The Blue Nowhere-SA by Jeffery Deaver Read Free Book Online
Authors: Jeffery Deaver
language. His computer had frozen up again. This had occurred several times recently and it pissed him off that he couldn't figure out why. He knew computers cold and he could find no reason for this sort of jamming. He had no time for crashes, not today, with his 6:30 deadline. Still, the boy jotted the occurrence in his hacker's notebook, as any diligent codeslinger would do, and restarted the system then logged back online. He checked on the Cray and found that the college's computer had kept working away, running Crack-er on Booty's password file, even while he'd been offline.
He coulda--"Mr. Turner, Mr. Turner," came a nearby voice. "What are we up to here?" The words scared the absolute hell out of Jamie. But he wasn't so startled that he failed to hit ALT-F6 on his computer just before Principal Booty padded up to the computer terminal on his crepe-soled shoes. A screen containing an essay about the plight of the rain forest replaced the status report from his illegal cracking program.
"Hi, Mr. Boethe," Jamie said.
"Ah." The tall, thin man bent down, peering at the screen. "Thought you might be looking at nasty pictures, Mr. Turner."
"No, sir," Jamie said. "I wouldn't do that."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"Studying the environment, concerned about what we've done to poor Mother Nature, are we? Good for you, good for you. But I can't help but notice that this is your physical education period. You should be experiencing Mother Nature firsthand. Out in the sports fields. Inhaling that good California air. Running and kicking goals."
"Isn't it raining?" Jamie asked.
"Misting, I'd call it. Besides, playing soccer in the rain builds character. Now, out we go, Mr. Turner. The greens are down one player. Mr. Lochnell turned left and his ankle turned right. Go to their aid. Your team needs you."
"I just have to shut down the system, sir. It'll take a few minutes." The principal walked to the door, calling, "I expect to see you out there in full gear in fifteen minutes."
"Yessir," responded Jamie Turner, not revealing his huge disappointment at forsaking his machine for a muddy patch of grass and a dozen stupid students.
Alt-F6ing out of the rain forest window, Jamie started to type a status request to see how his Crack-er program was doing on the passcode file. Then he paused, squinted at the screen and noticed something odd. The type on the monitor seemed slightly fuzzier than normal. The letters seemed to flicker too. And something else: the keys were a little sluggish under his touch. This was way weird. He wondered what the problem might be. Jamie had written a couple of diagnostic programs and he decided he'd run one or two of them after he'd extracted the passcode. They might tell him what was wrong.
He guessed the trouble was a bug in the system folder, maybe a graphics accelerator problem. He'd check that first.
But for a brief instant Jamie Turner had a ridiculous thought: that the unclear letters and slow response times of the keys weren't a problem with his operating system at all. They were due to the ghost of a long-dead Indian, floating in between Jamie and his machine, angry at the human presence as the spirit's cold, spectral fingers keyed in a desperate message for help.
CHAPTER FIVE
At the top left-hand corner of Phate's screen was a small dialogue box containing this: Trapdoor - Hunt Mode Target: JamieTT6hol.com
Online: Yes
Operating system: MS-DOS/Windows Antivirus software: Disabled
On the screen itself Phate was looking at exactly what Jamie Turner was seeing on his own machine, several miles away, in St. Francis Academy.
This particular character in his game had intrigued Phate from the first time he'd invaded the boy's machine, a month ago.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Phate had spent a lot of time browsing through Jamie's files and he'd learned as much about him as he'd learned about
He coulda--"Mr. Turner, Mr. Turner," came a nearby voice. "What are we up to here?" The words scared the absolute hell out of Jamie. But he wasn't so startled that he failed to hit ALT-F6 on his computer just before Principal Booty padded up to the computer terminal on his crepe-soled shoes. A screen containing an essay about the plight of the rain forest replaced the status report from his illegal cracking program.
"Hi, Mr. Boethe," Jamie said.
"Ah." The tall, thin man bent down, peering at the screen. "Thought you might be looking at nasty pictures, Mr. Turner."
"No, sir," Jamie said. "I wouldn't do that."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"Studying the environment, concerned about what we've done to poor Mother Nature, are we? Good for you, good for you. But I can't help but notice that this is your physical education period. You should be experiencing Mother Nature firsthand. Out in the sports fields. Inhaling that good California air. Running and kicking goals."
"Isn't it raining?" Jamie asked.
"Misting, I'd call it. Besides, playing soccer in the rain builds character. Now, out we go, Mr. Turner. The greens are down one player. Mr. Lochnell turned left and his ankle turned right. Go to their aid. Your team needs you."
"I just have to shut down the system, sir. It'll take a few minutes." The principal walked to the door, calling, "I expect to see you out there in full gear in fifteen minutes."
"Yessir," responded Jamie Turner, not revealing his huge disappointment at forsaking his machine for a muddy patch of grass and a dozen stupid students.
Alt-F6ing out of the rain forest window, Jamie started to type a status request to see how his Crack-er program was doing on the passcode file. Then he paused, squinted at the screen and noticed something odd. The type on the monitor seemed slightly fuzzier than normal. The letters seemed to flicker too. And something else: the keys were a little sluggish under his touch. This was way weird. He wondered what the problem might be. Jamie had written a couple of diagnostic programs and he decided he'd run one or two of them after he'd extracted the passcode. They might tell him what was wrong.
He guessed the trouble was a bug in the system folder, maybe a graphics accelerator problem. He'd check that first.
But for a brief instant Jamie Turner had a ridiculous thought: that the unclear letters and slow response times of the keys weren't a problem with his operating system at all. They were due to the ghost of a long-dead Indian, floating in between Jamie and his machine, angry at the human presence as the spirit's cold, spectral fingers keyed in a desperate message for help.
CHAPTER FIVE
At the top left-hand corner of Phate's screen was a small dialogue box containing this: Trapdoor - Hunt Mode Target: JamieTT6hol.com
Online: Yes
Operating system: MS-DOS/Windows Antivirus software: Disabled
On the screen itself Phate was looking at exactly what Jamie Turner was seeing on his own machine, several miles away, in St. Francis Academy.
This particular character in his game had intrigued Phate from the first time he'd invaded the boy's machine, a month ago.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Phate had spent a lot of time browsing through Jamie's files and he'd learned as much about him as he'd learned about
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