I stood up and walked to the small desk in the corner of the bedroom.

The desk drawer had been smashed, but my secondary laptop, a ruggedized military-grade machine, was still in its hidden sleeve behind the radiator.

They had searched the desk, but they hadn’t searched the dusty gap behind the old steam pipes.

I pulled the laptop out and set it on the kitchen counter, next to the mess of flour and water.

I booted the system.

The screen glowed blue in the dark kitchen.

I plugged the silver drive into the side port.

The decryption prompt appeared, a blinking cursor waiting for the cipher.

My father had taught me the key when I was twenty.

It was the coordinates of our old cabin in Maine, combined with his service number.

My fingers flew across the keyboard.

The drive hummed, the sound loud in the quiet apartment.

A progress bar filled slowly.

Ten percent.

Twenty.

I looked back toward the open front door.

The hallway outside was silent, but the tape on the lobby door meant someone had planned a quick exit.