Familiar outdoor signage welcomed her, and she stepped off the street into a cozy room with a bakery and coffee bar at the back, computer-laden tables at the windows, and a menu on the wall that priced out phone and Internet services.

A few words, a handful of koruny got her a phone line.

Four in the afternoon in Prague meant ten in the morning on the East Coast.

To do this meant pretty much now or never.

She dialed from memory.

She didn’t have friends, tried hard not to make enemies, and filled the in-between by collecting and nurturing favors like her career depended on them, because it pretty much did. Twenty-nine-year-old Bartholomew Baker, whose drunken, beer-bottle-brave mouth may or may not have gotten him a hair’s breadth from losing his clearance, position, and career, was one of those who owed her.

Bart worked at headquarters, a separate department, one in which Liv Wilson’s tentacles had far less suction.

He answered with a gruff hello.

Kara said, “I’m calling in my favor.”

No pleasantries, no introduction, no need to make her life more difficult. He knew who she was, and he’d give her what she wanted, not just because she was the one asking, but because she was letting him off easy.

She said, “I need you to run a flight manifest against the Broker list for me.”

A pause hung in the air. Typing clicked across the line. He said, “Something happened with your clearance?”

“No.”

The typing stopped. The phone shifted from one ear to the next. His voice lowered, turned cautious. He said, “Then why are you coming to me for this?”

“Because I need it done.”

Silence followed. She could hear the mental gears grinding and didn’t fault him for that. There’d be less room for confusion and suspicion if she’d asked for something that’d get him fired or jailed.

He said, “You’re burning your chit to have me access something you can just get yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because none of your business.”

“Look,” he said. “I’ll get you what you want, but at least let me know what it is I’m not seeing here, so I can keep my own ass covered.”

“There’s nothing to cover. I just don’t want my name on the requisition.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think one favor’s gonna solve that problem.”

The attempt at humor fell flat.

She said, “You’re burning my daylight.”

“Whatever you say, boss lady. How soon do you need it?”

“How soon can you run it?”

“Now if you want.”

She gave him the Dallas–Fort Worth flight information.

A minute passed. Bart said, “Manifest against the Broker list gives me one match. Christopher Holden. You know the name?”

Kara’s thoughts slowed to a crawl. That wasn’t right.

She said, “Only one match?”

“Just the one.”

“Where’s he rank?”