Grand Cayman, Two Weeks Later…

Dr. Andrew Tyler was enjoying himself. A pina colada in one hand and a racy novel in the other, he was allowing the Caribbean sun to sooth his soul. My soul needs soothing. Now if I could just find some rich widow down here, I'd have it made. A shadow fell over him, so he looked up from his book. Against the sun's glare, he could just barely make out that it was a man dressed in Bermuda shorts and a tee shirt. He wore the kind of sunglasses that mirrored back two images of Santa Claus on vacation, something Tyler found annoying - he didn't like to admit he was overweight - and also sinister, since the man looked like a bug.

"Dr. Andrew Tyler?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

The man held out a badge. Tyler couldn't make out any details in the glare, though it looked official.

"Rafael Hurtado, Interpol. You are under arrest."

"Arrest? What have I done?"

"You're wanted for questioning in the United States in conjunction with certain illegal activities at a DHS research center. I don't have the details. Hold out your arms, please."

The handcuffs felt cold.

Twenty-four hours later Tyler was back at the Center. RP1 and SW2 saw him being brought in. They looked at each other and smiled. Some things were going OK, finally.

Later, the FBI brought them into a room. They could see Tyler behind a glass. SW2 reached for RP1's hand.