Parkerson sat back in his chair. “There,” he said. “That’ll teach you.”
He studied his computer screen, trying to make sense of what had happened. The FBI had found its way into Killswitch. And they’d done it from Miami, through Comm. How?
Parkerson opened another Internet window. Did a Google search for the Cameron Ansbacher murder. Found what he was looking for on the Miami Herald’s home page: “FBI Questions Suspect in Marina Shooting.”
No names. But it had to be Comm. The Feds had caught up to him somehow, and he’d told them everything. Even logged them in to the Killswitch database. So the FBI knew. What did that mean?
They wouldn’t be able to trace Killswitch to this office. He’d made damn sure of that. No way they could connect him to the project at all. They’d accessed the database, but he’d made sure to wipe out every one of Comm’s records immediately after he’d received final payment. The FBI agents would have found themselves staring at a blank screen.
Security was compromised. It was a scary notion. But ultimately the FBI couldn’t have gained much from Comm’s little bird act. They knew about Killswitch. Knew that it existed. But they wouldn’t know where it came from, or who it planned to target next.
Jamie knocked and looked into the office. “Hey,” she said, frowning, “the board’s looking for you. Everything cool?”
Parkerson logged out of the database. Disabled the VPN and turned off his screen. He smiled at Jamie. “Everything’s fine. Just a little emergency. Kid stuff.”
Jamie’s frown softened. “Oh,” she said. “Is everything okay?”
“Is now.” He grinned at her and stood. “I’d better get back to that meeting.”