In the Virginia countryside, Wednesday…

He shrugged and picked up the suitcase. Dulles was only a few miles away. His ticket to Asuncion was already in his new name. A lot of money had been spent on getting that new name. He was almost certain that the DHS had no idea about what he was planning. They thought he was dedicated to his work. Especially the new line, the line the Committee was really focused on, the line that was his alone, not Richter's.

And he had been dedicated. But the guilt kept growing as the kids grew up. God help them.He knew it was only a matter of time before the Committee would decide the brainless homonoids were mature enough that they could get rid of his children. He didn't want to be around when that happened.

Not far away, in the J. Edgar Hoover building, Jake Hanlon listened to Asako and Simon's story with full attention. Both of their files were on his desk. He had studied them before they came in. They had the reputation of being competent people. Still, he found their story farfetched.

Jake had survived the bureaucratic wars of three previous administrations. They had left scars, so consequently he was uneasy with most Washington politicos. The FBI was such an easy target for Presidents, senators, and congressmen that were quick to put the blame on the agency for almost anything. Jake admitted within the walls of his DC office building that there were times when the FBI deserved the blame. Agents were human beings, caught up in the bureaucratic power struggle just like other government bureaucrats, so they could make mistakes when cold logic on a case was taken over by someone's agenda. He believed that his agency now had the mechanisms in place that kept that to a minimum, in spite of the politics that flowed down from the National Intelligence Director.