“Agent Neill, we meet again. And Agent Streibling, Dallas Field Office, Cyber Division rep, an old friend indeed.”

Streibling, the local agent who’d set this meet-up, nodded but, knowing his place in the pecking order, said nothing.

“These other two fellows, I don’t know,” said Mr. Wakowski. “Kosher, though, I assume?”

“Totally kosher. Names not necessary,” said Neill. “One is high-ranking, experienced, in from Washington. The other is his associate, expert in certain arcane areas, known to be an extraordinary detective. He uncovered the string that led us to you and this meeting.”

“Gentlemen . . .” said Mr. Wakowski, nodding his head.

“The accommodations—suitable?” asked Neill.

“Sure. Out of the way, unavailable to chance encounters. Way off my beaten track, and yours.”

It was a cheesy suite motel near the airport, off the interstate. Left-hand neighbor: strip bar; right-hand neighbor: Best Tacos in Texas, which was true except for the other places in Texas that sold tacos.

“I checked,” said Mr. Wakowski. “I wasn’t followed.”

“Actually, you were,” said Neill. “By us. We’re very good at it. The point, however, was to make sure you weren’t followed by anybody else. You weren’t.”

“I feel secure in the bosom of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“A good start. Now I’ll turn the meeting over to my superior officer.”

“I’m Nick,” said Nick.

“Nick,” said Wakowski, “I’m Mr. Wakowski. How may I help you—that is, except by going to prison or getting myself killed?”

“Perhaps four months ago, certain parties almost certainly approached you with a job. They had a newly acquired iPhone 8. It had to be cracked. It takes even the best labs weeks to crack them. You are reputed to be one of three men in country who can do it in days. Am I right so far?”

“I could lie,” said Mr. Wakowski. “In fact, the best course for me would be to lie.”

“Not a good idea. We would have to stop calling you Mr. Wakowski then. We would have to call you Whack Job, and there’s an issue outstanding about someone who built software to evade the cybersecurity at the First National of Midlands job a few weeks ago. We know who did it, a fellow named Roy Heinz, because Roy himself told us. It was decided that Whack Job would be left alone, as he might prove more useful to us in the future. That judgment can be rescinded. And if Whack Job goes to Huntsville, being soft and weak and white, what do you suppose happens to him?”

“I’m so disappointed in Roy,” said Mr. Wakowski. “He was recommended to me as a stand-up guy.”

“Everybody talks, in the end. Which is why we’re here.”

“May I ask—”