The plane responded as he’d hoped.
Sunday couldn’t come soon enough.
It was then that the nose dove. One moment he was flying level to the horizon, the next he was heading for the surface of Pyramid Lake.
Stunned, May hauled back on the stick, leveling the plane out. He looked at the tablet, but the screen was dark. He tapped on the glass, to no avail. The engine coughed and the plane jerked, as if something had hit it from below.
May took a breath, calming himself. Everything had been working marvelously ten seconds ago. His ground crew had signed off on all their modifications. It was a glitch. Nothing more.
He began an easy turn back to the south. It was time to go home and get Battleax back on the ground. He double-checked that his tablet was indeed dead. When he returned his attention to his controls, the avionics screen had gone dark. In fact, the entire display was black. Simultaneously the stick slammed forward and the plane went into a dive. May threw both hands around the stick and pulled back with all his might. The stick did not budge. The nose dipped further, and further still, until he was flying directly at the ground.
He cut the gas, but the engine didn’t slow. In fact, he was certain that the rpm’s were increasing. He played with the pedals, with the flaps, trying everything to pull out of the dive. Nothing worked. The plane was no longer his.
“Tower, this is Golf Bravo 415 declaring an emergency. Am in uncontrolled descent.”
The tower didn’t answer.
May felt his consciousness slipping away. The g’s were mounting. He felt the pressure on his eyeballs and in his chest. It was difficult to breathe. For the first time he took his eyes entirely off his instruments and gazed out the windscreen. The water was approaching fast. He was below one thousand feet.
With a last effort he pulled back on the stick.
“Please,” he shouted.
The stick gave. The nose rose. “Thank god,” he said.
And then the stick dived forward and Gordon knew that all was lost.
As the water approached and his windscreen filled with blue, he realized that this was not an accident, that his avionics had not failed, but that somehow someone had taken control of his aircraft. He could think of only one person. And as the plane struck the water and disintegrated into a thousand pieces, he screamed his name.
“Prince!”
86
Jessie Grant sat in her assigned seat at the Ninjaneers post watching the clock tick down the seconds until Capture the Flag began. Her laptop was plugged in and fully charged. Her phone was charged, too, and ready for use should additional browsing be necessary.
“Two minutes,” said the announcer. “If you have to go to the bathroom, too late. You’ll just have to hold it.”
Jessie rolled her eyes. Computer geeks. She’d bought plenty of provisions to get her through the game. Mountain Dew, Skittles, and a dozen pieces of Bazooka bubblegum, the kind with the comic wrapped inside. Bazooka was her dad’s favorite.
The ballroom was packed to bursting. Grandstands erected against three walls were full. Two fixed television cameras were posted at opposite sides of the room. There was even a roving reporter going from one team to the next, interviewing players.
She gazed at the stands, looking for Garrett, but it was hard to see with the lights dimmed. Besides, Jessie was more interested in someone else. Her eyes sought out the solitary figure occupying the post farthest from the Ninjaneers. He wore a dark sweatshirt, its hood pulled far over his head. Even so he sat with his back to her and everyone else. While the other teams boasted a full complement of eight players, he sat alone. Even the sign bearing his team name was left intentionally blank. It didn’t matter. Everyone in the ballroom knew who he was.
Max came over, looking as nervous as she felt. “You ready to go, kid?”
“I guess so.”
“This can be our year. We’re counting on you!”
Jessie kept her eyes on the laptop’s screen, too embarrassed by the compliment to reply.
“All right,” Max went on, “let’s do it.” He put out a bony fist. Reluctantly, Jessie met it with her own. If they actually won this thing, he might want to do a flying chest bump. Not going to happen, thought Jess.
“One minute.”
All teams were to receive the first problem via the dedicated competition net (CTF.net) the minute the game began, but for the moment the screen continued to glow blue with the Capture the Flag logo. She drew a breath. The team was counting on her.
An air horn sounded.
The first hack appeared on the screen. It was a root-the-box problem similar to the one she’d done in Linus’s class. Jess scoured the code, seeking out the vulns put there purposefully to act as the secret passageways into the heart of the code. Right away she spotted one.
“Got it,” said Research. Once he received the vuln, he’d search through his toolbox to discover a means to exploit it.
Jessie smiled inwardly. The first problem was easiest. There was no time to be cocky. But still…
Hacking had always come easily. In many respects it was just like playing the “find what’s hidden” game in those old Highlights magazines she used to read in the dentist’s office. She remembered how she’d loved poring over the illustration-of a barnyard or a circus or a carnival-determined to spot the hidden comb, coin, tennis racket, or sailboat. Later she’d loved the Where’s Waldo? books. No one could spot Waldo and his red knit cap faster. And not just Waldo-Jess was able to pinpoint Wenda; Woof, his dog; and all the other secret characters with a speed bordering on freakish. Among all the elaborate pictorial chaos, the hidden images seemed to pop out at her. There was really no explanation for her uncanny ability, other than that she was just programmed that way.
Hacking into a network was no different. It was a question of knowing what belonged and what didn’t and having that special connection between your eye and your brain that allowed you to be the first to spot it.
“Gotcha!” Jess called out another vuln. A second later Research solved the first and the Ninjaneers captured their first flag. A cheer erupted from the spectators. Jessie looked up for a second and found Garrett looking back at her. She smiled, but was surprised at his grave demeanor. Didn’t he see the scoreboard? The Ninjaneers had their first flag.
Garrett shook his head and pointed at the board. Rudeboy had three flags.
Jessie’s heart sank. And then it sank further as Defense called out, “Shit. The bastard nabbed it already.”
On the scoreboard, the Ninjaneers’ flag disappeared.
Rudeboy had stolen it.
87
Mary bolted from her seat the moment the plane arrived at the gate and pushed her way through the packed cabin, ducking and dodging and begging her pardon all the way to the forward door.
“In a hurry, are we?” asked the flight attendant.
Mary swept past without a word and charged up the ramp. The flight to Las Vegas had landed thirty minutes late. It was ten. She’d left the last message with Garrett nearly four hours earlier. She had no idea how long Jessie had been at the police station, or if she’d continue to wait.
Inside the concourse, Mary ducked into the first electronics store she spotted and selected a prepaid cell phone costing $29.95. She placed the box on the counter along with her credit card and tapped her foot impatiently as the clerk rang up her purchase.