Free Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 02 - A Deadly Bargain, Plan C by Gina Cresse Page B

administer for the state.  Every server, client, rout er, hub —you name it, I’ve got it documented here.”
    The screen looked like a street map of downtown San Francisco, only busier.  I squinted to read the tiny print.
    “Here, I’ll zoom in.”  He clicked on the magnifying-glass icon and the area of interest became larger.  “This IP address is assigned to a client machine at the U.S. Justice Department in Los Angeles — the building on South Soto Street, to be exact.”
    “Can you narrow it down to an office?”  As usual, I was awed by Spencer’s total mastery of the electronic world.  There’s no computer task he can’t accomplish, given enough time and resources.
    “Not with this tool. But I activated a protocol analyzer and set a capture filter on the IP address.  Then I spammed the L.A. office with an offer of cash for true stories with screenplay potential.  Signed it Spielberg .   All I had to do was sit back and wait for activity to pick up, and voila !  Got us a name to go with the IP address.”
    “Well?  What is it?”  I couldn’t wait to hear.
    “Carissa West.”  He beamed.
    I ran the name through my own memory bank.  “Carissa West?  Doesn’t sound familiar.”    
    “Think we ought to send Carissa a message?  Let her know we’re on to her?” Spencer asked.
    “Not yet.  I think we should feed Carissa enough rope to hang herself with.  As long as we make sure those database records aren’t tampered with, you’ll be able to come to my rescue with the evidence if I need it.  Right?”
    “Not to worry.  I’ve made a backup of the export and I’ve locked the records — so they can’t be modified or deleted from the database.”
    “Good.  By the way, can you do anything about getting my bank account reinstated?  I’m gonna run out of quarters pretty soon.”
    “Probably could, but if I got caught, it’s back to the slammer.”
    “You’re right.  Forget I even suggested it.”  I hesitated a moment.  “You have any spare cash?”

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Ten
     
    T he bed in Spencer’s guest room was comfortable enough, but I didn’t sleep well.  I tossed and turned all night, trying to piece togeth er the puzzle .  Where was Gerald Bates?  And why was his yacht sitting at the bottom of the ocean?  Where was Roy Hastings?  And why did he abandon his boat?  Who was on my boat?  And what were they looking for?  Who was Carissa West?  And why was she trying to frame me?  Too many questions.   No answers.
    I couldn’t lie there any longer.  At six, I rolled out of bed and staggered down the hall to Spencer’s living room.  I searched for the remote and switched on the TV.  There was no escaping the big news story of the w eek —the discovery of Gerald Bates’ yacht.  A news reporter stood on the deck of a commercial charter boat.  In the background, two other boats were anchored.  I could see divers leaping into the water. 
    The reporter brushed the wind-whipped hair from her face and pointed in the direction of the divers.  “That’s the exact spot where the Gigabyte went down.  Getting to the wreck has been a major challenge for these divers since the boat is down nearly one hundred and fifty feet.  Reports so far indicate the yacht suffered major structural damage, most probably from a severe storm.  Gerald Bates and his crew are presumed dead.”
    Spencer padded down the hallway in his Spiderman pajamas, scratching his head.  “What’d they say caused it to sink?”
    “They said it broke apart in a storm.  Sure didn’t look damaged when I saw it.”
    “Who said it broke apart?” Spencer asked.
    “Don’t know where that came from.  They’ve got some divers going down to check it out.”  I squinted to get a better look at the boats in the background.  “I can’t tell for sure, but those don’t look like Coast Guard boats.”
    Spencer studied the screen.  “Could be divers hired by the