“Okay, so it’s like I said on scene. I’ve broken down the security—and it’s mega good. But they sanded off the layers bit by bit. Spent like maybe twenty hours since December wearing it down—that’s just on-site time. Who does that on a residence? Even a nice one?”
“Somebody who wants in bad enough.”
“Yeah, that. A lot of work, a lot of time. On the comms inside, they switched them so the residence got incoming, but nobody could do outgoing.”
“In case one of the captured got to a ’link. Smart. Keep the incoming,” Eve continued, “so they could monitor, deal with anything over the time period that might bring somebody around if unanswered.”
“You got that. They did get a couple. One tag from the wife’s mom on Saturday—and they texted back how she and the kid were going to the vids and shopping and blah-blah because the husband was locked into work all day. Husband got two tags—work related. They answered one from his admin—probably because it sounded like he’d just keep tagging. Texted him to—”
“‘Chill,’” Eve finished. “They were locked on. The admin gave me that.”
“That’s it. What they did with the second, and to the system—smart, too—is programmed an auto response on how he was switched off until Monday morning. And Sunday night, they texted the contact on the wife’s ’link for the principal at the school saying the kid was sick, so she was keeping her home Monday and sticking with her.”
“So nobody from the school would wonder or tag or go by on Monday when they didn’t show up. The domestic doesn’t come in on weekends, on Mondays, so they’re clear. But they had to know the schedule to make it work. They watched the house enough to know the routines. What about the house comps?”
“That’s on McNab.”
“Yo,” he said, scooting his bony butt onto a stool and swiveling it around. “The wife’s e’s have a lot of school stuff, administrative like, and correspondence with other administrators, teachers, some parents. Some way bitchy parents, just fyi. She handled them smooth, it strikes me. Stuff for her kid. More correspondence—her family, some pals. Nothing hinky. She kept the household accounts—and nothing out of line there, either. His, work stuff. Most of the work over the last couple months is the flashy deal for the merger. Slogans, digital ads, screen ads, and one’s like a mini-vid. Pretty frosty. Work correspondence, calendars—work and personal. He did a lot of notes to self in his memo book. Lots of photos on his and hers. Mostly family, vacations, holidays. She does some social media, but he didn’t.
“The kid?” McNab shrugged. “Schoolwork, a few games. Parental controls. Her tablet’s full of books. Must be a big reader, and she leans toward science and science fiction. Social media blocked. Any texting had to go through the parental account. I’m still going down layers, but nothing’s under any so far. SNNTS. Situation Normal Nothing to See.”
“I want anything on the merger—the ads, the mail, notes, all of it, copied to my units. Home and office.”
“Can do.”
“Feeney?”
“I started with Rogan’s office e’s. Same as McNab on them. Merger data is priority. Nothing out of line, no correspondence that doesn’t check out, no tags out or in office that doesn’t jibe. Did you see his office memo book?”
“Yeah.”
“So you know he planned a party for his team, buying flowers for the wife, taking her and the kid on a long weekend. The guy didn’t leave work on Friday planning to blow himself up on Monday.”
“No. I just said exactly that to Whitney.”
“If anybody tried hacking in to access data, it doesn’t show. Moved to his admin’s next. I gotta say, the kid needs a life, and he oughta make a move on this Kimmi he’s got the hots for.”
“Really?”
“Comes over,” Feeney said with a shrug. “But he spends most of his time at work or thinking about work. Few personal e-mails—a few friends, his mom—in which he usually mentions this Kimmi, but mostly work-oriented. Not a single damn game. No photos. A lot of reminders to remind his boss, calendars—his and Rogan’s contacts—office, personal—Rogan’s. Birthdays and anniversaries listed in the personal sections. No sign of hacking, no contacts that read off. And he had a reminder to buy this Kimmi flowers and Rogan a bottle of wine over the weekend for congrats on the campaign. The kid wasn’t just not up to no good, he was up to too much good, you ask me. Needs a life outside work.”
“Kimmi visited him in the hospital, brought him flowers.”
“Maybe he’ll make a move there. Anyhow, I started on the big guy’s—Pearson’s. So far, nothing off, but I’ve got a ways to go.”
“I’m working on getting you toys from Econo.”
Feeney puffed out his cheeks. “I’m gonna need more boys. You’re looking inside job?”
“I’m just looking. I’ve got a briefing downstairs. And Roarke’s coming in—not for EDD,” she said quickly. “I need somebody who knows what the fuck about big business mergers.”
“If he wants to play after the what the fuck, I’ll take him. I’m gonna walk you out. Fizzies?” he asked his geeks.
“Solid,” they said in unison.
“So,” Feeney began as they walked out. “You know that Oscar deal’s coming up.”
“Oscar who?”