The fifth-of-seven came in through the eastern port at oh-four-twenty in the morning, three days late, in a fishing boat she had bought outright and would burn in the harbor before sunrise.
She walked off the dock with a single duffel bag and no insignia.
She was forty-six years old. She was thin in a way that suggested it was an operational choice, not a metabolic one. Her hair was gray at the temples and dark in the back, pulled into a low braid. She wore a long dark wax coat that hid the equipment underneath it. The Hacker had a file on her that was eleven megabytes and almost none of it was photographs.
Her name was Nadiah.
Caleb met her at a noodle stall two blocks from the port. She was eating when he arrived. She did not stand. She did not stop eating.
"Sit," she said.
He sat.
"Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
