Conroy took a sip of chilled water, ice clinking in the glass. His headache remained, a low throb at the base of his skull that spiked when he nodded at the screen. "Their progress is remarkable when you consider everything. Look at the boy. What is it about the letter that makes him so desperate to deliver? He’s nothing but a bad attitude in a big jacket. Tell me, Michael, what would you do with him?"