"We're looking at all of the projects that Rachel Kirby's computer network was involved with. Yours is probably the most interesting."
"I'd say it's the least interesting."
"Why do you say that?"
Norton smiled. "Ninety-nine percent of what the NSA does is sift information. Receipts, tax returns, various forms of boring communication… "
"E-mail? Private telephone conversations?" Gonzalez asked.
"I can't discuss that, but we do nothing illegal. One way to keep this country safe is to analyze the information flying around. We caught a terrorist last year only because he was picked up on a DUI in Phoenix. Our computers logged the arrest and matched it to a raft of suspicious activities. If we had been a few minutes slower, he would have posted bail and been on his way. And the Golden Gate Bridge might not be standing today."
"I heard about that," Finley said. "But what specifically are you using Rachel Kirby's network for?"
"It's not one thing. Or even five or a hundred things. It's bits and pieces of everything. It's no secret that the NSA already has a massive computer system. But the amount of information available to us is increasing exponentially—I'm talking traffic cams, newsgroup postings, you name it. We're struggling to keep up. We invest in systems like Ms. Kirby's to help shoulder some of the load while we get our internal systems up to speed."
Finley nodded. "Is there anything in your projects that might make Ms. Kirby a target?"
"Absolutely not."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." He paused. "Why are you being so per sis tent, Detective?"
"It's suddenly become apparent that we're dealing with a very sophisticated attacker. Our shooter managed to squeeze off a shot in the middle of a busy college campus and get away without anyone seeing him. Plus, he managed to cover his tracks by erasing data only from the cameras that might have caught him."
"What?"
"That's not the kind of thing that just any nutjob campus shooter could pull off. Seems like a pretty sophisticated trick. Are you sure you can't help us?"
"No. Sorry. Are we finished?"
"For now. Have a nice day, Mr. Norton. We'll be in touch."
Norton walked out of the plaza.
Gonzalez turned to Finley. "Why did you tell him about the camera feeds?"
"I had a hunch. I wanted to see his reaction."
"There wasn't much of a reaction. He's a stoneface."
"There was enough," Finley murmured, his gaze on Norton's retreating figure. "Yes, there was enough."
* * *
Tavak and Rachel Kirby boarded a flight for Las Vegas this morning," Sorens told Dawson when he answered the phone.
"They picked up a package at a train station last night, but Medelin didn't know what was in it."
"Tell him to find out."
"I can't do that." Sorens paused. "I haven't heard from Medelin since he called me from Gare du Nord station last night. I haven't been able to reach him. I flew to Paris myself to keep an eye on Tavak."
Dawson muttered a curse. "I thought you said Medelin was good."
"He is good. You said you wanted Tavak dead. Medelin probably tried to obey orders. Tavak is no pushover."
No, Dawson had seen Tavak in action, and he was a lethal son of a bitch.
"Do you want me to stay here?" Sorens asked.
"Why would you stay there? Get a flight to Las Vegas. Someone has to keep an eye on Tavak."
"Right. I just thought—"
"Don't think. Obey orders. I have to go to Kentucky myself."
"Mills?"
"He wants to see me." And Mills had issued a royal command to come to Mills Pharmaceutical, and the bastard expected him to jump. "Keep me informed." He hung up.
LAS VEGAS MCCARRAN AIRPORT
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
"So what's your plan?" Tavak asked, as he and Rachel sidestepped a group of tourists at the airline terminal. "Or am I permitted to ask? You've noticed I've contained my curiosity with admirable restraint."
She shrugged. "Same as it's always been. To get Demanski to give up a major chunk of his company's computing power willingly. The NSA is going to start pressuring me soon to be back up to full capacity, and I'm not taking cycles away from any of my research projects."
"And you're working all out to be able to do a little pressuring yourself. Fascinating."
"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."
"Oh, I am. What I want to know is how are you going to get Demanski to give you access to his system? I've heard he's not exactly a charitable man."
"You're right. But he can be, if he knows his generosity will benefit him directly."
"But unless you've become an elected official since we left Paris, you're not in a position to grant him gaming licenses or tax breaks."
"I'll give him something better."
"Like what?"
Rachel didn't answer as they walked past a row of jangling slot machines.
"No answer?"
"This has nothing to do with that tablet. You're on a need-to-know basis right now."
"What if I suddenly decided to put you on a need-to-know basis? Now that we're back in the United States, what if I just walked away?"
His tone was mocking, but there was also curiosity in his expression. She had become aware that both that mockery and curiosity were dominant characteristics. He was always going one step further to see how she would react. "That wouldn't be smart. The only reason you're a free man right now is that I provided the NSA data analysts with info they needed to know you weren't cracking into their classified files. If I hadn't, you'd either still be in an interrogation room in Egypt or in a federal penitentiary."
"Go on. I like it when you show your teeth. It's one of the most interesting sides to you, Rachel."
"You want teeth? Just know that it would take me about ten minutes to write a few lines of code that would convince the NSA that you were fishing for classified information relating to their counterterrorism activities."
He studied her expression. "You'd do it."
"I have to keep you close. You'd find it difficult to get anywhere with that kind of heat on you."
Tavak shook his head. "My, my. You're one tough customer. Okay, I'll let you keep me as close as you want. I guess I need to stay on your good side."
"Join the club." Simon smiled as he approached them and extended his hand. "I'm Simon Monteith. You're the famous John Tavak?"
Tavak shook his hand. "I try very hard not to be famous."
"So I've learned from reading your dossier. You've failed miserably."
Rachel motioned for them to keep walking. "Did you round up our team, Simon?"
"Yes. I have six of the university's best and brightest students holed up in a suite at Bally's."
"How much did you have to tell them?"
"Surprisingly little. When I told them it was a special project of yours, they were all pretty much on board. I guess your name looks good on a resume."
Rachel shrugged. "It also didn't hurt they were getting a free, all-expenses-paid weekend in Vegas."
"Well, there's that, too."
"Would either of you care to tell me what's going on?" Tavak asked.
"Later." Rachel turned back to Simon. "Have you been running the drills I e-mailed for them?"
"Almost nonstop. They can do everything you're looking for. Val really wanted to be part of this, but you said you wanted them to be inconspicuous. I had to explain to her that she's way too hot."