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?"

"Don't play stupid, Rayburn. I have very little use for your kind. You're only alive because I can't find Pezanowski. Where is he?"

"He's in jail. What else can I say? He's probably spilling his guts about everything now, but O'Neil beat him to the punch."

"Who the hell is O'Neil?"

"Never mind." Rayburn managed to stand up. His chest was still in pain. "Why the hell did you have to hit me like that?"

"Two inches to the right and I would have stopped your heart, even with all the flab. I was easy on you." He grabbed Rayburn by his starched collar and twisted. "What does O'Neil have to do with Pezanowski?"

"He took O'Reilly's place. Remember O'Reilly?"

"Yeah, sure. They're all a bunch of political fat cats who pretend to be priests. If they weren't priests, they would be senators, CEOs, or something like that. I don't give a rat's ass about any of them. Never have." He twisted a little more. "I want Pezanowski."

The fat man's eyes seemed to bulge out of his head. Suarez let up a little bit.

"Any particular reason?" asked the National Security Adviser.

Suarez was astonished at the man's cynicism, given his situation.

"Actually, no. Except that lately he has really fucked up my life."