“We have a man sweep the office each morning,” she said, noting Tenchant’s eyes roaming over documents stacked on the floor and her shelves. “We can talk freely here.”

Her eyes were still on Tenchant, assessing him, Klay realized. “But of course, nothing is ever certain so we do take basic precautions with our phones and other communications. Our internal communications are air-gapped,” she said, and nodded at a computer monitor on her desk. “My staff will brief you. Questions? No? Okay,” she said. “My team has seen you. They know who you are. They know you’re here to help. But they are not happy about it. Journalists are a great risk for us. If Ncube discovers I’m helping you, or that you are helping me”—she glanced at Klay—“we’re through. That is just how it is.”

“Thank you, Hungry,” Klay said. “I briefed Tenchant on the security parameters we agreed to, and on the compartmentalization of our efforts. He understands you have a corruption investigation underway and that we are to stay well clear of it. We’re here to tell the story of Ras Botha. Exclusively. Any help your people can give Tenchant, of course, would be much appreciated. He’s ready to get to work. We both are.”

“Okay,” she said. “Good. Let’s bring you back out there and try this again . . .”

•   •   •

Tenchant was on his hands and knees under a spare desk in the Wild Dogs’ office, his blue button-down shirt riding up his bony back. His tattooed arm emerged from under the desk. “Can somebody help me plug this in?” He was holding the universal travel adapter he’d brought from home.

“That won’t work here,” Miss Edna said. She dug through her desk and found a South African adapter. “Give this to him, Minnie, please.”

Tenchant plugged in his laptop and took a seat at the desk they had found for him. “What’s your Wi-Fi?” he asked.

“Use your own phone for the internet,” Sehlalo said.

“Hush!” said Miss Edna. “‘Laundromat’ is the network, Mr. Tenchant. The password is ‘Phambili!Kenako.’” She spelled it out for him.

“Thank you. Just Tenchant.”

“Use a VPN, please,” she said. “Choose outside South Africa. If you need to go on the website of target individuals or companies please let us know. We use Tor, but some things require a search from another location.”

“Okay,” he said, typing rapidly. “I’m on the Companies and Intellectual Property Commission website. Do you have an ID or passport number for Botha . . . ?”

“Exit that,” Sehlalo said. “I want a list of every site you intend to search before you go online.”

Klay was leaning against a wall, watching. He called across the room to Sehlalo. “How do you like that weapon?”

Sehlalo turned. He glanced down at his shoulder holster, then back at Klay. “Gits ’er done,” he said affecting a cowboy twang, a hostile edge in his voice.