The following sunrise found Angela at her father's desk, rifling through old papers and photos (though she tried to ignore those of her with him, most were tear- and coffee-stained already), her dark under-eye circles not disguising a still-sleepless night. She paused as she picked up a thin folder from inside his bottom drawer, handling it so carefully to examine its brief contents as if it were glass.

As she flipped through some pictures of a man with his wife and kids, she uncovered a slightly yellowed newspaper article with burned edges, as if someone who had also lost another at Nakatomi had wanted his own childish revenge on the strange family. Angela opened the paper slowly, trying not to make much noise in the quietest hours of her day, and skimmed through the article with her black-tipped fingernails. Suddenly the word "McCaine" jumped out at her, though it was neither bolded nor italicized. To the average reader of the Times it wouldn't mean anything other than a hero from another city. But to Angela it meant quite a bit.

She immediately checked the date, no longer caring for the noise factor. It was dated only a few days after the incident in which she'd lost her father. She realized the woman and two children in the picture were probably still a part of McCaine's life. As she studied the picture, looking for minute details such as lack of smiles (there was none), she struggled not to burn it like the person who'd tried to destroy this old issue of the Times.

She heard footsteps gently padding the carpet and noted that she should have quieted herself in her discovery after all. But it was only Davidoff, one of her longest-hired bodyguards. He'd been working for her father at the time of the incident and had managed to escape when Hans told him to leave it to him. In fact, he'd revealed a lot of the details that night to her already, but she knew he surely had much to tell. He reminded her of dear Dane, she said, with a sugary-sweet smile. "Something wrong, Miss Angela?" He said, speaking in a cool Scottish- Swedish tone. "No, Davidoff, thank you.but perhaps you recognize the Mr. McCaine in this picture?" He strode forward and took it gently from between her fingers. "Yes, Miss, this is the one." He said confidently. "I believe." She nodded, satisfied.

"Perhaps you could run a scan on it for me in the computer."

"I will take it to Sanchez." He said, and headed to the stairs.

Down below the offices was the somewhat-secret computer lab that belonged to Sanchez, the only Spaniard on her staff. He spoke very fluent English, when he felt like it, and most of the time he used a natural gunshot Spanish accent. She had been trying to teach him German but it hadn't come very well to his dialect. Sanchez had a temper, and he was impatient, but he was still very intelligent in the ways of the illegal and a hard worker. That was all she'd required of any of them.

Davidoff teased Sanchez with a German hello and earned his first dirty glance of the day. "Now, Sanchez, please look up this nice-looking American boy for us." Sanchez snatched the photo from his hand and sneered. "This is Mr. McCaine, yes?" He looked at Angela. "Si, Sanchez." He nodded. "Ok, then." With a comical grin he logged online and went to his favorites file, where he clicked into a police force website for New York. "John McCaine, 35, NYC police officer, married with a boy and girl.ooh, this is interesting." He wheeled the monitor around to face her. "Says here your Mr. McCaine has quite a list of heroic activites since Nakatomi." Angela pointed and scrolled down the list, mouthing to herself. "Yeah.he's been causing trouble in the States lately."

She turned to Davidoff. "Screw Germany. We're going to New York."