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THE BRIEFING

with Shadowcrew, there was no singular target to go after. Instead, a slew of new, smaller forums was popping up. Crabb didn't say it, but the Secret Service had treated the carders with half a dose of penicillin; the survivors were immune and plentiful.

Mularski hung on every word. In his brief time at the NCFTA, the agent had seen patterns in the raw intelligence bubbling up from the underground: references to nicknames, coded messages, and forums. It made sense now. It was the carders organizing themselves again.

When Crabb wrapped up his talk and the other agents began to file out, Mularski approached the postal inspector at the head of the table and extended his hand enthusiastically. “This stuff is fascinating,” he said. “I'd love to work with you. I'd love to partner up with you.”

Crabb was surprised by the suggestion; in his experience, a more typical proposal from an FBI agent might take the form “Give me all your information. Thanks, bye.” He met with Mularski and his boss privately and gave the agents a more thorough rundown on the carder scene.

Mularski returned to Pittsburgh, his head swimming. He'd thought he'd left behind the world of Russian spies, double agents, and secret identities. He'd been wrong. And the safe, satisfying routine of his new job was about to be shattered.