Josh looked from Zack to his dad, who nodded at him to proceed. It’s always that way between kids and parents, looking for consent. And he knew it would be that way for him someday too, if he survived the night.

“I’m a high school intern at the agency,” Josh said, referring to the CIA the way that 99.99 percent of the people in America did, employee or not.

“Intern? Since when does the agency have interns?” Zack asked.

“Since always, Zack, especially in the Analysis Directorate. Most of the agencies in the IC have them,” Brandon replied, referring holistically to the Intelligence Community. “They can work for us for two summers and then several hours a week during their senior year. When they finish, they end up with a GS offer to come on board permanently, intern with us through college under salary, and then hit the ground running full-time once they graduate,” he added, referring to the government General Schedule pay scale all federal employees fell under. “It’s a great way to find young talent, and it ensures we groom them the right way—no bad habits to break from prior occupations.”

“Got it. Keep going, Josh,” Zack said to the younger Harper, whose boyish looks were even more pronounced in the warm soft-white light of the kitchen.

“Anyhow, I ended up in the front-office staff of the Operations Directorate, handling random tasks that someone with little experience could manage—creating spreadsheets, tracking actions normal employees didn’t have time to complete, travel requests, and whatnot. It’s a good place to learn . . . and to see how some of the really spooky and cool HUMINT is done. I loved being there, and it helped that I’m a legacy hire from my dad,” Josh said.

“Okay. I get it. It’s all going great. You’re learning the ways of the Force,” Zack said with exasperation. He needed answers, and he felt the weight of time again, pressing him, threatening to pin him down. “What changed? What happened that has us all running for our lives and me killing a whole lot of men in police uniforms on a Friday night?”

Josh was a quick learner, and instead of looking to his father for counsel or approval, he answered quickly and directly. Like father, like son.

“One of the things I got stuck with is inventory. It’s crazy. We have to account for every computer, headset, monitor, printer—basically every piece of IT equipment the agency has. The system is inefficient and runs on software that desperately needs to be updated, and we always seem to be either missing a piece of equipment or looking for one.”

“Government bureaucracy at its finest, Zack. You remember that aspect of it, don’t you?” Brandon interjected.