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Agent Rezvani?” Only his lips and square jaw moved. “You’re using phrases like ‘could be,’ ‘if,’ and ‘might be.’ That’s because that’s all Smiling Jack is. We never had anything besides those blasted pictures.”
    “We had twelve pictures,” Rez said. “The same twelve, cycled through over and over again. This is a different set of victims. Smiling Jack is going active again.”
    “Or maybe it’s not. I don’t need to tell you what people can do with photo editing software, right? It’s probably some Goth kid who’s good with a computer, trying to make it look like Smiling Jack has a new set of victims. If there ever were any victims, that is. I’m sorry. You’re a good agent and smarter than the Director and me put together. But you let your passions take you places you shouldn’t ought’a go.”
    He went back to absolute stillness. Agent Rezvani waited a dozen heartbeats and said, “The answers are there, Sir. Destin, Florida. The killer screwed up and left something we can use. I feel it.”  
    “You really want to go?”
    “Very much, Sir.”
    “Then go.”
    Rezvani shifted weight from one foot to the other. “Sir?”
    “…on vacation.”
    “Wha—?”
    “You want to go to Destin, take vacation time and go.”
    “But, Sir, this is FBI business. Surely—”
    “No, Agent Rezvani, this is not FBI business. Not for years now. This is a private hunch of your own. If it means that much to you, follow it on your own time. We spent years on this— YEARS —that and enough manpower to invade China on…this ‘Smiling Jack.’ We won’t waste any more of the FBI’s resources. My final word.”  
    A bank vault’s door slamming shut.  
    An avalanche of boulders thundering into the middle of the road.  
    A wrought iron portcullis crashing down to seal off the castle gatehouse.  
    Rez figured she could take her pick of the images. It was all the same when Director Barnes gave his final word. “Yes, Sir,” she said. She spun on one heel and marched away.
    “Agent Rezvani?”
    She stopped, turned. “Sir?”
    “If this turns into more than a hunch, call me.”

Chapter 6

    State of the art.  
    Technology the way he liked it.  
    The computer flickered to life with a melodic chime and, as the drives and fans kicked in, the room seemed to thrum with possibility.  
    The encryption program launched at once. He typed in a long series of numbers, entered once, typed a three letter code, entered again, and then…typed his name.
    Jack, he thought, rubbing the tip of his sharp nose. Maybe not that ironic. After all, the killings were reminiscent of another Jack who used a blade. Still, a kind of irony. They know my name and yet they do not know it.  
    He smiled. There was a singularly unique pleasure from understanding the details that others might never guess.    
    Jack glanced at the myriad of application icons, his eyes landing as they often did on Tournament Chess. Business first, he reminded himself. He clicked the Mixer icon. His custom coded browser went to work, and close to a dozen websites snapped open in orderly rows across the vast monitor. Beneath each homepage dropped a long scroll bar. Jack bounced from site to site, reading every visitor’s comments and growing more and more convinced.
    When he’d read them all, he rocked back in his chair and released a deep, huffing laugh. The comments ranged from sarcastic to sadistic, comical to creative. But none of the comments—not even one—captured the kind of passion required to violate Jack’s theory. And none of the responses came from the proper audience either. Hypocrites, Jack thought. Daring to condemn and then doing nothing.
    Jack closed the window and opened another. A dozen new articles appeared, and the headlines were not promising. He browsed several of his favorite sources and discovered that there had been no change in the recent legislation push. If something didn’t happen soon, the law would likely be