“Yeah.” At this hour—Jesus, one-thirty-seven—one syllable was the best he could muster. “Verify your identity, please, sir,” a voice said from the other side. “Excuse me?” “Sir, I need you to verify your identity before I can continue.” Jonathan shook his head to rattle the sleep from his synapses. “You called me. Who do you think it is?” “Sir, we can play these games all night, but it’s a waste of time. I have orders to follow.” He sounded young. “Who is this?” Jonathan pressed. “Sir, it’s late for me, too, okay? Must we make this more difficult than necessary? I need to confirm your identity.” Jonathan sat up in his bed and turned the switch on the nightstand lamp. “This is Jonathan Grave,” he said. “Thank you. Next, I need your address and date of birth.” Finally, this was beginning to make sense. He was about to receive intelligence data from someone who had no business giving it to him. He gave the caller both bits of information. “Excellent,”
