Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(32)

“This’ll take five minutes,” Derek said.

“Let’s grab a conference room,” Kelsey added, not giving him a chance to resist. She led them into a room across the hall, and Ben sank into a chair. Derek took the seat across from him.

“I’ve got a Web address,” Derek said, “and I need the physical locations of the computers that have posted comments on the site. That something you can do?”

Ben looked Derek over a moment, then put his computer bag on the table and pulled out a Mac. Derek rattled off the address.

“Lot of comments here,” Ben said as he scrolled through the site. “It’ll take some time.”

“But you can get the locations?”

“Sure, provided they didn’t use anonymizers. Even if they did, I can still get them, but it’s more work.”

Derek slid a slip of paper across the table. “I need everything starting with this comment. Especially anything posted from a Houston-area location.”

Kelsey leaned over Ben’s shoulder and read the screen, frowning. “Bathroom tile? What is this?”

“Reads like a coded message,” Ben said.

Derek nodded. “It was posted from a truck stop, possibly by a terrorist who’d just slipped through the border. I think he’s using this home-improvement blog to communicate with his cell.”

Ben leaned back in his chair. “A terrorist.”

“That’s right.”

“Why isn’t the FBI involved?”

“They are. I’m hoping you’re faster.”

“Um, hello?” Kelsey looked at Derek. “Terrorists who tile? What the hell is this?”

“The cyber-jihad,” Ben told her. “The Internet’s become a town square for terrorist orgs. They use it for clandestine communication, recruiting, reconnaissance, even psychological warfare—like when they executed that aid worker and posted the video.”

Derek clenched his teeth as he thought of Ana Hansson kneeling in the dirt. Hailey Gardner would have been next in line.

“You think this is some kind of initiation code?” Ben asked.

“Could be.”

Ben glanced at his watch. “Looks like my game just got canceled.”

Kelsey leaned closer and read the words aloud. “?‘Interesting Advice Here on Bathroom Tile/Shower. Ready to start Five by Fifteen room.’?” She looked at Derek. “Sounds awkward, but how is it a code?”

“Look at the caps,” Derek said. “Maybe it really means, ‘I Am Here at Buck’s Truck Stop. Ready at Five Fifteen,’ which is the exact time our tango was picked up by someone at that location. I want to know who that someone was.”

“Mohamed Atta used something similar,” Ben said. “He sent a coded e-mail to Al Qaeda right before the 9/11 attacks. But this could be one-way communication. So I can run this down for you, but there’s no guarantee anyone answered back.”

“I know,” Derek said. “Just do the best you can. Any comment that looks like a reply to the truck stop comment, or anything at all from the Houston area, could be from an accomplice. What I need is a location. Oh, and heads-up, you need to be stealth about it. Don’t leave any footprints on the site unless you want trouble with the feds.”

Ben smiled. “Stealth is my specialty.”

Derek glanced at Kelsey, who was giving him a worried look. It stayed on her face all the way down to the lobby, and he knew what she was going to say as she ushered him out the door.

“Thanks for the help,” he told her, trying to distract her. “Gage speaks highly of your people here.”

“This isn’t your problem anymore, Derek. If they’re in our borders, the FBI has jurisdiction.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then why are you involved?”

“I’m not.”

She looked at him.

“Just doing a little recon, that’s all,” he said. “If I get anything useful, I’ll pass it along.”





* * *





“Hey, it’s me.” Derek’s low drawl sent a rush of warmth through her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Working. How ’bout you?”

“Same.”

“How’s it going today?”

Crappy, she wanted to say. She’d spent the past six hours sitting in a sweltering car, sans air-conditioning, staking out an Internet café in Montrose. “Fine,” she said instead.

“Any sightings?”

“No.”

“Me, neither.”

The passenger door opened, and two-hundred-plus pounds of muscled man slid in beside her. Elizabeth’s heart lurched.

“How did you get here?” she blurted.

“Drove.”

“No, I mean how’d you find this place?”

He smiled. “That’s top secret.”

She waited, watching him, and he leaned closer.

“How bad do you want to know? ’Cause I’m willing to give it up.”

“Derek, I’m serious.”

He sighed and grabbed the water bottle from the cup holder. “I know you are.” He took a swig. “I found this place the same way you did, I’m guessing. Traced a blog comment to an ISP. Any new leads?”