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help them on their way, but eventually they went with the rest, and he returned to work, slowly feeling his way back onto that bicycle with the wheel that kept on turning no matter if Marcus Atkinson had a hold of the handlebars or not. People, the proverbial ‘they’ who everyone seemed to know, suspected it would be the end for him, that such a monumental mistake would forever affect his ability to do his job. In truth, it made him more determined to prove his methods worked. He still made the tough calls, and even if the guilt of that day was still there, it was his and his alone to manage. His own personal punishment which he would be forced to deal with in his own way, and although he had buried it deep, he had no doubt that from time to time, those ghosts would drift out of the dark to plague him one more time.
    He snapped himself to the present, taking a deep breath and pushing aside the horrors of the past in order to concentrate on more pressing matters. He saw one of his senior staff members outside the closed door to the meeting room checking his phone as he paced the corridor. His agitation was clear, as was the look of relief when he saw Marcus approach.
    "I'm glad you're here," the flustered man said.
    "What's happening in there Mike?"
    "I don't know, they won't say anything. They stonewalled me."
    "I had the same thing on the phone. They wouldn't tell me anything apart from that I had to be here. Any familiar faces in there?" Marcus said.
    "Oh yeah, Josh Harkins is in there, so is Susan Fring."
    "From Langley?"
    "Yeah. There are a couple of people I don't know too. They seem to be running the show." Mike was nervous and seemed agitated.
    "Any heads up on what we're dealing with would be nice."
    Mike shrugged. "There's a commander from the Florida National Guard in there called Robbins. He seems to be in the know."
    "How the hell did that happen? If we don't know, surely he shouldn't know either."
    "Tell me about it. The other two guys running the show in there are strangers to me. They wouldn't even give me their names. Any idea who set this up?"
    Marcus shook his head. "No, I mean it's obvious this has come from the top of the chain if that's what you mean."
    "Presidential?" Mike whispered, leaning in, his cheap aftershave overpowering.
    "Maybe," Marcus said, knowing something coming directly from the President had to be serious.
    "Holy shit, they must have some credible intel to pull you in."
    "Uh, thanks, I think," Marcus said, flashing his expensive veneers at Mike.
    "What I mean is they wouldn't get someone as uh..."
    "Emotionless?"
    "I was going to say efficient," Mike muttered, "But if you like emotionless better, that works too. My point is they wouldn't get someone who was renowned for fixing problems if they didn't think they had a major problem to fix."
    "Good point," Marcus said, his curiosity stirred. "You coming in?"
    "Soon," Mike said with an exasperated sigh. "Got a god awful bladder infection. I can't seem to stop pissing. I'll take a leak and be right in."
    "Make sure you wash your hands," Marcus said with a wink.
    Mike just about managed a semi-amused smile then hurried off the way Marcus had come, change jingling in his pocket as he made for the entrance to the bathroom.
    Pausing for a few seconds to enjoy the silence of the corridor, Marcus took a deep breath and went inside the meeting room, curious as to what was so damn important.
     
    II
     
    He had selected the coffin himself, choosing to carry it on his back through the woods to the place where he was to be buried. The others watched in silence as he set it down and looked at them in turn. His brothers. His kin. One of them handed him a shovel. No words were exchanged. None were needed. This had been discussed enough.
    The coffin bearer began to dig. The earth was hard, a heavy frost making the top layer hard to penetrate. He was strong, though, and with gritted teeth eased his way to the more compliant, softer ground below. Time