Shannon fumbled with her purse and did her best not to spill her coffee on her suit jacket as she dug around the cluttered bag for her vibrating cellphone.
"Here, let me hold that," the man walking beside her offered helpfully. He reached for the hot drink just as it began to tilt precariously in her grip, and she gratefully released the cup into his custody.
"Thanks, Mark," she told him, flashing a smile up at him as she finally extracted her cell and lifted it to her ear. Shannon narrowly avoided colliding with a flustered looking man as she and Mark made their way down the busy street. The light drizzle of rain added quickness to every pedestrian's step, and the oppressive grey clouds overhead did nothing to improve the moods of the stressed businesspeople and politicians who crowded the sidewalks.
"Hello, Ms. Peterson. This is the Naval Criminal Investigative Service calling," a relatively polite voice informed her from the other end of the line.
"Um, hello," Shannon replied with a frown after a moment of confused hesitation. Mark raised an eyebrow in question, but she ignored his expression as she tried to figure out why she'd been contacted by navy cops.
"Who is it?" Mark whispered insistently, but Shannon shooed him away with her free hand. Mark merely shrugged and took a swig of her coffee in response. Shannon made a face at him, sticking out her tongue and scrunching up her nose.
"Don't drink mine, you have your own!" she whispered laughingly with a swat at his arm, and the woman on the phone cleared her throat.
"Sorry, how can I help you?" Shannon asked, and she forced the humor out of her voice as she switched to a more professional tone. She followed Mark up the red stone steps of the Smithsonian Institute's main building at a jog, having to double her pace to match his long strides.
"Our agents would like to speak with you as soon as possible. It would just be a quick interview," the woman replied. Shannon pushed away a tiny jolt of apprehension as she and Mark passed through the museum's atrium and boarded the employee elevator.
"Interview about what?" she asked warily. She balanced the phone on her shoulder as she swiped her ID to unlock the door to their offices.
"It's related to the recent kidnapping of Rashid al Din," the woman informed her, and Shannon jerked her phone away from her ear as if she'd been burned. She fought to calm her breathing and slow her heart rate as she stabbed her finger at the touch screen and ended the call.
"You look like you've just seen a ghost," Mark joked with a grin, but his chuckle faded into an awkward silence when Shannon didn't playfully roll her eyes in response. "Hey, are you ok?" Mark asked when Shannon remained motionless before the door with her hand frozen on the stainless steel knob. Mark's familiar, concerned voice jogged her out of her daze, and Shannon gave a little shiver before she turned back towards the elevator.
"Tell Jacob I'm sorry but I'll have to reschedule," Shannon called without bothering to look over her shoulder as she pressed the 'up' button on the elevator. She pulled out her phone and quickly began typing a new message to Lawrence Hawthorne as the doors slid open.
"But the archives might not be available for another two weeks," Mark called in a confused and worried tone as she stepped into the lift. She turned to see him standing at the other end of the hall, his blond hair slightly darkened by the sprinkling of water droplets flecked over its surface. He looked rather distressed standing there alone, wearing a suit that was a few sizes too large and holding two cups of coffee. "You know how he gets," Mark called pleadingly.
"Tell him it's an emergency," Shannon told him after taking a deep breath, and Mark's large blue eyes immediately softened.
"Is there anything I can do?" he asked. He took a step towards her, all fears of confronting the cranky old archivist apparently forgotten. Shannon only had time to decline his offer with a shake of her head before the elevator doors slid shut and she began her ascent above ground.