Sometimes it works. Other times it backfires badly. I’ve seen some girls embarrass themselves trying to flatter men into letting them have their way. If a guy is just happy for the attention, then it doesn’t matter. If he’s really insecure and starts to feel manipulated, he will shut off entirely. Reynolds strikes me as the insecure type.

When I was ten I watched another child sweet-talk her father into buying her something in a store. I tried the same thing with a video game a few days later with my father. He just looked at me and asked, “When did you become a baby-talking moron?”

Sharp, to the point and brutally honest. He wasn’t as cruel as Grandfather could be, but his words could cut just as deep.

I hope I have better luck with the hacker.

29

LIAM REYNOLDS IS SQUISHED into a booth at TGI Fridays in suburban Austin, leaving almost no space between his gut and the table. When I approach the booth, he’s looking out the window into the parking lot, through a pair of aviator-style glasses. He takes them off in dramatic fashion as I sit down. I can only guess he’s trying to make some kind of impression. But it’s not the one he intended.

Close to three hundred pounds, he’s wearing a Dallas Cowboys jersey that hangs over his body like a collapsed tent. Short, with almost blond hair that’s spiky, he has a face too pasty for Texas and a roll under his chin probably related to the basket of onion rings he devoured while waiting for me to get there.

“Mr. Reynolds? I’m Agent Blackwood.”

He gives me a suspicious nod. I shake his soft and clammy hand. I’m not bothered by heavy people. The big guys I’ve gone out with were the type that learned to compensate for their genetics with a quick sense of humor and a likable smile. But Reynolds possesses none of these qualities. He’s turned whatever rejection he’s received throughout his life into a layer of smugness. He knows he’s smart, so it’s the thing he tries to hold over people. I can see right away why Jennifer may have been the wrong person to send.

“Thank you for agreeing to help me. I know someone had some technical questions for you before. I’m here to ask if you can help me build out the profile.” I take a folder from my bag. It contains one of the questionnaires Chisholm helped behavioral analysis create. I figure the best way to get at Reynolds is through his vanity.

It’s an old interview technique taught to me by a police captain. We all want to demonstrate competence, even to our enemies. While Reynolds isn’t an enemy, he’s shown us hostility. His sense of righteousness overwhelms any urge he has to directly cooperate by granting access to the server. But if I ask him theoretical questions, he might soften his stance.

The way to work on smart yet insecure people is to challenge their intelligence in a nonthreatening way. We can’t walk away from an unanswered question. Especially one that relates to us. Like my friends in college, and sometimes me, who couldn’t pass up a women’s magazine with a sex quiz or an article on cheating, these insecurities rule us: “How well do you score in bed? Is your man cheating on you? Five ways to tell . . .”