Northeast Washington DC, December, 2077, Saturday…

As a man of God, Juan Pablo Gomez did not fear death. Nevertheless, he was very uncomfortable as he walked down an alley that was dark and deserted except for some sleeping homeless woman that he nearly stumbled over.

He knocked on the back door of a night club. He could hear the pounding Latino rhythms within but he was not there to dance.

A very non-Latino face opened the door a crack. It was a completely bald woman, except for the Genghis Khan reddish brown pony tail sprouting from the top of her head and hanging down in back to neck level. An arched eyebrow, the one without a ring, was her only question.

"I want to speak to Sanford. Tell him it's Father Juan Pablo Gomez."

The woman nodded and shut the door.

It had taken Juan Pablo a good two weeks to trace down the ex-gang member who had gotten religion. He was chastened about the delay by O'Neil who had met him on a bench at the National Zoo. His handler informed him that O'Reilly had been taken care of. Juan Pablo was not about to ask for details. O'Reilly behaved like a simple Irish scoundrel compared to O'Neil's snakiness.

Juan Pablo had visited the Latino neighborhoods he knew so well from his work with the gangs, searching for clues as to the DC cell's whereabouts. The venues weren't pretty and the people were often scurrilous, but he was a priest and therefore respected, even by those who didn't know him. The gangs did, however, and he had talked to a lot of them. Finally he had found someone who knew something.