Calculated in Death (In Death 36)

“One moment, Lieutenant, if you will.” Roarke pushed off the side wall. “There’s an after-party at Around the Park. Once said asshole is where he belongs, you’re all very welcome to attend. Again, Lieutenant, if you will.”

She could hardly won’t, when he pinned her that way. “It’s your party,” she said, then muttered about spoiling cops under the hoots and applause.

“Settle down. Get back to work. You want a party? Don’t screw this up.”

As cops headed out, McNab bounced in.

“Got him!” He punched a fist, gave Roarke a huge fellow geek grin. “I had to route it the way we said,” he began. “His ISP and the echo spiked, then did the flutter. But once we filtered out the—”

“McNab,” Eve interrupted. “Bottom line it. Now.”

“Sir. Tribeca. Damn juicy neighborhood, too. I did a sat-scan once I had the location, and got a bird-bead on it. It’s a big-ass brownstone. It looks like he may have the whole deal. Top to bottom. I did a resident search, too, and only got one. He’s using the name James T. Kirk.”

At Roarke’s quick laugh, McNab grinned again. “Yeah, I know, right? Kinda rocking.”

“What?” Eve demanded. “What’s kinda rocking?”

“It’s the name of the captain on Star Trek,” Roarke explained. “Classic old screen and vids. Classic science fiction. A hacker with humor, and some taste.”

“Yeah, but I think he should’ve gone for Chekov. He was more of an e-guy as the nav. Or Sulu. He’s the helmsman, but—”

“Geeks,” Eve grumbled. “Peabody, I want an eight-man team including the geeks here. Give me the sat-scan, McNab, on screen.”

“You got it. Holy shit!” he said to Roarke. “We’re taking down The Enterprise.”

EVE STUDIED THE SATELLITE IMAGE.

“A lot of ways in and out. We’ll need imaging sensors to determine if he’s in there.”

“He’d be set up for that,” Roarke told her.

“Has to be.” Beside Roarke, McNab nodded. “Any kind of a probe, scan, snoop’s bound to set off an alert.”

“And likely a jam, divert and evade. Hacking’s his world,” Roarke explained. “He’d have programmed a system to block and disable any attempt to do the same to him. He’s good. He’ll have spent considerable time and money to be certain all his doors are bolted, all his windows latched and screened.”

“Is he better than you?”

Roarke shifted his gaze. “If you think using my ego will help you, you’re mistaken. Facts are facts.”

“True’s true, Dallas.” McNab’s hands slid into one of his countless pockets, jingled something inside. “The best hackers are paranoid because, hey, they know nothing’s beyond reach. If we try imagery or bypass, he’ll know.”

“And he very likely has a rat hole to bolt into,” Roarke added. “If he’s in there, you won’t get to him by conventional means. Unless we have time. We’d find a way around his system eventually. Nothing’s beyond reach,” he repeated to McNab and made the e-man grin like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh man, would that rock it out? Hack the Mole. We could run a hypo-analysis of his system factoring known and spec data.”

“Yes. Extrapolate from that, reform, test the layers—in and ex. Play a dual and diversion.”

“Man, I love that shit.” McNab danced his fingers in the air, boogied his hips.

Considering, enjoying, Roarke rocked back on his heels as he studied the image. “We have samplings, the fingerprint, and the exterior views here. It’s certainly doable.”

“How long?” Eve demanded.

“Oh, with some luck and another two skilled men, maybe a week. With more luck, three days.”

“Crap. Does it look like I have a week?” She paced away, then back. “I’ve got the resources of the entire EDD, I’ve got the ridiculous resources of the biggest, slickest, most conniving e-geek on or off planet—”

“Thanks, darling.”