We settle on a picture of the Last Supper, but everyone at the table is giving the middle finger.

Georgie messages Alfie from her computer with my cloned number.

Saw this and thought of you. With an attached link to the meme.

Moments later he replies with a string of middle finger emojis.

“And… we’re in,” Georgie says triumphantly. “Oh, this doofus has his location services turned on, so we don’t even have to wait to see where he goes. I can pull up where he’s been for the past week.” Clack, clack, clack. “Jeez, aren’t these people supposed to be, like, super secret? They need way better digital security protocols.” She starts to tag locations on a map on her screen. “So, what am I looking for?”

“A place that could house a covert medical facility? I’m not exactly sure.”

“Say you haven’t tracked someone before without saying you haven’t tracked someone before,” she jokes dryly. “We’ll want to rule out anywhere he has reason to visit on a regular basis and see what’s left.” As she works, Georgie talks through what she’s doing. She pairs his location data with other information from his phone to easily establish what can be ignored: his apartment, gym, school, girlfriend’s place, favorite take-out spots.

She has definitely done this before. And now I can’t help but wonder who else she’s ever needed to track.

“Is there a reason he would be visiting this area?” Georgie asks, pointing to the East River on a map.

I peer over her shoulder as she enlarges the window for me. “Not that I know of.”

“He’s been here three times in the past two weeks.” She zooms in on a couple of small islands.

“That’s near Riker’s Island, New York City’s prison,” I say. “Maybe he’s been visiting an inmate?”

“No.” Georgie shakes her head. “This here is Riker’s Island, but that’s not where he’s been going. He’s been going here.” She points to a much smaller island. “Is there a park there or something?” She clicks around a bit more, then says, “North Brother Island. That’s what it’s called.”

I inhale sharply. North Brother Island is the home of an abandoned hospital and is completely restricted. Or so I thought.

Before I can explain this to Georgie, she’s already reading through an extensive web search. “There’s a hospital there that has a past life as a place for quarantined disease patients, veteran housing, and a rehab for drug addicts. Now the whole island is a bird sanctuary and off-limits to people.” She zooms in on a photo of the old hospital. “Definitely looks like a hidden medical facility to me,” she says with a grin.

I nod. “That has to be it.”

“So you’re saying you think this is where they’re keeping Hypatia?”

I nod again.