Silver Spring, Maryland, March, 2078, Sunday…

Rayburn learned that the FBI was looking for him early that Sunday morning. He hurriedly showered, dressed, and packed. He waddled down the stairs in a spiffy charcoal business suit especially tailored to his Friar Tuck girth. He was carrying only a briefcase and a suitcase.

Not much to show for a life of service to one's country. Out of habit, he decided that he would get the paper before he headed for the airport. He opened the front door. A hairy fist smashed into his chest, knocking the breath out of him and pushing him backward into the house with tremendous force. Frank Suarez stepped inside and closed the door after him.

"Morning, sir," he said. "Taking a trip, are you?"

Rayburn managed to prop himself up on one elbow.

"Who the fuck are you? Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, I do, and I'm a disgruntled employee, you might say. Frank Suarez, one of Mr. P's boys. You know, the ones whose existence you can't acknowledge, Sr. Gran Gordo National Security Adviser. I need to know where Mr. P is."

Rayburn tried to crawl on his back towards the staircase, away from the man. He knew what Frank Suarez did for a living even if he didn't know the face. He was actually hoping the FBI would show up soon.

"Do you mean Jason Pezanowski?"