, Meg wasn't quick enough to stop Barb's second most favorite line of questioning.

"Are you seeing anyone new, darling?" the older woman asked, putting her fork down and closing her salad box. She hadn't taken one bite.

Meg finished chewing another cracker and swallowed. Wiping the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin, she put on her best poker face and shook her head. "No." It wasn't untrue; she'd only had sex with two men in three days. She wasn't seeing anyone.

"Well, that's a shame. Janet Keminsky's daughter Ellen just got engaged,  you know." Barb reached for her glass and drew a finger down the side to dispel the condensation. "He's a fire captain in Boston, I think."

"Ah-huh. You told me last week," Meg said, forcing herself to keep her voice even. She should have known that lunch was just her mother's covert way of wearing her down to get married and have babies. "I don't have time for a relationship at the moment."

"Yes, yes. You're focused on your career." Barb waved her hands in the air as if a career was an abstract concept. "How is work is going? Or is that another thing I can no longer asked about?"

There it was. The final nail in Meg's 'you're too good for your own mother' coffin. Spending time together, settling down with a nice boy, and talking about her job were the trifecta in the matriarchal arsenal of guilt, especially if she was reluctant to do none of it.

"Work's fine," she admitted truthfully, albeit vaguely. "I'll be away for a few weeks again starting tomorrow, though."

Barb's eyes widened. "Oh?"

"Congressman Wilde is doing some goodwill building through his position in the Committee on Foreign Relations in the Balkans, and I have to go along," Meg lied the way she was taught at CANDY: embellishing facts in a way that distorted the parts you didn't want to reveal.

It had worked so far. Her mother had never caught her in a lie. 

Thanks to Meg, Barb successfully believed her daughter was a staffer for a junior member of the US House of Representatives. In fact, Jack Wilde did not exist. He was a fictitious character made up by CANDY to serve as a cover for many of their agents. Although seemingly far-fetched, the ruse had worked for over fifty years. Most Americans couldn't have been bothered enough to actually know who represented them in government, while the media believed anything that was put in front of them.

"I guess I should be happy that you're getting some sort of vacation." Barb reached over and tapped Meg's hand just as an alarm buzzed from her purse. Pulling out her smartphone, she checked the notification. "Oh, goodness. I'd completely forgotten about this book signing I wanted to attend at Politics and Prose. You don't mind, do you?"

Mind? Meg was ecstatic to end the awkward catch-up early. "Of course not. Go ahead."

Barb stood and kissed her daughter on both cheeks. "Call or email or at least text me while you're out of town just so I know you're all right."

Meg nodded and smiled. When her mother had gone, she grabbed her purse from the back of the chair and sat again. In the few seconds it took her to do so, a man dressed in all black slid into the opposite seat.

"You do not say anything, Miss Capulet," he said in a strong Eastern European accent. "Just listen."

Meg froze, her hand still on her bag's zipper as it stood halfway open. Of course she was going to listen. He was using her Yard code name, for god's sakes.

"The trip you are taking? From your perspective, you must fail. You understand?"

No, she didn't and Meg shook her head.

The man leaned forward and clenched his fingers together on top of the table. "Your mission to locate Duchess Astrid must not succeed because if it does, then your mother," he nodded in the direction Barb had just gone. "She will be dead when you return."

This time, he didn't wait for her confirmation or further questions. Pushing back the chair, the man turned, stuck his hands in his pockets, and strolled away.

For a brief moment, Meg remained still. If they - whoever they were - knew about her mother, then her identity had been compromised. Worse yet, details of her mission had leaked.

Although she felt like throwing up, Meg finished unzipping her bag, pulled out her smartphone, and typed into her encrypted message app. Agent Finn.

Copy. Go ahead. Within seconds, the answer appeared. 

Lowering the device, Meg thought about the best way to phrase the situation. There really wasn't one, so she kept it short and direct: We have a problem.