The ordinary world often feels exotic to him, and he guesses that’s how to explain his strange affection for the windmill. Every now and then he’ll drive to a fast-food restaurant on the outskirts of La Jolla and eat a meal alone, his security detail sitting unobtrusively at a nearby table, as he silently marvels at the speed and ease of the experience, the lack of decisions required. Order, sit, eat, leave. Nothing like the highly choreographed formal dinners of his childhood, or business banquets with as many agendas as courses.

Footsteps approach. As instructed, Scott Durham’s escorted Bailey here under the shelter of an umbrella.

It would be easy to blame Bailey’s current hairstyle on the stormy weather. In the hands of a professional, Bailey’s mop of sandy-blond hair could be something special, but he always wears it brushed forward on his head like he’s hiding under it. He’s got two fashion styles—bedraggled hitchhiker and parachutist. Tonight, he looks ready to skydive. His long-sleeve shirt and pants are made of the same vaguely shiny coffee-colored material that bags around his small frame, and if the pants have pockets they’re well hidden.

Bailey’s personal choices usually have one thing in common—ease of movement. Not surprising for a kid who spent years as an international fugitive. Still, the idea that he and manly man Luke came from the same DNA contains as many startling revelations about the human body as Charlotte Rowe.

Once Scott’s departed, Cole asks Bailey, “Are you ever going to let me do something with your hair?”

“No.”

“Just a brush, maybe.”

“I don’t let strange men brush my hair.”

“I was offering to give you one, not use it on you.”

“My hair’s cool, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. Status report, please.”

“Your super-secret ground team in Amarillo is on the ready. Looks like our connection to them’s secure, so no sign your business partners are onto us.”

“Good work.”

“I know. I’m trying to be a good boy for once. Following orders. Not breaking too many federal laws for my own personal pleasure. Basically, I’m not having any more fun at all. Just for you.”

“Good.”

In the pause that follows, water drips somewhere in the vast hangar in a place they can’t see.

“With one tiny exception,” Bailey adds.

“Oh, dear.”

“I kinda told Luke you brought Noah here.”

“That was really not what I told you to do.”

“I know, but you didn’t tell me he was coming, and I’m supposed to be your secret buddy on this operation so I kinda got my feelings hurt, OK? Sorry.”

“You have feelings?” Cole asks.

“Don’t go seeing devious operators everywhere you look just because you like committing crimes against nature with one.”

“Nature is just a collection of easily manipulated chemical reactions.”

And I haven’t been to bed with that particular devious operator in years.

“Yeah, you should put that on one of your ads,” Bailey says.

“We do,” Cole says. “We just find different ways of saying it each time.”

“Noah sure manipulates your chemical reactions. That’s for sure.”

“Bailey—”

“Seriously, why’d you bring him here?” Bailey asks.

“I need Noah here to find out who he’ll be more loyal to if the shit hits the fan. Me or my business partners.”

“That makes sense.”

“I’m glad you can see the logic.”

“And that was big for you, so . . . thanks.”

“I’m sorry, big?”

“Giving a direct answer to a direct question. That’s not usually your style, so I just want to give you props. That’s all.”

“Props. I see.”

“What? Why are you pissed?”

“I’m not pissed; I’m just curious.”

“About what?”

“They say the Germans have a word for everything, so I’m wondering if they have a word for being condescended to on the topic of personal authenticity by someone who uses aliases to hack other people’s personal accounts for fun.”

“Sort of fun. The joy’s been going out of it ever since I had to do it on the run.”

“Did you look at the letter again?” Cole asks, getting back to business.

“I’ve looked at that letter a billion times since we screen capped it, and I don’t have anything new. I’m sorry. We got what we got from it. Maybe that’s enough. The postmark was Amarillo. And the date on the top was the date Cyrus Mattingly started trolling movie theaters. The rest could be nonsense.”

“It can’t be nonsense.”

Bailey shakes his head. “Well, it’s personal and that’s the problem. I ran it through every search engine I could, and there were no connections to symbolic references. If it’s a code, it’s their code, and I don’t know enough about either of them to break it. Mattingly barely has a life outside his job, present psychofuckery excepted. And the other person? We’ve got no clue who they are. Sorry, man, but these two guys are analog killers. They might not know we’re watching them, but they think somebody is, and they’re off the grid because of it. So how about you just give me credit for noticing the letter in the first place? There was about six million hours of footage on his living room camera.”

“You’re not in federal prison for the crimes you committed before you met me. That is credit, Bailey.”

“The point is I’m a hacker. Not a code breaker.”

“You’re not a hacker,” Cole says.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Now you’re just being insulting.”

“Don’t get me wrong. You’re very talented, and you can hack with the best of them, but what you do . . . it isn’t just hacking. It’s something else.”

“There’s a more politically correct term I’m not aware of?” Bailey asks.

“For as long as I’ve run this company, I’ve had some of the best cybersecurity specialists on my payroll, and not one of them could hop in and out of a giant telecom company on a moment’s notice. Somehow you do it all the time. Because you’re not hacking them. You’re going through doors that have been left open for you. You know where they are because someone’s told you where they are. And that, my friend, is why you work for me now.”

Bailey sticks his lip out like a pouting baby. “You don’t care about me. You just care about my friends.”

“I care about both, but your friends scare me.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re completely invisible, and no one’s invisible to someone as rich as me. No one.”

“Well,” Bailey says after an uncharacteristically thoughtful pause, “they support everything we’re doing.”

“Good. Then let’s support each other by not telling Luke our secrets.”

“Fine.”

“Except for one.”

Bailey’s eyes light up. The only thing he loves more than discovering secrets on hard drives is sharing them, apparently.