“No,” said Neill. “But be advised that Nick and his friend wouldn’t be here if this weren’t of highest priority, of national security declination. Let’s be polite, as we’re all wearing ties, which signify politeness. But we do need your help, and we do expect your help.”

Mr. Wakowski took a deep breath. He was mid-forties, with a face lacking singularity or charisma but notable in its ovality. He could have played the title role in the new Egg and I remake. Black frames, thick lenses, receding sandy hair, charcoal suit, black shoes, a face rather like butterscotch pudding. You wouldn’t pick him out in a crowd of one. Except at Huntsville.

“Very dangerous people,” he said. “That is why I hesitate. Betray them, see my kids tossed into acid vats. My wife handled by twenty-five grinning caballeros with eagles tattooed on their necks. All this before they stake me out naked for the vultures, with great big gobs of greasy, grimy cow guts smeared on my genitals.”

“Those guys,” said Nick.

“Yep, those guys.” He shivered. “Why, oh why, did the Good Lord give me so much talent,” he said. “Without it, I wouldn’t end up with the vultures going sushi on my dick.”

“But you’d be living in a tract home, and both wife and kids would hate you for being a failure,” Streibling said.

“True enough,” said Mr. Wakowski.

He swallowed.

“You will protect my future and my children’s future?”

“For now. It could change.”

“Okay. Yes, it was an 8. Hard to beat, those motherfuckers at Apple go to sleep every night grinning about how hard it is. But Whack Job knows the way. Wasn’t easy to figure, and it helps to have an IQ of 450, but he can, with much intensive labor, get it done in four days. I’ll spare you the details. If you ain’t a 450, they’d be meaningless anyhow. So they come to me, the money is, shall we say, quite convincing, as is their reputation. In my world, better to be friends with them than enemies. Enemies get the vulture thing.”

“So you got in.”

“Yes. The guy who set it up had to be some kind of supershooter or something. Most of the data space was eaten up by some program called FirstShot. I gather it helps you put little pieces of metal in certain places from a long ways out. It figures all the little bitty factors and influences, but it’s basically a spreadsheet. It solves the problem at muzzle distance and extrapolates out to infinity from there.”

“Okay, that’s our guy,” said Nick.

“Anyhow, that was important to them. They did need access to it, they made that clear. Excuse me for my lack of curiosity, but I didn’t ask the fellow what this was necessary for. I figured I’d read it in the papers.”