Sean notices. “You know your way around in there, huh?”

“You kidding? A layout this clean, a dummy could do this. Don’t tell the suits that, though. Be out of a job.” A conspiratorial wink — and Sean returns it, but wondering if it’s not offered with more seriousness than he’s letting on.

“Here,” says Randy. “Lemme show you.” The man beckons Sean closer, and points to the various parts inside, components linked by wires, circuit board lines. “This one’s the regulator. You modify wattage here. Expansion socket here. Pretty standard stuff. There’s another box at the top, same deal.” He sighs. “S’why the ladder.”

Sean stares up at the peak, still vanishing into a world of cloud and mist. “You really need to climb this thing?”

“Every month.”

“But the box right here...”

“Means jack all when you’re doing repairs on the antenna itself. You wanna make sure it’s working, you don’t need to be going back down to check.” Randy stares up at that second box, up the top of the tower, then takes a deep breath ahead of the climb he’ll soon perform. There’s nowhere to clip that safety gear until he’s over the ladder and within reach of the tower’s first set of pegs. Sean can’t blame him for being daunted.

But then the look changes to an expression that can only be seen as wistful admiration. “A damn shame, this one.”

“How’s that?”

“Look at the hardware behind her. The wattage. She’s built for more than the handful of pings she’s sending out. You know that’s all she does now, right? Base station for the network, pinging back and forth to make sure it’s all functioning? But telling you, could do some heavy duty broadcasting with this thing if you wanted. Back in the day that’s exactly what a tower like this would do, pumping out on all frequencies.” A sigh. “What a waste.”

“Then why’s it built to do more?”

“What about—”

“What about you stop with the twenty question freebies? You want the info, you set aside some evenings of bedtime reading. And I’m not a charity.”

Subtle as ever, Elias thought. But he let it slide. “Just tell me you’ve got more in there than just a family tree.”

“Everything you’ll need,” said the man, and he patted the briefcase in his lap with a tender gesture. Then he shook his head. “Environment’s going to hell, speaking of trees, and you’re sacrificing a forest for a case of printed copy. You see this weather? I hope this guy’s worth it.”

Elias ignored that. It was too hot for nonsense. Traces left by a digital footprint were too easily followed, and would end this project before it began. Printed material was better to hide and easy to destroy. And yes, he thought. This guy is most definitely worth it. The man then made a point of clearing his throat, and Elias did everything he could to not roll his eyes. That trademark anti-subtlety, he thought. Tact was certainly not a cog in this guy’s wheelhouse, but as long as the contents of that folder remained in his possession, he needed him on side.

Elias kicked out a blue sports bag from beneath the bench. He shuffled it over to the side and looked back out to the fountain, at two kids throwing up splashes of water, yelping with glee. To his side he sensed movement, heard a shuffle, a click. Then felt the placement of something shimmied against his side.

He knew what was there but also knew it’d be best if he didn’t pore through its contents now, not here. Stuff like this deserved a thorough look, and unlike his companion, he had something at least approaching tact. So he simply appreciated the presence of the briefcase against his side, and accompanied it with the man’s guarantee that everything he wanted was inside.

“Is it good?” said Elias.

“Is what good?”

“This, genius.” Elias gave the briefcase a backhand slap. “Your intel.” For his part, the man managed to look offended. “You can think as least of me as you like,” he said. “But you don’t get to question my work. It’s as good as you’ll get.”

“How’d you get it?” It was curiosity that made Elias ask, even though he knew it would never be answered.

The man smirked. “You don’t need to know.”

As he figured. That much was for the best, anyway. The less people involved, the better.

Beside him, the man stood. “I’ve got to get back to work,” he said. “Nice seeing you for the last time. If your paths happen to cross with a certain someone, I’m sure you’ll work something out.”

Elias rested one arm on the edge of the briefcase, enjoying its sensation further. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

The man tilted his head, confused, and then he noticed the pair of handcuffs in Elias’ hand. His fingers were laced through the metal chain, hanging the loops limp. The shine metal glinted in the sun. The man snatched the cuffs away and hitched them back in the empty leather case on his belt, its press-stud fastener uncoupled and open.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“I wish you’d keep a better eye on your gear,” said Elias. “Be thankful I didn’t take your piece.”

It was too easy, always too easy. Pickpocketing was a dare of risk versus reward, the thrill of a prize versus the danger of getting caught — but he was never caught. Most times, he just did it for fun. “Yeah, well.” The man donned his hat, and a speckle of afternoon sun glinted on the silver-shield badge above its peak, matching the badge on his police uniform. “Without law and order this place would fall apart.” He hitched his gun holster in place, and he grinned.

“Beth Golding?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Brian Hunter. Sergeant.” He added the last word almost as an afterthought, as if his uniform wasn’t enough of an indication of his role. “I’m sorry to bother you at this early hour.”

She had become largely immune to the sight of police officers; doing what she did, she felt none of the jolt that hit regular folks whenever a police car pulled up next to them at the lights, or crossed their path on foot — the sight alone enough to put a stab of law-abiding panic through the everyday routine. But the uniform at her home’s doorstep, this unfamiliar Sergeant, had Beth wondering what on earth she had done to warrant such a visit.

Still, she remained calm. “No bother. What can I do for you?”

“Perhaps it’s best if we talk outside?” He looked over her shoulder, at April, standing beyond and trying to appear as though she wasn’t hearing every word.

Beth stepped out onto the veranda, closing the door behind her. The morning air struck her skin, warm and new. Brian offered a smile, sensing Beth’s apprehensiveness. “Like I said, forgive the hour. But I was invited to introduce myself to you by Glenda Golding. I believe you know her?”

“My mother in law,” said Beth, and now it all made sense. Her mother in law, who had suggested over a dinner that had ended with Beth’s tears, that offering her services to the local branch of police would be good for her. She’d jumped on the small-town telegraph in an effort to get Beth get back on the horse — except this horse was a slow and sedate lug overdue for the glue factory.

“Glenda mentioned your work back in Sydney. The big smoke. Made a couple of calls and found you’re the best in the business.”

“I just helped where I could,” said Beth. And then, because it seemed rude not to, “If there’s anything I could do for you...”

“That’s what I very much hope, Mrs Golding.”

“Beth. Please.”

“Beth, then. I know we’re something of a smaller beast compared to what you’re used to, but that’s why I’d like to add you to what is our, ah, limited resource pool. I don’t expect there’ll be much to keep you up at night, but if the situation arises, it’d be great to know you were on hand.”

“Of course, Sergeant.”

“Brian’s fine. If we’re working together.” He extended a hand.