Cayce, having been raised to some extent within the ghostly yet in her experience remarkably banal membrane of the American intelligence community has her own set of likelihood-filters when it comes to these things. Win had never, as far as she knew, been an intelligence officer in his own right, but he had known and worked with them. He had shared a certain experiential core with them, partaking in his own way of the secret world and its wars. And very little Cayce ever hears of that world, as described by those with even less a sense of it than her own, sounds like anything but fantasy. "Actually," she tells them, "it's sort of traditional to let them drink themselves to death."