Byron Kowalski was told to await a very special customer. He hated working here, but due to transgressions in a previous life, he was sent here to repay a debt. Byron thought of the woman who stole his heart, he longed to be with her again. Someday, my love.

He looked out the office window at the onslaught of the storm—one of several that had been pelting the region with rain, hail, and snow. His boss, Devin, put special protocols in place when important visitors visited the helicopter platform; unfortunately for Byron, however, Devin was visiting Istanbul.

The door to the main office opened, and a tall bearded man stepped inside. As the man hung his overcoat on a nearby rack, Byron thought he looked like a Wall Street banker: very much out of place on this rig. Better not screw this up. It’s the Sultan, he thought.

“Greetings, sir,” Byron said.

Byron didn’t know how to react with such important clients, so he stood up and straightened himself.

“At ease,” the Sultan said.

The Sultan produced a large metal flash drive with a keypad. He stood there for a long moment. After several seconds, Byron remembered the authentication procedure required when logging any data to the deep storage archive. After rummaging in the desk, he found what he was looking for: a large metal box with several connectors.

The Sultan handed the device to Byron.

“Just a moment, sir. The authentication process may take a minute,” Byron said.

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“Take your time,” the Sultan replied.

Byron nodded.

The Sultan was only a few years older than Byron, but he looked and acted much older.

Byron turned on the device, and several LED lights illuminated. There weren’t screens of any kind—just a series of numbers and LEDs.

“Code?” Byron asked.

“Five-three-eight-five-zero-eight,” the Sultan said.

“Thumb prints? It’s part of the biometric process,” Byron said.

Byron wiped a scanning area beside the keypad.

“Of course.” The Sultan placed his right thumb on the scanning area.

Byron entered the code on the pad, and then inserted the USB device into the open slot on the box. The LED lights on the device illuminated red. He tapped in a series of numbers on the device. After a few minutes, all the LED lights turned green.

“I have made your deposit,” Byron said.

“This data needs to enter deep storage immediately,” the Sultan said.

“Confirmed. Data entered the secure storage archive. No online access is available.”

The Sultan nodded and turned to leave—but the exit was blocked by a tall, well-dressed, middle-aged man.

“Excuse me, sir,” the Sultan said.

“My apologies. I didn’t want to interrupt your exchange, so I stayed back to maintain your privacy,” the man said as he stepped aside.

The Sultan nodded as he grabbed his coat and took his leave.

“How can I help you, sir?” Byron said to the newcomer.

The tall man paused, and then gave Byron a long, appraising look. He hung his coat and stepped up to the counter to meet Byron.

“You can help the same way you always have, Byron. I need information.”

Byron stuttered as he spoke. “What . . . information?” Byron said as he looked around the room.

“You can start by telling me who that was.”

“I’m not allowed to discuss other clients—”

“Stop. You would do well to remember who you are really reporting to,” the man said.

Byron didn’t look the man.

“Yes, Jerri—”

“No spoken names here, Byron. If you like, I can always put you back in the pit where I found you.”

“No . . . sir,” Byron said in a weak voice.

The man smiled.

Byron wrote something down then handed it to the man, who snatched it out of his hand.

“See? I knew you could be reasonable,” the man said as he left Byron to his thoughts.