The LED light was still blinking. He had not opened his latest messages. Comments from his blog came straight to his phone for moderation. His blog was popular and attracted hundreds of readers a day. That did not cause his anxiety.
Just this one reader.
Another alert for a comment awaiting moderation. There was no escaping this one. He had expected it to come in this morning. Not having to deal with it was a relieve but the anxiety built up during the afternoon.
Posting the comment was the signal, the acceptance of the terms. The IP address on the comment would tell him where his next message would be hidden. The exit link would tell him which paper to contact.
He had no choice.
He scanned over the lists of new emails until he found the one he had waited for. His fingers were drenched in sweat. They left swipe traces all over the screen.
He bent down to wipe the phone on his jeans. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a cop drinking coffee in his squat car. It could all be over in two minutes. He just had to show the cop his phone and the downloads.
He felt tears stinging in his eyes as he stood up straight again. He had no choice. They would find him. They would find them. All of them.
He scanned his email list again and scrolled down to the one comment he had to approve. Closing his eyes, he said a little prayer.