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[i]Somewhere, deep within the windswept landscape of Post-War California, an old radio crackles to life. With a jolt and a whir, a spark that was extinguished centuries ago flares back into being, and the soothing voice of Jo Stafford drifts over the bombed-out husk of the valley. 


[b]‘See The Pyramids
Along the Nile
Watch the sun rise
On a tropic isle
Just remember darling
All the while
You belong to me’
[/b]

Out of the unwavering darkness of midnight, two figures appear, slipping into view. 


“Thank you for meeting with me, sir,” says the first, a man in a grey jacket and old military boots  “I’m glad you’ve come round to our way of thinking.” 


“I’ll admit it took some persuasion,” the second figured grumbles “but I truly believe you and your men have the right of things; the right vision for America.” 


“That’s all we ever wanted, sir.” says the first, nodding sharply “What’s best for the people of the wasteland.” 


[b]‘See the market place
In old Algiers
Send me photographs
And souvenirs
Just remember
When a dream appears
You belong to me’
[/b]

“And you think Hamilton is the right way to go about it?” 


“The only way, sir.” 


“Very well.” The second man reaches into the breast pocket of his blazer, pulling out a crisp paper file,  which he offers to the first “This is everything my people could find about 93. I hope it proves useful.” 


“I’m sure that it will,” the first man takes the folder in one both hands, something akin to a smile briefly flickering across his steely face “Mister President.” 


“So, what happens next?” asks the President.


“One of our agents has set up a meeting with the Van Graffs. Between them and this file, we’ll have enough information to put our plan in motion.” explains the first man. 


The president nods once, placing a hand on his chest. 


“Semper fidelis.” He says. 


“Semper fidelis.” Repeats the first man. 


[b]‘I'll be so alone
Without you
Maybe
You'll be lonesome, too
And blue’
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