Three days later, Blair sat in the back of an unmarked FBI surveillance van two blocks away from St. Matthew’s Cathedral, watching her own funeral on a small monitor.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. If wasn’t so important what they were doing, she might have enjoyed it more.

She could see the Gothic spires of the cathedral through the van’s tinted windows, and part of her wanted to be there. Not for the morbid thrill of watching people mourn her fake death, but because she wanted to ...