Hack

“We’re federal agents.” Edwards shrugged. “We can’t accept even a cent inrewards.” “Not legally,” I said. “But do you know how many banks have bought hackersoff? They don’t want their clients to get nervous. They hush it all up. Do you knowhow grateful banks can be when you keep it quiet that they had a big hole in theirsecurity? Maybe they’ll take on your mortgages, get them transferred from yourcurrent bank. I’d see to it that you got them quietly paid off.” I saw something happen to Moore’s expression. I didn’t know anything aboutthe divorce rate among FBI agents, but it made sense to think that all those unsociablehours and dangerous assignments might lead to marital instability. He wasn’t wearinga wedding ring, I had noticed, so maybe he was divorced. Maybe he had a mortgagehe was still paying, on a house he couldn’t even live in. I hoped so. “Free of your mortgages for the rest of your lives,” I added. “I’m not going to sit here for two hours and listen to this,” Moore said angrily. Two hours. North was two hours away. “You want some coffee, or what?” said Edwards to Moore. “Yeah,” said Moore. He got up, that expression still on his face. He hadn’tbought into my plan yet, but his brain was still working. “Don’t forget the FBI’s phone system,” I cheerfully called after Edwards, ashe made his way to the door. “I have some beautiful voicemails you just wouldn’tbelieve. The headlines would be memorable. And you are the two brave agents whotracked me down and brought me to justice. It’ll get you promoted to the next paygrade. The grand tour of Cape Canaveral. Handshake with the president—” “Shut your mouth!” said Edwards, so loudly that it must have been heard byhalf of the police station. I closed my mouth, and watched as Moore got Edwards bythe arm, and directed him to the side of the room. Moore whispered something to Edwards, and the men began a hushedconversation. I watched them from the corner of my eye. Though the room was small,I couldn’t clearly make out what was being said, but I could see it in their bodylanguage. Edwards was against my offer. But Moore wanted it. As soon as I had usedthe word ‘mortgage,’ I had hooked him. “Screw him,” said Moore loudly, with exasperation, before Edwards quietedhim. I knew though that he wasn’t talking about me. He was talking about North. I looked at Grace. Her matted eyelashes blinked slowly. “Were you telling the truth when you said I was a good dancer?” I asked. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “They made me do it. My dad—” “Hey,” said Edwards, turning around. “One more word . . .” He jabbed hisfinger at Grace. Two minutes later, they returned, and Edwards spoke to me. “All right, Ripley, here’s the deal. I don’t give a rat’s ass about whatever dealsyou make later, with North or the judge, or whoever. What we want is the bank.That’s the deal.” “You got it,” I said, nodding. “And the girl goes, and North never has cause topick her up.” “When we’ve concluded the deal, the girl can take a hike. But if you stiff us,Ripley, she goes inside with you. We’ll see to it.” I watched Grace, her eyes started to open, and she tilted her head up. Shewatched Moore nod his head. He grabbed me. 97

Grace and I sat looking at each other again. I smiled at her. Even with thesmudged mascara, she was easy to smile at. Moore grabbed hold of me and hauled meup. “Get on your feet,” said Edwards to Grace. “We’re going for a ride.”On the way out, I saw the desk sergeant glance at me, and realized that he must haveheard Moore’s shouting. Moore pushed me through the door, and once again I was outin the darkness. “It’s at my old house. Take the freeway—” “We know where you used to live,” interrupted Moore. “The question is:where in your old house?” “I’ll show you.” Edwards looked like he was going to argue, but Moore seemed to want to justget going. The journey took less than an hour, and during it, nobody said anything. Icouldn’t even hear Grace breathing. I looked at her once, but she wouldn’t even lookat me. “Here it is,” said Moore, as we pulled up in front of the large white house thathad been my home about a million and one years ago. “Get to it, Ripley. We don’t have all night.” I worked loose a familiar brick in the garage wall—the one that I haddiscovered as a kid, and it came away. Behind it was a memory stick, with all sorts ofserver details, and user accounts on it, encased in a waterproof plastic holder. I opened the pack, and took it out. “Here,” I said to Moore. “Now it’s your turn. Let the girl go.” Moore snatched it from me, looked at it, and then put it in his pocket. Then heturned to Edwards, and nodded. Edwards lifted a gun. It had a silencer on it. Hepointed it at me. “Ripley,” he said. I looked at him, but then Moore must have hit me from behind, because for thesecond time that night, everything went black. I saw a business card next to me on the floor, and then I knew for sure whatGrace had meant when she said that the past always catches up with you, and why shehad wanted me to forget about Knight. I grabbed the card and stood up. I felt myhead. The next time somebody cracked me there, it was going to split open. I focusedmy eyes on the card. It was a business card belonging to Knight. On one corner was agraphic of a white chess Knight. White takes black in two moves. Sure. I looked around, and there was no one there. But they are always watching. Igroaned and tried to rub the pain from my skull, and then made my way to apayphone. I had to bribe the taxi driver with all of the cash I had on me before heagreed to take me all the way back to my Elmwood home. Of course, there was nobody there, and there never had been. I slumpedagainst the door, with my head in my hands. I knew that they were watching. Theywere always watching, even though they now they had what they wanted. They werewatching to see what I did. They were somewhere in the night. Edwards and Moore, they weren’t FBI,any more than Hannah or Richard, Philips or Garman. They had my stash of useraccounts and bank details. They had their leader, Knight, who had organized the confrom the start. They were probably already transferring money to their own bankaccounts. 98

It was a huge double con, and I was the mark. I sat there, holding my head,knowing what I had lost. I got back into the taxi, and asked the driver to stop atGrace’s house. I looked through the windows, but there was no one there, either. I gave the driver Knight’s address, and he dropped me off at Knight’s office.But was no Knight Securities, Inc.—not even any furniture in the office. I looked up into the night sky, and screamed “No!”—even though I knew theywere watching. Actually, because they were watching. Orion looked down. Orion. Hedidn’t care. He had been watching for countless millions of years, and he would carryon watching for millions more. I sat on the curb in the empty parking lot, looking at Orion. 99

Chapter 22 It must have been a convincing act, because Knight bought it. And once hewas convinced that he had hacked me, he got to work. With the user account detailshe had gotten from my stash, he was able to log on to a well-known bank’s server,and transfer a large amount of money. Altogether, he and another gang siphoned offover a hundred million dollars. The details of the Pentagon’s network he sold to abuyer, and got another small fortune. Only he didn’t. The FBI arrested them as they were heading to a remote country, where thebank accounts come with numbers but no names. There was a big trail, at the end ofwhich Knight and his friends—Philips, Garman, Hannah, Richard, Malik, Zaqarwi,and the rest—all got heavy sentences. I heard that Knight is now in solitaryconfinement, like I had been. But I can’t take any credit for Knight’s downfall, since it was all the idea ofAgent Bartels, of the Cyber Crime Squad of the FBI. The real FBI. He had come tome a week after I landed in jail, and said that Knight would be looking to run a hackon me. He said that Knight was a criminal, and that he would probably be looking tosteal my stash, which he knew was worth millions. Bartels had guessed that Knight would be sending people to me, pretending tobe the police or the FBI. And it was Bartels who hid that stash of fake user accountsand server details at my old house. The truth is I never kept a stash. Any details I hadwere kept in my head. Like I said, whenever I hacked a site, I took only memories. I went to college not long after Knight’s arrest, and with my hacking daysbehind me, I now live the quiet life. The real world is just as boring as I alwaysimagined. Studying, assignments, and project work. Sometimes it’s hard not to wishfor the good old days. But life has its compensations. Sometimes on the weekend, I like to take abreak from school to travel around. Just last month, I found myself on the train, sittingacross from an attractive blonde, dressed in a business suit and wearing dark glasses. Igot talking to her, and bought her lunch. With her dark eyes and her habit offrowning, she reminded me of Grace, but of course there never was any Grace. Andwhen we went to the beach last week, and I noticed two scars running up her back, Iknew that it still wasn’t Grace. This woman’s name is Jennifer, and we get on very well. She has thisannoying habit of asking too many questions, and getting me to talk about things Idon’t really want to talk about. But it could be worse. It could be the feds asking thequestions. I never went back to my life of criminal hacking, and I’m pretty sure that Inever will. Except one time, when I was at the FBI’s local headquarters, talking toAgent Bartels, filling in the details of our own sting, I managed to sneak a look attheir personnel database. Imagine my surprise when I came across Agent North’susername and password. I’d let you have them, hacker to hacker, but I need to keep hold of them for awhile. You never know what you might need one rainy day. Besides, you don’t think I’d do anything criminal, do you? The End 100

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