Chastity Flame by K. A. Laity Read Free Book Online

me," she said as they walked over to
the hotel. "Everything moves so fast. It's impossible to keep up,
but we try."
    Distracted by a young girl with a blue
mohawk and a bright orange jumper, Chastity found herself
completely enraptured by the mad swirl of activities. The hackers
gathered around small tables, or in front of screens where
projectors duplicated laptops' images demonstrating complex coding
which looked like gibberish to her, or showed pictorial guides to
taking apart cell phones to replace their interiors with new
systems. At last she shook her head—it was all too much. "How do we
find our guy?"
    Amélie pointed to a big crowd gathered
around a podium with a big screen behind it. There was a loud
techno beat coming from that corner and fast moving images flowing
behind the speaker. "He's just known by his screen name, madcap,
but we have information suggesting he may be a Roger Keith of
Trumpington."
    "A Roger Keith?"
    Amélie shrugged. "It may also be a
case of identity theft. We don't have enough physical evidence to
weigh. Part of my task."
    Chastity smiled. "What are you going
to do? Clip his nail?"
    "I'll do what I have to do. Let's get
closer."
    They worked their way forward to get a
glimpse of the hacker. He was talking animatedly as the images
flashed by from his laptop's projection. Chastity could see no
connection, but at times he seemed to gesture to specific images,
in fact stopping the flow once to point meaningfully to the frozen
picture. If the music were a little quieter, she could have made
more of his comments, but he seemed to forget that he was leaning
away from the mic. The crowd around him appeared to be following
the talk, however, nodding in time with the beat as they gazed up
at him or the screen.
    He was a strange-looking creature,
wearing a sort of faux retro outfit, fringed jacket and silk scarf
over leather pants. A couple of necklaces ringed his neck, the
white pukka shells of one matching the paleness of his skin. His
hair, however, was black and curly, although it might well have
been a perm, bushing out wildly as if a sudden wind had caught it.
He looked like a Sixties throwback, although his eyes seemed right
out of rave culture, blackened and wide, bloodshot and a little
wild. Chastity wondered if all hackers looked this
wired.
    She tried to focus on what he was
saying, but it was completely useless. Maybe Monitor should have
invested in some training for her. Amélie tugged at her sleeve and
they wormed their way closer to the podium. We must stick out like
sore thumbs, Chastity thought, but perhaps there was a usefulness
in that. She thought that the hacker's eyes flicked her way, then
back again for a slower look. Maybe he was just registering her
oddness in that arena. Perhaps with luck, though, it was a little
more and she might get a little closer in her guise as a
journalist.
    Abruptly, the presentation ended and
the crowd broke into a grudging applause, as if they weren't quite
willing to admit that they had been impressed, but couldn’t quite
avoid tipping their hands. The hacker was immediately swarmed as he
closed his tiny laptop and tried to move away from the podium for
the next speaker.
    Amélie caught Chastity's eye and
wagged her head in the direction of the nearest exit. Likely that
was where he was headed, too, so they made their way across the
stream of people toward the eruption into the hallway. They
actually beat the hacker and his entourage of admirers out the
door. Chastity waited, and gradually the press of ghostly
hangers-on dispersed and the hacker seemed to drift in their
direction, his eyes seeking her own.
    "You're the journo, ain't
ya?"
    Clearly he expected her to be
impressed. She supposed the chip alerted security. "Yes. Mind if I
ask you a few questions?"
    "Aw, you're English. I thought you'd
be American." He looked considerably less interested now, his kohl
black eyes drifting over to check out Amélie and then moving on,
unfocused.
    "Only