But my schedule back home carried an additional burden, imposed not by the agency but by my suddenly bifurcated family situation. My new position, training foreign intelligence and military officials, required me to travel abroad on a frequent and fairly regular basis. At the same time, I had vowed to see my two boys, Chris and Costa, every other weekend as was my right and obligation under my separation agreement with JoAnne. This particular labor of love wasn’t easy. JoAnne had returned to her hometown of Warren, Ohio, where she and the kids were staying with her parents. So my routine became an exhausting high-wire act. On a given Monday, I’d fly overseas to tend to my job and remain abroad for ten days. On the second Thursday, I’d fly back to Dulles International Airport, get some sleep overnight, go to work Friday morning, leave work Friday afternoon, and drive five hours to New Castle, Pennsylvania, where my parents lived. By then, my folks had made the one-hour run to Warren, picked up Chris and Costa, and returned to their house across the Ohio-Pennsylvania border.
