Could Mack be right? Was she blaming Evan for something that wasn’t his fault at all?
No. No.A thousand times no. He was responsible for the plan. For crafting an effective suspect apprehension op, and that didn’t happen. All because of some drinks with the guys.
She eased out a long breath and shoved the memory back into the recesses of her brain.
“You’re worried about the investigation,” Evan said.
She looked up to see his concerned gaze pinned on her and chose not to share her thoughts, but instead simply looked at him.
“I get it,” he said. “I’ve worked terrorism full time, and there are things I haven’t begun to experience. Just when you think you’ve figured these guys out, they get more and more sophisticated.”
She decided to go with his assumption about her mood, asit gave them something concrete to talk about. “Especially in computer programming and electronic communications.”
“I know no one has proved terrorists communicate via video games, but it would be great if these guysdiduse the gaming systems,” Evan said. “And it would be nice if video-console makers could find a way to monitor the chats. Maybe then we’d finally know if terroristsareusing them.”
She’d once thought the same thing, but it was an impossibly big problem and a naïve thought. “All the violent games make it hard to distinguish between game talk and actual conversations. And with roughly thirty million PlayStation Fours alone out there, you can imagine the size of the problem.”
He frowned. “I guess it makes sense that console makers can’t even begin to deal with chat monitoring.”
She nodded. “I’m most interested in party chat held outside the games. It involves a much smaller set of users and could be monitored more easily, but it would still be a big number.”
“Even so, isn’t it all encrypted?”
“Yes, but it’s data in surface-level environments, and access could be made through back doors.” Their discussion had gotten too off point for any meaningful dialogue, and she needed to bring it back into focus. “At this point, we’re better off with our analysts monitoring the social-media accounts your MIT friend located.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “What’s it like to have people at your disposal all the time?”
“Honestly,” she said, “I haven’t thought about it in years. It just is and has been this way since the team was formed. We don’t have unlimited resources, but we do have deep pockets. Very deep ones.” She smiled at him.
He gave her one of his lopsided smiles in return. Her heart cartwheeled, and she fought hard to keep her cool and not do something stupid like trace his scar. Thankfully the flight attendant made her way down the aisle to refill their cups. Kiley gripped hers like a lifeline to wakefulness.
Evan opened a folder on his tray. “I printed out your Montgomery Three case file to read if I have time on the flight.”
Kiley still didn’t know if they should have let him into their inner circle on this investigation, but as she opened her mouth to say something, her phone rang. The name Zoey Ryden appeared in caller ID, and Kiley quickly answered the call from the top FBI electronics tech. “Zoey. Good to hear from you.”
“I’ve been working the PlayStation game consoles for your investigation,” she said, direct and to the point as usual, “and I have the login names and passwords.”
Talk about a timely call. “Can you email them to me?”
“You got it. FYI, these guys played The Witcher Three for hours and hours. Like nonstop for days on end.”
Not a surprise. Most role-playing games had heroes, but not The Witcher. The main character, Geralt, was a Witcher—someone who was both feared and needed by everyone from the aristocrats to the villagers. Being detested by most people gave him complete freedom to treat them however he wanted. Something she could see terrorists totally embracing.
Kiley thanked Zoey and sent a text to Eisenhower requesting the 24/7 resources needed to monitor the logins. He replied with an affirmative, and she texted Mack to locate agents to handle the monitoring.
“A lead?” Evan asked.
“Maybe,” she replied. Hoping for once this information actually produced something actionable, she shared it with him.
The flight attendant interrupted with her official announcements and closed the front door. After she came down the aisle and collected their cups, Kiley got out Evan’s report. “I want to read your info on Waleed, and then we’ll look at scene photos together, okay?”
He nodded and flipped open the Montgomery Three folder.
As she read, she was acutely aware of his presence next to her, yet it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. A sense of comraderyand the sharing of a singular goal made it feel more like the days before Olin’s death when they’d spent hours working that investigation together. Some of the happiest hours of her life.
Kiley sat back to think about what she’d read in the report on Waleed and sip the rich, dark brew the flight attendant delivered the moment they hit cruising altitude.
Evan rested his cup on the tray where the Montgomery Three report lay open, revealing notes he’d jotted in the margins. “There’s no description of the abductor in your case files.”
