In the Virginia countryside, Wednesday…

Andrew Tyler's hand was shaking as he closed the suitcase.

The last few weeks had not been good for him. First, there had been the escape. He actually smiled to think about how FS2, HJ1, and SW1 had outsmarted them all. Especially SW1. Tyler had known she was trouble from the age of two. Ah, the terrible twos. Then, one of the Guardians had reported that at least one of his children that knew a lot about computers had deftly spliced in an image file to a videocam surveillance record. Since the videocam watched over one of the main labs, Tyler concluded that at least one of his children had been in that lab. He was sure he, she, or they hadn't found anything, yet it was troublesome to him because it meant that they were questioning. It wasn't just the three rebel children, who were now dead.

He called them his children and had genuine affection for them. He had been the primary one responsible for bringing them into the world. Sure, it was Wolfgang's theories and vision at the beginning, but it had been Andrew's hard work. He knew their terrible purpose. He rationalized it away in the same way that people rationalized away buying live Christmas trees: the trees are bred to be cut down. Or, more like minks that are bred to make fur coats. Have I become such a beast that I have no conscience? I didn't even get rich off the project. Not like Wolfgang, anyway. Andrew thought about the other news he had received over the last few weeks, the news about Wolfgang's murder. He had a pounding headache now. Wolfgang had died terribly, violently. Andrew turned a little green as his imagination began to get the best of him.