Page 92 of Talk to Me

On day four, however, with everything up and running, I triple-checked the firewalls before I fired off the first set of bots. They would skip trace across several servers, laying false trails for the information gathering.

If they were tracked by another program, their server hopping would give us another leg up on avoiding identification. Most programs would give up after the first server hop. The more specialized would begin to error out at three.

Government programs needed five or more. Even my trackers ran into issues after five servers. Course, you also risked information degradation with that many handoffs. It was why I used bots. Break the info down into smaller chunks, reduce the risk of corruption.

Reduced, not eliminated.

This was a test run. I was going after the military contractors that McQuade, Locke, and Remy identified. In addition to being a part of the black bag team that scooped me up, they worked for the highest bidder. They also had a bone to pick with McQuade.

Their business, like any good off the books operation, was highly compartmentalized. It also meant that their systems weren’t all connected twenty-four seven. Instead, they opened up burst uploads to sync up their databases. Good plan, especially if you only did it intermittently.

In theory anyway.

Still left me with a route in. The best part of bots, you could send them out to “sniff” the information packets. They would find where the “pops” came from. Then they could be ready to act when the next “pop” happened.

Like I said, it was good security, in theory. But if you were familiar with the types of protocols they would use and how they would write them? Well, then it was like baiting a hook before you cast the line. You just needed the right bait.

Pretty sure my grandfather wasn’t talking about computers or the internet, but the principle applied. Movement behind me served as a reminder that I wasn’t alone. The guys kept their distance once I’d begun writing code, installing it, and building the tools I would need.

Not everything was proprietary, but a lot of it was. It was easier to make sure no one could trace my tools if I developed them on my own. Also, I was familiar with the trap and traces we used to run from my days in the department.

Chances were high they’d brought in someone else after me. It was also equally as likely that they’d worked to not only improve on the tools I’d left them, but retrofit them. Coding was pretty personal. You could learn a lot about a person based on how they coded.

How their mind worked.

What options they worried about.

What signatures they left behind.

What flaws appeared in their code.

Everyone had flaws. If you could find a pattern, you could find their code. If you could find their code, there was a good chance you could track them.

The next set of bots I dropped out there would be looking for my own code. Unless they’d rewritten it wholly, I still had some stuff out there.

Once the last of the bots were released, a timer began running in the upper right corner of my screen. Fingers hovering over the keys, I tracked the information beginning to feed back into my system from the first skimming attempt.

The bots were already returning. By the time it zeroed out, I severed the main connection between my machine and the internet. Isolating the data onto a partition with no access to anything at all.

Now my decryption programs could go to work, break it down and see what the first skim attempt netted us.

“Well?” Locke said after another long, pregnant pause. I could practically feel the curiosity swirling around him. It brushed over me like a breeze.

“Not sure yet,” I admitted. The faintest of trembles revealed itself in my fingers and I had to curl them into my palms. The decryption would take as long as it took. The machine was a muscly little thing, but it didn’t have near the processing power of the monster I’d had at home.

“No?”

Was he disappointed? I twisted to glance up at him. He wore a long-sleeved Henley in a deep cream color that gave him a more tanned appearance. He wore it untucked from the faded denim jeans.

Everything about him was so utterly human and at odds with the cool thief who took insane risks. The dark hair he normally kept short but currently brushed his collar, was tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it betrayed an agitation he never showed on the job. While he’d been clean shaven this morning, there was a shadow of growth on his cheeks.

I couldn’t deny that this Locke fascinated me. The other Locke, the all business one who rubbed elbows easily with aristocracy seemed almost too aloof. Too professional. Too unflappable. Or maybe it was the mannerisms. He lacked this Locke’s warmth and ease.

Frankly, I liked Remy and McQuade here too. They were still themselves, but—more casual versions. No, casual wasn’t the right word. They were just—easier versions maybe. I really lacked the right descriptions.

They were more than the men I’d talked through everything on the phone. They were just more.

“Patch?” Locke frowned, concern evident. Oh, I hadn’t answered him.