'I'm losing my mind here, Sam.' He wiped his eyes on the back of his wrist. 'I'm losing my fucking mind.'

Sam set her drink down, clasped Thomas's hands. 'Look, Tom. You gotta get a handle on this. You gotta take a step back. You gotta look at yourself as a textbook anecdote, a case study or something.'

'I gotta get a handle on this?' he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. 'That's a fucking joke.'

'What do you mean?'

Thomas glared at her. 'You know exactly what I mean. The way for me to get a handle on this is for you, Atta, and that clown Gerard to catch Neil.'

'That's not fair, professor. You know it.'

'Do I? You have hundreds hunting for the Chiropractor, and just a handful—'

'I mean it's not fair to hold us responsible. Do you know how much sleep we've been averaging?'

Thomas matched her angry gaze. 'So just who's responsible, hmm, Sam? The invisible asses Atta always seems to be kissing?'

She shrugged. 'I dunno. Maybe. The bottom line is—'

'You know what?' Thomas exclaimed. 'Just fuck it. I've been an idiot to listen to you people. My son is not a matter of National Security. What a fucking joke! This isn't about protecting national interests in a time of crisis; it's about a handful of bureaucrats trying to cover their asses. I should've gone to the net with this the morning he went missing. Even earlier!'

'No,' Sam said. 'You shouldn't have.'

'How can you say that?' Thomas cried. 'How can you say that? You know damn well this would have gone worldwide! Sam. Sam. What's more important to you, Frankie or—'

'You don't understand,' Sam said, her face blank.

'Don't understand what? That the whole nation could be hunting for Neil right now, instead of a rag-tag band of second-stringers? That Frankie…' His voice broke. 'That Frankie could be upstairs arguing with Ripley right now?'

He looked at her beseechingly. Please be who I think you are.

'Don't be so naive,' she said in a curiously hollow voice. 'None of that would've happened. Everything's sifted. Everything's flagged. Everything, Tom. Nothing about Neil would've made the mainstream net. Nothing will.' She took a drink, stared at him angrily. 'And you'd be punished for your troubles, believe me. Kiddie porn on your computer. Crystal meth in your car. Or worse, branded an eco-terrorist, arraigned and sentenced in a closed court, then poof, nowhere to be found. Trust me, Tom, I know these people. I've worked counter-intelligence.'

Thomas simply stared, dumbfounded as much by her tone as by what she said. 'You're just saying—'