So, after James’ funeral, he had returned to Washington. The job offer was, of course, a godsend, and Madeline had joined the chorus of voices telling him he should go after it. They were going to need access to the halls of power, they were going to need all the information they could get their hands on, and then they were going to need the influence to do something about that information. Having the much increased classified clearance that would come with securing the posting to DC would be invaluable as they tried to subtly move against their unknown foe.

Amongst all of this, the mystery of who had sent him the two letters was, without doubt, the most confounding piece of the puzzle they faced. Whoever they were, they clearly had somehow stumbled on some aspect of this as well, and Neal wondered if it had cost them as dearly. Either way, Madeline and he were beside themselves with curiosity over who it was, where they were from, and what else they knew.

For now, though, they had little to go on there. The only consolation was that their mysterious ally had said they would announce themselves at some point in the future, so he and Madeline would just have to add this mystery to the list of things tugging at their already heavily depleted supplies of patience.

What they had been given, though, was both invaluable and deeply troubling advice. Clearly there was something in space, clearly they were being watched, and clearly their communications were being monitored. To say that this limited his and Madeline’s options was a gross understatement. To say it had saved them from making the same missteps that had cost Laurie and James their lives was best left for when, if ever, they had luxury for such speculation.

So, with little else he could really do at this time, Neal had come to Washington focused on the mission of trying his hardest to get the job. In truth, it was not hard to foster enthusiasm for it, such was the scale of the opportunity his last few months’ work had inadvertently positioned him for. In a flurry of activity, Neal had revived work on his long dormant thesis, with an ardency he had not applied to his studies in a long, long time. Madeline was a resourceful aide in this, bringing to bear her considerable intellect, and, wherever possible, her resources at the Institute.

Also with Madeline’s guidance, Neal had spruced up his appearance. A briskly tailored suit from a low-price vendor in Florida made up for cut-rate materials and far from high-end workmanship with tight lines copied from more talented designers, and a crispness that can only come from being, literally, hot off the press.