It was entirely possible that the whole story would have never been known, except that the two men closest to Annie were not just any two men; Henry Sturges had a direct line to the most important people in Washington, higher than the D/CIA himself, and Ratchet wasn't a man.
They had their answers, even if the rest of the world would never know.
Unlike a lot of fallen operatives, Annie's body came home, in a flag covered casket. She had left very specific instructions - no big funeral, no large wake. Something small, very intimate. Close friends, maybe family. A graveside service, a few simple words.
She didn't want anything extravagant because she wasn't extravagant, despite her love of expensive shoes and men who wore suits that cost more than most DC rent.
Before she'd left on her mission, she'd scrawled a quick note: 'Home soon, dinner's on you guys... dessert's on me.' She'd added a smiley face and an 'A' as her signature before kissing it to leave a lipstick mark. It was the last thing she'd done before she died.
And now she was gone. Forever.