The Situation

   He was doing that internal, Hemingway-esque monolog thing again. Reassessing his situation in relation to all the players involved, evaluating chances, risks, figuring out the odds for survival.

   What could he do, or, more importantly, what had to be done? Would he have to work around Arnie or would the bastiche cooperate for once? How about Leon? Leon was his own special set of difficulties, but at least he was flexible and could be talked to.

   A cold chill passed through him as he thought about the problem with Jackie. She was in a bind and had brought the bind with her when she joined up.

   Who would have pegged that tiny, sweet-as-sugar woman as a murderer? Certainly DeSylvia hadn't - he had trusted her like no other but now he couldn't get comfortable around her, and he hated that edgy feeling.

   Which made him feel like the worst of hypocrites.

   For wasn't it a personal categorical imperative that caused him concern? Was there another soul alive that would agree with him that the actions he had taken to ensure the safety and well-being of himself and his allies was morally justifiable? Afterall, wasn't it he himself who had declared that the network was to be 100% non-violent?

   It hurt him to bring to the forefront that day in late February when he had shut the door on Pettigrew. He knew deep down that Pettigrew was a cancer that needed to be excised, but he also regarded the solution to the Pettigrew problem as a resounding failure on his part.

   DeSylvia continued to pace in his small office. Screw Kant he nearly muttered aloud. He had done what had to be done, what needed to be done. There was no doubting it, not if one truly believed in the endgame of the network.

   And if there was one thing he truly believed in, it was the endgame.