“Here,” the clerk said, shoving the logbook at Travis. “There’s his name and info.”

Travis ran his finger along the entry. “Hirosaki Nagashima.”

“Like I told you,” said the clerk. “Asian guy. Sounds Japanese, I think.”

“And you didn’t see anything unusual about that name,” Travis sighed.

“Other than the fact that it’s Japanese?”

Travis slammed the book. “Other than the fact that our saboteur signed in with a name that’s a spoonerism of ‘Hiroshima Nagasaki?’ He was counting on having a dumb-ass American behind the counter, and by the sound of it you were lucky to finish fourth grade!”