When the office opened on Thursday, Gibson requested a printout of the firm’s browser history for the previous month. It ran to nearly a thousand pages. He broke it up into four stacks and began sifting through it with a highlighter. Tedious work, but over the next twenty-plus hours he’d narrowed his hunt to a handful of possibilities.

Now he was sure.

Gibson checked the time—six a.m., Friday morning. George arrived around seven, so Gibson shut his eyes for an hour. For once, Bear let him be. When he woke, George was working in his office and seemed to be expecting him. Gibson told him what he had found. Abe took the bad news in stride and asked for options.

Gibson gave him three.

“Which would you recommend?”

“Option one. If you want a shot at catching WR8TH.”

“Why?”

Gibson explained.

Abe stopped him several times to ask questions and when Gibson was done, sat in silence for several minutes.

“All right, I want you to lay it out to the team. Pretend I haven’t heard any of this. I want to hear their unfiltered opinion.”

“If that’s what you want, but I’m going home first. I need to shower. I need to shave. I’d say I’m just north of toxic.”

“Agreed. A car will be downstairs.” Abe looked at his watch. “Be back here at four.”

At home, Gibson stood in the shower until he felt like a human being again. He felt good. Really good. He knew he’d missed the work, but not how much. That his skills might help find Bear . . . Don’t get ahead of yourself, he cautioned himself. Better not to allow that hope to take root.

But what if?

It was after five before they were all gathered back in the conference room. Hendricks and Charles were anxious to hear what he’d discovered, but Gibson took his time fussing with the computer. Finally, Abe could stand it no longer.

“So, Gibson. Enlighten us. What have you learned?”

“Okay. Well, initially I was bothered by the fact that WR8TH sent two photographs.”

“So you told us on Sunday,” Hendricks said.

“Right, but I mean, why bother? Why send the e-mail of the backpack at all if you have the whole photograph? It’s a waste of time.”

“Maybe he just likes playing games?” Jenn put in.

“Right. But what was the game? The person who sent that photo is likely the same person who took it. Agreed?”

The room nodded its consent.

“So, what are the odds of WR8TH, if it is the original WR8TH, collecting a ten-million-dollar reward? I’ve got a better chance of being invited to Benjamin Lombard’s birthday party.”

“So what, then?” Jenn asked.