The Blue Nowhere

to the monitor. Tony Mott too sat nearby. Bob Shelton had called and told Bishop that his wife was sick and that he’d be in late.
    Gillette typed another message and hit RETURN.
    Renegade334: Are you there? I want to talk.
    “Come on,” Gillette encouraged in a whisper. “Come on. . . . Talk to me.”
    Finally an ICQ window opened and Triple-X responded.
    Triple-X: You’re keying a lot fucking better now. Grammar and spelling too. BTW, I’m launching from an anonymous platform in Europe. You can’t trace me.
    Renegade334: We’re not trying to. I’m sorry about before. About trying to trick you. We’re desperate. We need your help. I’m asking for your help.
    Triple-X: Who the fuck are you?
    Renegade334: You ever hear of Knights of Access?
    Triple-X: EVERYBODY’S heard of KOA. You’re saying you were in it?
    Renegade334: I’m Valleyman.
    Triple-X: You’re Valleyman? NFW.
    “No fucking way,” Tony Mott translated this one for Bishop.
    The door to CCU opened and Stephen Miller and Linda Sanchez arrived. Bishop briefed them about what was going on.
    Renegade334: I am. Really.
    Triple-X: If you are then tell me what you cracked six years ago—the big one, you know what I mean.
    “He’s testing me,” Gillette said. “He probably heard about a KOA hack from Phate and wants to see if I know it.” He typed:
    Renegade334: Fort Meade.
    Fort Meade, Maryland, was home of the National Security Agency and had more supercomputers than anywhere in the world. It also had the tightest security of any government installation.
    “Jesus Christ,” Mott whispered. “You cracked Meade?”
    Gillette shrugged. “Just the Internet connection. Not the black boxes.”
    “But still, Jesus. . . .”
    Triple-X: So how did you get through their firewalls?
    Renegade334: We heard NSA was installing a new system. We got in through the sendmail flaw in Unix. We had three minutes after they installed the machine before they loaded the patch to fix it. That’s when we got in.
    The famous sendmail flaw was a bug in an early version of Unix, later fixed, that let someone send a certain type of e-mail to the rootuser—the systems administrator—that would sometimes let the sender seize control of the computer.
    Triple-X: Man, you’re a wizard. Everybody’s heard about you. I thought you were in jail.
    Renegade334: I am. I’m in custody. But they’re not after you. Don’t worry.
    Mott whispered, “Please. . . . Don’t run for the hills.”
    Triple-X: What do you want?
    Renegade334: We’re trying to find Phate—Jon Holloway.
    Triple-X: Why do you want him?
    Gillette looked at Bishop, who nodded his okay to tell all.
    Renegade334: He’s killing people.
    Another pause. Gillette typed invisible messages in the air for thirty seconds before Triple-X replied.
    Triple-X: I heard rumors. He’s using that program of his, Trapdoor, to go after people, right?
    Renegade334: That’s right.
    Triple-X: I KNEW he’d use it to hurt people. That man is one sick MF.
    No translation necessary for those initials, Gillette concluded.
    Triple-X: What do you want from me?
    Renegade334: Help finding him.
    Triple-X: IDTS.
    Bishop tried, “I don’t think so.”
    Linda Sanchez laughed. “That’s it, boss. You’re learning the lingo.” Gillette noticed that Bishop had now earned the title “boss,” which Sanchez had apparently reserved for Andy Anderson.
    Renegade334: We need help.
    Triple-X: You have no clue how dangerous that fucker is. He’s psycho. He’ll come after me.
    Renegade334: You can change your username and system address.
    Triple-X: LTW.
    Nolan said to Bishop, “Like, that’d work. Sarcastic.”
    Triple-X: He’d find me in ten minutes.
    Renegade334: Then stay offline till we get him.
    Triple-X: And when you were hacking was there a single day you weren’t online?
    Now Gillette paused. Finally he typed:
    Renegade334: No.
    Triple-X: And you want me to risk my life and stay off the Net because you can’t find this asshole?
    Renegade334: He’s KILLING civilians.
    Triple-X: He could be watching us now. Trapdoor could be in your machine right now. Or mine. He could be watching everything we’re writing.
    Renegade334: No, he’s not. I could feel him if he was. And you could feel him too. You’ve got the touch, right?
    Triple-X: True.
    Renegade334: We know he likes snuff pics and crime scene photos. Do you have anything he’s sent you?
    Triple-X: No, I wiped everything. I didn’t want any connection with