

### A BIRD CALLED MECHANOID

Copyright 2016 Landry Smith

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PROLOGUE

"It's all over the news," the gray-haired man said. He put his cellphone on the table. The young man with the beard looked at the screen.

ACTIVISTS UNLEASH NEW RANSOMWARE COMPUTER VIRUS

He shrugged. "It's a bunch of kids playing politics."

"They are using our virus." The gray-haired man's eyes darted around the casino bar, looking for eavesdroppers. He picked up his phone. "I could make a call," he said in a low voice. "Get them quietened down. Permanently."

The man sneered. "Then we'd have Interpol and the FBI going all out to get us. Forget it."

"Are we going to do nothing?"

"What we are going to do is go on making money for as long as we can."

He got up and left. He went down the stairs and over to the roulette table, where a beautiful woman in an elegant evening dress was waiting. He put his arm around her. She kissed him.

He smiled, picked up a $5,000 chip, and placed a bet.
THE RANSOMWARE VIRUS

Howard Honeyball came in through the armored entrance doors of Building 6.

This is a secure area. All electronic devices, such as cellphones, cameras, portable computers, portable disks, memory sticks, music players, and smart-watches must be handed in at reception.

He went past the sign he'd seen a thousand times before, crossed the foyer, and went to the reception desk.

"Good morning, Dave," he said to the receptionist.

"Good morning, Howard," Dave replied with a professional smile. "How are you today?"

"I'm fine thanks." He gave him a wry smile and added dryly, "It's nice to be back at the bunker again."

Dave smiled sympathetically. "Did you have a good weekend?"

"Not bad. You?"

"It was good, thanks. Have a good day."

"You, too." Howard stepped through the whole-body security scanner. It was, he thought, like having to go through airport security every day, just to get in to the office. But he knew he shouldn't complain. If he worked in a normal office, he wouldn't be driving around in a $56,000 SUV.

He walked down the corridor, making his way past the darkened guardroom window. He avoided looking inside at the armed guards and the rack of M4 rifles on the wall. He went up to the metal doors, which opened automatically.

Inside the office, there were no guards, only clerks in their cubicles. He gave the electronic notice board a glance.

THE CANTEEN IS NOW SERVING PUMPKIN LATTES

He walked across the room to another metal door, as sturdy-looking as a bank vault and with the letters "R&D" in the center. He typed in a key-code and looked into the retinal scanner. There was a flicker of light, then the door clicked open. He went through it.

Inside the research and development lab, it was quiet. As usual, nothing much seemed to be going on, except egg-head professors doing whatever they did. Quite possibly, they were breaking the boundaries of science, creating new technologies to liberate mankind from the drudgery of office work. But Howard had never asked. He was paid to mind his own business, so he did.

He rounded the corner and went into his office. The guy at the next desk, Martin, was already busy at work.

"Good morning, Mart," he said. Martin looked up. His skin was pale, possibly from too many hours hunched over a computer terminal, but his hair and mustache were black, and it made him look even paler.

"Good morning, Howard," Martin said. "What's new?"

Howard smiled. "According to the noticeboard, pumpkin lattes."

"Yeah. They're actually pretty good. I already had one. I was in at seven a.m..."

"The poor sap," Howard thought. He'd been at work for a whole hour already, trying to get his backlog finished. The last time he had seen Martin was Friday evening. He had been typing furiously, trying to get finished. Quite possibly, he had worked the weekend, too. That was the problem with working for Uncle Sam. He expected you to be patriotic about giving up your free time.

"Do you want to get a drink?" Martin said. "My treat." That was a joke. Nobody was free to leave Building 6 for lunch, so the on-site canteen, with a wave of a security pass, was free.

Howard shook his head. "I just ate breakfast. Let's go at eleven."

"Okay. Eleven o'clock it is."

"How's your spreadsheet coming along?"

Martin sighed. "I'm nearly finished. You?"

"Oh, I'm good." He gave a little chuckle.

Martin shook his head wearily. "I don't know how you do it. You never come in early, and you never work late. Have you got a secret I should know about?"

Howard grinned. He did have a secret to his success. But it was just that – a secret. No matter how bad he felt for Martin, who worked at least eight hours overtime every week, he wouldn't let him in on it.

"No secrets," he replied. "Merely the benefits of a classical education."

"I thought you studied business at college?"

Howard grinned. The question dodged, he went back to his work. He directed his Internet browser to his own website, www.howiesspreadsheettips.com. The site was more than just a collection of computer tips he had collected over the years. It contained a menu link, "Site Administration." And when Howard clicked that link, it took him to a secret logon page.

Welcome to Howie's Spreadsheet Tips. Administrator Area.

Username: hhoneyball

Password: ********

From there, it went to a disguised web-mail page. That morning, he had two new emails.

5-Oct-15 18:06 * Template

6-Oct-15 06:06 * Vacation?

He selected the top message. Today's "template" was the spreadsheet he had mailed home on Friday evening, against regulations, and worked on at the weekend. He downloaded it now. He renamed it appropriately and put it with his work documents.

"Presto," he thought. "No need for overtime on Friday nights."

He was about to log off, but the second email caught his eye. He opened it.

FREE COMPETITION

Would you like a chance to win a

trip to Pajua...

There was more to it, but he didn't read it. Wherever and whatever Pajua was, it wouldn't be a patch on his upcoming vacation at the five-star Atlantis resort. It was only two weeks away, and he was looking forward to taking a break from Building 6.

With a click, he put the email into the trash.

#

At the unofficial 11 a.m. break, Howard and Martin went to the canteen.

"Not bad," Howard said, as he sipped the pumpkin latte. "But I think I'll stick to regular coffee."

Back in the office again, the two men went back to their desks. As Howard sat down, he noticed writing on his screen.

YOUR FILES HAVE BEEN LOCKED

He froze. One of the managers must have found something wrong with his damned spreadsheet. They'd sent him a direct message. But then he read the rest of it.

To obtain the unlock key, which will

automatically decrypt your files,

you need to pay $300

Before the time: 95:56:00 expires.

Click <Next> to begin.

His stomach turned a somersault as he realized what it was. That vacation advert must have been infected with the new virus that was going around.

Ransomware...

He sat there, feeling hot panic rising inside him. How had a virus even got past the computer's anti-virus software?

"Oh, dear God," he thought. "All the files are locked. This is bad." When management found out about this, they wouldn't just sack him, they'd string him up. He'd be court-martialed. Rights? He worked in Building 6. He had no rights. He felt light headed.

Pay it. Just pay the ransom.

For thirty seconds, he had a glimmer of hope. His eyes flicked over the ransom message, searching for information on how he could pay, and get his files back. He even got his credit card out of his wallet. But then he realized paying the ransom wasn't an option. The internal security server would have already logged his file activity. That meant there was no way out. He had to confess what had happened to his manager, before the server alerted him, and he started accusing him of... _espionage_.

He dropped his credit card on the desk and slumped back in the chair, his head in his hands.

He wondered if he might sneak out of the office. He might make it outside unnoticed, where he could call his lawyer. But he knew it wouldn't do any good. Lawyer or no lawyer, he was finished. His Atlantis vacation was not going to happen any time soon. He let out a weary moan.

"I guess you really don't like it?" Martin said, pointing at the latte on Howard's desk.

But Howard didn't look at him. And he didn't reply.

"Oh, God," he groaned.

"What is it, buddy. What's up?"

Ignoring Martin, he picked up the desk-phone and dialed. "It's Howard Honeyball in R&D," he said into the handset. "I need to talk to you right now. No, no it won't wait."

He put the phone down and waited for the security manager to arrive.
THE ACTIVIST'S VIRUS

In her previous job as a secretary, Mandy Mann had been paid a slave's wage. And she had been treated like one. Every morning, her ex-boss used to drop a stack of disorganized papers on her desk.

"Mandy, I need these papers tidied by noon."

Yes, sir!

Thankfully, now that she was her own boss, she didn't have to take orders. True, owning and managing the Revere Birds of Prey Center was no walk in the park. Having to get up at daybreak to clean-out and feed thirty-four hungry hawks often made her wonder if she was any better off. But overall she found working for herself was more agreeable. She could keep her own office clean and tidy, with exactly zero stacks of disorganized papers. She had a place and a time for everything.

And so, on Tuesday, 10 March, at 9:00 a.m., after spending the morning with the birds, she sat down to do her usual hour in the office. She clicked open her first new email. It was an advert.

AMAZING INTRODUCTORY OFFER

Would you like 50% off Wholesale Animal Feeds?

Contact ad@yourpetsuppliez.com today

to see how we can help your business

save money

Adverts from suppliers were nothing new. They dropped into her inbox several times a week. But this one looked distinctly odd. She could see straight away that the advertiser had not included a phone number. That made her frown. And the company name seemed odd, too.

"Yourpetsuppliez.com..." she said. Saying it out loud made it sound even stranger.

"What's that, babe?" her husband, Andy, asked. He was in the office, looking at the calendar.

"Another supplier is trying to tempt me."

"I'm sure you'll drive a hard bargain," he said with a cheeky grin. Still with a frown, she looked up at him, to explain her suspicions about the strange advert. But, thinking it was a joke, he dashed through the door before she could say anything.

She went back to the email.

Would you like 50% off Wholesale Animal Feeds?

Well, yes, she would. But 50% was more than double the discount her current supplier had given her... Even for an introductory offer, it was too generous. It all added up to one thing. The email was probably bogus.

"Phishing" and "Spyware" were technical words she had heard lately, and not fully understood. But she knew these online bad-guys could wreck a computer.

She decided to quickly check the company's website. She typed yourpetsuppliez.com into the web browser's address bar. That brought up a green-and-white web page. On the face of it, it looked the same as any other. It had a banner at the top, and an official company logo.

But when she tried to check the discount offer, by clicking on the menu, a message popped up. "This web site is down for maintenance. Sorry for any inconvenience."

That confirmed her suspicions. No self-respecting company would leave their website in that state. They were almost certainly bogus. And the email was some sort of scam. What exactly these criminals were trying to do, she didn't know, so she left it at that: A scam. She didn't bother to hunt the web page for a phone number. She closed it. Then she closed the email, and clicked the trash icon to delete it.

Nice try, fraudsters.

She made a mental note to mention the incident to her sister, Melissa, the next time she saw her, and then went on with her work.

But already the Ransomware virus was active in the background, watching and waiting for the right moment.

At noon, the Manns went out to lunch, leaving the center attended by their trainee, Lucinda. Inside the locked office, the computer sat idle. The virus quietly counted off the minutes until it was sure the computer had been left completely unattended. At 12:15, it got to work.

It trawled through the computer's hard-drive, looking for documents. It scrambled anything it found, turning the files one-by-one into unreadable nonsense: The center's financial accounts, the list of Hawk Club members, and all the photos of the birds. On the front of the computer, the hard-drive activity light flickered wildly, but there was nobody in the office to notice.

Minutes later, the virus ceased its labors. The hard-drive light stopped flashing. Hundreds of hours of work had been reduced to unreadable gibberish.

Then a dialogue box popped up on the screen, emblazoned by a bright red exclamation mark.

YOUR FILES ARE LOCKED. IF YOU WANT

THE PASSWORD TO UNLOCK THEM, SET

ALL THE BIRDS FREE. YOU HAVE UNTIL

MIDNIGHT, WED 18th MARCH

TO COMPLY.

When the Manns returned from lunch, they were too busy talking about the local summer festival to notice the message. Mandy only saw it when she sat down to resume her work.

"Andy," she said with a frown, "look at this." He had almost got out of the door. He winced and turned back.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"There's writing on the screen."

He went over to the computer and read the message.

"Set all the birds free." He gave a hollow laugh. "It can't be a joke from your sister, can it?"

"No. I think it's a computer virus."

He shrugged, as if to say, "I'm no expert."

She selected a file, "Summer Flyer.doc." It was the document she had been working on before lunch. It had been an advertisement for the summer festival, complete with a photo of their stall. Now, it contained only numbers and letters.

A8BDFD76B2F3E9SAEF37AD92DAFF8DE3

BA83A34FJCBD92BCA93D4EA59AD34989

"Where's my flyer?" she said, her brow creased with worry. "I think we should call Ray Bostwick at the computer store and get him out here."

"If it's a virus, just run the anti-virus software," Andy said with a shrug. "That's what it is there for."

Mandy shook her head. "It's automatic. It's obviously not detected anything."

"So what are we paying the subscription money for each year, if it doesn't work?"

"The virus might be too new. We'd better get someone to take a look." She quickly retrieved the store's number from her contacts list, picked up the office phone, and dialed the number. She gave the handset to Andy.

"Sorry, Babe," he said, waving his hand, "the computer is your department."

She thrust the handset into his hand. "You bought the computer off Ray, so he knows you. Ask him to get somebody out as soon as possible."

Andy glanced back at the doorway. He had several jobs to clear up before the end of the day. He didn't need this extra hassle. But, looking at his wife again, he could see she was deeply concerned. If he wanted to keep the cogs of married life turning smoothly, he would have to comply.

He sighed. Then he leaned back on the desk, and waited for the store to answer their phone.
I GET HIT BY RANSOMWARE

It was just after 11 p.m., and I was sitting in my darkened bedroom, watching the stars, when my email pinged. I had a new message.

OFFWORLD COMPETITION

Calling all gamers! Would you like

to win an all-expenses-paid trip to Pajua,

for the gaming event of the year!?

Simply head over to

www.arcadegameexpo.com

and fill in our online form for

your chance to win!

Ordinarily, I don't enter competitions. And I wouldn't have given an unsolicited spam-mail advert a second glance. But I needed a break from work. For the last few days, I'd been furiously coding up my college project (a PHP website), and had barely been out of my room. My mom kept knocking on the door to bring me food that I hadn't asked for.

"Landry, how's your project going?" she kept asking.

"It's 99% finished," I kept telling her. And every time I said it I felt a little more foolish. Worse, I was starting to think I might not get the project finished before the end of the spring vacation. And the college I was attending wasn't exactly the kind of place where you said, "Gee, professor, my project is almost done." I could imagine the witty response.

" _Well, Mr. Smith, perhaps you'll almost graduate."_

I rubbed my eyes and stretched. I had another hour to go before bed, so I definitely needed to take a quick break, if only to recharge my mental batteries.

I saved the code I had been working on. Then I copied the URL "www.arcadegameexpo.com" from the advert into the browser, and hit go.

The website appeared. Though their crappy menu didn't work properly, the main page looked good: Video games, gadgets, retro-techno music, and the chance to meet girls who spoke fluent PHP. So I thought it might be an interesting weekend.

But when I traced the route on the map, I could see how far away Pajua actually was. The journey would have cost me more in gas money than I had left in my student loan. Besides which, there was no way I would have finished my project by then. It just wasn't going to happen.

So, after a couple of minutes spent looking over the website's party photos, just out of curiosity, I closed the browser and went back to my programming.

But it wasn't long before I was once again gazing up at the night sky. Where I live, it's mostly fields, with few street lights, so I get a good view of the milky way from my bedroom. And, weary from the long day, my mind must have wandered off to play among the stars.

When I opened my eyes again, it was 11:28 p.m. I looked at the screen and could see a message. I read the top line.

YOUR FILES HAVE BEEN LOCKED

At first, still groggy from the nap, I thought it must be one of my friends playing a joke. The year before, when I had still been in high-school, I had fallen for the old "Blue Screen" trick. It's the one where your friend changes your screen-saver to look like a Windows crash. The moment I hit the power button, the whole computer club erupted in laughter.

Looking at my screen now, I wondered if this was a joke, too. Then I realized it was a genuine virus. That game expo advert must have been infected somehow. Either that or the website.

I had been Ransomwared...

I read the rest of the message. It went on for half a page, explaining what I had to do to get my files unlocked. The gist of it was that I had to send the ransomers $300.

I double-clicked one of my coursework files. Sure enough, everything had been scrambled into oblivion – the whole of my college coursework.

Every last word.

For the entire year.

Eight months' worth of blood, sweat, and tears... I let out a groan.

Okay, Landry. You can handle this.

By a stroke of luck, the code I had been working on for the previous hour was still open in the application. That meant the virus had been unable to lock it. It was safe. I quickly saved it, and then saved a spare copy to my external disk. At least I had one minor blessing – I hadn't lost the entire spring break's work.

Then I went on a virus hunt.

I checked the browser history. There it was: The virus had placed a file in the Temp folder. I quickly rebooted Windows into safe mode. That let me delete everything in Temp. I checked the user registry, too, and found a run-key, also left by Ransomware. I deleted it.

When I rebooted back into normal mode and logged in, everything looked fine. I sat there waiting, half expecting the ransom message, with the usual stubbornness of all viruses, to reappear. But it did not. Everything was okay.

I waited yet another minute before congratulating myself on a job well done: The whole manual virus disinfection process had taken less than ten minutes.

Now to get my files back.

I said a quick prayer to the patron saint of computer programmers (St. Backup), and checked my cloud storage. Thankfully, the rest of my archived college coursework files were still there: All eight months of notes, essays, and assignments.

But had Ransomware somehow got into my backup archive and scrambled it, too?

I selected one of the files, just to test it. It opened fine, and looked good. I slumped back in my chair, and gave a little victory wave.

Relief.

By then, it was 11:39 p.m., and too late to bother restoring all the files, which might have taken hours. And I couldn't be bothered doing a proper system restore, or anti-virus scan. Instead, I wrote myself a reminder to start from scratch in the morning.

Don't turn on your Windows

machine. Wipe it and

and re-image it

– including the boot sector –

1st thing in the a.m.

I left the sticky-note in the middle of the keyboard.

I stood there in the darkness, feeling good about it. Most of my college course consisted of attending academic lectures and typing up notes. But it was nice to know I wasn't just a coder – I could actually roll up my sleeves and get stuck into the practical side of things.

I yawned again. It had been a long day. I switched off the computer, turned off the light, took a last peek at the stars, got undressed, and got into bed.

I closed my eyes and thought about my narrow escape. If the worst had come to the worst, I could have lost eight months of college coursework. I'd have been ejected from college, scholarship or no scholarship. But Ransomware had only been a second-rate virus. I had been able to manually disinfect it myself.

No big deal.

And that, as far as I knew, was the end of the matter.

Until I saw it all on the news the next day.
ANATOMY OF A VIRUS

I was in the kitchen and just about to get breakfast when the headline flashed up on the TV.

REVERE COUNTY BIRDS OF PREY CENTER

Ransomware Virus

I stopped walking and stared in amazement. Somebody else had got hit. It the local bird center. The news people were broadcasting just two or three miles down the road from where I was stood.

"Did you see this?" I said, turning my head to look at Mom, who was sat at the table. She wasn't watching the news. She was engrossed in a new book, "Teaching Adult Learners."

"Hmm?" she said, without looking up. When she gets reading, she is hard to talk to. I left her to it, and went back to the TV.

The reporter was holding out a microphone to good-looking Mandy and sporty-looking Andy. They were a young couple in their early thirties. I knew them because I had been to their bird center. When I had seen them last, they both looked full of the joys of life, as if their new exhibit was an exciting adventure – a change from their normal nine-to-five lives. Now, despite a brave smile from both, they looked wilted, like they had been left out in the rain.

"We had no choice," Mandy said. "In the end, we had to let the birds go." The camera panned around and zoomed in to show the rows of empty bird cages, their wire mesh doors still wide open.

"You only opened for business this weekend," the reporter said, waving her microphone at Andy. "How does that make you feel?"

"Kidnapping computer files and holding them to ransom," he muttered, shaking his head. "I can't believe people do that."

"In the end," the reporter said, "you had to do what the ransomers wanted. You set the birds free. But it was a long wait until they sent you the unlock codes. How did that make you feel?" She thrust the microphone under Mandy's mouth.

"It was unnerving."

"And when you finally typed in the unlock code and got your files back, how did you feel?"

"We had everything stored on the computer, so we were very relieved to get it all back."

"What are you going to do to make sure this doesn't happen in future?"

"We now have computer backups."

The reporter turned back to the camera. "This virus attack was almost certainly carried out by an animal welfare group, concerned about the birds. But so far, nobody has come forward to claim responsibility, thus deepening the mystery. It's back to you in the studio, Janine."

The report cut to, Janine, the anchor at the news desk. With her was a man in his twenties. He was wearing a collared shirt without a tie, and looked as relaxed as if he was at home. The caption changed.

Freddy Masters

Author of "Protect Your Computer"

"Good morning, Freddy," Janine said. "Thanks for coming in today to answer our questions about this virus."

"Hi, Janine," Freddy said. "It's nice to be back again."

"This latest attack brings the Ransomware virus back into the public eye again. So what advice can you give people who are affected by it?"

"At the moment, with not much known about this new variant, it's down to basics. People need to double-check that their security software, including anti-virus, is installed and working properly. And it should be set to update automatically."

"But Mandy Mann told me she did have security software, and that it was up-to-date. She obviously acted sensibly, showed caution, and did everything right. What more could she have done?" He talked and talked. Remembering my tussle with the virus, I kept waiting for him to say something interesting. But he only stuck to the basics. After all, this was daytime TV. I should not have expected him to talk about registry settings and all that geek talk. "I'll be taking a closer look at this virus," he finally concluded. "I'll be able to advise your viewers then."

"We look forward to it." She turned to face the camera. "In other news..."

That was the end of the report.

"Mom," I said, "did you see the local bird place on the news?"

"Yes," she said. She bookmarked her page, then looked up. "Elle was talking about it when I went to the store."

"That's so weird. I got that same virus just last night."

"You did? You didn't mention it to me."

"You'd gone to bed by then."

"Oh, I see. What happened to your files? You didn't have to pay, did you?"

"I got them from backup," I said with an unconcerned shrug.

She frowned. "But what could animal welfare activists possibly want with you?"

"Activists?" I shook my head. "Oh, no. Wait. Step back a bit. Animal welfare didn't virus me. It was some black-hat hackers wanting money."

"So there are two viruses?"

"No. There is only one virus, called Ransomware. But now there are two groups using it."

"It all sounds very complicated."

"Not really. These activists must have got in on the scam, that's all."

She tutted. "Activists using viruses. How did they get that idea?"

"It beats raiding bird exhibits in the middle of the night."

"Well, that depends upon your point of view. But I meant how did they even think of it?" She shook her head, bewildered.

"They must have got infected by it themselves. Then they figured it was such a good scam that they could use it, but to demand the release of animals instead of cash. So they made a themselves a copycat." I grinned. "See what I did there? Copycat. Cat. Birds..."

"Landry," she said, with a parental frown, "it's not something to joke about."

"What?"

"There's nothing funny about viruses and criminal damage. If it happened to you – "

"It did happen to me, just last night."

"You know what I mean. If you had lost everything, you wouldn't be joking about it."

"Sure, it's pretty bad for the owners. But they got their files back in the end. But I was thinking about the birds. I'll bet they're happy."

"Yes, the birds are free. But sending computer viruses – what sort of activism is that?"

"You didn't do that in your day," I said, wagging a finger. But she's used to my straight-faced sense of humor.

"No, we did not. We organized protests."

I chuckled. To avoid the pending sermon about social action, I went to get breakfast.
ACTIVISTS GET IN ON THE ACT

I got a bowl of cereal, then went back to the table. I sat down to eat. With my left hand, I checked my phone, searching for information.

"I looked online," I said. "There's not much about it. For a hundred years nothing happens in St. Albans. Then these bird people move in and suddenly the town has a news event on its hands. We'll probably get tourists wandering around with cameras, taking photos of the old water pump, and buying postcards."

"Umm," Mom said absently. Already, she had gone back to her book.

I thumbed my phone some more.

"I checked Greenpeace's website, too. It wasn't them."

"Really, Landry!" She said, almost dropping her book.

"What?"

"Of course it wasn't Greenpeace." She waved her hands around. "They are global environmentalists." She grew up in the 1990's, one of the world's Eco-generation. Eco-Mom. Didn't I know it.

I shrugged. "Greenpeace pull stunts like that."

"They do not go around raiding bird exhibits."

"So how come I see them on TV, squaring up to oil tankers in rubber dinghies?"

She shook her head, dismayed at her young son's ignorance. "If you are concerned about birds being kept in cages, why don't you write them for advice? They can tell you who to contact."

"Or I can look it up on the Internet," I said with a grin.

"Why don't you?"

Somehow, we had wandered onto the subject of me joining an activist group. This was not a likely prospect. I had to change the subject.

"I'm only saying I'm happy the birds got freed, instead of being stuck in a cage all the time. However, I'm a busy comp.sci student. I've got enough on my plate without signing up for bird duty."

"I'm sure you have time to get involved – "

"Yeah. I could start my own virus campaign?" I was keeping my face as straight as I could manage.

"I'm not suggesting you do anything criminal. There's probably a group you could join."

"Mom, please drop it."

"But – "

"When would I have time for activism? I'm a scholarship case playing catch-up with the rich kids."

"I think you've got spare time."

"Me?" I said, looking around for anyone else in the room she might be referring to. I'd spent all of the previous day, since about 6:45 a.m., doing college coursework. I'd barely even been downstairs.

"I keep hearing explosions coming from your room. It sounds like there is a war going on in there."

"If you are talking about last Friday, then you're right. But Friday nights are for games and pizza. I've got to take a break from studying some time. Anyway, I wasn't just playing a video game. I was playing the greatest video game ever. Offworld."

Offworld sounds boring: You solve a mystery on a space-station, while fending off attacks from henchmen in spacesuits. But there were so many mods that over the last few years, I'd clocked up over a thousand man-hours.

"It's spring break, Landry. I thought you might have found some nice college woman to spend your free time with."

That was another subject I wanted to avoid. I merely rolled my eyes.

"Stuck inside on Friday night!" she persisted. When she got going about my social life (or lack thereof), she was hard to stop. But I knew what was coming next, and said it at the same time as her: "You should be out with your friends, having fun." She doesn't like it when I second-guess her like that. She gave me another parental frown.

I smiled charmingly, picked up my bowl, and took it into the kitchen. I looked out through the window. It was a bright, sunny day again, but with clouds looming in the distance. Summer was still a couple of months away, and rain in that part of the world was a definite possibility.

"I'm going into town soon. I'll take the car if you need anything bringing back?"

"I don't need anything, thanks. But you don't have to cycle to town all the time. You can drive."

"It's sunny. I may as well get some exercise." The Smith household had been in a financial recession for the last decade, and until I graduated college and got a job, gas would continue to be a luxury, to be used sparingly. "If I spot any giddy hawks flying somersaults, I'll snap a photo. See you later."

"Okay. If you are going on your bicycle, don't forget your waterproof jacket. From the look of it, it might rain later."

"Yeah, okay." I looked at my watch. It was still early, so I had a free hour to spend on my college coursework.

I headed upstairs to my computer.
THE BIRD CENTER

I cycled past the Revere Birds of Prey Center at just after ten a.m. I didn't see any police cars or TV vans, but that was probably because they had already gone. Besides which, the exhibit's parking lot was hidden behind a tall line of trees, and not much of the place was visible from the road.

It was weird to think of this harmless-looking place – not much more than a quaint log cabin – as the site of The Great Bird Robbery, or whatever they were calling the incident in the news.

It was also weird to think that this had been the site of an animal welfare protest just weeks before. A group of people, mostly alt-girls (it seemed to me) had been stood outside, waving a banner. Hawks Should Fly Free. Mom had honked the car horn at them, and got a cheer from them. She would probably have stopped to say hello, but she's on the town committee, and the new bird center had been a point of contention which she had to avoid getting involved in.

I looked at the center's big white sign as I went past. I knew that if you accepted the invitation on it ("See hawks in flight at 11 a.m. today") and turned into that tree-lined driveway, you eventually came to the big cabin. Behind it was about two-hundred square feet of bird cages. Behind the cages was a strip of grass, which had been trimmed as neatly as a golf course green. But instead of a golf flag in the center, it had a bird perch.

The one time I had visited, the demonstration had started exactly on time. At 11 a.m., a falconer had placed a little brown hawk (a common buzzard, I knew) on the perch. He walked back to the crowd, and held up a piece of chicken with his gloved hand. The hawk flew over and swooped down majestically to grab the food. People had applauded, and it was such an amazing sight I might have joined in – if I hadn't seen hawks taking mice from the fields outside my house, oh, about a hundred times before.

After the display, there was a tour of the cages, but by that time I'd already realized my mistake in going there, and left. Despite its jazzy sign and fancy logo, the Revere Birds of Prey was just another visitor center in the back of nowhere, where grandparents took their grand-kids at the weekend.

Cycling past the place on that spring morning, I realized Mom had been right. It had annoyed me to see all those birds cooped-up. I wished when I had been in there I had said something to them.

"Do you know birds have wings for a reason?"

Landry's little protest.

But the Manns had seemed such a nice couple, I didn't say anything. And all the visitors seemed just to be average people, too. You know, John and Jean, looking to take the kids out for a breath of fresh air and something "educational." Half of them probably had cats or dogs, and thought all animals liked to be domesticated.

There wasn't anything I could have said.
THE STORY

Bostwick's PC Repair was the only computer store in town, so I guessed the Manns had called them out to their virus emergency. I was right.

"DNA error," Jimmy said, without looking up from his computer screen. "DNA error" is repair-shop code for "Driver Needs Assistance." It is a polite way of saying the Manns were not computer experts, and needed a rent-a-geek like Jimmy to disinfect their virus.

"But Ransomware is easy to clean," I said. "I got it last night."

"You did?" he said, frowning at me as if I was talking gibberish.

"Yeah. All it did was pop up a message saying 'We have got your files,' with a big red exclamation mark at the side. I just deleted the virus-files and cleaned the user registry. That was it. As viruses go, Ransomware is no big deal."

"Look again. It's not the viral infection that does the damage. It's the encryption. Once your files are locked, there's no way to get them unlocked, except to pay. This scam is so new, even the cyber cops don't have the unlock codes."

"So you couldn't crack it for them? Jimmy the Wiz?"

He glanced up from his work. "1024-bit encryption? It takes a billion years to unscramble with current technology."

Since starting college, I'd been too busy to pay much attention to computer security. All I knew was that if the combined forces of the cyber cops and the legendary (in our town, at least) computer guru Ray Bostwick were having a hard time dealing with Ransomware, it really did deserve the name Malware.

"It all had a happy ending, though," I said with a cheery smile.

"Sure," he said, humoring a fool, "the Manns got their files back. They are only down thirty-four birds and over a hundred greenbacks in repair costs."

I grinned. "Like I said, a happy ending all-around."

He gave me a blank stare. "I don't get the joke."

"Didn't you see those tiny little cages when you went out to the bird center?"

"Me? I didn't tour the place. I was busy working."

"They do a student discount, so I flashed my card and went in. They had all these birds with five-foot wing spans in display cages about six foot wide. Dumb."

He laughed. "Oh, yeah, I remember now. They used to call you Landry, the Birdman of Humphrey High." What a nickname. I was eight years old last time I went bird watching, but I wasn't going to argue it.

Ray Bostwick, the tall, round-shouldered owner of the store, came out of the back room and looked around absently. Jimmy isn't supposed to goof around in the store, so I stopped grinning.

Ray was a friendly guy and normally said hi to me. But his thoughts were obviously on the spate of new Ransomware incidents that were keeping him busy. I felt a twinge of pity. Disinfecting PCs made him money, but it also put him in a difficult position. The average person thinks they buy anti-virus software and that's the end of it. But the virusers keep coming up with new scams. Even the world's number one anti-virus had weak spots. Ray had to try to explain to his customers why the pricey anti-virus software he had sold them had failed to work with Ransomware.

"Hi, Ray," I said.

"Oh, hi, Landry." He didn't bother with the usual friendly talk, and only looked at Jimmy. "I'm going out on a call."

Jimmy nodded. He had worked at Bostwick's seven or eight months, since graduating high school. He knew the ropes and Ray trusted him to mind the place. I always thought that was pretty cool. Jimmy had been a typical high school computer geek – not very worldly or practical, and more interested in the latest games and apps. But once he had got himself into a job, he had done really well. I was pleased for him because we'd been best buddies since forever. Once, for about a year after his dad died, he had practically lived at my house. Every night was video game night.

Ray went out, got into the store's little van, and drove off.

"Ray looked harassed," I said. "I guess somebody else just caught a cold."

"Huh? Oh, you mean Ransomware. You know, you need offline storage for protection against it."

"Yeah? Can't I use online backup?" I grinned, thinking about last night, and how St. Backup had heard my prayers.

"It looks like the virus can also encrypt attached storage. You'll have to disconnect to stay safe." If that was true, I really did have a narrow escape last night. "You can have that unpluggable USB disk for $50." I looked in the little bargain-bin that was sitting in front of the counter. There was a removable hard drive with a bright red case, but no box, no manual, and no software disk. A B-grade steal. It was marked $85, so I was getting a good bargain. I didn't need it, but you can never have too much storage.

"Student discount?" I asked, tongue-in-cheek. It was a bit unreasonable to expect a further reduction just because we had both been in the high school computer club together. But I was at college now, and still on a student's budget.

"That is the discount price," he said. "Ray already knocked it down once. Call it $30. Just don't tell him."

"My student loan won't stretch to $30." I changed the subject. "Do you think Ray will give me a job this summer?"

He shrugged. "Ask him."

"Put in a good word for me?"

"Brainy Landry? You don't need a letter of introduction. Ray would hire you in a second. But it comes down to work load. It's my first summer working here, so I couldn't tell you if he'll need more staff. But you should definitely ask."

The way Jimmy arranged it, he spent all morning fixing PCs, setting up the sales displays, and getting the other daily retail tasks out of the way. His work done, he spent the afternoons slacking off and doing his own thing. As long as the work was done and there were no call-outs, Ray didn't care what Jimmy did – he could even play Offworld. That seemed like a cool summer job to me. Teachers (who were only half-joking) had told me that a summer job was supposed to be unpleasant and hard work. You were supposed to sweat it out in a steel mill, to make you appreciate how easy you had it at college, and that would make you stick at it through the rough spots. There might be something in that, but I still preferred a job at Bostwick's. I'd spend the summer sharpening my computer repair skills, and getting some Offworld time in the afternoon. You couldn't beat that. At least, not while getting paid.

My phone pinged. It was one of my friends from school, Devin, another computer club member. He was currently on vacation in Oregon, but kept sending me photos of his travels. I looked at my phone. It was another goofy picture of a tall pine tree, shot at the wrong angle.

"Dev keeps sending me 'Tree of The Day' photos," I said, showing Jimmy the photo. "It's supposed to be funny."

Jimmy shook his head. "He'll grow up eventually." I put the email into the trash, and put my phone back on my belt clip. I'd got comments from people who thought a belt clip was a nerdy thing to have. But it was good for when I was on the bike. I mean, if I put my phone in my backpack, I wouldn't hear it ring above the traffic.

"Ah, well," I said, "I'd better get back to studying. But I might swing by the Revere Birds of Prey Center on my way home. I want to congratulate them on setting their birds free." I chuckled. It wasn't that I was making a joke at the Mann's expense. I certainly didn't condone what happened to them. Far from it. But the idea of those birds escaping their cages made me feel good.

"Say hi to the mayor for me," Jimmy said.

"Huh?"

"He's probably already out there, putting up a plaque to commemorate the most interesting thing that has ever happened around here."

I laughed. "A hundred years and nothing happens in our one-horse town. Now we're on the bleeding edge of technology. See you on Offworld."

He waved without looking, once again engrossed in the computer screen. I went outside, got my bike, and started pushing it along the new pedestrian area. At the edge of town, I spotted the sign for the Revere Birds of Prey Center in the distance. I could imagine the previous night's jailbreak – all those hawks and owls blinking at the cage doors that had suddenly and unexpectedly sprung open in front of them. Waiting for a quiet moment, not sure what they were seeing, before flying up into the moonlit night with a flap and a feathery whoosh – free, never to return. I admit, it gave me a warm glow of contentment.

At least, it did until the police arrested me and charged me with having masterminded the whole affair.
ARRESTED

"Landry Smith?" a gruff voice said.

I had been walking along, my head in the clouds. I looked up to find my way blocked off by a tall, unshaven man wearing a black leather jacket and scruffy blue jeans.

I halted. Rather than realizing the man had used my name and knew who I was, I came out of my reverie with the sudden, irrational instinct that I was in trouble. All I saw was a seedy looking guy the size of a junior sumo wrestler lumbering towards me on a quiet back street.

I was about to launch my bike at him – it's not exactly karate, but in such circumstances, the main thing to remember is to try to get back to a populated area. But before I could make any move, a car pulled up at the side of me, and another tall man came up behind me, blocking my retreat.

"Landry Smith," he said, "you are under arrest on charges of computer crime and criminal damage." He produced a wallet with a badge and an identification card, and at that point I came to my senses. These men were undercover police officers. I relaxed and let out the breath I had been holding. I wasn't going to be robbed. That comforting thought didn't last long.

"Under arrest?" I stuttered.

"Turn around and put your hands on the car," the first man ordered.

"There must be some mistake," I said.

"Where's your phone?" he demanded.

"On my belt." He lifted my jacket and took the phone. The other officer grabbed my arm. "Turn around." This time, he pulled my arm. I turned around and placed my hands on the car. He searched me. The other man went through my backpack. Then he read me my rights.

I was under arrest.
A TRIP TO THE STATION

I was driven to the police station, then taken to a small interview room. Detective Glass introduced himself as an officer from the cyber squad. He was a plain-looking man, but neatly dressed in a suit and tie. He said he was leading the investigation into the incident at the Revere County Birds of Prey Center.

I was still stunned about being arrested. I just sat and looked at him, and tried to take it all in.

"What do you know about the incident?" he said.

I shrugged. "I got the story from the news."

"Yes?"

"These bird people had a computer virus called Ransomware."

"Anything else?"

"They had to let the birds go."

"Anything else?"

I shrugged again. "Only that I wasn't involved." He sat with an expectant look on his face, but again all I could do was shrug off the question. After a quiet minute, I said, "I'm sorry I can't help you with your inquiries."

"Where were you on Tuesday night?"

"I was at home. I'm back from college for the spring break."

"Did you use your computer that evening?" He said it plainly enough, but I had a sudden premonition that I should choose my words carefully. Apart from being a convicted dawdler when I was four years old (my family nickname was Dawdle), I like to think I've never been much trouble to anyone. But I also know the police don't make charges lightly. They always have evidence.

"Yes," I said carefully, "I use my computer most evenings."

"Have you ever been involved in computer hacking?"

"No." Now, there are twenty-four people on my college course who consider themselves hackers, by virtue of the fact that they spend most of the day hacking code. Almost certainly, I was a hacker. But I wasn't going to quibble over the terminology.

"No," I said, "I've never done anything criminal with my computer."

"How about animal liberation, Are you a member of any groups?"

"Detective Glass, uh, shouldn't you have asked me if I want to talk to my lawyer?"

"Are you a member of an animal liberation groups?"

"No." I shook my head. I didn't know they had animal lib any more. Months before, I had read about a dolphin that had got injured when it wandered into a bay in some sunny part of the world, and collided with a boat. The animal rescue people nursed it back to health, then set it free. And the reason it made the news was that a few months later a surfer got in to trouble near the bay, when a hungry shark started circling him. A team of dolphins came to his rescue, surrounding the man until he was pulled to safety. It was a neat story and, as far as I was aware, the only news item I had read about animals in a long time. Until the news about the bird center.

Glass tapped his pen on the desk and gave me a grim stare.

He said, "We found your student ID number in the guest list at the birds of prey center. Can you explain that?"

"I did visit the place. But only for two minutes."

"Why only two minutes?"

"Well, you know..."

"Hmm?"

I shrugged again. What could I say? "It wasn't really my sort of thing."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure. The whole story is that I was biking back from town and spotted the new exhibit. Then I noticed their student discount sign, and just dropped in on the spur of the moment."

"But you only stayed two minutes?"

I shrugged. "It wasn't for me, so I came out again."

"It sounds like something bothered you. Were you concerned about the birds in cages?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said you only stayed for two minutes. That's what I'm trying to work out. Why would someone pay to go into an exhibit, then only stay two minutes?"

"Well..." I started, then stopped. There was no good answer. "It's not the sort of place I'd usually go."

"So it did bother you?"

"Yeah, I suppose it did. I mean, they've got birds with a five-foot wing span in six-foot cages. It's kind of dumb."

"So you were glad when they had to let the birds go?"

"Glad...? I guess so. Though it doesn't mean I was involved in anything."

"We found an Audubon poster on your wall. They are a bird society, aren't they?"

"Yes. I think they are the oldest in America."

"You're a birdwatcher?"

"That poster's been there since I was five. You'll see I've got a periodic table, too. Having a chemistry poster doesn't mean I go around making bombs." I didn't want to give any cheek to the cops, but this was ridiculous. Convicted for having an Audubon poster. He looked down at his bare notepad, with nothing written on it, as if he was reading an invisible note. He looked up again.

"You are a computer specialist, aren't you?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm a specialist, as such. I'm still a student."

"Aren't you an expert in computer viruses?"

I shook my head. "I'm not an expert. No."

"You do have a collection of viruses on your home computer." It wasn't a question. Obviously, they had already searched my computer. They had probably busted into the house, to search the place. Mom teaches at night school and is home in the morning. I could imagine the look on her face when the cops turned up. Worse, she was an activist when she was younger, waving banners to save the ozone, and all that stuff. As far as I know, she never got into trouble with the law, but the cops probably had some sort of record of her activism. I had the vague idea they were finding me guilty by association.

"Look, Detective Glass, I'm not the guy you are looking for. I'm not a viruser. I'm not an activist, either. I do have viruses on my home-drive, but they are only for research purposes. I'm still an undergrad, but I do intend to go into research, so that's okay..." He said nothing and only looked at me with a stone-faced stare. "I think I'd like to talk to my lawyer now."

"Do you have something to hide?"

"No, I don't have anything to hide. But I suspect – from what you just said, and from the fact of my arrest, that you are going to charge me with virusing this bird center."

"Yes, Landry, we are."

"So I have to talk to my lawyer."

"First, I'd like you to have a discussion with our psychologist."
THE EVIDENCE IS STRONG

The Audubon poster had been on my wall since I was five years old. Somehow I had never got around to taking it down. It had fifty-two illustrations of the birds of America (owls and hawks included) – one for each week of the year. I remember the day I got it I didn't bother with the one-bird-per-week idea and memorized the whole chart in about an hour. I was proud I was the only person in my class who knew the difference between a swallow, a swift, a house martin, and a sand martin. I never thought that poster might one day be used in evidence against me.

Next, the police found my external storage drive, the little white box that sits on top of my desktop PC. Apart from assorted apps, it contained a vault with computer viruses, trojans, and other malware. It's not unusual for a computer science student to keep viruses, but I can imagine what the police thought.

The next thing they found was my collection of violent video games. That's what Ms. Kaur, the police psychologist, called them: Violent.

"Do you like playing at space games, Landry?" she said.

"I guess so."

"Do you like pretending you are in a different world?"

"Sort of."

"Why is that?"

"Because I live in St. Albans?" She didn't find me amusing.

But anyway, it was nothing unusual for computer fanatics to have sci-fi and action video games. I tried to honestly explain the appeal of the games. But I couldn't gloss over the fact that Offworld, the greatest space adventure game ever produced, had a stock of weapons that included laser-trip bombs, and nuclear shock rifles. Violence.

But what seemed to dismay her most was my choice of an online user account. For some time, I'd been logging on with the username Mechanoid. It's nowhere near as weird as a lot of other names: "IAmTheDragon," and "*BruTalitY*," and stuff like that. But, I admit, it sounds a bit strange for an otherwise sensible college undergrad to go around calling himself Mechanoid. Again, I tried to explain my motives as honestly as possible:

1. I was about twelve years old when I choose the name. Mechanoid was the name of a character in an old science fiction movie.

2. As every gamer knows, all the good usernames are already taken. When you join up to any online gaming service, you get presented with suggested usernames, which have numbers tacked on the end, and I'm really not fond of using accounts with numbers, like 'Landry876.'

3. Before Mechanoid, I used to log on as 'Landry-Smith' and I got sick of Devin, my gamer friend, referring to me as Dash.

So I had good reasons for calling myself Mechanoid. But the main reason I chose to be called Mechanoid was that it was just another Saturday morning when dad dropped the games gift-token on my desk and said, "Sorry I didn't see you on your birthday." It took me about a two minutes to pick myself a new username, and get stuck into playing the game. That's it.

Ms. Kaur didn't buy any of that explanation. Her eyebrows did a little dance.

"Have you ever imagined that sometimes your parents are characters in your video-games?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever thought about shooting them, for instance?" I was tempted to tell her about the time I was six and they left me with Mr. and Mrs. Winter for the entire weekend, but I was in enough trouble already.

"No," was my short reply.

After my disastrous talk with Ms. Kaur, Mom's lawyer, Mr. Masterson, arrived to discuss all the evidence in legal terms. He was wearing his suit and tie and carrying a black leather briefcase. Mr. Masterson is about as emotional as that briefcase, but as I gave him my version of events, he kept peering at me oddly. And when I concluded my story, there was a definite crease in his forehead.

"I think you should be taking this more seriously," he said.

"But I am."

"The police – "

"The police haven't even asked me if I am innocent!"

"It's beside the point. You did admit to them you were glad this bird zoo had been attacked?"

"Well, no... I certainly didn't say glad or attacked."

"But you said something to that effect?"

"Well naturally, I was happy the birds went free. Who wouldn't be? The cool thing about being a bird is you get to fly around. So being in a cage kind of sucks."

"It was not a good idea to speak so freely."

"What, you think I sabotaged that place?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. It matters what the police think. They have evidence of your visit. And they found viruses on your computer disk."

I slumped and let out a sigh. "I didn't think they'd make anything of it," I said lamely. But they had made something of it. They had put two and two together and come up with their main suspect; an eighteen-year-old computer science student called Landry who had visited the Birds of Prey center, and who was an expert in computer viruses.

"It's a case of mistaken identity... Did you see Mom yet?"

"Yes. Your mother is waiting to see you."
EXPLAINING

As a teacher, Mom takes her student's grades personally. So it takes a lot for her to skip class – something like her son getting arrested.

"Landry..." she said, putting her hand on mine.

"Mom," I said, "don't worry. I didn't do it. They'll have to drop the charges sooner or later."

"So it wasn't you?"

What?

"Of course not," I said, sitting up. "I thought you would be supporting me."

"The police said they have a very good case against you."

I pulled my hand away. "It's only circumstantial evidence!"

Mr. Masterson said, "It might be that the police can get a conviction without direct evidence."

I shook my head. "That's doubtful, isn't it?"

"A jury might have to decide that."

"A jury! There are twenty billion birds in this country. Would any sane juror think I'd blow off my whole career to rescue a mere thirty?" I tried to calculate the exact percentage of birds liberated in respect to the number of birds extant, but my brain, which was normally good at math, refused to co-operate. I was stressed.

"Do you remember that time," Mom said, "we found the blackbird dead in the garden? How hard you cried."

"I was five."

"You were seven."

I frowned. "I was seven? Really?"

"You were seven."

"Anyhow, what's bird watching got to do with animal liberation terrorism?"

"They are not terrorists, darling. They are activists." She bobbed her brown hair recently, and gave up on contacts because glasses are easier. So it was about time she grew out of the activist thing, too.

"Okay, activists, then. I'm all for them raiding the bird center. But if this group is so ethical, they should come forward and admit to their crime, so I can go home."

"Your mother and I are not accusing you," Mr. Masterson said. "but we do need to ask these questions."

I looked at him. "You've asked me if I am secretly involved in activism. The answer is no. I've got my Offworld scores to keep me busy. That's the end of it."

"I was an activist at your age," Mom said.

I was going to say something like, "Oh, really?" as if I had been unaware of Mom's social conscience for the last eighteen years, and hadn't seen her friends painting banners and placards in the lounge. Now Eco-Warrior Mom had got me into hot water. The cops probably had a photo of her wearing a Che Guevara t-shirt, and holding a "Free The O-Zone Layer" sign. Militant Mom. They make TV movies about that sort of thing. It was hard not to say anything. Sitting there, listening to her nonsense about me being an activist, I might have told her something. I wanted to.

" _Hey, Mom, you're the crusader with a secret police file. That's why they picked on me."_

But, apart from all the Eco stuff, she had been the proverbial good mother. Like when I got the measles for the second time. I was about eight. I am probably the only kid in the history of the human race to get the measles twice. It's bad the second time. I was writhing in agony for two weeks. I couldn't even watch TV. I spent sixteen hours a day staring at the ceiling. So she used to read to me for hours – my favorites, such as "Asterix the Gaul," "The Man in The Iron Mask," and "Adventures in The Outer Zone." And I'd try to explain to her (in weary little croaks) exactly what an Outer Zone was. And she'd nod her head and say, "Oh, really?" as if she was interested.

"Mom," I said, "I remember you protested the closing of the St. Albans mill. Did you use blackmail?"

She stuck her hand out, like a traffic cop giving the stop sign. It's a little gesture she has, and I've even seen her use it on her students.

"You don't have to do anything illegal for your voice to be heard. All I mean is that, it's quite normal for people your age to get involved in activism. Young people see the wrong in the world and want to change it."

"Change what? All these bird people are going to do is claim on their insurance, go buy another thirty birds, and start again. Blackmailing them was only a pointless gesture. It doesn't change a thing. You know me. I'm a logical guy. Would I do something that is pointless?"

Mr. Masterson said, "What we don't quite understand is why you went into this bird center in the first place."

"Yes," Mom said. "That's not like you, Landry. Now, admit it."

"Look, the cops are making a big deal of it, but it's just a visit to a bird exhibit. It's not a smoking gun."

"But why go in there?"

I shrugged. "I just thought I'd see what it was like inside."

"Why didn't you mention it to me?"

"I did. Didn't I?" That answer didn't impress either of them any more than it had impressed Glass. I tried to explain it. "Look, it was a bored Monday. It was a too little sleep and too much Offworld the night before. It was a fugue, maybe. I did something unusual. Hey, I'm a teenager. Besides, I only stayed in the place for two minutes."

She shook her head, puzzled. "If you want to see birds of prey, you don't need to pay money. We've got eagles nesting in the woods at the back of the house."

"Actually, they are not eagles. They are common buzzards."

"Well, they looked like eagles to me."

"Are you sure you had your glasses on?"

"I didn't need my glasses, cheeky."

"Mom, I saw one up close, when it was sat on the telephone pole. They are definitely buzzards. They look like eagles, but they're smaller. They have more of a fan tail, too. And their wing markings are darker – "

Mr. Masterson cleared his throat. We both looked around at him. I'd seen him a couple of times since my parent's divorce, and I'd never seen him with a crease in his forehead before. But anyway, I was starting to see their point. My going to the Revere Bird Center sounded odd on paper, because it was unlike me to go someplace without planning it.

And I'm not exactly what you might call a spur-of-the-moment person. Whenever I try and do anything impromptu, it always seems to end up going wrong. On my seventeenth birthday, for no good reason I can recall, I cut my hair short and spiky and got my friend, Harriet, to bleach it. Mother was unable to conceal her delight: Middle-of-the-road Landry had joined the Progressives at last. Next thing you know, I'd be waving banners and organizing sit-ins. In reality, all it did was give me a sore scalp; and the people at school were nice enough to tell me that my new hairstyle didn't go with my glasses – in not so many words. I'm just not the type of person who succeeds with off-the-cuff stunts. I have to plan things out. Computerize them. Then color-code them. So, yes, they were both right. The idea of me calling in to this bird place without mentioning it to Mom seemed dramatically uncharacteristic.

"So," I said, "what's the bottom line?"

Mr. Masterson made a steeple of his hands. "Landry, your mother is not suggesting you lie. But she wants you to recognize the situation you are in. You didn't have to tell the police you left the Birds of Prey Center after only two minutes, and you didn't – "

That again. "Good grief!" I said, throwing my hands into the air. "I told the truth."

"You volunteered the truth."

"Is that how the law works? Well it shouldn't. Sometimes, just sometimes, the police are wrong. This is one of those occasions. I'm sure they will figure it out."

His steady gaze didn't waver. "Sometimes, Landry, it doesn't come down to right and wrong. Sometimes, even innocent people go to jail."

"Look, both of you. I'd never get involved in anything like blackmail and computer viruses. Not even for the sake of those poor birds in their cages. It's the truth. And the truth will win. You taught me that, Mom."

She looked at Mr. Masterson. "Landry doesn't tell lies," she said.

"Thank you," I said, with a bow.

But that wasn't the end of it. Mr. Masterson started talking again, and Mom joined in, and soon we were back to the question of what I was doing at the Revere Birds of Prey Center. They took a half-hour about it, cleverly cross-questioning, with both of them acting as a doubles team, attacking the argument from all hypothetical sides.

Let's say you were seduced by a group of activists, who exploited your youthful naiveté...

I sat there, letting them go through the options and alternatives. I could only stick to my story: It wasn't me.

"Well, then," Mr. Masterson said, "all we can do is hope the police find the real perpetrators. But I warn you, nobody has come forward yet. It is unlikely they will."

But already, while we had been talking, the case had taken a strange turn. The door opened and a man dressed in a suit and dark blue tie came in. He didn't bother with the customary pleasantries, and only motioned to Mr. Masterson. They both left the room.

I sat there, trying not to look at my mother. She was gazing at me again with that soft, pitying look she always got whenever I would get into a little scrape.

Oh, Landry. And you worked so hard to build a career...

Then Mr. Masterson returned.

"Landry," he said, "Detective Glass would like a word with you. In private."
IN THE CLEAR

I went back to the little room where Detective Glass had previously interviewed me. He was still seated behind the metal table. At his side was a well-built woman in a business suit. She had pinned back blondish hair. He introduced her as Detective Staunton. She smiled and said hello in a friendly voice. I said hi.

"How are you doing, Landry?" Glass said, as he shuffled the papers in front of him.

"I'm fine." He gestured at the seat, so I sat down.

"I'll come to the point. We've dropped the charges against you."

I let out a long breath. "That's a relief."

"Now that we've spoken to you and read the psychologist's report, we can see you are on the level. You are free to go."

"Okay, thanks."

It was all over.

I waited for them to say, "You may leave now," or "Collect your things from the front desk." They didn't. We all sat there, looking at each other in silence. "I guess I can leave?" I asked. I must have said it a bit sarcastically because Glass shifted on his seat. Staunton glanced at him.

"Not just yet," he said. "We won't detain you any longer than we have to, but right now we need to ask you a few more questions."

I didn't want to scowl at the cops, but I was impatient to get out of there and I couldn't help it. "But I've already told you everything I know."

"We appreciate that. It's the reason we managed to clear you of the charges so quickly. But since the last time we spoke to you, there has been a development. A message came in to your phone. We need to talk to you about it."

"A message?"

"Yes. A message from the someone called Lek."

"Oh? I never heard of him. Who is he?"

"We don't know."

"So how did he find me?"

"We don't know that, either."

"Okay... And he sent me a message?"

"He sent it to you just a short time ago. It's an interesting message."

Looking back, I can see that was the point at which things started to get very complicated.
A MESSAGE FROM LEK

Glass didn't give me my phone. He thumbed the papers on the table in front of him, selected a printout, and pushed it across the desk to me. I put my glasses on and read it.

Landry,

I liked your little stunt with the birds. But who said you could use my virus? Fri 19:00 at Konnekt – if you want to know how to do it properly.

I earned over $100K last month, so don't miss out.

Lek

I sat there, shaking my head. I was about to make a comment, then I saw to the reply-address at the bottom.

devdude@offworldgame.com

I let out a moan. Dev was AFK in Oregon, but he must have seen me on the news. Like an idiot, he had decided to send me a joke email.

"My friend, Devin," I explained, my cheeks starting to burn, "sends joke email messages. He's still in high school, and his humor can seem a bit immature." Knowing Dev, I should have expected something like this would happen. Since going off to college, I had rarely seen him, but we still kept in contact, because we were still creating a mod for Offworld. Now, instead of sending stupid Tree of the Day photos, he'd got me in trouble with the cops.

Glass shook his head.

"We already asked Devin about it," he said flatly, "and he told us he didn't send it."

"You talked to Dev?" I said, gawping in surprise.

"We phoned him and questioned him a short time ago. His parents confirmed he doesn't have his games console with him. It can't be him. And if it's not him, we presume his gaming account got hacked, and someone else was using it."

"Who?"

Glass did not reply. He had no idea who. My brain froze and took a few seconds to defrost. I reread the note.

"Is this actually real?" I asked. "This is a genuine note from a real-life virus criminal?"

"So it would seem."

I read the message yet again. This time, I paid careful attention to the signature.

"Lek... Is he a known felon?"

He shrugged. "We've never heard of him. We were wondering if you had."

"Not me, "I said. "I'm not too interested in the computer underworld." The only time I even read the computer news was to see what new gadgets had appeared. Of course, I'd seen the reports about hacking groups like Anonymous and Occupy, but I didn't know much about them. I'd had enough of that social-conscience stuff off Mom.

I read the message for the fourth time. One line in particular stood out.

I liked your little stunt with the birds.

"He thinks I hit the bird center?"

"He must have seen your arrest on the news and tracked you down. He's obviously a clever person."

I sat there, shaking my head. Staunton watched me closely, as if I was a soap opera.

"You did fit the profile very well," she said.

To hell with profiles! What about all those years of studying. Was it now all down the drain? Had they marked my record permanently? I could feel myself getting hotter. I tugged at the collar of my sweatshirt, which had started to feel tight. So far, I'd been quiet and let Mr. Masterson do the talking. Now I let them have it.

"I might fit the profile; bit I don't fit the bill. I mean, do you really think I'd write my student number in the bird center's visitor's book to get a $2 discount, and then go virus the place. What sort of police work is that?" I threw my arms up and sneered. I don't think I had ever been so annoyed in my life.

"Landry," Staunton said softly, "you've got a right to be angry, but right now you need to calm down."

I sat back in my chair, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. "I'm just thinking about the effect all this is going to have on my career. What am I going to tell the people at college?"

She tried a smile. "The charges have been dropped, so it was only a case of mistaken identity."

"Are you going to put out a news report telling everyone that?"

"Yes. The press is waiting outside to speak to you."

I groaned at the thought of it.

"Your lawyer," she continued, "can tell them for you." I rubbed my eyes. I really couldn't face being on the TV. But I had to do it.

"Fine," I said, "I'll go now. I'd prefer to get it over with." Emboldened by my annoyance, I pushed my chair back, to get up. They didn't move.

"Before you go, we need to talk to you some more about this." He pointed at Lek's message. "We're very interested in it. But we are still not 100% sure it is genuine."

"Not genuine?" I said. "You just said it was."

"If you'd let me explain..."

"Okay." I pulled my chair back to the desk.

"This message," he continued, "sounds more than a little hokey to us. There's something going on we can't quite figure out. Can you think of any of your other friends who could have sent that message? Someone online, perhaps?"

I shook my head. "There are a few wits in the pack, and they'll probably all call me 'Landry Hacker' for the next month. But there's only Dev who jokes around like that."

"We've already worked out it isn't him. Have another think about it."

I leaned back. Who would send a message like that? The only other person who might somehow have got access to Dev's Offworld account would be Harriet. She was a tester for our Offworld game mod, and had done some of the voice-overs for it. I'd asked her to do it because she was a creative type. She made her own Goth-girl jewelry and art posters and sold them in town. That was one reason I didn't suspect her of being Lek. There was no way that was true.

Then there was Jimmy from Bostwick's store. Apart from the fact that he had visited the bird center, he was pretty hot on networking and possibly could have got hold of Dev's account details. And he would have the skills to pull off a virus attack. I personally knew he was a clever and resourceful guy because I had got every piece of software and hardware I needed from him, free-of-charge. In truth, he was too clever for working in a computer shop. He was bitter about not getting into college (his family were small-town poor, and full scholarships like mine were hard to get). Was he bitter enough to pull a virus attack? There was a world of difference between being a savvy computer tech with a line in black-market goods, and being a virus mastermind working for big money. So it wasn't Jimmy. That was also pretty much out of the question.

I thought about the people at college. Was it one of them? I attended a well-known college, full of rich kids with good study skills, and all the support they ever needed. As far as criminal profiles went, they didn't seem a likely match for Lek the virus king. When you get to college, you realize high school, in comparison, is a holding tank for juvenile delinquents. In college, people know that the system will work for them, and all they have to do is keep their heads down and keep working. I didn't buy the idea that there was someone dark among them; a seemingly normal person who was quietly a warped virus plotter, taking shortcuts to the good-life. No, Lek probably wasn't any of the people from college. At least, none I knew.

The only other place I might have met someone cracked enough to pull off a stunt like hacking Dev's account was the LAN parties and hackerthons, which I'd attended with Dev, back when I was a high schooler. There were a few jokers, but most of them were guys like me – just regular people. It was quite funny, actually. All those guys sitting in a row, playing computer games and not socializing. And anyway, the last time I'd been to a LAN party was a year before. Since then, my social life had been cut for the sake of extra study time.

"No," I said, "I know a few people with good computer skills, but as far I can see, it's nobody I know."

"We've checked out most of your school friends from the computer club, and your college friends. We're almost certain it's none of them. We just wanted to hear it from you. We needed you to confirm there wasn't anything you knew that we didn't."

"Okay."

"But it still leaves the investigation at a dead end." He stopped talking. Both detectives sat waiting. It looked to me like they were waiting for me to say something intelligent. I took off my glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose, which had by now got a dull pain.

I said, "I'm sorry I can't help. Can I go now, please?"

"We still need to talk about this."

"But I don't understand what more I can do."

He pointed at the message. "It seems Lek wants to meet you."
STATE SECRETS

I put my glasses back on and reread the note.

Fri 19:00 at Konnekt – if you want to know how to do it properly.

"So," I said, "you are going to let Lek go on thinking that I'm this activist guy?"

"You're the only lead we've got."

I didn't like that. First the police got the wrong idea. That gave this virus king the wrong idea. Now he was after me. I didn't want to sound like my mother, but two wrongs definitely didn't make a right. A day ago, I had been a college student, trying to slog my way through a scholarship computer science course. Now I was a pawn in a game between the cyber police and a master computer criminal.

"It's very important, Landry," Staunton said. "We wouldn't ask you if it wasn't."

Sigh.

"Okay," I said. "So you want me to meet him at nineteen-hundred hours, tonight?"

"Yes. All you have to do is talk to him."

"Talk. What about?"

"That's something we can't tell you," Glass said. "You'll have to find your own way."

Oh, great. So I should just guess?

"Okay. Fine. I'll just go along with whatever he says."

"Good. Before we go any further, I have to tell you that what we are about to talk about is a government secret, covered by the Espionage Act. You will need to sign a legally-binding nondisclosure agreement."

"Oh?" I wasn't entirely sure what he meant. But it was obvious that he wanted to talk about Lek, and couldn't because of the sensitivity.

He stood up, went out of the door, and came back a minute later. There was a silent minute. I waited without saying anything. I tried not to worry about the use of the word espionage.

A minute later, Glass came back in, followed by another man who was dressed in a suit and carrying a black leather briefcase, like Mr. Masterson's. He dipped into his case and pulled out a typed document. He placed it on the table, swiveled it around to face me, then stepped back and stood quietly looking away, as if minding his own business, though obviously, he could hear everything that was said.

I looked at the paper. The words "Classified Information" and "Landry Smith" were at the top of the page. Glass's face and voice turned deadly serious again.

"What we have to say has been designated as secret. You are an intelligent person and you understand what that means."

"Sure," I nodded, "It means that I can't tell anyone."

"Just to be clear, you can't even discuss it with your mother. The only people you can talk about this with is myself and Detective Staunton. Nobody else."

"Okay." It seemed strange the cyber cops were dealing with state secrets. Shouldn't it be the CIA, or something?

"If you do talk to anyone else," Glass said, "you will be in trouble. If any of this gets onto the Internet, you'll be going to jail."

I nodded. "Okay."

"Read and sign the paper, please," the lawyer said. I picked it up off the metal table and read some of it. It seemed to be a lot of legal jargon and general terms. "The aforementioned agreement..."

There was nothing about Lek and his virus. I picked up the pen, but stopped short of signing. I looked at Glass and Staunton.

"I have to ask one last question."

Glass's poker-face twitched.

"There is nothing more we can tell you," he said shortly.

"I mean, all I do is turn up at 19:00 tonight, and talk to this guy?"

"That's all you need to do."

"Then you come in and arrest him?"

He shook his head, no. "He himself probably won't be there. His offer is almost certainly phony. That will sound strange to you, but we don't know what sort of a game Lek is playing, and we don't have any other angle on this case. We have to ask you to go."

"But – " I began, before he cut me off.

"All you have to do is attend the meeting. It's that simple."

Staunton said, "It's probably best just to think of it as a wasted Friday night, driving around the city to meet some guy who probably won't even turn up. Besides which, the police have confiscated your computer, so your regular Friday night is a bust." She wasn't exactly smiling, but there was something in her eyes, some conspiratorial humor, trying to keep it light.

I looked at the paper. Signing it wouldn't mean anything except that I wouldn't be able to tell Dev, Harriet, or Jimmy about my Friday night trip to the city to meet a master criminal – which they wouldn't believe anyway. As for the folks at college, the less they knew about recent events, the better. So far, all they knew was that I had been arrested and the charges got dropped. Mom, too, was best left out of it.

I waited, my hand holding the pen, hovering over the document.

"You do want to help your country, don't you?" Glass said.

I complain sometimes about living in St. Albans, and there's probably something to complain about, actually. In some areas, it's run down, like so many other towns in this country. There used to be a big iron mill on the edge of town, and the local people complained about it. Then it shut down, and people complained about that, too. There's a funny story about it. When it finally closed its doors a couple of years ago, after about a hundred a fifty years in operation, all the workers went to the local bar for one last drink. As you might expect, they all got roaring drunk. At some point, somebody insulted somebody else, and the whole place turned into Fistfight at The OK Corral. Half a dozen cops turned up, but still the fists kept flying. Then the bar owner decided to calm everybody down. So he played The Star Spangled Banner out over the speakers. And all of a sudden, all these guys, who just lost their jobs and have nothing to feel particularly patriotic about, stood to attention and waited quietly while the national anthem played. Cops, too. The song ended, and there was a quiet moment for reflection. Then somebody bumped somebody else, and the fighting started again.

I laughed when I heard the story, because it's so typically St. Albans. But also because, when all was said and done, I was happy to have grown up there. Compared to other countries, I reckon we've still got it good. Perhaps people don't realize how good they have it, or how much hard work it took to get the country like that in the first place. A guy I know, who lives in another country is a professional gamer. He gets paid to play games. But I only found out later that when I first met him, he didn't even own a computer. He was spending six hours a day in a cyber cafe. That's tough. I don't know what I'd do without my computer.

Do want to help your country?

I've got college work to do!

I signed the paper.

The man in the suit grabbed the page almost before I had lifted the pen off it. He turned his head, nodded at the two detectives, then marched off.
THE MESSAGE

"Now that's out of the way," Glass said, "I can tell you what this is about. Lek's virus managed to find its way onto a government computer."

The government is made up of millions of people, from clerks to presidents. You can't just say the government got a virus and expect people to know which of those people, departments, or agencies you actually mean. But before I could ask the question, he cut me off.

"I can't tell you much more than that," he said. "All you need to know is the infected computer is a concealed underground bunker, the type of place where you need a security pass just to get in the bathroom."

"Oh, I see."

"And, of course, the staff need a security card to log on to the computers. But it looks like one of them was using the computer, against regulations, to check their own personal email through a web browser. So, the computer got infected by Ransomware. There was a message just like the one on the Mann's computer, about how the user's files had been encrypted."

And a big red exclamation mark.

"And," he continued, "it wasn't put there by any activists. It was computer criminals."

Activists, hackers, viruses... my SAT scores would suggest I'm supposed to be smart, but I was already getting the plot mixed up. And now some government department was involved. Staunton must have seen my eyes rolling around.

"We only know the bare facts," she said. "But if it was made public, it would cause nationwide embarrassment. The general public think the government is supposed to be invulnerable to computer attack."

"Yeah," I said, "I remember a virus getting onto the International Space Station a couple of years ago, and causing a bit of an upset."

"Same thing, different department."

"But wait," I said. "Can't the government crack the encryption with their quantum computers?"

Glass flinched. "I guess you know the answer to that question."

If they could unscramble the documents, they would have.

"Well," I said, "can't they just pay the ransom, and get their files back?" That also seemed a reasonable question.

Glass already had the answer. "And let Lek know he's got hold of state secrets?"

"But you don't have to pay it through a government account. You could get the clerk who messed up to pay it through their home account, pretend it was only his one account that got hit."

"And when Lek gets the payment, let's hope he is too busy to check the files he is releasing."

"Oh, you mean he'll see where they have come from, and realize it's a government office?"

"These criminals often do background research before they contact the victim. We can't risk it. This isn't just any old government office. If this person ever figures out what sort of fish he's hooked, he might get so scared that he'll pack his bags, change his name, take his money, and go somewhere nobody will ever find him. Then we'll never get the files back."

"What has he scrambled – plans for a secret base on the moon?"

"It's not a joking matter. And it's none of your business. Believe me, the less you know, the better."

Staunton said, "It's a delicate situation. They can't keep a lid on it for long. Perhaps Lek will leak the details. Or perhaps the virus is already infecting other computers on the network. We just don't know. So this is extremely urgent."

"The only way out of this," Glass said, "is if we somehow get hold of Lek's unlock codes. That's what we need. It looks like we have now got a way to get them." He rifled through the papers in front of him, then pushed one across the desk. "After we saw the invitation from Lek, we realized we needed to send a response as soon as possible. So we used your phone to send that reply." I picked up the message and read it.

Not funny, Dev. The cops asked about u. Call me.

"You played along," I said, "pretending to be me?"

He nodded. "We thought it best. We waited thirty minutes and still no reply. So we sent him a follow-up." He slid another paper across the desk.

OK, so it's not Dev. If u r Lek, I'll be at Konnekt at 19:00. I want to hit every bird exhibit in the country. I need yr help.

"That's clever," I said, "pretending that I'm an activist. Still no reply?"

"No reply." He shifted on his seat without realizing he was doing it. "So, obviously, by this point, we understand he's unlikely to start a conversation. He is going to ignore us forever. Normally, we'd leave it there, and forget about it, too. But we're getting pressure from above. The only thing we can do is take Lek up on his offer."

"I go meet him, see what he wants? By the way, what does he want? I mean, his offer is fake right? He doesn't want to offer me a job."

"He doesn't?"

"After all, if he thinks I'm an activist, a crusader for animal rights, why is he trying to tempt me with money? Why didn't he offer to help me sabotage zoos, or something of an activist nature?"

Glass nodded. "That's the question."

I looked at the message again.

I earned over $100K last month, so don't miss out.

"So what does he want?"

"Have you got any ideas?" Glass said, watching my face closely.

Me? How would I know? But I looked at Lek's message. One particular line jumped out at me.

Who said you could use my virus?

"It's a trap?" I said. "Revenge for stealing his virus idea? His friends drag me out the back door of Konnekt and teach me a lesson?"

He shook his head, unconcerned. "You don't have anything to fear. Lek is probably not out for revenge."

"Last year," Staunton said, "we tracked down a successful computer criminal, who was operating in a manner similar to Lek. He was driving around in a $70,000 car and wearing tailor-made suits. He got all that because he kept relatively quiet and avoided doing anything risky that would bring him up on the police radar, such as taking revenge on rivals."

I shrugged. "Perhaps Lek's not as smart as everyone thinks. Ransomware is junk. It doesn't even run in the system context. No wonder the anti-virus failed to spot it – essentially, all it was doing was zipping up files with a password. So maybe Lek is a dick who got lucky and the money has gone to his head."

Glass was shaking his head before I'd finished the sentence.

"When you look at how much money this guy is making, it seems safe to conclude he knows what he is doing."

"Yes," I protested, "but maybe he thinks he is still flying under the police radar."

"I don't think he's operating under any delusions. Quite the opposite. He knows full well we've got people sitting in a room watching every message that comes into you right now. He still went ahead and sent you a message anyway. He knows we know. Somehow, he doesn't seem to care whether he is on the police radar, as you put it. That's the worrying part. We don't get many people walking up to us to say hi."

I looked down at the message again.

Fri 19:00 Konnekt.

"But if this meeting is not a genuine job offer, and it's not a revenge plot, and Lek probably knows the police will be at the meeting anyway, what could it possibly be?"

"All in all," Glass said, "it doesn't make much sense. It's one of the trickiest cases we've ever had. From the start, this guy has been one step ahead of us. The only thing we can do is roll with it. I understand, after what we've just talked about, that probably sounds risky to you."

"Well, it sounds confusing." They both nodded instantly. They were as puzzled as I was.

"I am just not sure I will be able to do much. I'm only a student. I don't have a lot of computer experience in the real world. Especially not hanging out with criminals, and talking about virus code."

They didn't say anything. I could see they were tired of explaining it to me. They wanted a yes or no answer. Essentially, all I had to do was meet a guy and talk to him. Lek...

"Okay," I said, "I'll try."

"Well," he said, looking at Staunton, who was smiling now, "I could do with a coffee. How about you?"

She nodded. He looked at me. I nodded.
COFFEE

I thought we were going to get coffee from the vending machine, but we walked past it, then went up the stairs, along a corridor, and into the canteen. We stood quietly waiting for Glass. I looked around. The canteen was full of police men and women.

For the few silent minutes it took for us to get coffee, I tried to get everything straight in my head. I tried to arrange the facts, so they made sense.

1. There was a virus king out there somewhere, called Lek.

2. His Ransomware virus had found its way onto a government computer, scrambling sensitive documents.

3. The cops needed to get hold of this Lek, and shake him until his unlock codes fell out. That way they could get the important government documents unlocked, without leaking out any sensitive information.

Okay, that was straightforward enough. But there was more to it. There was the activist angle.

4. Meanwhile, a bunch of activists were using Lek's virus to do their animal lib. Strange, but true.

5. They hit the Revere Birds of Prey Center with their own Ransomware.

6. The police suspected me of being involved (thanks, Eco-Mom), and arrested me.

Okay, that was a bit more complicated, but essentially understandable. It was a double-mystery. Fine. That brought me to the third part; the part where Lek messaged me.

7. Lek saw me on the news, and, like the police, thought I was an activist.

8. He tracked me down and sent me a message, in order to:

a) Recruit me for a job as a virus criminal (unlikely).

or

b) Sucker me into meeting him, so as to get his revenge on me for using his virus (much more likely).

So, that was the confusing part. A mystery. But Lek's interest in me had given Glass a lead on Lek.

9. However, Glass didn't buy either option a, or option b. He thought something strange was going on.

10. In the end, Glass didn't care what Lek had in store for me. He had to go through the motions of his investigation. He asked me to risk my life (possibly) to go meet Lek.

There might have been a point 11, but if there was, it was beyond me. My head hurt thinking about it all. A triple mystery. Normally, I love a good mystery. Who doesn't? But it was like I had missed the first thirty minutes of a movie, and was trying to catch up. I really did need coffee.
THE RAS

"Let's say Lek does show up," Glass said, as we walked back to the interview room carrying coffee. "I've already said that's an unlikely scenario, but we have to be prepared for it, just in case. So let's say he really is so full of himself that he thinks he can outwit everyone. So he shows up at the meeting, and you talk to him. Let me make something clear – he is not going to allow you to see his unlock codes. Whatever game he is playing; it probably won't involve you getting close to his secrets."

"He'll be cagey?" I asked.

"Yes. Usually, in undercover cases like these, it might take three or four meetings before this guy feels he has some sort of handle on you, and can possibly trust you."

"But we don't have the luxury of three or four meetings?"

"Exactly. We've got to go with whatever cards we are dealt. Which means we have to take him down tonight."

We had been walking along the upstairs corridor, which had a row of windows. I realized I had seen this part of the police station before, but only from the outside. Outside, it looks like a long stretch of mirrored windows. Looking out now, I could see people who had gathered near the steps leading up to the building entrance. There were TV vans, too.

"That's not for me?" I said to Staunton, hardly able to keep the dread out of my voice. She nodded. These people had come to see the famous virus guy who just been arrested. Most of them looked like TV reporters. I wondered if the woman I had seen waving the microphone under the Manns' noses was down there, but I could not see her. Off to the side was a group of half a dozen people. One of them was holding a placard that said, "Free Landry."

"That's the RAS. Have you heard of them?"

"Remote Access Server?" I said.

"Hmm?"

"Uh, no, I haven't heard of them. What's RAS stand for?"

"Revere Animal Sanctuary. They're animal welfare activists. Fairly new on the scene."

I peered down at the placard. "Free Landry," I muttered. "I have a support group."

"They might just be mixed up with Lek."

"Really?" I looked at him, amazed. They didn't look dangerous. Entirely the opposite.

"They might be. Just remember we've dropped the charges, but it will appear to anybody watching TV as if we wanted to hold you, but botched the evidence, and couldn't make the charges stick. It's embarrassing to us, but necessary to let the public, Lek included, go on thinking you are the real deal."

"Maybe I did do it, after all. Landry, the secret activist?"

He nodded. "That's the idea. And that's how you will have to play it. If the RAS contact you, don't ignore them. They may be feeding their information back to Lek."

"I'll keep it in mind." I peered down at them. "I think I've seen them before – on Saturday mornings handing out leaflets to the locals." The guy at the front of the group had a fluffy little beard, and the look on his face said he had just crawled out of the student's union bar at 1a.m. Most of the other men and women were not much older than me. The one that stood out was the woman. Any guy accepting a leaflet from her would likely offer to buy her a coffee. "They look harmless. What makes you think they are involved with Lek?"

"Our intel has it they are interested in taking their game to the next level. They are potential terrorists – "

"So far," Staunton interrupted, with a glance at Glass, "they have limited their activities to peaceful protests at animal exhibits, like the Birds of Prey Center. But they obviously feel strongly about animal welfare. A virus campaign, intended to free more animals, would probably seem like a good idea to them."

"Moving up a notch?" I said.

"That's the idea. Handing out leaflets isn't very effective."

"They were all standing outside the Birds of Prey center last month, just before it opened. They were waving placards when we went past, and mom honked the horn at them in support. She does stuff like that. I remember because I said it's illegal to sound your car horn, except in an emergency, and she said I sounded like my father. And you think they want to start virusing places like The Blue Aquarium?"

"Yes," Glass said. "We know for certain they see these exhibits as jails."

"They are jails," I said. I must have forgot I was talking to the police. "I mean, wild animals belong in the wild. But, uh, you were saying?"

"It beats raiding these places at midnight, if they can simply send a virus instead."

I nodded. "So they want to get in on the Ransomware act?"

"Yes."

"Wait a minute... Do you think they could have done the virus attack on the Revere bird center? Maybe it was the RAS?"

Staunton shook her head. "We've already assessed the group members. There are no real computer hackers there. A virus campaign would have taken computer skills they almost certainly don't have."

"But they were inspired by it?"

"Undoubtedly, they think it's a good idea."

"And now they want to meet me, because they think I can help with their campaign?"

"They might be hoping you are their new computer guy. They are waiting outside. If you do meet them, they'll probably at least sound you out."

"They want me to join them?"

She gave a shrug. "Perhaps."

"So – " I said. But Glass stopped me.

"Landry," he said, with slow emphasis. "We are not interested in them. At all. Forget them. Keep your mind on Lek."

"If the RAS leave their activities at peaceful protests," Staunton said, "they won't be any concern to the police. And if they don't get involved in computer crime, they won't be of any interest to the cyber squad, either."

Glass glared at Staunton. "Let's not even think about them at all," he snapped. He turned back to me. "If they approach you, just play it cool. Say as little as possible. Keep your mind on meeting Lek. That's all you have to think about."

"Yeah, sure, but didn't you just say they would try to talk to me. I am not clear what I'm supposed to say?"

"Landry, listen to what I am saying. Don't commit yourself to any direct answer. Nod or grunt, to admit that you did whatever they are suggesting. Avoid giving a direct answer."

"Let them think what they like," Staunton said.

"Okay."

So, now I had point number 11 from my list of confusing things: As well as Lek thinking I was behind the attack on the bird center, an animal activist group called the RAS thought it, too.

I had to wonder: Do I look particularly evil, or something?
THE CODE WORD

We went back to the little interview room. I looked at my watch.

"This won't take long," Glass said. "We only need to confirm the arrangements for tonight."

"I meet Lek at nineteen-hundred hours," I said.

"That means you get to Konnekt ten minutes before that time. Okay?"

I nodded. "Okay."

"Can I presume you know how to get to Konnekt?"

"Yes. I drive into the city all the time."

"Get a taxi. It's more reliable. I'll give you some expenses money later. Once you get to Konnekt, wait quietly until you are contacted. You won't need to go around the place, looking for Lek. He'll be watching you. When he sees you, he'll come to you."

"Okay," I said, nodding.

"Go along with whatever he suggests."

"So if he says, let's go bowling...?"

"You go bowling. However, we both know he is unlikely to ask you to go bowling."

"Okay."

Glass sipped his coffee, then carried on talking in his slow, deliberate manner. "The main thing is this: We want those unlock codes. This guy has thousands of infected computers. Those people won't get their files unscrambled until they pay Lek and he sends them the unlock code. But they all require a different unlock key. He can't keep all those thousands of numbers in his head, so he keeps them on a server somewhere. That's what we need. Once we have those codes, we can find the one we want, and unlock the government files."

"Okay. Are we looking for something in a standard key format, or something simpler, like a text-file list, maybe?"

"Landry, I just said we don't know anything about it. He could have a thousand numbers written on his bathroom wall in lipstick, for all we know. We don't care, as long as we get them."

"Just the codes," I said with a nod.

"Let me be clear. If Lek starts bragging and shows you his program code, his email accounts, his bank accounts, his pirated software, a bag of drugs and cash, or even his list of victims, just ignore them. We don't care about them. It might sound mean to say we don't care about the victims, but they are not our priority tonight. Forget them. Don't think this is a standard police investigation. It's not. We are not interested in any illegal activity. Don't risk the codes for anything else. Right now, all we care about are those unlock numbers. Am I making myself clear?"

Well, he had said it three times. I nodded. "Just the codes. But something is bothering me. I have a question."

"Yes?"

"How am I going to get him to show me the codes? What do I say?"

He shrugged, open palms. "The best we can suggest is for you to go along and wing it."

Wing it?

For some time, it had occurred to me these people were not talking my language. 'Wing it,' was the last straw.

"Uh, Detective Glass, are you actually from the cyber squad? I mean, are you both computer experts?"

Glass looked at Staunton. Staunton looked at Glass. Then he turned back to me.

"We're the public face, you might say, of the department."

"Oh, I see. You don't do the network scanning?"

Staunton said, "We do the arrests, and the interviews, and so on."

"So," I said, "you want me to meet Lek and talk geek, basically?"

"Basically, yes."

I shrugged. "It might be tricky..."

"Has anything about his virus occurred to you that impressed you?"

I sneered, and was about to say how crappy it was, but straight away he shook his head.

"Whatever you do don't even hint at the idea you don't like something about him or his virus."

Staunton sat up, wide-eyed in alarm. "Seriously, Landry, this is one time in life not to be your honest self. As far as you are concerned, this guy should be the god of all virus writers. Remember, he is offering you something you want, and you will be nice to him. Ransomware is the best thing you ever saw. You need it to carry out your activist work. That's the idea you should keep in mind."

"Okay," I said. "I'll try to come up with something on the spur of the moment. Also, you mentioned this guy has bank accounts?"

"Landry," Glass said, his voice rising, "forget about his bank accounts."

"You said it plural, though. I mean, why would he have more than one bank account?"

"For the simple reason that he won't keep all his eggs in one basket. He is possibly a millionaire many times over, raking money in from his newest scam. But he will keep it in different corners of the world. Money here, money there, in case we take him down. Even if we got our hands on him, we'd only get one of his bank accounts – whichever one was online at the time of arrest. So we might only recoup half-a-million dollars at a time. I can tell you, it's tough sometimes just trying to keep up with the modern computer criminal."

"What I mean is, perhaps he's also got the codes in different files."

"Look, it's a case of best endeavors. Just do what you can do. We're not asking for anything else."

He left me digesting that for a minute. Staunton watched me patiently.

"Are you okay with all that?" she said. "It's a lot to take in."

"I go to meet this guy at seven pm tonight, at Konnekt. I sit and wait until he comes to me. Then I ask him about his setup, try to get him to log in with his laptop."

"If you happen to come across those codes, then you give the signal word. 'Set the birds free.' You should be able to wedge that into the conversation. Are you okay with it?"

"Set the birds free," I said. "As in, half a million dollars will help me to set the birds free?"

"Just that. Exactly those words. That brings the cavalry, so only say it if you are 100% positive he's online and logged in. You're a computer expert. You should be able to recognize that situation."

I'm not an expert, I'm a student.

"Sure," I said. "He has to be powered on and logged in."

"So you are okay with that?"

"Yeah."

"And don't mutter, so we can't hear you. And don't say it twice, which may make Lek suspicious. We'll hear you the first time. Just say it slowly and once."

"Set the birds free," I said, pronouncing each word clearly.

"Good." He waited a minute, then said, "What sports did you play in school?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that?"

"Sports? Did you play football? Baseball? Basketball?"

I shrugged. Cycling, I was going to say, then realized it was less of a sport, and more of a transport. "A bit of schoolyard soccer at lunchtimes."

"Oh, soccer?" he said with more enthusiasm than was needed, since we both knew it was an exaggeration of the facts. "Well, we need you to tackle this guy."

"Tackle him? Why?"

"If you give us the code word and we storm in there, heavy handed, it's possible Lek will simply pull the power plug and we won't get our hands on his codes. But if you give us the code word, then, as soon as you hear us coming in the door, tackle him, to stop him getting to the power cord. It's like soccer. Shoulder barge him aside. Knock him off his seat, or otherwise stop him getting to the ball, which in this case is the computer keyboard, then – " He gave me a thumbs up. "That will give us more time; just a few seconds to get to his computer before he does."

"Okay. I'll keep it in mind."

"In the contacts list on your phone, is my phone number. If you need to send me any information at all, you can use that."

"Oh, okay. I have a question."

"Yes?"

"Will the police SWAT be nearby?"

"Of course."

"There will be undercover officers in the cyber cafe?"

"You are not in any danger, as such, but we'll have officers there – for your protection and for the protection of the public."

"A real police stake-out?"

"As a job, it's about as glamorous as waiting in line at supermarket checkout. But having people in there means nothing untoward is going to happen that we can't contain. Are you okay with all that?"

"Sure."

"Okay. So, that's all there is to it. Go meet Lek and talk to him. Go along with whatever he says, and get him to start showing off to you. Then give us the code word. That's all you have to do. We'll do the rest."

Okay...

"Let's get you a jacket."
TIME TO LEAVE

He stood up and went to the door. Half a minute later, he came back with a woman. She was Mom's age and had similar bobbed brown hair and glasses with a neck strap that looked like the chain on a Venetian blind. In her hands was a large zip bag. She peered down her glasses at me, sizing me up. Then she unzipped the bag. There was a jacket inside.

"Landry," Glass said, "you'll be wearing this. It's got a hidden microphone. Try it on."

I stood up. The woman helped me into the jacket, which was black and had a plaid lining. I put it on.

Snazzy.

The woman nodded at Staunton.

"It's good," Staunton said. The woman said nodded again. Then she left.

"Here," he said, taking a bundle of notes out of his pocket, "is the cash you'll need for expenses." I took the notes, $250 in bills, and stuck them in in my new jacket pocket.

"And we've adjusted your phone," he said. He placed my phone on the desk.

I should keep my phone encrypted, in case it gets lost, but I never got around to it.

"For tonight," he said, "all your data will be routed through our server, so nobody but us can know about your phone conversations and messages."

"Okay."

"And we're going to do that for the rest of this week. It's only a precaution to make sure that nobody is tracking or eavesdropping on you."

"Okay." I put the phone on top of the banknotes.

Glass looked at Staunton. "Anything else?" She shook her head, no.

"So," he said, "we're all done here. We're ready to go. Are you ready?"

I shrugged. I didn't feel ready.

"It's time for you to go home and act normal. If your friends contact you, get out of whatever invitations they make. Just make your excuses, and put the phone down. You could tell them all you want to do is watch TV. But whatever you do, don't miss that appointment with Lek." He jabbed a finger at the printout of the message from Lek. "That's the only thing you need to keep in mind."

"Okay."

"The TV cameras are outside. Lek will see you coming out of court."

So will all my friends at college.

"Your lawyer will make a brief statement about how we messed up the evidence, and then you'll leave in your mom's car and go home. Okay, Landry?"

"Right."

He stood up, followed by Staunton, who gave me a smile.

"You'll do okay," she said. I wished I shared her confidence.

"Just one last thing," I said. "Do you think you'll ever find out who did virus the Revere Bird Center?"

"Activists," he said with a shrug.

We all left the room and went next door. Detectives Glass and Staunton followed me into the interview room, where Mom and Mr. Masterson were still waiting. Glass told Mom the charges were being dropped and that I was free to go. Her elation lasted about five seconds, just long enough for her to hug me, before she started accusing him of being heavy handed with her little darling, who would never do anything illegal. Way to go, mom. She's feisty when her brood is threatened. She started looking me over for signs of police brutality.

"Mom," I said, "it was all just an unfortunate coincidence. It's over now. I'm free to go."

"I hope," she said, with a harsh glance back at Glass, "this won't affect his career." Glass, Staunton, and Masterson all stood there looking like the faces on Mount Rushmore. Mom straightened my shirt and gave me a smile.

There, there.

Then it was time to face the TV cameras.
GOING HOME

As soon as I stepped outside, the journalists swarmed around. They asked a dozen questions all at once. I remembered Glass's advice, and let Mr. Masterson do the talking.

"My client is free to go," he said. "The police have now dropped the charges."

"What's changed?" a reporter shouted.

"The evidence looked good, but after interviewing my client, the police realized they had got the wrong person."

There was a cheer and I looked over the heads of the reporters and cameramen, and saw the Revere Animal Sanctuary. The fluffy-chinned guy from the photo was there, as was the young woman.

There were a couple more questions, mostly along the lines of, "Landry, how do you feel?"

"Relieved," was my short answer. Then we all went back inside. Mr. Masterson let us out the back way. He walked me and Mom to the car.

"Well, Landry, you've had a close scrape," he said. "But you should be back at college on Monday." He held out his hand. "Goodbye."

"Thanks for your help," I said.

The trip back was deadly quiet. I was busy thinking about my meeting with Lek. Mom stared straight ahead, lost in thought. And then my phone rang. I jumped a little. I'd left the buzzer loud, so when I was cycling I could hear it above the din of the traffic. In the quiet car, it shrieked like a fire alarm. I took it out and hit the volume button on the side.

It was Devin. I didn't want to talk to him because I knew he'd only try to make a joke out of my misfortune, and I wasn't in the mood. I didn't pick up. A minute later, he sent a text message.

Landry, yr nationwide. Pick up

I sent him one back.

Too traumatized. Talk 2moro

The next call I got was from Bryce, one of my projects team at college. This was one call I had to pick up. My college project work accounted for a good portion of my overall grade. And I'd just been given the project lead role. I was the manager, in charge of a group of five programmers, meaning that I had the final say – after all the arguments had been aired – on all the project decisions. I couldn't let the team down.

"Hi, Bryce," I said in to the phone, as calmly and unconcerned as if I was checking the supermarket shelves for oatmeal.

"Hey, Landry," he said. "How's things?" He sounded equally casual, which was a surprise.

"Great. Are you enjoying the break?" He was. We exchanged small talk for a minute. Eventually he got around to the subject at hand. "You know, I was just watching TV at the clubhouse. I think I just saw you on the news. Was that really you?"

"Oh, the news? Yeah, some local company got one of those ransom viruses. The cops thought it was me. But while I was sitting in jail, their virus guy turned up elsewhere. So they let me go."

"Wow, that's amazing."

"Yeah."

"So you'll be back at college on Monday?"

"Oh, sure."

"Thing is, Landry, I really need to make up a couple of marks on the project work."

"Yeah, no problem, Bryce. I'll be back next week, so we can talk about it. I think if we all really put ourselves into this project, maybe fifty-hours each over the next few weeks, we'll get a good score."

"If you are going to miss Monday – "

Oh, really?

I interrupted him. "If we get less than an A+ grade on this project, I'll hang up my spurs. I'll let someone else take the lead. But really, this is just a first year project. It's easy. We're all getting impressive scores."

"Okay. That's good to hear. By the way, everybody thinks you are managing the team well."

"Thanks."

"I'll speak to you on Monday. See you then."

"I'll see you then." At least he seemed happy in the end. I breathed a sigh of relief. Mom asked me about the call. Just for something to talk about, I told her about our first-year project. All students had to split into teams of five to work together on a project. My team was working on a (supposedly) simple little PHP website for storing the result of car racing matches. It was something and nothing, but the point wasn't to hand in a computer program. What the professor wanted to see was five people working in a team, debating and disagreeing, and then finally working together to get the job done.

"Sounds like a bit of a power struggle," she said. She is always fascinated to hear about college. She had wanted to go herself, but couldn't afford it. So I sometimes gave her details of the parties and pranks that went on.

My phone rang again. It was Jimmy from Bostwick's. I answered it.

"Landry," he said, "you're on TV! Or was I seeing things?"

"Yeah, it was me."

"I can't believe it!"

"All these years and you never knew about my criminal background."

Might as well laugh it off.

"Yeah!" He laughed. "I suspected, though."

"Look, I can't talk right now – Mom's here." It was a senseless excuse, but the only one I had just at that moment. "How about I drop in to see you tomorrow morning?"

"Sure. See you then." He sounded excited about it. Two exciting events had happened in St. Albans in one week. The mayor would have to put up two plaques.

No sooner had I hung up, then Harriet's text message came through.

Call me if you want to talk.

I sent her one back.

thx. it's OK – I only got quizzed.

Then it was Devin again.

The oldies saw the news, wanted to know if you did it. I told them all about the real Landry, you evil genius ^_^

Finally, I found the humor in it. I couldn't help laughing.

"Dev is taunting me about getting arrested," I said. "He told his parents I did it." Mom tutted. Devin could be supremely annoying. Most of the computer club members tended to avoid him because of his juvenile humor. When I first met him, I had been standoffish, too. Later, when I got to know him, I could see he was smarter than he first appeared. He often knew the right thing to do. Like the time Mr. "Wrong," our IT teacher, had tried to get us using something called a "Raspberry Pi" computer.

I love little electronics projects boards, but unless you bought expensive add-ons, this one was fairly useless. To quote Dev, it was a solution in search of a problem. He eventually killed it by some electronic jiggery-pokery – and won an instant trip to the principal's office. He tried to say he had merely talked the Pi to death, like in that episode of Star Trek, where the NOMAD robot blew a fuse from sheer logic alone.

Childish, yes. But funny, too. So we got on all right after that. I sent him a reply.

See you on Offworld.

I put my phone back into my pocket.

"I'm suddenly very popular," I said. Mom looked over with a smile. It turned to a stare.

"Landry," she said, looking me over, "is that a new jacket?" She was referring to my undercover jacket.

"Uh, yeah. I got it when I was in town."

"It looks nice. Can you afford it? I thought you had just redone your budget."

"It was on sale."

"Which store?"

"The one I got the jeans from."

"Which is that?"

"Uh, what is called again...? I forget."

"How much was it?"

"Uh, thirty-five bucks."

She looked me again. "You don't usually buy anything so stylish."

"Uh, Ma, it's a plain black jacket. And I'm trying to think about my college project. Perhaps you should watch the road." She sighed and shook her head. _There's no talking to teenagers._ Two minutes later, the car pulled up. We were home.
HOME SWEET HOME

It was only a ramshackle old house in the middle of a bunch of fields, and it had needed painting and repairing ten years ago, but after my scrape with jail it looked like freedom, happiness, and good memories.

"Are you hungry?" Mom asked as we went inside.

"Yeah," I said, "prison food's not much good."

She tutted at the joke. I went upstairs, left my jacket on the bed until I needed it later, and came back down. Mom's solution to about half of life's problems is soup, so we had soup and her homemade bread for our late lunch. She had a glass of red wine to celebrate my freedom, but I declined. I could see she was forcing her smile. My arrest had got to her.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I'm okay. I've got my son back from jail, so I'm okay. How about you?"

I shrugged. "You know me. I thought it was interesting to see what the inside of a police station looked like." I grinned.

"That's very logical of you," she said. "I sometimes wish I could take such a distant view of things."

"I told you I wasn't guilty. I had nothing to worry about."

"As I seem to remember, it was quite a close call."

I smiled. "I guess it's over now."

"I think I'll take the evening off work. I'll call Marianne to see if she can cover for me."

"Okay. I'm going to log on for a couple of hours – " I stopped and gave a groan. I remembered that the police had confiscated my computer equipment. "I guess I won't be logging on."

We both sat and relaxed. I watched TV, and tried not to imaging the cops pulling my PCs apart, and discussing my Offworld scores. Mom tried to read her book, but went gazing off now and then into the distance.

"Was it expensive for Mr. Masterson to be there?" I asked. She gave an exaggerated eye roll. It had been expensive. And that was money we didn't have, especially now that I was at college. "Thanks for that. You know, I think I saw him almost frown." She smiled at the notion of Mr. Masterson getting all emotional. "I could never be a lawyer."

"Landry, you could be a lawyer. If you put your mind to it."

"Maybe. Not that I'd want to be. You know, when I graduate, I think I'll spend a few years just making money, so I can pay off my student loan, and get it out of the way. Would you be bothered if I got a job in the city and lived here for a couple of years after graduation?"

"It wouldn't be any different from how things are now. But keep in mind that student loans are a long-term deal, you don't have to rush. You can take your time and do something you enjoy with your career."

"Yeah," I said, tongue-in-cheek, "maybe you're right. I'm thinking of becoming a professional video game player. Maybe I'll give it a shot."

She didn't reply, but her face said, "Oh, yeah?"

"Good professional games players can make more money than programmers these days. They can earn millions. But you've got to be willing to put in twelve hours a day on Offworld, Death Rider, or Immortal Combat. I might just drop out of college and give it a shot."

She smiled. She knows not to take me seriously, but sometimes I can still get one by her.

"You might want to keep a backup career," she said, "just in case your life of leisure doesn't work out."

I stopped talking. There was a low noise coming from outside, like an old crop-plane buzzing the fields in the distance. It seemed to be getting nearer. A minute later, it stopped. Another minute later, the doorbell clanged. I went to the door. There, standing on our rickety old porch, was a young woman, dressed in jeans and an old plaid shirt.

"Hi!" she said, as bouncy as a debutante.

"Uh, hello."

"I'm Monique." The words seem to fizz out of her like bubbles out of soda, and I wondered what had shaken her bottle.

"I'm Landry," I said. Of course, I remembered her from the group outside the police station. This was one of the people from the Revere Animal Sanctuary. Now that we were three feet apart, I could see she wasn't much older than me. Apart from her workaday clothes, she had no visible jewelry or make up, and her dark-brown hair was parted down the middle and pulled back into an ordinary pony tail. None of which could make her look plain. She was stunning. I stood for a moment with my mouth open.

She said, "I'm not intruding, am I?"

"No. We just finished a, uh, late lunch. Won't you come in?"

She bounced into the hallway, not looking around, like people do when they go into a new house. Her light blue-green eyes, which looked like a paler version of the tumbled stones Harriet sold in her spare time, stayed on me.

"So what brings you out here?" was all I could think to say.

"I came to see you."

"You came to see me?"

"I wanted to meet you."

I stuck my hand out. "Hi," I said with a grin, "I'm Landry. It's nice to meet you." She shook my hand.

"Hi, Landry." A trickle of laughter spilled over into her voice, and I was relieved that my joke had come off as planned.

I glanced over at the lounge, where mom was. From in there it's hard to see through the doorway. Visitors are always an intrigue. I looked back at Monique, who seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

"Didn't I see you outside the police station today?" I asked.

"Yeah. We came to support you. Oh, by 'we', I mean me and my friends. We're from the animal sanctuary that's outside of town." Still looking at me, she pointed off into the distance. "We were so happy the police dropped the charges."

"Yeah. Me, too. But once they had interviewed me properly, they admitted their mistake." Her nose wrinkled a little. Perhaps she had met the cops before, and they had forgot to buy her a coffee. "But I didn't want to be on the news. I'll never live it down. My friends are going to be taunting me about it for a long time."

She smiled sympathetically.

There was a pizza restaurant in town, and I could have said, "Want to come celebrate my freedom?" But I remembered Glass's directive to let her do the leading. I stood and waited.

"You know," she said, "the police took my friend Jason in for questioning, too. But they had to let him go."

"That's good."

"Jason, he wishes he had done it. When they opened the bird center, he was horrified. He has to drive past every day."

"Yeah. Me, too. But anyhow, it's all right now."

"It's so... God... You know?" She sighed happily. We stood and looked at each other for a minute. "I wish I could meet the guy who was responsible." She had her hands in the back pockets of her jeans now. Holding that pose, she looked at me. Was she trying to imply that I was the secret viruser? "On the weekends, I hand out leaflets. It's not easy because most people have enough to worry about in their lives without worrying about animal welfare, too. I sometimes get discouraged. But at times like this, it all seems really worthwhile."

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you one question?" she said, lowering her voice.

"Okay – if I can ask you a question."

"Oh, you have a question?"

"Ladies first."

"You know what I'm going to ask, anyway, right?"

I shook my head. My mind was a blank. "No, but ask away."

She waited for a few seconds, still gazing at me curiously, before she spoke.

"There was a report online. The news people said you were an activist for animal rights?"

"Me? Well, right now I'm a college student on spring break. Graduating is the most important thing to me." She seemed to be waiting for the rest of her answer, so I added a few more words. "That's my main goal. I want to graduate and get a good job. I'm looking forward to it."

"Okay. Well, we're throwing a party, to celebrate the birds being freed. And Jason, too. And you, of course. We have lots of homemade food and drink. We'd be honored if you would be our guest?"

"A party?" I said. That caught me off guard. I had a meeting to go to at 19:00 that evening, but that was hours away. And Glass had advised me to go along.

"We've produced so much this year," she said. Then she broke off. "Oh, I should tell you, I live on a collective. We grow our own food. Actually, it's our first year, and we didn't know how successful the crops would be. We grew way too much for us to eat. So any excuse we get, we hold a party." She looked around. "Unless your girlfriend would mind?"

"I don't have a girlfriend just now. College takes up a lot of... I guess I could spare an hour to celebrate. I mean, if you don't mind that I have to leave for, uh, six p.m. I've got to meet... someone. A friend. It's an important meeting."

"We're not far away. Just the other side of town."

"Okay. I'll get my jacket."

I turned and left her there, then bounced upstairs to get my jacket.

"Who was at the door?" Mom asked as I went past.

"Monique," I said. I was already halfway upstairs. I went into my room and stood there, wondering if I should wear my jacket to this party, or if I should come back and get it before meeting Lek. It had a concealed microphone, and I didn't want everything I was saying to these RAS people being heard by the police. But I'd probably have to go straight from their party to Konnekt in the city. There would be no time for me to get a taxi back here. I was just thinking about it when mother came into the hallway.

"Did my son leave you standing out here in the hallway?" I heard her say.

"Mom, we're just leaving," I shouted down from the top of the stairs.

I heard her say, "Monique? What a lovely name..."

I got my jacket and put it on. When I got downstairs, they were still talking. I waited. I rolled my eyes at Monique, who smiled back.

"Mom, we're going out to celebrate the good news," I said, cutting into a conversation about vegetables. She raised an eyebrow at me and smiled.

"Are you two going out?" It seemed there was something suggestive in her question. But I didn't mind. A minute before, she had been staring at the TV without watching it, and worrying about young Landry's close scrape. At least now her troubles were forgotten.

"I'll try not to get arrested," I said.

"Oh, Landry!" Mom said, bursting into exaggerated laughter. She turned to Monique. "It was nice to meet you." She added another two goodbyes before we got out of the front door.

We walked down the driveway to her van.

"This is cool," I said, looking at the old van, probably older than her and me put together.

"Fred? He's an oldie but a goodie." We got into Fred the Van. "Didn't you say you had a question for me?" I was waving the safety belt buckle around while looking for the clip it was supposed to go into. She leaned over and plugged it in for me.

"Thanks," I said. "Yeah, I had a question, but it's not really important."

"Ask me." She turned the ignition key. The engine came to life with a rumble and a clatter.

"I don't think I've met anyone called Monique before. I was kind of wondering if Monique is really your name?" I had to raise my voice because of the engine's din.

She laughed. "Yes. My grandma calls me Anne, which is my second name, but that's just because I look like her sister, who she hardly ever sees since she got married and went to live abroad. I don't mind being called Anne – what's in a name? But, yeah, my real name is Monique."

"It's a nice name."

"Thanks."

The engine revved as we moved off on our way to the Revere Animal Sanctuary.
FRED

The old road that leads from our house runs down the center of a field, cutting it into two. Above the left side, hovering thirty feet in the air, was a little hawk. Its wings were a blur as they flapped at speed, but its body was motionless. Every scientist dreams of mastering gravity, but the little bird had figured it out.

"It's a kestrel," I said.

"Yeah," Monique said, turning her head to look.

"Looks like it has spotted a meal." The little raptor was not much bigger than a crow. It had a light brown plumage and a fanned tail. It suddenly dropped ten feet, then came to a halt, hovering over the crops once again. It waited another second then dived, plummeting head first to the ground at amazing speed. It came up out of the field just as we passed by. In its talons was a little animal, which looked to me like a vole. "I used to feel sorry for the field mice."

"It's just nature," she said. "That kestrel could have been one of the birds that were freed from the bird center."

"That one back there? You think?" We both turned to watch the bird fly off. "He seems to be doing okay with feeding himself."

"Do you know that captive birds sometimes come back?"

"You mean if you set a bird free, it will return to its owner? Surely not."

"Depending on the season, it can be hard for birds to find food in the wild. If you feed hawks meat, they will come back every now and then to see if there's any more available. I hope none of them gets hungry and goes back to the bird center."

"Me, too. In medieval times, falconry was regulated by social conventions."

She raised her eyebrows and glanced over at me.

"Sure," I said. "Someone wrote a book on it five hundred years ago. Emperors were allowed to keep eagles, kings had, uh, goshawks, I think. I can't remember any of the others, except that a knave was allowed a kestrel."

"A kestrel for a knave... What birds did ladies have?"

"They didn't hunt."

I thought she was going to protest, but she only gave me an enigmatic smile, her pronounced cheekbones, with their healthy red blush, getting even more rounded.

"The news report said you were a member of Audubon."

I shrugged. "I was. I was about five years old at the time." She smiled at that.

We had reached the main strip of the town, and the car rumbled like rolling thunder, echoing around the buildings and stores. There weren't many people on the street, but they all seemed to look around as we went by. We passed the town's little entertainments area, with the movie theater and the bowling alley. The neon sign was broken again; the letter 'B' this time: Instead of MEGABOWLING, it said MEGA OWLING.

"I don't think that sign has ever been right," I said.

"How so?"

"There's always something wrong with it – One of the letters out, or blinking."

"Oh, I've only been in town a few weeks. I've never noticed it broken before."

We chugged on down the road, then turned onto the exit road. I noticed the muscles on Monique's arms stood out as the big steering wheel turned.

"It must be hard driving one of these vans. No power steering. No ABS brakes."

"Freddy? He takes a bit of getting used to." The rattling engine dropped an octave as the van slowed to turn. For a minute we were jostled from side to side as the old van traveled down the pock-marked old road. Then we came to a stop.
THE RAS

It was an old place with rusting farm machinery dotted around the yard, and what looked like an old barn that was being rebuilt. The air had the earthy smell of trees and fields. We went inside.

"Hey, everyone!" Monique said, "Landry is here." A group of people, most of them not much older than me, gathered around with smiles and words of congratulations. Monique introduced me to Jason, Annika, Deke, Rick, and Katrina. I had seen them all before – standing outside the police station that morning. This was the Revere Animal Sanctuary.

"Congratulations," Jason said. He was a tall guy with light hair. He held out his hand for me to shake. "We're all so glad the police dropped the charges." I shook his hand. Everybody else moved in to shake hands, and someone clapped me on the back.

"Hi, Landry," Deke, a serious-looking boy of about seventeen, said.

"Thanks for your support," I said.

"I'll bet you are relived to be out of the cop station?"

"Sure am."

Annika, a slim woman about the same age as Monique, sneered and added an unrepeatable comment about the police. Katrina laughed. She was in her mid-twenties. Her arms were uncovered and she had a collection of colorful homemade bracelets on both wrists.

Rick smiled at me. It was a peaceful smile. It was the smile of a man who went quietly about his life and didn't take life's ups and downs too seriously. I had been trying to cultivate that smile for years. I had been doing fairly well until Ransomware came along.

I took a look around the room at everyone. Was one of these people Lek the Virus King? Or did they know Lek? Were they working for him? It all seemed unlikely. I suddenly felt like a phony, and wanted to get out of there, but it was only just four p.m. and my meeting with Lek was at seven p.m. I had to stick around for an hour, at least.

We went into the lounge. I wasn't expecting it to look like an ordinary house on any normal street. But it did. It had a regular TV, and even computers. I might be in Jimmy's house, but with different decor. Once in the room, I was met by a couple in their forties, Matt and Shelley.

"Hi, Landry," Matt said. "It's nice to meet you."

The woman extended her hand. "Hi, I'm Shelley." I shook her hand and got a hug, too.

"It's nice to meet you."

Matt said, "Let's celebrate." It took thirty seconds for them to pass out glasses and fill them with a beer and wine that Rick proudly said had been brewed by himself.

I took a sip. It was not bad. I raised my glass. "Here's to my first – and last – arrest."

Katrina said, "A toast to Landry, and freedom."

"To Landry and freedom!" Everybody said.

"To Jason and freedom," I added.

"To Jason and freedom!"

"Let's have some music," Rick said, as he fiddled with the old-style Hi-Fi system. "A day without music is a day without – " The rest was drowned out by a blast of stoner rock at top volume. He winced and turned it down to background level. I knew the song. It was a cover of Freebird, by Blusher.

"Just think," Katrina said, "somewhere out there, nestling in the trees for the night, are thirty-four ex-jailbirds." She applauded. "Well done. Mystery hacker." She looked at me, as if to say, "We know it was you." The TV news bulletin about my arrest must have really convinced them.

"Except for the owls," I said. "They're not going to sleep. They're just waking up." There was a round of laughter.

"Waking up in freedom," Deke said, with a ponderous frown.

"I hope they all found a good tree," Annika said.

"Or barn."

"There's plenty of real estate around here," Rick muttered. "Let's get the food warmed up."

Monique and Annika who were already dancing to the music, danced across the room, to the kitchen. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, as if I was looking at a message, and ordered a taxi for 6 p.m. at my current location. That ought to get me into the city well in time for coffee and donuts with Lek.

"I know you're our guest tonight," Monique said, "but do you want to help out in the kitchen?"

"Yeah, sure." I pocketed my phone. We went through into a big kitchen. At the side of the room was a large slow-cooker, one of those big iron stoves with a heavy door that shuts with a resounding clang. I knew that because we had one when I was a little boy. I loved clanging the door, and my mom was nice enough to let me clang it a good one, now and then. "A genuine old-time stove."

"A wood burner," she said. "It's okay, I left some logs in there when we went out. They take ages to burn down, so it'll still be hot. We'll be able to warm the food."

We scrubbed our hands, then put food into the oven, and talked about life on the collective. And it wasn't long before the food was dispensed: Bean-burgers, spicy potato wedges, corn chips, dip, and other assorted goodies.

When Monique lifted a heavy pot, I could see the veins stand out on her toned arms. Working on a collective must be a hard life – harder even than the life of a farmer, who can at least rely on modern farming methods and machinery to make life easier – but it sure left you looking healthy.

"These are good," I said, nibbling a bean-burger. We had more to drink. I only took little sips, to keep my head clear for later. Rick asked if I wanted to try some of their other homemade wines and beers.

"I'd better stay sober," I said, "I still have a lot of explaining to do."

"Just a taster?"

"Okay. I'll try some of the red." He handed me a glass. I took a sip.

"Great," I said enthusiastically. It tasted different from wine bought in shops, the stuff Mom drinks. Less refined, somehow. But good. The talk turned back to the animal sanctuary. By degrees it turned to the subject of how many animals were suffering neglect and cruelty. Things, they said, needed to change. This was, I guessed, a favorite subject for the RAS.

"Our next step is to get organized properly," Monique said. She was seated next to me, and I could see everybody watching her. It was almost as if the group had nominated her as spokesperson.

"We have about 180 people who support our work in the local area," she said.

"Sounds like a good start," I said.

"Not when there are so many millions of people. We need to get more and more people involved. We need to get connect with other people across the globe, people like us who want to co-ordinate their activities."

_Activities_. I didn't want to hear about their activities. Glass and Staunton were picking all this up on the microphone. But I couldn't think of any way to change the subject.

"So your, uh, collective is growing?" I asked.

"We've had such a good year, we've been holding weekend dances to help use up the surplus. We invited other communes. We've met so many people. But it would be so good if we could organize ourselves on a national basis."

There was that word again, _organize_.

"Yeah," I said. That seemed a safe reply. Other people joined in and added to what Monique was saying.

"We want to keep our connection with the community around here," Deke said, "but we also want to branch out and join with other like-minded organizations." It was exactly what Monique had just said, but in different words.

"What Deke is trying to say," Jason said, "but is too nice to get around to it, is how cool it would be if we used Ransomware to hit every bird center in the country, and keep on hitting them, until all birds are free." That got a subdued murmur from the animal freedom enthusiasts. Deke just stared at me with his intense gaze. Monique, too, seemed fascinated to hear what I had to say. I could hear the silence in the room, if you get what I mean.

"Yeah," I said, trying to smile.

"Would you be interested," Jason said, "in getting involved?"

"Right now," I said, "college keeps me real busy." It seemed like a non-committal reply.

"You could be, like, our technical adviser."

I smiled. "It's back to school for me on Monday. But I hope you guys keep up the good work." Then I realized what I had just said, and quickly added, "I mean, informing the public about how animals are mistreated. But please don't get into any trouble with the police."

Awkward.

Deke opened his mouth to say something, but Monique pre-empted him. Perhaps she had noticed me turning red.

"Deke..." she said.

I looked around for something to change the subject. A new desktop computer, running Windows 10, sat in the corner.

"That computer looks new," I said. I couldn't think of any other way to change the subject.

"Yeah, it's new," Monique said. "It's Matt's."

"I hope your anti-virus is up-to-date," I said with what was supposed to be a cheeky grin. Matt gazed at me without answering. Then he nodded.

"Oh, sure," Jason cut in. "We've got the automatic updates turned on."

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I'm a bit surprised you use computers on a collective."

"Yeah," Deke said, "computers are good. We've got the tablets, too. And we have two laptops for shared use."

"Plus," Monique said, "I've got the one my mom bought for me that I use for studying. And I guess some people have their phones."

"How do you manage for Internet access?"

"Jason and Deke setup a router, so we all use that."

"It's run over the cellphone network," Rick said. "The signal out here in the sticks is pretty bad. When it rains heavy and there's static in the air, we sometimes lose it altogether."

"Maybe," I said, "moving the cell upstairs or even putting it outside in a waterproof plastic box might help. These old houses have big metal girders that block signals."

Rick nodded. "It's worth a shot. Thanks for the tip."

Deke said, "You know a lot about computers. We could really use a computer wiz like you."

I saw Monique glance at him. Thankfully, she changed the subject.

"Let me show you our newest member," she said. "He's in my room."
HOPPY

We followed a faint aroma of incense down a hallway. She opened a door and went inside. I went in. The first thing I noticed was the big, old-fashioned, dark-red rug in the middle of the room. Then I noticed the black crow standing on it. He hopped back when we came in, and he stood looking sideways at me with one eye, the way birds do, because their eyes are on the sides of their heads.

"He normally sleeps in the aviary at night," Monique said, "but I brought him in here to meet you."

"Hello," I said. I say hello to animals, and don't care what anybody thinks about it. The bird tilted his head to the other side. I bent down to get a better look, and he hopped back a bit more.

"We found him last week," she said. "He had broken his wing. Probably, he had been hit by a car. When that happens, they usually die. It's sad. Lucky for him he survived. We brought him home, all bleeding and messy, and thought we might have to put him down. But he cleaned up okay. He was in pain and very nervous at first, so we had to give him a pain-killer and reset his wing."

"He seems okay now."

"Yeah. And he soon got used to us. Now, he even likes being petted. He's one of the family."

I bent down to entice him over, but he wasn't sure of me. He hopped around a little and tilted his head the other way, to look at me with his other black eye.

"He looks young."

"Yes. He's got his whole life ahead of him."

"How long will it take him to get better?"

"It depends. But he's making good progress. I hide beads and jewelry for him in the garden enclosure. He especially likes shiny rings. Crows love shiny things. I hide them when he's in the aviary and the next day he finds them and brings them to me." She showed me a wooden tray with little slots, on which she had mounted various beads and rings; the collected presents of Hoppy the Bird.

I bent down to get a closer look at him. "It's like he is saying thank you?"

She nodded. "It's an exchange," she said. "He brings me beads, and I bring him nuts, seeds, and fruit. It'll keep him busy until he can get better and fly back home."

"Can I feed him?"

From an old tin on the shelf, she picked out a little bag of fruit-and-nut mix, and gave it to me. I took out a raisin and a shelled pistachio. Holding them in my hand, I tried to temp Mechanoid over. He was doubtful for a moment. Eventually, the food got the better of his nerves. He hopped over and took the food from my hand.

"When we heard about you being in jail, we named him after you."

I gave the bird another nut and said, "Hi, Landry."

She giggled. "His name is Mechanoid."

"Oh... My online username. That got into the news, did it?"

She nodded. I shrugged. "I've had it since I was a kid. I was a big sci-fi buff..." I cleared my throat. "Do you think birds have names for each other?"

She smiled politely. "Oh, sure, animals have their own names. Like in the poem. But they never reveal them to people."

Annika came in and loitered at the doorway, holding a bowl.

"I see you met our Mechanoid," she said. She put a spoonful of iced cream in her mouth.

"Yeah," I said, "I saw him flap his wings when he jumped off the perch to the floor. Do you think that means he'll be flying soon?"

"Ah, yeah. He used to try to fly away from us, and all he could do was hobble and squawk. But not anymore. He'll be flying, soon. He keeps talking to me, 'Charrk, I want to go out and play, Charrk.'" She wagged a finger at him. "You're not better yet, are you? You've got to wait." She looked up at me. "A cat might get him." She gestured with the bowl. "Want some desert?"

"I'm good, thanks."

The crow tilted his head to look at me again, probably to see if there was any more food on offer.

"I think Mechanoid will have some more, though." I picked a pine nut out of the bag, bent down, and handed it to him. He snapped it up.

"How will he learn to fly indoors?" I said.

"He's got two perches he can practice flying between."

"Oh."

Well, it all seemed perfectly sensible. But I couldn't help thinking about it from a negative point of view. Should people bother saving one bird? The numbers seemed to be against it. Out of twenty billion other birds in this country, what difference could one bird more or less make? But, looking down at him, I was glad this one wouldn't be another statistic.

Outside, a car horn honked.

The two women looked up.

"My taxi," I said. "It's time to go. I'll say goodbye to everyone." I looked down at the bird. "Goodbye, Mechanoid. Get well soon."

I followed the two women out of the room. Monique closed the door behind her, to keep Mechanoid inside. I was going to follow Annika down the hallway, but Monique called me back. Her smiled vanished and she looked very serious. She came up to me and I wondered what she was going to do.

"There are thirty-four birds," she said in a low voice, "who can't say thank-you to whoever set them free. But if I ever met that person, I'd say thank you for them." She leaned in and kissed me on the mouth. She didn't rush it, either.

"I see you feel strongly about it," I said. What dumb thing to say. I have to get out more.

We went back into the lounge.

"Landry is leaving!" Monique said. Everyone congregated at the doorway.

"Goodbye," I said, "It was nice meeting you all." At least I didn't have to lie about that.

"Good luck with your studies," Annika said.

"Keep on hacking," Jason said, with a sly wink. He looked half-cut. Deke gave me a snappy salute. Rick raised his beer glass at me. Katrina smiled. Matt and Shelley both waved goodbye.

Landry, the rescuer of birds.

"Bye, all," I said. I gave Monique a last smile, then left.

Outside, I got into the taxi. I told the driver I wanted to go to Konnekt, the cyber cafe in the city.

Slowly, careful of the bumps in the road, the taxi moved off.
TAXI

It was Friday night rush hour and the town traffic was heavy, so the taxi only arrived in the city well after 6:30 p.m. But I was still on time for my meeting with Lek. The other good news was that it hadn't rained and the streets were still dry. People were walking around, shopping and going to restaurants. It made me a little envious to think of them smiling and having carefree fun.

We passed _The Games Room_. Its neon sign was lit up and the big windows showed people playing video games on huge screens. I made a note on my phone to arrange a night out there in the near future, when all this police work was over. Me, Dev, and Harriet.

Before going playing video games, I would have to get a new username. Obviously, Mechanoid was no good, now that it had been all over the news. The next time I logged on as Mechanoid, I'd get a hundred comments about being infamous.

Mechanoid, are you the Mechanoid that was on TV?

So I tried to think of a new username. I needed a more mature username. But nothing sensible sprang to mind.

UndercoverLandry.

My name had always annoyed me. Mom had named me after jolly Mr. Landry, the high school math teacher who had encouraged her to be a teacher. And, according to her, that was how I turned out to be easy-going and good at math.

I never saw the logic in it. How could somebody so sensible like my mother talk such nonsense. I never knew this Mr. Landry guy, so what good would having his name do?

But Mom knew best. To prove her point, she told me a true story about two brothers, one named Winner, the other, Loser. They both grew up in the same house, ate the same foods, and played the same games in the same neighborhood. But one kid turned out to be a criminal who couldn't stay out of jail, and the other grew up to be a policeman, who received citations for doing good in the community. No prizes for guessing which of them went to jail.

Q.E.D.

Later, when I got into the honors program, and met all the rich kids, I found out it's not _what_ your parents name you that matters, it's _why._

So I had a destiny to fulfill: Math Geek.

The taxi slowed and then pulled up. I came out of my reverie, still without a new username. But my rumination had given me a good idea. If Lek actually turned up, and I actually met him, I'd use the name thing as an ice-breaker. I'd make a joke with him.

"Where did you come up with the name Lek?"

He'd probably say that names don't matter and he had merely picked it off the top of his head...

"Kid?" the driver said.

I paid the man and got out.
AT KONNEKT

Konnekt was easily the best cyber cafe I had ever been to. It was, to use one of Dev's phrases, _mint_. All the desks, computers, and consoles were new. The carpet was thick, like in a cathedral. The coffee smelled amazing. I followed the strong aroma over to the counter.

"Americano, please."

"You want room for milk?" the clerk asked.

"Uh-huh."

"Do you have a loyalty card..."

I know it sounds grumpy, but couldn't this guy see I had things on my mind? Once, in the supermarket, I asked one of the tellers why they ask so many questions.

"We gotta ask," she said, a bit defensive. Maybe there should be an app where you use your account to order coffee by phone, and pick it up in, say, 10 minutes. The app gives you a code, which you give to the clerk to get your drink. Sure, you'd get the occasional delay en route, making your coffee go cold (or maybe they could just have a coffee-warmer behind the counter, with a one-hour max waiting time). It's just that sometimes, I want to keep my mind on my work, and not have to think about drink toppings and loyalty points.

While I waited, I looked around, like Glass had told me not to.

There were a dozen customers, most of them sitting at the computer desks, checking their emails. Nobody seemed to fit the bill of computer criminal genius. Most of them looked about ten years older than me. None of them resembled my idea of an undercover police officer, either.

Two women in their late-twenties sat in the corner laughing like cheerleaders before a game. The two well-groomed guys across from them kept looking over, making comments to each other, and being amused by themselves. At the far desk was a young woman with light blonde hair. I looked her over and could see that actually she was not much older than me. She sat sipping her coffee and minding her own business. Another lady, about my mom's age, was surrounded on all sides by shopping bags. She typed without looking at the screen. Across from her, a guy in his fifties was poking at the keyboard at two words per minute. There was nobody who fit Glass's idea of Lek.

I got my coffee and bought an hour's Internet time. But instead of going straight to a computer, I did a complete lap of the room. Again, like Glass asked me not too. But I was starting to get a bit annoyed by Glass and his undercover operation. I had nagging idea at the back of my mind. He wasn't dumb enough to think a criminal would walk into the Revere Bird of Prey center, leave his student number, then go virus the place. So, he probably knew I wasn't the guy he was looking for. He had known it all along. Perhaps I had been set up. Glass had needed a fall guy, or scapegoat, whatever it was called, to trap this Lek. And I was it.

While walking, I looked at the young woman. She was worth looking at. There is blond hair and then there is blond hair, and she had _blond_ hair. In the past, I had noticed women, especially if they have nice hair, are sometimes subliminally aware men are looking at them, and flip their hair without thinking. But if this woman cared about my interest in her sunny locks, she didn't show it. She sat motionless, involved in her own reading.

I went over to a computer desk and sat down. I was supposed to act natural, so I did what comes naturally. I fired up the Internet browser. But for the first time in my life, couldn't think what to search. Normally, about this time, I might be busy working on my Offworld mod, and searching for tips and tricks. But, try as I might, I couldn't really think about anything other than this Lek guy walking through the door to meet me.

To make it look like I was busy, I typed in, "Windows 10 free upgrade." It had recently been released, and millions of people had downloaded it. I couldn't concentrate enough to read the page.

I was sitting there idly mulling it over, when my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID. It was Dev. I thumbed the red cancel button, to drop the call. A minute later, I got a text message.

Pick up, Mechadroid!

Then my phone began to ring again.

I sighed. Dev, like a lot of people with low social skills, got sore about being shunned. And I couldn't afford to have him annoyed at me when I needed to finish off my Offworld mod in the coming weeks. I hit the answer button.

"Hey, Dev."

"Landry! At last."

"How's your vacation going?"

"Fantastic!" He laughed. "Apart from the fact that the cops commandeered my Offworld account."

"Yeah, bad news."

"No, I have spare. The best part was when this cop called dad. She nearly gave him a heart attack. Better luck next time. How's jail?"

"I'm not in jail, thanks."

"Oh, so you busted out?" He emitted a long, choking laugh, that always reminded me of the skidding sound a cartoon character makes when bouncing across the floor. We bantered for a minute. True to his habit, he made jokes about the news report, and I tried to not get annoyed. He asked a dozen questions, so I cut them short and simply gave him a two-minute dramatization about what had happened when I had got arrested.

The door opened and a man in his mid-twenties strutted in like he owned the place. I felt a rush of adrenaline. Was this Lek? But then his girlfriend came striding up behind him. He held the door for her, and they went to the counter together.

"Landry!" It was Dev's clamoring voice. "Earth to Landry! You still there?"

I suddenly felt awkward. The police were listening to all of this, and I wondered if I should even be on the phone. They probably wanted me to sit there quietly, waiting for Lek to arrive. I checked my watch. 18:58. I was still two minutes early.

"Look, Dev, I'd love to talk, but I can't. I've had a long day, and I've got things whirling around in my head. Let's call it a day and pick up when you get back from vacation."

He grunted. "Okay, Landry D. Hacker." He shrieked his laugh.

I groaned. That was now my new nickname. It was worse than Birdman.

"Goodbye, Dev."

"Tatty-bye, Landry, boy. Try not to get arrested again."

I clicked off and put my phone back in my pocket. If Lek was nearby, listening to that phone call, he probably thought I was a complete dolt.

I sipped my coffee and looked at my screen: Windows 10.

Forget Windows 10. Concentrate on Lek.

I looked around, and as I did, I saw the young blond woman across the room glance over at me and then look quickly away. I could have been wrong, but I thought she had smiled. And not in a good way.
AMY

The young blond woman looked over again. She definitely was smiling. I looked away. But when I looked back, she was still looking at me. Then she got up and walked over. She was nice-looking, but in a rugged way. And she was nicely dressed in a stylish jacket.

"Hello, Landry," she said. So she knew my name. That caught me off guard. I sat there boggling at her.

"Do I know you?" I said.

"I'm Amy." Her voice was friendly enough, but her face was a blank, and her cool eyes were as hard and devoid of emotion as polished jade. I suddenly had a knot in my stomach. It might have been the bean burger I had eaten at the RAS party, but I didn't think so. "Lek asked me to meet you." When she said the name Lek, the knot tightened more. But I carried on smiling.

"Where is he?" I said, matching her cool talk. I glanced around, trying to make light of it.

"He didn't come. He thought you wouldn't turn up." That amused her.

"Here I am."

"If you want to meet him, you'll have to come with me."

"Where to?"

"Lek is a bit cagey. You understand, I'm sure."

Was that an answer?

Her lips tightened into a rigor-mortis smile. Before I could say anything else, she turned and began to walk away. She left her cup on the table and went past, heading toward the counter. I got up and followed her.

"Where are we going?"

"For a ride," she said, still walking.

"Perhaps I don't want to go for a ride."

She stopped and turned.

"Listen, Landry," she said, pronouncing it just like Dev did when he wanted to be annoying. "I just snapped you on my phone. I've got proof I saw you. From here out, I get paid if you come or you don't. So it's up to you, isn't it?" She walked through the cafe, lifted the opening hatch in the counter, and went into the back room. I thought the clerks would start complaining, but neither of them even looked at her. I followed her through the hatch and into the back room. We went through a little kitchenette, and she opened the back door. We went outside to the alley behind the building, where a yellow taxi was waiting.

It was obvious why she was doing this. She wanted to throw off anybody who might be tailing us, and expecting us to exit through the front door. I thought I should at least try to delay her, to give Glass time to realize what had happened.

"Where we are going?" I said.

She got into the cab. The door slammed shut, the sound reverberating around the deserted back alley. I stood, thinking it over, and decided to call her bluff. I waited. I would let her get back out and explain. Then the taxi started pulling away. It wasn't a bluff.

I kept waiting for Glass to text me or call, and tell me what to do. I got nothing.

I ran a couple of steps and banged on the window. The car stopped. I opened the door.

"You win," I said.

"Uh-huh. Get in."

I got in and shut the door. The taxi set off. She turned to look at me.

"You look different from your picture." There was nothing in her voice, as if she didn't care much about it either way.

"Yeah?" I said.

"You did your hair, that's what it is." I thought she sounded suspicious, but then she said, "It suits you. I like your jacket. Very smart." That amused her, too. Then she turned back to the front. She was finished playing with me.

The taxi drove on into the night, heading deeper into the city.
SHOPPING

The taxi dropped us at the airport.

"What are we doing here?" I said. "I'm not getting on a plane, if that's what you think."

"Lek is at a motel nearby. He's waiting for you."

"Why didn't you just take me to him?"

"I told you already," she said, almost yawning. "Let's go."

"As you say." I gestured for her to lead on. We went into the airport and we went past all the people lining up to get their baggage weighed and checked. She led me to the shopping area. We went into a clothing store, past the racks and displays, and into a fitting room.

I glared at her. "What the hell?"

"You'll have to lift your shirt," she said. "I've got to check you for a police microphone."

"I'm sorry?"

"Just like gym class?" She said impatiently.

"You are serious?"

"Yes, or no? It's your call."

I lifted my shirt to show there was nothing in there that resembled a microphone and transmitter. For a tense moment, I thought she was going to whip out a microphone detector. If she had done, she would have found the microphone in the jacket. But she merely looked me over, then nodded.

"And the jeans."

"Huh?"

"Today."

"You want me to undo them?"

"Get on with it."

I undid my jeans button and zipper. She looked at my open jeans.

"I'll just take a little look," she said. Before I could say, "Be my guest," her hand was running around the waistband of my shorts.

"Great," she said, "we're nearly done." We went out of the changing room and back into the mall. We went outside and walked for two minutes, until we got to a motel.

"Number fifty-two," she said when we were at the entrance.

"I just walk up and knock on the door?"

"You've played this game before. Well, go on. It's only a motel. You've stayed in one before." She gestured at the door, bidding me to enter. I turned, opened the door, and stepped inside.

"You two young people have fun," she called out behind me. When I turned to look, she had a giddy grin, like she had just won a big jackpot. Then she turned and walked away, waving goodbye over her shoulder.

I turned back and went to the reception.
ROOM FIFTY-TWO

The Stay Over motel was better than any motel I had ever been in before. As with Konnekt, it looked like it had been built the previous week, with new decor and spotless carpets. Lek obviously had expensive tastes.

I went into the reception area. To the side, there was a trendy bar where people could hang out and drink, though at this particular hour on this Friday, nobody wanted to. The place was deserted.

A young clerk was seated at the reception desk, reading. I avoided looking at him and walked down the ground floor hallway, searching for room number fifty-two. It was right at the end of the corridor, next to the emergency exit. For some reason, that fact rankled in my mind.

Are we expecting an emergency tonight?

The knot in my stomach, which I had only just got rid of, reappeared momentarily. I stood in the deserted corridor, waiting for that little ball of anxiety to untie itself. While I was waiting, I listened for signs of life behind door fifty-two, but it was silent. The only sound came from a TV in the room behind me.

I knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked again. No answer. I tried to remember if the electronic keycard locks in motels allowed customers to leave the door on the latch, but the last time I had stayed in a motel, I hadn't paid any attention to the door locks. There was only one way to find out. I knew trying the door handle was a risky thing to do, but I did it anyway. It didn't matter – the door didn't budge.

"Hello?" I said loudly, partly for the sake of Glass and Staunton, still listening in over the hidden microphone. "Hello?" I gave the door another rap. "It's Landry." No answer. I spent another minute in the hallway, feeling stupid, then angry, then embarrassed, then all three.

The police had said, "Go and meet Lek and talk to him. We'll do the rest." They hadn't mentioned what to do if Lek was not at the arranged meeting. Standing in that hallway, it seemed ridiculously unlikely anyone would go to all this trouble of arranging a meeting only to not show. I tried to think back to what Amy had said, and wondered if I had got the room number wrong. But I was sure she had said fifty-two. A hundred percent sure. With nothing else to do, I made my way back down the hallway to the reception.

"Good evening!" the clerk said.

"Hello. I'm here to see my friend, Lek. He's staying in room fifty-two. I didn't get an answer. Would you please check if he's in?"

"Sure." He typed on his computer keyboard.

"What was the name again?" he said, a puzzled frown appearing on his forehead.

"Lek. L-E-K."

"First name or last name?"

"Nickname."

He shook his head. "Either way, we don't have a Lek or a Mr. Lek in that room."

"There's nobody in room fifty-two?"

"We do have a guest staying in that room, but it's not a Mr. Lek."

I was just going to snap, "Well, who is it?" But I stopped myself in time. Motels don't just give out guest details to any stranger who walks in off the street. And there was no point in getting annoyed at the clerk. I was sure he wasn't in on Lek's stupid game.

"Would you please phone whoever is in the room? Tell him Landry is here."

"Landry," he repeated, with a nod. He picked up the reception phone. He cradled it to his ear for ten, fifteen, twenty seconds.

"I'm sorry, there is no reply." He seemed genuinely disappointed. I looked around the reception. Apart from a bar, the big room had a couch, a table, and a large TV pinned to the wall. But the newscaster was playing to an empty theater.

I looked at the clerk, who was still holding the phone. "Would you please check the messages to see if he left anything for Landry Smith?"

"Landry Smith?" he said, cradling the phone. "You are Landry Smith?"

"That's me."

He turned back to the screen. "Uh, Landry Smith is the person who rented that room."

I slumped. "Really?" He nodded. His confusion developed a twinge of amusement and he smiled a little, as if we were two bored clerks playing a game to while away the long hours on the night shift. "I'm sure I didn't rent that room."

"You don't remember renting that room?" It sounded ridiculous.

"I didn't rent it." We stood for a minute, two befuddled goons, trying to figure it out. "Possibly one of my friends is playing a joke. It's my birthday, you see."

"Oh. It's your birthday?"

"Yeah, he just asked me to stop by and see him. Look, I would like to check the room, to see if something has been left in there – like a birthday surprise."

"A present from your friend?"

"Yeah."

He thought about it, glanced at the staff room door, then back at me. "I'm not supposed to leave the desk, but the security guard could cover for a minute."

"Great. I really appreciate it."

He went into the staff room behind the counter, and came back out a minute later. He picked up a key-card and said, "We'll have to be quick. Please follow me."

We went down the hall to the end. The clerk knocked on the door. "Please wait here," he said. Then he stuck the key-card in the door, and went inside. A moment later, he reappeared. I followed him inside. Room fifty-two was empty. I looked around. It was at least twice as large as any motel room I had ever stayed in, and looked more like a suite at the Grand. I checked around for clues, as if looking for a birthday present. Nothing. Nobody had been there since housekeeping had trundled their trolley through that morning. I thought it through for a minute. Glass and Staunton were going to be disappointed. But I didn't see anything else to do. I had hit a dead end. Wasn't Glass going to message me to let me know what to do? I waited a minute, but nothing came through.

"I'm sorry to have wasted your time," I said to the clerk.

"It's not a problem." We went out of the room and down the hall.

"Goodnight." I turned and began to walk away.

"Uh," he said. "Uh, Landry, there's a, uh, message for you, Landry."

I turned back. "I'm sorry?"

"A message." He was back behind the desk already and was giving the little pigeon-hole mail rack an odd look. "I can see somebody has left a message for the person in room fifty-two. Since that's Landry Smith, and since you are Landry Smith, and since you were expecting your friend to be in that room, I suppose I can give it to you." He plucked a small, white envelope out of its mailbox and was about to hand it to me. "Oh... Could I see some ID, please? A driver's license – "

I fished my license out. I pushed it across the desk to him. He examined it. He gave a quiet little snort, as if he appreciated the joke.

"Okay," he said with a little grin, "here is a message for Landry Smith, from Landry Smith."

He handed me the envelope, and I could see he was waiting in anticipation.

I looked at the envelope. My name was on the front; printed, not handwritten. But I didn't open it. I stood, looking at it and thinking. I ran my finger along its front. It was as flat as any other envelope, and almost certainly didn't contain anything explosive. It could have contained a microscopic toxin like ricin or anthrax, but if it had, the clerk who received the message earlier in that evening would now be flat on his back in an emergency room.

Just open the damned letter.

"Do you have a letter knife I could use?"

He handed me a knife. I sliced the envelope open. Inside was a piece of paper with computer-printed text.

Landry,

Sorry about the short notice, but there has been a development. It means a change of plans. I won't be able to make it tonight.

LEK

PS Say hi to the police for me.
DISAPPOINTMENT

I stood in the reception area, the slip of paper in my hand, not knowing what to do next.

Sorry I couldn't make it.

This guy was toying with me. Cat-and-mouse. Crazy. Well, he thought I had used his virus idea, and now he was giving me hell. It was working.

The clerk was polite enough to wait without saying anything while I considered my options. But I seem to have run out of them.

"Well," I said, lying through my teeth, "that solves the mystery. It's my friend joking around. Anyway, thanks for your help."

"My pleasure." He gave me a sympathetic smile. Then he went back to his seat at the center of the reception desk. My phone pinged. It was Glass.

Taxi on its way. Wait. Lek may be watching.

Don't do anything suspicious.

I sent him a reply.

He left a message. He knows you are on to him.

No answer. I sat and waited. A few minutes later a man came into the reception. He looked around. I was the only person in the waiting area, so he came to me.

"Taxi for Smith," he said. I got up and followed him outside to the taxi. We drove across the city, this way and that, until I realized we weren't going back to the police station. I leaned forward so I could read his name off the driver's ID.

"Excuse me, John," I said, "Where are we going?"

"We're going to a restaurant," he said, looking at me in the rear-view mirror. "Detective Glass wants to see you."

"You are a policeman?"

"That's right."

"May I ask why we are going to a restaurant and not the police station?"

"It's just a precaution."

"But my cover is already blown."

"True, but we'll have to stay in character. We don't normally make things up as we go along, but this guy is giving us the runaround, so we'll have to. You should sit back and relax."

Sit back? I wanted to lift my arms up in the air and appeal to the Gods to make sense of it all. Ten minutes later, we arrived at a restaurant. I got out.

"I'll wait here for you," John said, "so you don't have to call another cab."

"Okay."

I went inside. It was now well after eight O'clock, and the place was busy with couples having dinner. The young woman on reception was going to ask me if I wanted a table for one, but I had already spotted Detectives Glass and Staunton seated at the rear of the room. I pointed at them.

"I'm here to see my friends," I said. She looked over and nodded. But she insisted on leading me to the table. Glass and Staunton said hello.

"Hi," I said.

"Would you like a drink?" a waiter said, intercepting me as I was about to sit.

"I'll have a glass of water, please."

"And we'll have the house special to go," Glass said to him. The waiter nodded, turned, and went. Nobody said anything for a moment. We were all equally disappointed. Besides which, I didn't want to say anything because I didn't know what to say.

"Sorry for bringing you here," Glass said. "You might have been followed. We didn't want you to go back to the police station. And we didn't want you to go home, either. We wanted to talk to you."

"As you know," I said, "Lek didn't turn up. It was some girl, Amy. She took me to a motel and told me to go knock on the door, but when I did, there was no answer. So I asked the clerk to let me in. There was no one there. The whole thing was a runaround, a complete waste of time."

He nodded.

I said, "I'm so sorry you didn't get your codes." I handed him the message from Lek. Glass read it and passed it to Staunton.

"Say hi to the police for me," she said, reading the last line out loud.

The waiter came back and deposited a glass of water on the table, then left. I sipped the water.

"It's not your fault," Glass said. "You did everything we asked. Lek was one step ahead, as usual."

"I feel a big sense of disappointment," I said, "I'm glad I don't have to do this job all the time." Glass nodded. Staunton smiled.

"How did he find out I was working for you guys?" I asked. I didn't want to talk too much, but I was too curious to stay silent.

"As we said at the outset," Staunton replied, "he may have already known. Or he may have been working with someone."

"Someone on the inside? An organization?"

She nodded. "Which means we won't be able to pick Amy up, at least for now."

"You are following her?"

"Yes."

"Well," I said, "I'd say she doesn't know anything. She was paid money to deliver me to Lek, but she seemed to not know anything about him. I thought it better to avoid asking suspicious questions."

Glass said, "You did well. You did what we asked. We appreciate it." We all sat in gloomy silence for a minute.

"What's going to happen now?" I said. They just looked at me solemnly. The unspoken reply was that the whole thing was a complete loss. "Do I need to take off my jacket?"

"You can give it to the police when they bring your computer back."

"Ah, okay."

A minute later, the waiter arrived at the table with a paper carrier bag. I could see it had take-away food in it. He left it on the table and went away.

"Take this," Glass said. "If anybody is watching outside, it'll make it look like you stopped in for food."

"How long do I need to keep up the pretense?"

"We don't know. Let's all just go through with this thing for another couple of days. Just to be safe."

There was a subtle change in their manner. I got the sense they weren't treating me like little dork Landry anymore. I had done my work. I had got messed around, but I had gone through with it anyway, and without too much complaining. That changed their attitude toward me. It was obvious in their manner. And so I thought I could get away with a joke.

"You need to cover your backs?" I said, with a grin.

Glass almost smiled. "If you ever get to do this job, you'll understand that particular term in a whole new light."

"Okay."

"Until then, you are free to go," Staunton said.

"I hope your investigation takes turn for the better. You have my number and email if you need to speak to me."

"We'll let you know if there are any important developments," Glass said.

"Goodbye." I got up and took my food with me. Outside, I got into the waiting cab. We drove away from the restaurant and into the night. John didn't ask me where I wanted to go. He already knew. Home-sweet-home.

By the time I arrived back, the food was cold. But I wasn't hungry, anyway.

I talked with Mom for a minute, and she wanted to quiz me about the day's events. But I made my excuses, and left. After putting my jacket in the basement, where its microphone would be out of range, I went upstairs to my room.
AND SO TO BED

I went to my room. The first thing I noticed was the desk had been emptied of every last item of computer and electronic equipment, including the digital clock. All that was left was a crescent of dust where the monitor stand had been. Mom makes me clean anything electronic (I think she's worried about getting electrocuted), but when my time is split between home and college, it gets left, and dust gathers.

I'd spent years collecting that computer kit, and now it was all in the cop's evidence room. And I had to wonder what state it was in. Yanking the power cord out of a computer can kill the disk and lose the data. If the police had not powered it down properly, the programs and data I had built up over the years might be lost. For most of the day, I had been exhilarated, but I suddenly realized how tired I had become. An aching weariness tugged at me. I flipped off the light and slumped down on the edge of the bed. I sat in the darkness, and gazed out through the window.

Tonight was Friday, normally the best night of the week. I have a stock of old songs, Donatello's (the local pizza delivery place) on fast-dial, and four or five hours set aside for Offworld. Now, all that was down the drain. I was totally offline. So I sat there in silence. Slowly, my eyes got used to the dark. Far off across the moonlit corn fields, I could see the mountains – jagged silhouettes beneath the opalescent milky way.

There was a quiet knock on the door. It opened and Mom came in. A wedge of hallway light illuminated the room.

"Are you going to bed?" she said. I was sure I had already told her as much.

"Yeah," I said, trying to not sound irritable. She was wearing the clothes she wore to go to work in, even though in the end she hadn't gone. She had stayed off work for my sake. But as grateful as I was, I didn't want to sit there talking. "Goodnight."

"I'm glad it's all over."

"Me, too. Oh, and thanks again for today. I appreciate everything you did for me. Sorry you had to stay off work." But she wasn't fishing for appreciation, she had another subject in mind.

"Monique was nice. Are you going to see her again?"

"Mom..."

"It's a perfectly normal question."

"You know I'm busy at college right now."

"Goodness, what's that got to do with anything?"

"It's not like I have anything in common with her."

She shook her head. "You seemed to be doing alright before."

"Meaning?"

"Perhaps you should ask her out again."

"We didn't go out on a date. We were only talking about what had happened with the bird center. In truth, we're total opposites."

"I wouldn't say so."

"I would."

"Well, I heard opposites attract."

"They might attract, but they don't last. In real life, the best long-term relationships are between people who have a similar personality."

She shook her head. "Where did you learn that, in a textbook?"

"Mom..."

"Landry, I've been meaning to talk to you about your college social program. I don't think you are spending enough time on extracurricular activities – " She was edging slowly towards the bed. I knew if I let her sit down, she'd keep me talking. I cut her off.

"For years you've been encouraging me to work hard to get into college. 'Don't waste your time on video games, Landry.' Now that I'm actually at college, you want me to start goofing off..."

"That's not what I said. But I do think college should be fun. After all, you're eighteen –"

"Gee, you do you realize I'm a scholarship student at a prestigious college full of rich kids, academic's kids, and kids whose parents are captains of industry?"

"Yes, I understand that. It's a top college and it's hard work."

"And because Mr. Landry Nobody doesn't have the right name, or belong to the right clubs, he has to work twice as hard as everybody else just to keep up."

"It's hard, I know. But what's got into you lately, Landry?"

"Apart from being arrested?"

"I'm not talking about the police. You always seem to be busy working on something, sitting in your room on your own. Your computer has taken over your life. Now you don't even have time to talk to your own mother about an important event in your life?"

I had signed a document which said that legally I couldn't tell my mother anything about what had really happened that day. The only thing I could do was forget it all. Time to change the subject.

"You think, with all this going on, it's a good opportunity for me to start romancing

girls?"

"Landry – "

"Mom, Monique is nice. But Monique and her friends are not living in the real world. They've got this bird which got hit by a car. So they patched it up and it's on the mend. Great. Lucky bird. But there are twenty-billion birds in this country. Do you know what I'm saying?"

She gave me a glum smile. "I'm not sure."

"I'm not like you. I'm not the idealist type."

"What do you mean?"

"I've no idea. It's late. I'm tired. I've had a long day. I'm going to bed." I stopped talking, sighed, and slumped. It wasn't just an act. I was genuinely weary.

She gave me another pitying look. "Have a good night's sleep, darling. You'll feel better in the morning." I got the obligatory kiss on the forehead, then she went out. I flopped back onto the bed.

I waited there for a few minutes in the darkness. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Jimmy, hoping that he wasn't sore about my ignoring his call earlier.

Jimbo, the cops snarfed my gear. Can I borrow or rob a laptop till Sunday, svp?

He didn't answer immediately. I had to wait a minute.

Alientech is free

That was his old gaming laptop. At new, it had been amazingly fast, and had cost a fortune. Now, it was two years old, middle-aged in computer years. But it was still good for typing up coursework, and perhaps a bit of mid-res Offworld. That was assuming I could pull my project work out from the online storage. By Sunday afternoon all my coursework would be done, and I'd be packing, ready to travel back to college on the train. Almost a happy ending. I sent him a text in return.

tx. i owe u. Will pick up 2mro b4 8am

I sent Harriet a quick text.

Offworld Sat?

The reply came back.

6pm.

Harriet was really shy and quiet. She was studying at night school. Until she graduated, she made baubles, bangles, and beads to sell to her friend who had a market stall; the sort of natural jewelry that alt-girls always seemed to wear. I usually saw her on Offworld, especially at the weekend.

See ya

She sent a reply.

Are you OK?

I gave her a quick reply.

I'm OK. but cops still got my kit. bb

That done, I dropped my phone on the bedside cabinet, and lay back, trying to get the day's tedious events out of my head. I had to move on, put it behind me, and get back to normal.

But thoughts of Monique, Amy, and Lek kept taunting me. Though I felt weary, I also felt on edge. I knew that even if I got into bed, I would not sleep. So I sat there and thought it all through, again and again.
DREAMING

If it was a dream, it was a good one. I was in bed feeling warm, rested, and carefree. It felt almost like I was floating. But amid that happiness, there was the vague feeling that something odd was going on. I lay there, wondering what it was. Then it dawned on me the stars outside my window were rotating in orbit around my head.

Weird... The last time I had checked, I wasn't the center of the universe.

I sat up and saw the stars were actually standing still and it was me that was rotating. I was on the Offworld space-station, which was spinning like a hula-hoop, to simulate gravity.

Okay, it is a dream...

I peered out through the window. The central core of the station was brightly lit by the sun. Once, I had stood on top of that core, armed only with a shock rifle, and had defended the station against an entire wave of marauding off-worlders, just me by myself, with Dev whooping with laughter and saying I'd never survive, and Harriet cheering me on and telling me I could do it. I deployed every single weapon and tactic I had, and eventually won. It was the highlight of my playing time on Offworld.

"Hello, Mechanoid." A voice startled me out of my reverie. It was a husky female voice. Instinctively, I thrust my hand under the pillow, to search for my laser pistol, but it was no longer there. I looked around to see Amy standing in the shadows. In the half-light, her pretty mouth was distorted with her usual overconfident smile. She was no longer wearing the stylish jacket that matched her attractive hair. She was dressed in the plain white shirt and black cargo pants that were the uniform of the Offworld station crew. It made her look even tougher. She came near to the bed, then flicked the night-light on, which dimly illuminated the room with blue light.

"How are you?" Her eyes glinted with amusement.

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might want to see me?" she teased.

Yeah, but only in my dreams. I was sure this was a dream. I had a hazy memory of a past life, where I'd just spent two hectic days getting arrested, and chasing some virus guy. It was all gone from my memory now. Thankfully, I was back on Offworld, where I belonged.

"I wanted to talk to you," she said. Up close, her voice sounded strange, almost synthesized, like a character in a video game. She tossed her hair to one side and sat down on the side of the bed. Her smile widened. She sidled along the bed sheets and leaned in toward me.

"Amy – " I tried to sit up but her hand came up holding a laser pistol. "Ut-uh. Stay where you are." The little pistol she was holding was so dainty it looked like a child's toy. But it was a very real laser pistol. If she pulled the trigger, it would make no noise. There would be a blinding flash and the room would fill with the acrid smoke of burning flesh (mine). But my death would be almost soundless, like a man gasping in his sleep. I had to go along with her crazy talk.

I leaned back. "What do you want from me?"

She smiled and relaxed again, letting the weapon drop to her side. "Let's talk business, Landry, me and you."

"Business?"

"You are a computer expert, right?"

"Why does everybody think I'm a computer expert!"

"Calm down, Landry. You know all about these unlock codes and how they work?"

"Lek's unlock codes?"

She nodded.

"Yeah," I said, "I know about unlock codes."

"Then we need to work together, because I've got Lek's codes. They are worth thirteen million dollars. We can take the money and go. But we need to do this quickly, before the cops bust in." I looked over at the door. It wasn't one of Offworld's thick airlock doors. It was a regular door, the same as any door on any normal space-station. The cops could get through it easily. That puzzled me. What was she talking about? I was having the hardest time keeping up. "You need to transfer all of Lek's lists to my online account. That's what I need from you."

"Are you telling me you stole Lek's laptop?"

"No, Landry. The codes are in my head. Get it?"

"In your head?" I frowned, puzzled. "You are an eidetic, or whatever they are called?"

She nodded. "I have a photographic memory. Not that it ever made a red cent for me – until I met Lek. Now, I've no idea what all those codes mean, but I know all of them – every single computer."

"You can remember thousands of codes... You're the one I was looking for?"

"You found me. And I found you. You are my computer expert now."

"You are going to rip off Lek?"

She smiled, but cast an impatient glance at the door. "It's decision time."

"No, Amy. I'm not going to do it. Forget it. It's too risky. I've got my college career to think about –"

Beep-beep. God damn it, my phone was beeping.

I looked around for it but it was no longer on the bedside cabinet, when I had left it. Maybe, I thought, Amy had stolen it.

"Amy..." Then I noticed she was sitting on the edge of the bed in lemon-yellow pajamas.

"Amy, my phone's flashing. I've got a message. It might be important."

"More important than our partnership?" she said, in a teasing drawl.

"Amy..."

"I bet," she said with a giggle, "I can change that." She turned out the night-light. In the darkness, the bed sheets rustled as she leaned over and kissed me. Her soft hair brushed my face.

"The owls are too hot to hoot," I said. Then my phone beeped again, this time adding a buzzing vibration that rattled on the wooden cabinet.

I woke up. I came out of the dream with a start, and sat up, taking a deep breath. My heart was pounding, and my face was drenched with sweat. I rubbed my eyes. I was back in my room at home, sitting on my bed, still in my clothes.

And my phone was blinking its little green notification light. I had a new message.
A MESSAGE COMES THROUGH

PRATT AND DEUTSON

13 Mar

Dear Mr. LANDRY SMITH,

Re: LEK

Our records indicate you were recently involved in a criminal incident, through no fault of your own. Because of this, you are entitled to claim up to ONE MILLION DOLLARS in compensation (minus 10% administration and legal fees) payable TODAY. To collect, simply bring this letter and one form of photo ID with you to ROOM FIFTY at the STAY OVER MOTEL.

All compensation must be collected before the end of TODAY. Don't delay, MR LANDRY SMITH, Collect your money TODAY.

Sincerely,

STEVEN PRATT

Senior Partner

Pratt and Deutson

Attorneys at Law

PS We'd like to remind you to collect your money TODAY.

Okay, so there was somebody in the world with a worse sense of humor than Dev. Either that, or I was still dreaming.

I read the message again, and could only sit there trying to take it in. I didn't even bother to search online for Pratt and Deutson, to see if they were real. They were about as real as anything else that had taken place over the last few days. They were as real as my getting arrested for criminal damage, or hanging out with animal activists, or being dragged around town by attractive blond women who enjoyed annoying me.

My eyes went to the reply header.

devdude@offworldgame.com

It was another forwarded message that had originally come from Dev's hacked gaming account. So it was Lek again. Playing games.

I sat on the edge of the bed. A minute before I had felt weary. Now, my pulse was racing and I was wide awake.

Should I call Glass?

I pondered the question. But I didn't have to make the call. My phone pinged. It was a message from Glass.

WAIT THERE

What else did he think I could do!

He took less than ten minutes to arrive. From my bedroom window I could see three sets of headlights moving rapidly down the road. In the moonlight, it looked as if they were flying through the middle of the corn fields.

I took a slice of paper and wrote Mom a note.

Gone with Det. Glass, to give him some advice on computer viruses. I can't talk about it, so pls don't ask. I'll be safe. Back in 2 hrs (probably). DON'T WORRY.

PS Pls don't phone, I can't pick up. I'll call asap.

Usually, once Mom was in bed she stayed there until the morning. But I tacked the note on the outside of my door, just in case I did not return before morning. She would find the note and know I was okay.

Then I went downstairs, got my jacket out of the basement, and put it on. I crept out of the door as quietly as possible, and went down the driveway to meet the three cars that were racing towards me. I didn't want them to roar up the driveway, waking Mom. I was carrying my torch and I waved it around, so they would see the light and stop to collect me.

With a scraping of tires on road, the cars pulled up. A door opened.

"Hurry up," Glass said. I got in and closed the door as quietly as I could. It was barely shut before I was thrown back into my seat and the car was racing back down the road the way it had come. We were heading back into town.

Staunton was sitting beside Glass. I noticed she had changed her hair, and wondered if she, too, had got ready for bed, before being dragged out of it by Mr. Lek.

"This guy," I said, trying to reason out the craziness, "must know you are tracing my phone calls. He must know you are on to him."

"Look, Landry," Glass barked, his earlier strained professional politeness now gone, "let's all sit back and see what happens."

I sat back. But I couldn't let it go.

"You saw the crazy letter about compensation?" I said to Staunton. She was easier to talk to, so perhaps she would explain.

"It doesn't make much sense," she replied quietly.

"So what now?"

"We're not sure." She gave Glass a questioning look. The car was dark, but I could see the concern on their faces.

"Look," I said, "I'm not stupid. This isn't just some criminal group, is it? Who has the gall to do something like this, with these crazy messages. Who goes around taunting the police?"

No answer.

The car drove on into the night, the shimmering city getting nearer, until we were cruising across its deserted freeways, jumping red lights, since at this late hour the intersections were devoid of cars.

I remembered my dream about Amy. There was something in her attitude I couldn't quite figure out, like she could kick the ass of everyone in Konnekt, and knew it.

"Did Amy seem strange to you?" I said.

"Amy vanished over an hour ago," Staunton said. "We continued tracking her after you left. But she went back into the airport and we lost her."

I frowned. "That's a bit worrying, right?"

"You've got nothing to worry about, though. There are a dozen undercover police surrounding the motel right now."

I sat back, concerned but trying not to show it. My mind went back to my recent dream. What a crazy fantasy it had been. Amy and Offworld. Some combination.

Had I dreamed about her because I was actually attracted to her? I didn't think so. We dream about whatever is on our minds, that's all. I knew it because once, in a strange motel, I was thinking about whether it was safe to leave my keys and wallet on the desk. I fell asleep like that, and dreamed about those keys and wallet. I imagined they were stolen, leaving me lost in a strange city. Because I dozed lightly, I remembered the dream when I awoke. And I realized it wasn't anything more than my resting brain continuing the thoughts of the day, but without the higher functions of the senses, logic, and order. So, I probably wasn't attracted to Amy.

Well, maybe a little. She had nice hair. She had nice everything. True, she had a bad attitude, but nobody's perfect.

The brilliant lights of the airport abolished the darkness, turning it to day, and snapping me out of my reverie. The car came to a sudden stop. There, in front of us, was the taxi from earlier.

"Same as before," Glass said. "Go to the motel. Talk to Lek. We need those unlock codes."

"But none of this makes sense –"

"Get into the taxi," he barked. He opened the door. I got out of the car. I walked the dozen paces over to the taxi and got in.

"Hi," I said. The driver, John, nodded and said nothing. He went on saying nothing for the rest of the short journey. Soon, the Stay Over motel loomed into view, for the second time that day.

The taxi pulled up and I got out. The modern, up-market motel seemed the least likely place in the city to host a crazy virus writer and his weird Mystery Weekend fun and games. I went in. The clerk was on the phone again. But he was no longer smiling. He looked scared. I guessed he was talking to Glass. He saw me and put the phone down. I approached him, the ghost of Landry Smith, come back to haunt. I was going to ask about room fifty, but he already had the key-card in his hand.

"Room fifty," he said. He handed it over. I noticed his hand was trembling. I suddenly saw the goofy fun in this silly cat-and-mouse game. I gave him a cheery smile.

"Thanks so much," I said enthusiastically – Landry the madman, happily entering the carnival fun-house of horrors.

Which, as it turned out, was not far off what happened.
ROOM 50

I went down the hallway to room fifty and knocked on the door.

"Hello? It's Landry." No answer. No waiting around this time, I put the key-card into the door lock. Its little light blinked green, and the door opened with a click. I went inside. All I saw was another large, empty motel room, almost exactly like room fifty-two.

But the lights were dimmed. Across the room, a large, wall-mounted TV was showing the news, but with the sound turned off. So somebody had been there. Were they still there?

"Hello?" I said. A minute before, I had been filled with carefree craziness. Now my pulse was pounding and I was apprehensive again. I went further in. I could see the bathroom door on the far side of the room.

"Hello, Lek?" I said, raising my voice in case he was in the bathroom. "It's Landry."

I walked all the way inside, and the door clicked shut behind me. I went past the sideboard where housekeeping had left an assortment of instant-coffee sachets. Now I could see a desk. There was a laptop computer on it with its lid open. The screen was lit. Next to it was a take-out cup with Konnekt written on the side. And next to that was an opened bag of potato chips. So, somebody was home. That made me feel even more nervous.

Slowly, I moved over to the laptop. It was powered on and logged in. The screen was filled with numbers, all displayed in an application program of a type I had never seen before. Were these numbers unlocking codes? It was hard to tell. They looked like it to me.

And Lek had more than one list. Down the other side of the split screen was a second list. This one wasn't in an application program. It was in an internet browser. Each item in the list had a long number, a short number, and a name. To me, they looked like bank account numbers. They were all inactive – grayed out – except one. That account was logged in, and had a list of credits. And at the bottom was a balance: $1,380,204.

So Glass had been right. The guy had many banks accounts and online aliases.

"Forget all that," he had said. "Concentrate on the codes."

I went back to the unlock codes. There were dozens of them, all in neat rows.

00012502 Awt5r2.rbl.xtrawn.com 1d2f4a3c5a9e4a...

My heart was hammering in my chest now. I looked up from the screen. I couldn't keep saying, "Hello," all night, but I didn't want to touch the laptop, in case Lek suddenly walked in.

I looked around. "Anybody home?" No answer. I had seen the movie that was showing on the TV. It was called "Wynn's Travels."

I went back to the computer screen. The amazing thing was the indicator at the bottom of the list. The record count showed 23,549. Every one of those rows was a record of an infected computer. And there was more to it. Much more. Other databases, each with IP details and network information; geographic location; user account details... It was all nicely arranged, neat and tidy. Sortable. Searchable. This guy had a digital production line. He was the pioneering Henry Ford of computer viruses. A virus for everyone.

I took stock of the situation. I was in a motel room, looking at the laptop of the world's most wanted computer criminal, and the Wi-Fi indicator in the computer's system tray showed it was hooked into the motel's wireless network. That was exactly what Glass wanted. I knew I should get on this computer and send those codes to him, without delay.

But I didn't do it. There was something weird going on. As far as I could see, I had stumbled into the internet-age version of the Marie Celeste; the ghost ship that was found with the dinner plates set, and the entire crew missing. Was this a trap? If I touched the keyboard, would something drastic happen to me? I had no idea. So, as much as I wanted to dive on those codes, I did not. It was time to look around.

Now that I was over at the desk, I could see a little burgundy-colored booklet lying on the bed. The bed was made and there was nothing else on it; no traveling cases or clothes, which made the booklet conspicuous; almost as if it had been left out purposely, for someone to find. I went over and looked at it. It was a passport.

"Lek?" I said, giving a last look around. Then I picked up the passport and looked inside. The photo showed a Caucasian man with a big forehead and a light beard. I slipped the page and looked at the details:

Surname

CARDIGAN

Given names

SIMON

Nationality

BRITISH

Sex

M

Place of birth

BLETCHLEY

The comical voice of Sheriff G. W. Pepper, from the famous spy movie, popped into my head uninvited: _"He's a English secret agent – from England!"_

Underneath the passport was a slender wallet. I opened it. There were credit cards. I lifted one out of the holder. It had the same name as the passport. There was an American driver's license, also with the same name. And a British license. And there was a picture of a woman. She looked attractive in a gorgeous evening dress and jewels. His girlfriend, probably.

I put the passport and wallet back on the bed, just how they had been. I started to move around the bed, and then a crumpled slice of pure white notepaper caught my eye. It was on the floor, down in the little aisle between the bottom of the bed and the desk. It looked like Lek had written a note, then discarded it in a hurry. I knelt down on the plush carpet, to look at it.

I could make out some writing, but the paper was too screwed-up to read. I didn't want to straighten it, in case it had fingerprint or DNA evidence I should not contaminate. I knelt down bedside it and tilted my head to read. All I could see was the top two lines.

Dear MR COMPUTER VIRUSER

Re: Ransomware

So, Lek had got a bizarre letter, just like mine. I realized I had been holding my breath, so I let it out.

Okay, I'm a smart little birdie. I can figure this out.

I took the ballpoint pen off the desk and used it to straighten the paper. Then I read the letter.
A MESSAGE FOR CARDIGAN

Dear MR COMPUTER VIRUSER

Re: Ransomware

This letter is contaminated with a virus targeted specifically at your DNA. Soon you will be writhing on the floor in agony. To get the anti-virus you desperately need, you must pay us $300.

Don't delay. Call this toll-free number right now: 109-876-5432

Regards,

Uncle Sam,

There was a big red exclamation mark at the side of the letter.
ALARM

I was about to raise the alarm and get Glass in there. But from that position, I could see the little bathroom door was slightly open, and the light was on.

I stood up, left the crackpot letter on the floor, and walked to the bathroom. I pushed the door open. There was a man inside, sprawled on the floor in that fallen-down pose that can only mean one thing.

"Lek?" The words caught in my throat. It didn't matter. He wasn't hearing anything. He had taken his final nap; the nap from which nobody ever wakes up.

His expensive-looking suit and white shirt were blotched with crimson splashes. Blood. It seemed to have come from his own mouth.

I moved a little closer, to get a better look. He was in his late twenties. His overdeveloped forehead and his light beard made him looked like a distinguished college professor. But his large front teeth and the dark circles under his eyes made him look like a cross between a six-foot rabbit and a panda bear. And he had the worst case of measles I had ever seen. His face looked like it had been attacked by angry bees.

Okay, so this was Ransomware – but for real.

I could see now his right hand was still holding a phone, clinging to it, as if the white bathroom tiles were an ocean and his phone was a life preserver. He'd been trying to ring the number on the crazy letter.

This was the man in the passport. This was Lek. Only it couldn't have been Lek. This was Cardigan.

I had to do something. I was supposed to check for a pulse or breath. I was supposed to call an ambulance. I was supposed do some damn thing instead of standing in the middle of the room like an idiot. But it was my first dead body, and I was having trouble with the blood. It made me look around, expecting someone to leap out of a closet and attack me.

"The birds are free!" I said eventually. That wasn't the secret word.

"The birds are free!" I said again. I wasn't supposed to say it twice. Some secret agent I was.

Then I realized what a mistake I'd made. I fumbled with my phone. I dialed Glass's number.

"Glass! Don't come in! Don't come in! He's dead! He's in the bathroom. He's dead on the floor."

"We're on our way," Glass shouted. "Wait there."

"No! Glass, Wait! You can't come in. He's got some sort of virus. He's infected!"
WAITING

"What are you talking about?" Glass demanded.

I told him what had happened, and about the letter. "You need CDC. He's infected with some sort of designer virus."

There was a brief pause. "Don't move!" he shouted.

The phone went dead. I stood there waiting. Eventually, he came back.

"Landry, the Hazmat guys are on their way. They said twelve minutes."

"Twelve minutes. Okay, alright."

"I'm sorry, Landry, but you've got to stay there."

"Sit and wait. Yeah. Okay."

"Don't leave the room."

"No, I won't."

I'll just stand here with my corpse.

"Landry, I need you to tell me what this guy's symptoms look like – "

"Glass, the codes are on the laptop."

"You can see them?"

"I can see them."

"How many?"

"All of them. Well, twenty-five thousand plus are open."

"Can you send them?"

At last, here was something that I could do. "I think his email might be online, or I can get to my web mail. I need to check. Two minutes." I was already crossing the room to the laptop. "I'm going to have to put the phone down."

I got to the desk and sat at Lek's laptop. I moused over to the database window. I hit CTRL-A, to select all records. Then I pasted them into the email. I sent them to devdude@offworldgame.com, where the police could pick them up. I didn't use a cover-note. The last thing they needed was a note. And I was utterly sick of notes.

There was a worrying moment as the internet browser looked like it was going to crash. The little "hourglass" timer kept spinning and spinning. Perhaps I'd pasted too many records into the cache, and overwhelmed it. Perhaps it only seemed like a long time.

In the end, it was okay. The "Email sent" notification popped up. I picked up the phone. "It's done."

"You sent them?"

"Yes."

"Hold on..." There was a quiet minute. I heard him talking to someone in the background. Then he was back on the phone. "We got them. Well done, Landry. Well done."

I breathed a long sigh of relief. If I ever got out of the room, I was retiring from public life. I was going to go live in the country. I'd have my own place with a nice swimming pool and woods nearby. Then I could go right back to bird watching. The quiet life.

"All right," he said. "Now listen." He started talking to me again, about I should do. But I knew there was nothing to do but wait. And while I was waiting, I was thinking. I was thinking why I had been called to this motel room. Just to discover a body?

And then I thought back to my own crazy letter.

" _Landry Smith, you may be entitled to up to ONE MILLION DOLLARS in compensation, payable TODAY."_

I thought it out for the longest time – just thirty or forty seconds in real-time, but it seemed a long, long time to me.

Then it all kind of fell into place, as the mystery solved itself in my mind... I knew what had happened. And I knew what I had to do.

I could see the laptop screen. There was 1.38 million dollars sitting in that open bank account. What had my crazy Pratt and Deutson letter said? _"All offers must be collected TODAY."_

I began typing.
HAZMAT GUYS

It was about fifteen minutes before I heard the wump-wump of helicopter blades. Then the guys in Hazmat suits came bursting into the room. I was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"He's in the bathroom," I said.

I heard Cardigan yell out when they turned him over. He was still alive.

I tried to tell them about the letter. I tried to say that Cardigan had been given a designer virus, and that I probably wasn't infected. But they didn't let me talk.

They put me on a stretcher, zipped some sort of canopy over me, and took me off to hospital in a helicopter.
HOSPITAL

The CDC hospital looked like the med bay on Offworld. I guess it was a special facility the Center for Disease Research keeps for emergencies.

They kept me there in quarantine, pending further tests.

I knew in the first day that Cardigan's letter had told the truth. The virus would match his DNA only. I was safe. I was not infected with anything. But they kept me in all the same.

"I've got to get back to college," I said.

"No," they said. "You'll have to stay here."

The place had interconnecting rooms, and through the thick windows, which had thick black seals, I could see Cardigan. He was lying in bed with tubes coming out of his nose. His heart monitor kept beeping, but there was something about it that gave you the idea it might just stop at any moment.

I could see into the third adjoining room. There was another guy, a short, tubby man with gray hair who looked a bit like the father off Happy Days. There was a label over his bed that said, "John Doe." A nobody. He was smiling, too; a perpetual smile known as the rigor mortis smile; though he wasn't dead. Nearly, but not quite. His heart monitor was also showing activity.

I asked one of the doctors. "They're not going to die?"

"We're not sure. They might recover. Though to what degree, we can't say. Time will tell.

"What disease have they got?"

"We're not sure."

From the looks of them, the bubonic plague had returned with vengeance.

"Is there really such a thing as a DNA-specific virus?"

He was about to say "Yes," but then thought better of it, and only looked away. But it was true.

Later, several agents from the government – they didn't say which department – turned up and quizzed me through the videocom. That happened a few times. I went over what had happened, which was all I could do.

Then it all went quiet. No visitors. Mom wasn't allowed, not even over the videocom. Later, they let me call her on the phone. But that was after days had passed. And the call was monitored by a guy sitting next to me in Hazmat gear.

I tried to get the docs to bring me a laptop computer, but someone must have told them I was some sort of hacker, and they said, "Just relax for a few days. It'll all be over soon." It was a bit freaky having people talking to you through a speaker in the front of their silver suit.

So while they tested me, I relaxed, and looked at the sign on the wall. And I thought about what had happened, and the mystery of Lek and his Ransomware virus.

And I put it all together – the whole mystery.
ANATOMY OF A VIRUS PART II

It started with Cardigan and his Ransomware virus campaign. He and his partner were successful at infecting computers and selling people their own files. They made a small fortune off the scam.

But then they made a mistake. They infected a computer that belonged to a secret government bio-lab. I guess it's the sort of place where men in white coats research and create new bio-weapons. This shady government department (I'll refer to them as "the agency") desperately needed to get their files back without anybody – including the unknown viruser and the police – seeing what was really in them.

(What was really in those files? I don't think I want to know. If I was to guess, I'd say it was something nasty).

So the agency started their own extrajudicial manhunt to find the viruser.

The first suspect on their list was me: They must have spotted me on the news. They needed to get me out of jail so they could get their hands on me.

They knew the police were searching for the computer hacker behind the Ransomware campaign. So they pretended to be him. They gave their hacker a name: Lek. And they sent me an invitation to a phony meeting with him.

They also knew the police would intercept that invitation. So they wrote the messages as if they had come from a crazy teenage computer hacker, who liked playing games with the police. It was quite a clever ploy, I suppose. After all, it got me to the meeting.

Yes, Glass knew something was out of kilter with Lek's meeting. But even so, he had to go through the motions of his investigation. He had to let me go to that meeting.

And that is how, in the end, the agency did get their hands on me.

It's all simple enough, once you understand the agency's involvement.

What that doesn't explain is why they trapped me in the motel, only to let me get away unharmed.

I'm only guessing here, but I think they found out I was innocent. Perhaps the woman called Amy, who was probably working for the agency, overheard me talking like a dork to Dev, and realized I was not a virus king, just a card-carrying computer geek. Or perhaps they got their hands on the real Ransomware perpetrator, Cardigan, just before I was about to meet my doom.

Either way, they realized their mistake at the very last minute, and let me go. So that's why it looked like they had given me the runaround.

It was probably a very close call, too. It made me wince to think I very nearly ended up like Cardigan and his pal, with tubes sticking in my nose. They were found in rooms 48 and 50. That means Room 52 (I think I've got the numbers right) had been reserved for the agency's final suspect: Me. It was just that close. And in a secret underground bunker somewhere, there was – and perhaps still is – a deadly virus and a ransom letter labeled, "Landry Smith."

It all came to an end at that point. The agency had got their ransomers. And they got their files back.

What about the second trip to the motel? How to explain the crazy letter I got, from Pratt and Deutson, attorneys at law? Obviously, there was no such firm. It was just another ruse to get me back to the motel again. Why? Perhaps they had some additional motive that I'll never know. Or perhaps they just had a very warped sense of humor. I'm thinking of Amy and her laughter.

But I think that letter was the clue. It said, "You are entitled to claim up to one millions dollars in compensation." You might say this agency, after very nearly infecting me with some evil virus, had a fit of (uncharacteristic, I think) remorse. They saw a way to say sorry that they had got it wrong. Reading between the lines, it went something like, "Landry, we found one of Cardigan's accounts with $1,380,000 dollars. We left it open for you to find. If you're smart enough, you'll figure a way out to stash it."

But smart didn't come into it. I had a corpse in the bathroom, a deadly virus on the loose, and just a few minutes on the clock before the Hazmat guys came bursting in the door. I couldn't have done much.

Could I?

So, anyway, that's it. Lek wasn't Cardigan, and Cardigan wasn't Lek. It was all just a ruse made up by some government agency who does ruses for a hobby.

I'm pretty sure that leaves only one question outstanding: Who did virus the Bird Center?

I have no idea. The police never found out, either. Activists, I guess.

Don't you just love a mystery?
TIME TO GO

I spent another day inside before I was finally pronounced non-infectious and fit to return to civilian life. Mom called, and after taking half an hour to tell me how worried she had been, arranged to pick me up in the morning. Later, I was told to wait for Glass to dismiss me before leaving.

He turned up later that day We talked about everything that had happened. With his usual slow and deliberate speech, it took fifteen minutes for him to get through it all.

"Well," he said in conclusion, "it's all finished. We got a win. Mostly."

"You got all the codes?"

"All 23,549 of them. The only thing we didn't get is Cardigan's bank accounts. He had many. Only one of them was open, and it was empty – no money at all. Still, that's not important. I suspect when he awakes, he'll be inclined to want to cooperate."

"Sure. Congratulations on the result. It was interesting for me, too, to do some police work. I've always been interested in crime."

"We're grateful to you for your assistance. And I'm sorry it didn't turn out any better for you."

I shrugged. "I'm still here." I wanted to say something about him Shanghaiing me, to use as a scapegoat. But I couldn't say anything. It was all over, anyway.

"And of course, we apologize for any impact this may have had on your studies. We were going to call your college and explain your absence, but your mother seemed to think it best if we put it down to the flu."

A really bad flu.

I nodded. "Okay. Detective Glass, I have a question."

"Yes?"

"My mom said that the story was in the newspapers."

"Yes. Somebody leaked it."

"Does that mean my name was in the newspapers?"

"I didn't see Landry Smith, no. I think your anonymity is safe."

"That's a relief."

He pursed his lips and took a moment. Perhaps he could see I was feeling a bit gloomy about everything, because he spoke.

"Sometimes, in my job," he said, "you get disappointed. It's one of those jobs. Too much work, too little time. You have to remind yourself that there's only so much you can do. Then you put it behind you."

I nodded. "I'll put my adventure behind me and get back to college."

He stood up. "That concludes our business. You are free to leave, whenever you are ready. Goodbye, Landry."

"Goodbye."

He walked to the door and opened it.

I said, "Would you please say goodbye to Detective Staunton for me?"

He stopped and looked back. "I will. Oh, one last thing. The Revere Birds of Prey Center got hit again last night."

"They did?" I sat blinking in amazement. "Another virus?"

"No. Somebody went in at midnight and opened all the cages."

They must have got new birds. But they didn't keep them long. I thought about the RAS: Monique, Jason, Annika, Deke, Rick, Katrina, Matt, and Shelley. I hoped they had not done anything that would get them into trouble. At the same time, I couldn't help a smile.

Glass nodded, turned, and left.

I got up and went out without giving Cardigan and the other guy another look. I collected my wallet and keys from the nurse station. I took a last look around. What a story.

Mom was waiting for me in the parking lot. She didn't say much, which was a little surprising.
THE WAY HOME

I called in at Harriet's house on the way home.

"Landry..." she said, with a wide-eyed look of amazement. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm interested in one of those key-rings you sell." I picked one out. It was made of polished green-blue stone that had light whorls through it. I gave her a twenty note from the money the police had given me, and told her to keep the change. So I had a key-ring for when I got car of my own.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine. I'm coming back from college next weekend. I'm arranging for me, Dev, and Jimmy to go to The Games Room. I deserve a night out. Should I give you a call?"

"Yeah."

"See you."

She nodded. "See you then."

I went out and got into the car. We drove home.

Back home, the first thing I did was check in my room, to see if my computer equipment had been returned. It hadn't. But I didn't mind. Though I had never had time to pick up Jimmy's loan laptop, I'd be heading back to college soon. The workstations in the lab would be more than adequate.

I pulled my case out of the closet and started packing. By now, I had lost days of lectures, but for some reason I didn't feel too bad about it. And I had the weekends to make up the lost studying time. I'd see my professors and get the assignments, and use the next Saturday and Sunday to catch up. Within a few weeks, I'd be ahead again, I was sure of that.

I loaded my clothes into the case, packing it with just enough to get me through the term. Then I went downstairs to watch TV for a few hours, until it was time to catch my train.

My phone rang. It was Bryce.

"Hello, Landry. Sorry to hear you were unwell. Are you better now?"

"Yes, thanks." We talked about the project work I should have turned in on Monday.

"Professor Laden understood there were mitigating circumstances," he said, "and he said we could wait for you to get back. We couldn't leave you out, after all the hard work you've done. But we've had to make a start on the coding..."

We arranged to meet early that next day, and rang off.

Mom came in. "Fresh towels," she said, "I'll put them in your case."

"Thanks."

"Are you looking forward to getting back to college?"

"Yes."

"You don't sound it."

"Mom..." I said, rolling my eyes.

"Okay, okay. Was that your college friend on the phone?"

"Yeah. I guess I'm not project lead any more. All my spring break work was pointless."

She made a soothing sound. "I'm sorry, I know it meant a lot to you."

I shrugged. "Worse things happen," I said, thinking about the two men in the hospital.

"Are you taking a snack for the journey? I can make you something quick?"

"No, thanks." I looked at my watch. "I'd better get going to the station. I'll get something on the train."

"I know you've had a hard time over the last few days, so I won't bother you with my concerns. But the next time you are back home, I'd like to talk to you about your social events program."

"I don't –" I began, but stopped. I tried to not sigh. I owed her that much, at least. "Well, okay. We'll talk."

She smiled. She went upstairs. I thought I heard a familiar rumbling sound, but couldn't, or didn't, want to think about it. I went back upstairs and carried on packing, finally pulling the zipper around the full case, to lock it shut. But the sound got louder still. Then it stopped. A minute later, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," I said, bounding downstairs. I opened the door. It was Monique.
MONIQUE WITHOUT THE SMILE

"Hello," I said. For the first time since I had met her, she wasn't smiling.

"I wanted to talk to you." She gazed at me silently with narrow eyes. She looked as serious as Glass.

"I, uh... I've got thirty minutes before I leave for college. You want to come in?"

"Is your mom in?"

"Yes."

"Could we talk somewhere private?"

"Private?" I shrugged. "Is it something important?"

"Well, yeah, actually, it is." She nearly spat the words. Her bad mood made her light green eyes seem less attractive than before.

"Monique," I said, keeping my voice low so Mom didn't hear, "As you know, I had some trouble with the cops recently. You're very pretty, and it half-kills me to say this, but I've got my career to think about. I can't get involved with activists."

Her eyes narrowed even more. "You can't?" she said.

I shook my head. "No."

"Oh. I see. Can you get involved with pizza?"

I had to take a second to think about that.

"Pizza, as in Donatello's in town?" I said. She gave me a look but didn't say anything. I thought about it. I had to deal with this. "I'll get my jacket." I opened the door and led her inside. Then I went up the stairs.

"Who was at the door?" Mom said from the lounge.

"Monique," I said, already half way up the stairs. I got my jacket from my room, took my phone out of the clip and checked the train schedules. There was a late train departing two hours from now. I checked my case. Everything was packed. I stuck my phone in my pocket, and put on my jacket. A minute later, I was down the stairs and back in the hallway. Mom was already talking to Monique, as if they had been friends forever, and were catching up on old news.

"We're going out," I said. "You okay if I take the car?"

She gave me a quizzical look and opened her mouth to say something like, "Don't you have a train to catch?" then stopped. She smiled and said, "Of course. Are you going anywhere nice?"

"To town, for something to eat."

"Don't hurry back."
A DRIVE TO TOWN

We went outside. It was a warm, dry evening. It wasn't far off dusk, and the birds were making a racket singing their bedtime songs. A common buzzard sat quietly on the telephone post. He seemed to be enjoying the quiet evening. Fred the van was parked just down the driveway, but it was my turn to drive, so we got into Mom's car. It didn't have a nickname, and it was ten years old, but it had ABS brakes, power steering, and an engine that didn't sound like a bi-plane trying to get air.

We jostled down the old road, then cruised along the smooth highway towards town. Monique didn't say anything. I sneaked a sideways look at her. The dim light had covered the details of her face, leaving a smooth cameo. I didn't want to brace the subject. I knew it would ruin what could have been a nice hour at a restaurant. I had to get it out of the way.

"You wanted to talk?" I said.

She turned her head and looked at me.

"Somebody just donated three hundred and eighty thousand dollars to the sanctuary," she said, and her voice was so full of tension that her words tripped over each other. "I thought you might know something about it."

"Me?" I said. "No. Not at all." I said it clearly. I had the idea that the police might be listening. Their investigation into Cardigan was over, but they might still be interested in seeing if their case had any loose ends.

"You didn't donate any money?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Not me."

"You don't know anything about it at all?" I looked over. She was glaring at me like I had just stepped on her favorite pet bird.

"Monique, I'm a student on a scholarship. I can just about afford the pizza we're going for. Where would I get three hundred and eighty thousand dollars from?"

"Maybe you got it from an online computer."

"So I'm a computer hacker now?"

"We don't want stolen money. It's going to get us into even more trouble."

"It's nothing to do with me. It's just a coincidence. If some anonymous person has donated a lot of money to you, then I guess you'll have to figure out something to do with it. Do animal welfare. That's probably why it was donated. Right?"

She turned back to face the front. For a few minutes, we cruised down the road.

"You want me to take you back home?" I said.

No answer. I turned off and took the road to the sanctuary. I drove down the old road and pulled up in front of her house. The lights were on, but the place was quiet. No parties tonight. In the distance, a flock of birds was making its way to the woods before sundown. Among them soon would be another bird. A clever bird who collected beads and shiny metal objects to give in gratitude to the pretty woman who had fixed his broken wing. A bird called Mechanoid.

"Good luck with your sanctuary," I said.

"You really didn't send that money?"

"No."

She let out a long sigh. She didn't get out. A couple of minutes passed before she spoke.

"I thought we were going for pizza."

"You still want something to eat?"

"I haven't eaten since this morning."

I turned the car back towards town, bumped down the old road, then got back onto the highway. We rolled into town, past Hal's Auto, The Old Curiosity Shop, Toddler's Togs, and all the other stores that have been there since I was a kid. Nothing much changes or happens in our little town. After the traffic lights, we came to the recreation park. There was the movie theater and the bowling alley once again.

"I see they fixed the bowling sign at last," I said. It read "MEGAB WLING." I pulled up in front of Donatello's. We got out of the car. "The good news is that these guys make great pizza."

She looked around. "I don't want to go back home until later tonight. Everybody's asking questions. Could we go see a movie first?"

"Sure." We started walking. "So what kind of movies do you like?"

She shrugged. "Anything."

I looked at her. She was wearing an everyday shirt and jeans. The only jewelry she had on was a simple necklace. Her dark brown hair hung loose and wasn't even styled. None of it could make her look plain. She was gorgeous.

The movie was interesting – a crime drama with some good jokes. Monique said she liked it. We talked about it, and I remembered a few of the jokes, and even managed to get her to smile. By the time we got to eating pizza, she seemed to be getting back to her usual lively self.

"I guess we got a big donation," she said with a shrug. I smiled. I was starting to feel good about missing my train. And I was thinking that since I had missed the whole of spring break, I might take a break of my own. I might just stay there in St. Albans an extra week, taking it easy. Especially now that the weather was getting warmer and I had someone to go to the movies with.

I was glad I had sent Cardigan's money to the RAS. I was sure they'd figure out something to do with their $380,000 dollars. As for the other $1,000,000 in Cardigan's account... Well, I couldn't really say what happened to that. After all, I had signed an official State Secrets nondisclosure agreement. I wouldn't want to get into any trouble.
Connect with Landry Smith

I really appreciate you reading my book!

If you enjoyed it, please feel free to drop me an email at:

mechanoid@outlook.com

Landry.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

