Chapter 1

1: My Purpose

My name is Peter. Peter Passenger. At least that’s

the name that I am using in these journals. I am in a dangerous

situation, and using my real name might not only endanger me, but

also those that I love, or at least the ones who are left, and it

might also endanger the ones we have worked so hard to protect: the

Innocents. That's what my father always called them. But after the

events that I am about to relay to you, you, like me, may question

just how innocent they are. Sadly, due to rather horrid conditions,

that is a question that I am now forced to try to answer.

I am fairly certain that answering these

questions will not be easy, and nowhere near safe, which is why I

am keeping these journals. If I fail to answer these questions, if

I fail to find the answers that I am looking for, then I hope that

someone else will pick up where I left off. I am not relaying the

actual years in which most of these events took place, nor am I

using my real name because that information makes things too easy

to trace. I’ll make it all look like fiction. I’ll even call my

segments s. In this story, I will tell you where I go, and

who I encounter, but giving specific days, or my real name could

lead to people getting found, and then hurt. Not only could I be

traced, but so could you, if you have to pick up where I left off,

but I am jumping ahead. Let’s go back to where this whole thing

started. 2:

Airport

I was in Cairo when I got the call from Esteban.

“I don’t know how to say this...” he said to

me.

That’s when I knew. I knew that it had all

caught up with them. I knew that it was time.

I caught the first plane back to DC. The

ride was long and tiresome. When I saw myself in the airplane

bathroom mirror an hour or so before we landed, I saw that I looked

haggard. I have the kind of fine blond hair that even at

twenty-eight looks oily if it isn't washed every morning, and I had

been up for quite some time. I am told that I have the body of a

football player and the face of an old movie star, but neither were

looking fabulous tonight. The growth on my face looked less like a

five P. M. shadow and more like a thick five A. M. phantom.

Overall, the tan corduroy jacket I wore, and my blue jeans had held

up well on the plane, but the white button-up shirt I wore beneath

the jacket was wrinkled beyond belief. I wasn't concerned. My

parents had just died. My appearance was the last thing that I

needed to worry about, but I could hear my mother’s words.

“It’s sad, Peter, but it’s true. People do

judge us by how we look. Think about your audience when you go into

any situation. How do you want them to see you? What do you want

from them, Peter? Once you answer those questions, you’ll know how

you want to look.”

I smiled. My mother always looked beautiful,

and kind, but she was also downright brilliant. So who would I see

tonight? Probably just Esteban, but that was rather complicated.

What did I want from Esteban? How did I want him to see me?

Tonight, I think that all I really want from him is answers,

I thought to myself. If anyone knew anything, it was him. As for

what else I might want from him, well, we had both been trying to

figure that out for a long time, and there was no reason we

couldn't sit and wonder again for one more evening.

The plane touched down at Dulles in the late

afternoon. About an hour later, after unloading and traveling

through customs, I made my way toward the rental cars. I had one

carry-on bag, so there was no need to go to the baggage claim area.

In the two years I had spent in Cairo, pursuing research my father

had felt was important, I had accumulated very few possessions, but

a great deal of knowledge. I had lived in a hotel the entire time,

and most of the time I took my meals there, in nearby restaurants,

or with acquaintances my parents had arranged for me to meet. The

hotel had treated me like a prince, even offering to pack and mail

the rest of my stuff. I didn't flatter myself and think that it was

all because they loved me. I knew the fact that my family was

exceptionally wealthy had a lot to do with it. My parents had

actually purchased the hotel during my stay.