As you know, Bob!
I know, I know, it’s a cliche: CIA werewolves, claws out for Uncle Sam. Sorry, but cliches are there for a reason. When you have the ability to turn to an animal and can only be killed by silver, it turns out the US government will always be happy to take a look at your resume. Sometimes they’ll even ask, first.
Not that working for the CIA is any great shakes for any member of what is politely called the Exotic-American community. It’s not like the old days, when they were sending rat-men into the Berlin sewers, or trying to petrify Castro, but I still heard enough stories about the CIA’s flexible attitude towards the definition of ‘achievable’ and ‘survivable’ that the pack all jumped at the chance to sign up with the NSA, instead.
Honestly, my pack’s much better off working for the NSA, doing… stuff. I can’t talk about it, obviously. But whatever it is we’re doing, we’re doing it on American soil. Of course? Of course.
Oh, and if it makes you feel any better: there aren’t any vampires in the IRS. Really and truly. The feds know it’d be a torch-and-pitchfork situation just waiting to happen.