The tech was a young guy named Kam. He copied the Killswitch IP address into his own tracer. Pressed a button and studied the screen. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “I’ve dealt with this program before.”
Windermere grinned at Stevens. “Finally,” she said. “Something’s going right.”
“What’s your bet?” said Stevens. “Where do you think our guy’s located?”
Stevens nodded. “I figure O’Brien’s a Philadelphia local. That’s the kid. But what about our mystery accomplice?”
Windermere thought about it. “His plates looked like Virginia,” she said. “And Triple A Industries has a P.O. box in Richmond. Guess that makes sense to me.”
“Sure,” Stevens said. “As long as we’re guessing, I’m saying San Diego.”
“San Diego?” Windermere frowned. “We have no evidence whatsoever that Killswitch has ever seen San Diego.”
“I know, I just figure this guy’s unpredictable. I’ll give you whatever odds you want we don’t find him in Richmond.”
“You’re on. What are we betting?”
“Dinner.”
“If he turns up in Richmond, you buy me dinner?”
“That’s right. Anywhere else, and you’re buying.”
“I thought you said San Diego.”
“Just a wild guess,” Stevens said, grinning. “He turns up in San Diego, you’re buying me the whole restaurant.”
Kam swore behind them. Stevens and Windermere turned to find him staring at his computer screen, shaking his head. “What’s the deal?” said Windermere. “Where’s our IP address now?”
Kam held up his hands, palms skyward. “I beat the IP cloaker,” he said. “Traced the address to a virtual private network. Beat the VPN no problem, but now this.” He gestured at the screen. “I don’t think I can beat this.”
Windermere looked at the screen. Found a very angry-looking message from the Department of Defense. Confidential, it read. Password protected. Access denied. Windermere frowned. “What the hell is this?”
“Defense Department,” said Kam. “Either your guy’s an elite hacker or this IP address is originating from somewhere inside the DoD network.”
“Shit.” Stevens rubbed his face. “Can you beat it?”
Kam snorted. “If I could, I wouldn’t be working here,” he said. “I’d be on a beach somewhere or in jail.” He paused. “Probably in jail.”
Windermere looked up and met Stevens’s eyes. “Nothing’s ever easy,” she said. “Not with this case.”
“So, what?” said Stevens. “We get in touch with the Defense Department. See if they’ll let us look around.”
“And if not?”
He shrugged. “We turn off the computers,” he said. “Find this guy the old-fashioned way.”