“Yeah, put it—”
I don’t even have to pretend to spill the coffee. It happens. Yes, I planned it, but now it just happens.
“Aaahh aahhh!”
Coffee on his lap, his leg, his arm. Tommy pushes back violently, which dumps the last two inches of coffee on top of the rest.
“Idiot!” he shrieks.
He’s up, backpedaling, patting at his clothes, and I’m saying “sorry, sorry, sorry,” and snatching at napkins. He pushes me back, furious, and curses impressively.
Will he?
“Dammit, I have to go change.”
Will he?
Yes. He runs off, muttering, and leaves his workstation on. As soon as he’s out of view, I’m in. I’m shaking. I’ve hacked the systems at Spiker for years, but this is an individual workstation. This is the stuff too personal or too secret to put on the main servers.
I punch in the Adam code.
And just like that, I’m in.
The hard part is transferring the data. There’s no USB drive. Is there Wi-Fi? There isn’t supposed to be; there’s no Wi-Fi at Spiker for security reasons. But ah, yes, the capability is still there.
I open Tommy’s Wi-Fi, scan for the only active beacon. It’s titled snakep. As in Snake Plissken, my more-or-less namesake from that movie Escape from New York. The only other Plissken I relate to.
File after file is now streaming to my phone. How much time do I have? I glance guiltily over my shoulder. With one hand I mop at the spilled coffee on the chair, just in case anyone is looking.
But my other hand pounds keys—I have a heavy touch—searching for whatever it is that Tommy is hiding. He’s arrogant, fortunately, sure that no one can hack his computer, so the individual files are not password-protected.
There’s a large file of photos. Probably porn or something. I open it, anyway—it might be useful to know Tommy’s kinks.
But if these are someone’s idea of porn, they have very, very strange tastes indeed.
I open more pictures.
I’ve stopped breathing.
I’m seeing long rows of Plexiglas tanks. Some are vertical cylinders. Some are horizontal rectangles.
Each contains a horror.
A full-grown pig with faintly green skin.
A hairless puppy with what looks like two human ears growing just behind its own ears.
A girl, a human girl, at least something like a human girl, but with two faces—one where it ought to be, and one stretched flat across her back.
“Oh God,” I say out loud. I can’t help it.
I shut the file. I swallow back the sour taste in my mouth.
Oh my God.
I hear a sound. Tap, tap, and I’m back in the fantasy football app as Tattooed Tommy returns, wearing the gym clothes he must keep for trips to the Spiker fitness center.
“Get the hell off my computer!” he snarls.
“I was just cleaning up the coffee that—”
“And spying on my picks!” His eyes narrow dangerously. “Did Wilma Petrov put you up to it? That bitch has been trying to figure out my lineup so she can … I’ll kill her!”
“No,” I say, doing my best to seem as if I’m lying poorly.
“Wilma!” he yells across the room. “Dirty pool, Wilma!”
I’m backing away, and I realize suddenly that I’ve left his Wi-Fi turned on. If he notices—
Tommy grabs me, not too gently, either. “Listen, kid: Next time Wilma bribes you, come see me. I’ll double whatever she paid if you get her picks before Friday. Hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
I’m out of there. And now I just have to decide what to do with a secret that is so very much bigger than I had ever imagined.
I need to clean up the video record of me at Tommy’s computer. I need to get all this stolen data safely stored on something other than my phone, which might be searched at any moment.
Then, after I put together the presentation that will, I hope, bring Terra Spiker down, I need to get it to Eve.
I need her to understand why I have to do this.
– 23 –
The next morning, Maddox has his money. I have extracted my own concession from Aislin: She’s staying with me until her parents get home. They e-mailed her to say they’re extending their trip for a week (Aruba) and I want her in a safe place. Just to make sure Maddox isn’t still being hunted.
She accepted with surprising ease. Is it possible the girl is learning from experience, finally? Is it possible she’s realized how toxic her relationship with Maddox is?
Or is she feeling sorry for her pal, the mutant?
Either way. I’m good with either.
I don’t know how my mother got the money to Maddox. I told her his name and she said that’s all she would need. She has toadies who do nothing but run her errands and cater to her whims. Blue M&M’s? No problem. Bikini wax? Time and place. Run 9K to an inept drug dealer? Gotcha covered.
At 6:30 A.M., Maddox texted Aislin with: Got it. Yur the best.
I contacted the assistant principal at school to let him know Aislin had been in a minor accident. Some stitches, no big deal. I’m not sure he believed me, but this close to the end of school, the staff gets pretty laissez-faire unless there’s a felony involved.
Also, they just rebuilt the gym with a giant check from my mother.
Dr. Anderson and his staff have chosen not to comment on my bandage-free leg and arm. Yesterday evening, when my mother arranged to have Aislin and me moved to one of the guest suites, Dr. Anderson even helped carry over my vases full of drooping flowers.
I don’t even have to pretend to spill the coffee. It happens. Yes, I planned it, but now it just happens.
“Aaahh aahhh!”
Coffee on his lap, his leg, his arm. Tommy pushes back violently, which dumps the last two inches of coffee on top of the rest.
“Idiot!” he shrieks.
He’s up, backpedaling, patting at his clothes, and I’m saying “sorry, sorry, sorry,” and snatching at napkins. He pushes me back, furious, and curses impressively.
Will he?
“Dammit, I have to go change.”
Will he?
Yes. He runs off, muttering, and leaves his workstation on. As soon as he’s out of view, I’m in. I’m shaking. I’ve hacked the systems at Spiker for years, but this is an individual workstation. This is the stuff too personal or too secret to put on the main servers.
I punch in the Adam code.
And just like that, I’m in.
The hard part is transferring the data. There’s no USB drive. Is there Wi-Fi? There isn’t supposed to be; there’s no Wi-Fi at Spiker for security reasons. But ah, yes, the capability is still there.
I open Tommy’s Wi-Fi, scan for the only active beacon. It’s titled snakep. As in Snake Plissken, my more-or-less namesake from that movie Escape from New York. The only other Plissken I relate to.
File after file is now streaming to my phone. How much time do I have? I glance guiltily over my shoulder. With one hand I mop at the spilled coffee on the chair, just in case anyone is looking.
But my other hand pounds keys—I have a heavy touch—searching for whatever it is that Tommy is hiding. He’s arrogant, fortunately, sure that no one can hack his computer, so the individual files are not password-protected.
There’s a large file of photos. Probably porn or something. I open it, anyway—it might be useful to know Tommy’s kinks.
But if these are someone’s idea of porn, they have very, very strange tastes indeed.
I open more pictures.
I’ve stopped breathing.
I’m seeing long rows of Plexiglas tanks. Some are vertical cylinders. Some are horizontal rectangles.
Each contains a horror.
A full-grown pig with faintly green skin.
A hairless puppy with what looks like two human ears growing just behind its own ears.
A girl, a human girl, at least something like a human girl, but with two faces—one where it ought to be, and one stretched flat across her back.
“Oh God,” I say out loud. I can’t help it.
I shut the file. I swallow back the sour taste in my mouth.
Oh my God.
I hear a sound. Tap, tap, and I’m back in the fantasy football app as Tattooed Tommy returns, wearing the gym clothes he must keep for trips to the Spiker fitness center.
“Get the hell off my computer!” he snarls.
“I was just cleaning up the coffee that—”
“And spying on my picks!” His eyes narrow dangerously. “Did Wilma Petrov put you up to it? That bitch has been trying to figure out my lineup so she can … I’ll kill her!”
“No,” I say, doing my best to seem as if I’m lying poorly.
“Wilma!” he yells across the room. “Dirty pool, Wilma!”
I’m backing away, and I realize suddenly that I’ve left his Wi-Fi turned on. If he notices—
Tommy grabs me, not too gently, either. “Listen, kid: Next time Wilma bribes you, come see me. I’ll double whatever she paid if you get her picks before Friday. Hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
I’m out of there. And now I just have to decide what to do with a secret that is so very much bigger than I had ever imagined.
I need to clean up the video record of me at Tommy’s computer. I need to get all this stolen data safely stored on something other than my phone, which might be searched at any moment.
Then, after I put together the presentation that will, I hope, bring Terra Spiker down, I need to get it to Eve.
I need her to understand why I have to do this.
– 23 –
The next morning, Maddox has his money. I have extracted my own concession from Aislin: She’s staying with me until her parents get home. They e-mailed her to say they’re extending their trip for a week (Aruba) and I want her in a safe place. Just to make sure Maddox isn’t still being hunted.
She accepted with surprising ease. Is it possible the girl is learning from experience, finally? Is it possible she’s realized how toxic her relationship with Maddox is?
Or is she feeling sorry for her pal, the mutant?
Either way. I’m good with either.
I don’t know how my mother got the money to Maddox. I told her his name and she said that’s all she would need. She has toadies who do nothing but run her errands and cater to her whims. Blue M&M’s? No problem. Bikini wax? Time and place. Run 9K to an inept drug dealer? Gotcha covered.
At 6:30 A.M., Maddox texted Aislin with: Got it. Yur the best.
I contacted the assistant principal at school to let him know Aislin had been in a minor accident. Some stitches, no big deal. I’m not sure he believed me, but this close to the end of school, the staff gets pretty laissez-faire unless there’s a felony involved.
Also, they just rebuilt the gym with a giant check from my mother.
Dr. Anderson and his staff have chosen not to comment on my bandage-free leg and arm. Yesterday evening, when my mother arranged to have Aislin and me moved to one of the guest suites, Dr. Anderson even helped carry over my vases full of drooping flowers.
