Maybe Babs wasn’t the one I should focus on. Back when I was fresh out of college, my father had pulled me aside to share job-hunting advice. I hadn’t paid as much attention as I probably should have, since I’d known I had a position waiting with the Porters, but I remembered most of it, including his comment that the second most important person at any company was the boss. The most important was the boss’ secretary.

Kiyoko knew Babs Palmer’s schedule. She likely knew Babs’ contacts and projects as well. She’d be aware of any unplanned phone calls or confidential meetings. She might even have access to Babs’ email and files, though Babs was smart enough to keep anything incriminating locked away.

I turned to the smartboard and pulled up the New Millennium personnel directory. It would be safer to chat with Kiyoko when she was away from her desk and unplugged from whatever magical interface she had glued to her scalp.

I couldn’t find a residential listing for Kiyoko Itô. Most of us who were directly involved in research or other magic lived on site, but more than half our people commuted from Vegas or its suburbs. I switched files and checked the parking lot reservations. She wasn’t listed there, either.

I sat back in my chair. The simplest explanation was that she carpooled with someone, or maybe she lived close enough to walk or bike to work. I tried plugging “Kiyoko Itô” into Google. I got the usual Google noise, but nothing relating to Babs’ receptionist.

Her personnel file described her as having dual citizenship in Japan and the U.S. There was no work history, no resume or copy of her job application, and no emergency contact listed. What kind of woman had Babs hired?

‹Isaac?› Talulah Polk peeked through my door.

I shut down the board. ‹Speak, friend, and enter.›

She blinked. ‹Huh?›

‹It’s from The Fellowship of the Ring. Never mind. What’s up?›

She shut the door behind her and handed me a file. I brought it to the closest table and sat down to review her notes. She’d found the same basic information I had regarding the history, armaments, and crew of the USCGC Kagan. I picked up a map of the Atlantic coast. Red lines, each one marked with a date and time, crisscrossed the ocean.

‹These are her missions?›

‹Training runs, mostly. Officially, they’ve been practicing search and rescue.›

I grabbed a highlighter and traced one of the search patterns, an expanding square centered on a point about fifteen miles east of Georgia. Another mission had followed a sector-based pattern, the lines forming what looked like an enormous pinwheel.

‹I checked the news reports and some of Homeland Security’s files. Nothing’s been reported missing or lost in that area.›