“Why?”
“I know a cry for help when I see one, Evil Knevil.”
“My parking trick? I meant to do that.”
“Sure you did, just like you didn’t mean to change all the grades.”
“Although I’d love to claim that, it really wasn’t me.”
He pokes his head through the window. “Things have been weird with you.”
“And getting weirder.” I peck him on the cheek. “Thanks for the mixed tape.”
The car door opens and I hug his waist before sliding across to the passenger side. He shifts the car into reverse.
“There’s just a little detour we need to take,” I say. He squints. “I—”
“Let me guess. You can’t tell me what.”
“Why would you say that?” I ask. “We’re tracking Hannah.”
“And why are we spying on the weepy emo kid?”
“Because we’re worried that she’ll cut herself if she does something really stupid.”
“Don’t they all?”
“Did you know that she collects Hello Kitty paraphernalia from the dark side? Pirate, serial killer, horror flick kitties?”
“That’s different.”
I search for Hannah, but she’s already gone.
Damn.
“Head for the Starbucks on Bank. Park across the street.”
“We’re not breaking any laws or anything, are we?”
Jonny’s always worried about the details.
“None that I’m aware of.” Maybe one, but that’s only if my plan works.
He backs up, and within a few minutes, we’ve staked out the location across from the mutant green mermaid with two tails. Out front, an employee in an apron shivers as she hands out free samples while periodically frowning at the smoke wafting from a woman sucking hard on one cigarette after another. The only man in the area looks in his mid-forties and checks his phone every few minutes. While I watch, another woman emerges with a bucket of coffee, hooks her arm through his, and together they saunter off, likely to a GAP store before spending a mortgage payment on a Lululemon yoga top.
Jonny and I have thumb wars while we wait and I’m so close to trapping his thumb for a three count when Hannah appears. I knew it. She isn’t rid of the creep. She’s changed and now wears a neat white top, a private school girl kilt, a Hello Kitty headband, and more makeup than I can remember her ever sporting. Why would she be playing into every creep’s fantasy?
Before she can reach the entrance to the Starbucks, a man in a gray trench coat, black jeans and a skullcap rushes out and takes her by the hand, pulling her down the side street. She looks over at us, eyes wild and brow worried, but she doesn’t see. It’s the last frantic glance of someone seeking shore before they go under.
“That’s him, follow them!”
“What are we doing?”
“Just follow them.”
“It’s a one way street.”
“Jonny Salisbury, if you lose them that’s the last time you’ll ever feel my breasts.”
He shifts into drive. But before he can pull out into traffic, they stop in front of a blue Toyota Camry.
“Wait.” I karate chop Jonny across his throat.
Creep’s got the door open and she’s smiling and shaking her head.
Don’t get in, don’t get in, don’t get in.
He grabs her around her waist and pulls her in close to him. With his voluminous coat I can’t see his fumbling, but Hannah’s face has gone pale and is screwing up into a fearful mask. I watch in disbelief as her arm reaches around him, and for a second, I actually think Hannah will return the hug. Then her hand dips into his coat pocket and comes out with his wallet.
“We have to help her,” Jonny says and pushes open the door.
“No.” I point.
As Hannah dissolves into tears, the man hops into his car and pulls out, signaling to turn opposite us. “We have to follow.”
“You’re nuts.”
“No I’m not. If we have any chance of stopping him, we must find out who he is.” In my head I’m wondering if Hannah just achieved my goal. Did she really pickpocket the guy?
“We need to call the police is what we need to do,” Jonny says.
“And then she’ll kill herself and I’d rather that didn’t happen. It’s the same reason why I can’t talk to her. She’ll know I’m stalking her and it could push her over the edge. She doesn’t want my help.”
“This is messed,” he says. “Kill herself?”
As the creep drifts through the rush hour traffic, Jonny stares out the window. Hannah is rocking on the sidewalk.
“Now.” I clutch his hand. “Please trust me.”
The car jolts forward, but I’m not looking where we’re headed, I’m tracking the car down Bank Street.
A stoic Jonny trails the Camry until it pulls into an apartment building twenty minutes later. He hasn’t said a word. I write down the apartment address beside the license plate of the car, which I’d wager is a fake if he’s worried about soliciting a minor. This late in the year it’s dark out even this early and we watch until we see a light appear on the sixth floor. It might not have been him but it gives me a start.
“Take this.” I hand him my iPhone. “Photograph the list of tenants.”
Again, quiet, expressionless Jonny hops out of the car and does as he’s told. I don’t really need the list but it’ll distract him.
While he’s gone, I open up my laptop and begin sniffing for available wireless networks. Here comes the illegal part. I’ve brought everything I need but would prefer that Jonny was not here to see this, considering I hacked his network a month ago and it nearly ended our relationship. He also has a predilection for informing the cops.
There are, not surprisingly, over a dozen networks but only one that’s well secured. Which I suspect is our man.
“That’s illegal,” Jonny says as he slides back into his seat. He’s too fast.
“Like I said, Hannah doesn’t want to involve the police. Says she’ll kill herself.”
“And you haven’t told anyone?”
“Aren’t you listening? I believe her.” I picture her rocking on the pavement and recall the rough hands on her. “She’ll kill herself.”
“But why?” His anger is real. Jonny’s eyes burn with a frustration and hurt that I know has built over the last few days. “Why?”
“The guy we saw.” I’m going to tell him. “The guy at Starbucks that Hannah met, he won’t stop bothering her. She wants it to stop. She asked me to help, but when I tried to, she got cold feet or something and now wants nothing to do with me. I still want to help her.”
It’s not much, but the fire in his eyes banks. He begins to say something more, then pauses.
“Okay, Jan,” he says finally, and I return to tapping away at the laptop. “All right. It’s good to help a friend.”
“I’m in.” I’m on the network and find the computer. Within a couple more minutes I have control of his webcam. It takes another ten minutes before I ensure no little green light will flash somewhere while it’s running. Then I turn it on.
“With this I can control his webcam,” I explain. “Hannah said she communicates with him regularly by phone and sometimes via webcam. If she can lure him near to his computer, then I can record him talking to her. His days are numbered.”
As the webcam starts to record, the file will be saved on his own computer. It’s like I have my very own zombie. All I have to do is come back tomorrow, download the recording and parse out the incriminating evidence. With any luck I’ll have some juicy bits that will blackmail him into leaving Hannah alone for good.
“You’re pretty cool,” Jonny says.
By the glow in his
eyes I can tell that letting him in on this kind of action meant way more to him than any kiss.
Chapter 17
Hours of community service remaining: 1989
<<#luring should be punishable by death,>> JanusFlyTrap tweets.
@JFlyTrap, strongly prefer castration, Heckleena adds. With a dirty, dull blade. #deterrent
Aim for the stars and you will reach the moon, a message from your Class President #presidentialtweets, Tule says. I haven’t heard from her in a while and class president tweets are just the sort of thing Ellie Wise wishes she were smart enough to think of. Within a minute the real Ellie Wise tweets, Me too! OMG, congratulations. With great power comes great responsibility. #presidentialtweets
I’d laugh if it weren’t so inevitable.
How r u? I text Hannah.
In the bowels of Assured Destruction I haven’t even let my mom know I’m home. I’m treating her like she has leprosy. But it’s not like I can tell her about any of this.
With Peter’s armor on, I check Darkslinger as BlackCat58 and don’t have any replies—at least I’m not expunged. I log back in as Lolz and have a half-dozen comments on my post. One is from Sw1ftM3rcy.
I briefly consider the irony of hating the guy who hacked my school and loving the same guy who’s helping me crack the carding case, and then I move on. All it takes is a look around at all the screens of Shadownet to self-diagnose myself with virtual multiple personality disorder.
Turns out I haven’t given enough information for other members to help. The comments are:
What type of keyboard is it?
Do you know if it’s Bluetooth?
Can you get your hands on the keyboard?
What type of hack are you doing?
Are you close? How near?
So I set about clarifying—if clarifying means explaining to them how little I know and that I have to penetrate a couple walls and sit a swimming-pool length away. Already the posts indicate that hacking a wireless keyboard isn’t easy from a distance. If it’s Bluetooth, cracking the encryption after I hack it is almost impossible. I’ll need gear. Gear that may empty my bank account. Luckily, necessity is the mother of invention.
Well, the principal told me not to come into school tomorrow without proof. Things have a way of working out. I’ll have time to gather what I need, present my killer profile to the cops and maybe even do some reconnaissance.
“How can I hide a directional antenna in a food court?” I ask the screen, but that’s my problem to solve.
None of the recommendations came from Sw1ftM3rcy, but a PM from him asks if I can login to a private IRC chat. I look up the acronym. IRC equals Internet Relay Chat—old school messaging. Okay, cool. Another hacker thing I need to bone up on.
I reply to Sw1ftM3rcy, agreeing to an IRC chat.
The reply is immediate.
10 PM GMT #yolo channel.
GMT? Greenwich Mean Time: The guy could be from anywhere.
He adds: I’d use your time zone—If I could figure out where you live. Sorry for shouting but you’re the first person I’ve been unable to trace. Like Ever. Why the camouflage?
Cause of people like you, I say.
Touché. Later.
I log off.
What’s 10 PM GMT in my time zone? I find a converter online and gasp: 3 AM. I’m crashing early tonight.
After I pull out Peter’s memory stick, I pause. This thing really works. There’s much more to Peter than my mom knows. And it’s freaking me out.
I flip through my iPhone and tap my motion detector app, which plays theme songs when someone walks past. I leave the phone halfway up the stairs. Peter won’t be able to sneak up on me again. And I really don’t want that for what I have planned next.
A knapsack is tucked into the corner of a humming computer tower. I unzip it and haul out a slim hard drive. I’ve kept a hard drive dock for the purpose of inspecting new candidates for Shadownet and I plug in Peter’s.
I like Peter well enough, but I don’t like mysterious boyfriends, much less if they’re my mom’s. All I really know is that he drives an expensive car, lives in a loft apartment that I’ve never visited, and he’s retired from some tech job. He cooks like a chef, seems good to my mom, but is a little too interested in developing his relationship with me.
Since I can’t learn much about him on the Internet, and my mom’s agreed to keep his secrets, that leaves the hard drive he wanted destroyed as the only clue to his background. A hard drive records everything. I can even find the shadows of things people have deleted. With any luck, I can piece together the life of one Peter Moore with the lump of silicon, plastic, and metal before me.
I boot the computer with his hard drive installed and hold my breath. A wash of heat runs over me—fluid guilt. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do this. That I’d leave Peter’s hard drive alone but keep it for insurance, nothing more.
“What the—” I cry.
Suddenly, the Harry Potter theme plays. I clap once, and am about to clap again when I realize the app was triggered by my shout.
On the screen are rows and rows and columns and columns of symbols and numbers and letters. Nothing makes any sense. And it’s not just written backward and upside down.
Encrypted. Not password protected, encrypted. The entire thing is gobbledygook, stored in a code that I can only crack with a key. Given I’m using a script from Peter that turns me into a ghost, I should have known, but my concern ratchets higher. Who is Peter really? Why is he fascinated by my mousy, sick mom? I hate myself for thinking it, but it’s true. She’s tired and ill, and it’s only getting worse. I love her, and I know it must be possible for others to love her as well. It’s just … hard to swallow that a wealthy, energetic man, even an old one, would want my mom.
I receive a text from Hannah. Why are u bothering me? It’s over.
Yah, right.
Everyone’s lying to me and I don’t have to take it.
@Heckleena what’s the punishment for liars? JanusFlyTrap tweets.
Isn’t it obvious? Cut out their tongues!
Tomorrow evening after school, I’ll pay another visit to the creep, download his webcam recordings and Hannah will be safe, liar or not. As for Peter, looks like the Hands-on Imperative applies. I have a lot to learn.
Lolz n=lolz@##-##-####-###.dsl1.###.#######.net has joined #yolo
2 users on #yolo at 03:00
Five minutes ago I was sound asleep. Right now my heart’s skipping beats. I’m on the IRC chat; I’ve just logged in and joined the channel identified by Sw1ftM3rcy. The only light radiates from the pixels of my screen, unable to illuminate the reaches of the basement. A burp from the boiler nearly causes me to cry out. I don’t like darkness, and the steady drip of water down the drain sends shudders through me.
Channel #yolo was created at December 3, 02:59:32
Sw1ftM3rcy: Hey Lolz
Lolz: Whazup
Sw1ftM3rcy: Good morning.
Peter said to remember that Sw1ftM3rcy can’t see me; I have all the time in the world to reply. Sure doesn’t feel that way.
Drip, drip.
Lolz: Nice try. Is it morning? Not telling you where I’m from.
Sw1ftM3rcy: Come on.
Lolz: America.
Sw1ftM3rcy: I was right, good morning. South or North?
Lolz: North. You?
Sw1ftM3rcy: Southern Hemisphere.
Lolz: Even I came closer than that.
Sw1ftM3rcy: Your bad. M or F?
Lolz: You guess.
Sw1ftM3rcy: M?
I cock my head at the screen. I sound like a boy?
Lolz: Maybe yes, maybe no.
Sw1ftM3rcy: Nuff. Let’s talk business. What’s the attack? Ma
n in the middle? Misappropriation? What?
Great, more stuff to look up.
Lolz: I want to see what someone’s typing.
Sw1ftM3rcy: Ah, okay, eavesdropping. And you don’t know what you have to deal with in terms of hardware. Just far away.
Lolz: You got it.
Sw1ftM3rcy: You’re going to need a directional antenna.
Lolz: OK. Saw that on Darkslinger.
Sw1ftM3rcy: Yeah, but you’ll need to feed what you receive into a computer.
Lolz: That’s where things get tricky.
Sw1ftM3rcy: I’ve got some script you can buy on Darkslinger.
Lolz: How’s that?
Sw1ftM3rcy: On Darkslinger … the marketplace.
Lolz: What marketplace?
Sw1ftM3rcy: Oh, here, I’ll grant you access. Seem cool.
I knew it! I knew there was more to the site than a forum.
Sw1ftM3rcy: Educational purposes only and all.
Lolz: Of course.
Sw1ftM3rcy: Take my script antenna hack. You’ll need it to create the right sort of connection between your rig and the antenna.
Lolz: OK.
Sw1ftM3rcy: You can do that?
Lolz: Yup.
Now who’s lying?
Sw1ftM3rcy: I would have expunged you if you’d said no.
Lolz: Speaking of which, where’d you post your “secondary school fun” exploit?
Sw1ftM3rcy: Haven’t yet. It was A+ though. lol
A+ indeed. I’ve got my proof, if not the perp, because Sw1ftM3rcy is one of a billion people located in the Southern Hemisphere, if he’s there. I take a screenshot and hit print. Three terminals down, the printer whirrs.
Lolz: Look forward to it.
Sw1ftM3rcy: Ezpz—Anyways, after sniffing the network and gathering the data, you’ll have to decrypt whatever you get. If the band is 27.145MHz then there’s another hack for that. Free too. If it’s Bluetooth you’re in for a long haul. Come back with the goods and post it. Sometimes the Elite pop by and help with a cause.
Assured Destruction: The Complete Series Page 26