The Blue Nowhere

“And the code he broke could mean a hundred other people might die.”
    Sanchez said, “You gave us your word. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
    “No. Catching people like him counts—for everything.”
    Gillette said desperately, “Just give me one hour.”
    But Backle merely slipped that snide smile on his face and began to read Gillette his rights.
    It was then that they heard gunshots from outside and the huge crash of falling glass as bullets shattered the CCU’s outside door.

CHAPTER 00100110 / THIRTY-EIGHT
    M ott and Backle drew their weapons and looked toward the doorway. Sanchez dropped to her knees, digging in her purse for her weapon. Nolan crouched under a desk.
    Frank Bishop, on the floor, crawled back from the outside door, down the short corridor that led to the dinosaur pen.
    Sanchez called, “You hit, boss?”
    “I’m okay!” The detective took cover against the wall and stood unsteadily. He drew his pistol and called, “He’s outside—Phate! I was standing in the lobby. He took a couple of shots at me. He’s still there!”
    Backle ran past him, calling on his radio to alert his partners about the perp. He crouched by the door, glancing at the bullet holes in the wall and the shattered glass. Tony Mott—big gun in hand—joined the DoD agent.
    “Where is he?” Backle called, taking a fast look outside and ducking back to cover.
    “Behind that white van,” the detective shouted. “Over to the left. He must’ve been coming back to kill Gillette. You two go right, keep him pinned down. I’m going to flank him from the back. Keep low. He’s a good shot.”
    The agent and the young cop looked at each other and then nodded. Together they burst through the front door.
    Bishop watched them go then stood up and holstered his gun. He tucked his shirt in, pulled out keys and undid Gillette’s handcuffs. He slipped them into his pocket.
    “What’re you doing, boss?” Sanchez asked, picking herself up off the floor.
    Patricia Nolan laughed, figuring out what had just happened. “It’s a jailbreak, right?”
    “Yep.”
    “But the shots?” Sanchez asked.
    “That was me.”
    “You?” Gillette asked, astonished.
    “I stepped outside and fired a couple of rounds through the front door.” He grinned. “This social engineering stuff—I think I’m starting to get the hang of it.” The detective then nodded at Phate’s computer and said to Gillette, “Well, don’t just stand there. Get his machine and let’s get out of here.”
    Gillette rubbed his wrists. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
    Bishop answered, “What I’m sure about is that Phate and Miller could be on the Northern California campus right now. And I am not going to let anyone else die. So let’s move. ”
    The hacker scooped up the machine and started after the detective.
    “Wait,” Patricia Nolan called. “I’m parked in back. We can take my car.”
    Bishop hesitated.
    She added, “We’ll go to my hotel. I can help you with his machine.”
    The detective nodded. He started to say something to Linda Sanchez but she waved him quiet with a pudgy hand. “All I know is I turned around and saw Wyatt gone and you running after him. For all I know he’s on his way up to Napa, with you hot on his trail. Good luck finding him, boss. Have a glass of wine for me. Good luck.”
    B ut it seemed that Bishop’s heroics had been futile.
    In Patricia Nolan’s hotel room—by far the nicest suite Wyatt Gillette had ever seen—the hacker had quickly decrypted the data on Phate’s computer. It turned out, however, that this was a different machine from the one Gillette had broken into earlier. It wasn’t exactly a hot machine but it contained only the operating system, Trapdoor andsome files of downloaded newspaper clippings Shawn had sent to Phate. Most of them were about Seattle, which would have been the location of Phate’s next game. But now that he knew they had this machine, of course, he’d go elsewhere.
    There were no references to Northern California University or any potential victims.
    Bishop dropped into one of the plush armchairs and, hands together, stared at the floor, discouraged. “Not a thing.”
    “Can I try?” Nolan asked. She sat down next to Gillette then scrolled through the directory. “He might’ve erased some files. Did you try to recover anything with Restore8?”
    “No, I didn’t,” Gillette said. “I figured he’d shred everything.”
    “He might not have