“Yeah, but I couldn’t bear the thought of holing up in some fleabag safe house. It’s not my own bed, but it’s second best.”

She slid a thumb drive onto the counter next to his beer. “Fred wanted me to give you this.”

He nodded, scooping up the nondescript storage device. As the Internet became increasingly compromised by hackers and even America’s own National Security Agency, Covert-One’s communication was being done this way more and more. What did Marty call it? An air gap.

“Let us know if you need anything,” she said, heading for the door.

“I will.”

“I’m serious, Jon. None of that male stubbornness.”

He smiled. “Thanks, but you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

When she’d closed the door behind her, Smith sagged a bit. Too much standing in one stint.

He shuffled to the small office at the back of the house and turned on the desktop computer, holding a series of keys in order to boot to an alternate operating system.

It had been designed specifically for Covert-One—ultrasimple, ultrasecure, and completely incapable of connecting to the Internet or any other peripheral except for Covert-One–supplied USB sticks.

Despite its lack of complexity, the OS took five minutes to start up, scan for anomalies, and declare itself secure. He inserted the drive and entered his password, then went for another beer. It would take another few minutes for the processor to unravel the heavy encryption.

When he returned, he washed down a few ibuprofen and watched the progress bar crawl along. Not as effective as the OxyContin he’d been taking but a hell of a lot easier to think on.

The report finally opened and his stomach tightened when he saw that Randi was in China making contact with Kaito Yoshima. There was no question that she could hold her own against anyone on the planet, but Yoshima was particularly dangerous when he was in the mood to be. He’d been trained from infancy for this kind of work and, frankly, seemed a little mentally unbalanced.

Smith continued to scan the text on screen, discovering that the bag of radioactive debris he’d been sent to retrieve was once part of the Fukushima nuclear power plant. That explained Randi’s line of investigation. Not only was Yoshima an experienced saboteur who could pass for Japanese, but he also had a degree in physics.

The rest related mostly to the suspicious radiation levels at Reactor Four. Beyond that, there wasn’t a lot. Despite him getting shot with a crossbow, nearly drowned, and thrown in the back of a vehicle, they didn’t seem much further along than when Klein had first called.