In his day your name was the city where you were assigned and so on file he’s Brandenburg, last of his kind, long since retired into legend. She wouldn’t have known his face, but he showed up in the safehouse with supernatural ease and gave a one-time passphrase, unused for fifty years.

“Whatever you need,” she says.

“Just one job. Finding an asset for an old friend.” He doesn’t smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“All right,” she says, waking her laptop, “I assume you got nothing in the database?”

He looks at her steadily. “The what now?”