Coop tossed the photo onto the table and stretched his back. “Everything I can see, it’s all designed so you might be able to get in, but you won’t be able to get out. Or there’s a way out, but there’s no way in without setting off fifty alarms.”

Earlier, Nelson had found a drawer full of pencils in a nearby table. He’d spent most of the past hour flipping them overhead at the ceiling. He’d gotten pretty good at it. The acoustic tiles bristled with skinny yellow stalactites. “I told you this guy was a bum,” he said. He continued in a squeaky mocking voice. “Look at me. I’m magic. I’m Tinkerbell. I can get in anywhere.”

“Like you’re any help,” said Bayliss. “Let him work this out.” She looked at Coop. “Can we get you inside with a disguise? You can be there to repair the kitchen sink or deliver a package.”

Coop shook his head. “That still leaves the problem of getting out. The room where Babylon has the box is a complete clusterfuck. There’s no way I can sneak in and out of there without somebody noticing.” He picked up his empty coffee cup for the twentieth time and set it down in disgust. “And even if it’s possible to get in, we’re only assuming he’s keeping the box in his vault. What if he has it in his bedroom? Or he’s using it to store paper clips in his office?”

“He hasn’t opened it. Trust me. We’d know. Every lightbulb and computer in the world would be down,” said Bayliss.

“How exactly do we know it’s in the vault?”

“Our psychics department told us,” said Nelson.

“The DOPS psychics? The bunch who couldn’t figure out when I was stealing the box? Bang-up job. Very reassuring.”

“Bitch. Whine. Bitch.”

“Fine,” Coop said to Nelson. “What’s your plan, Keyser Söze?”

Nelson tossed a pencil at the ceiling, then turned to Coop. “I say we go in guns blazing. A total D-Day operation. We can tell the press we found the real bin Laden.”

“That’s original, I’ll give you that,” said Giselle. “Dumb, but original.”

Coop pointed to a spot on the blueprints. “You send a bunch of agents in through the front door, all you’ll end up with is a lot of dust, bones, and teeth. Maybe someone’s pinky, but that’s being optimistic.”

“So you say, Gandalf,” said Nelson.

“Look at the plans yourself.”

Nelson picked up his pencils and leaned back in his chair. “I’m a supervisor. I’m your supervisor. I’m not here to do your job for you.” He tossed a pencil. It missed and hit him on the head. “Goddammit.”