Installment 6

            You know, I feel like I did pretty well. I thought it might take me weeks to write another post, but look at that -- I’m back already. It hasn’t even been a whole week yet. And I’m alive and well and not sitting in a locked basement anymore. (Not a fun way to spend your weekend, by the way.) I’m not going to elaborate, but the point is that right now, I’m just glad to be breathing -- and to be able to keep writing this story.  

            I have mixed feelings about that, actually. See, I found out how they found us, and as it turns out, it was a hack job. I don’t know who did it, but I know that whoever did, they turned me in to them, and before I knew it, I had to pull out the chapstick. Like I said before, I know that you’re one of three categories, and I know that I have readers of all three categories. And even if you aren’t out to get me, I know someone else is. I think I fixed the immediate problem, but, begging your pardon for my suspicion of you, I need to be a whole lot more careful about everything I say, especially when it refers to how I write these posts.

            Translation: I’m going to be trying to focus on what happened back where I’m telling you, and not talk a lot about what’s happening right now. If you’re the right person, what’s going on right now doesn’t immediately concern you, anyway.

            But I’m off track already (I’m quickly finding that I digress a lot) and I need to get straight to the point and tell you what I’ve been thinking about telling you for quite some time now.

This story isn’t really about me.

            I thought I’d throw that out there right now, since I didn’t really make that clear in the beginning. I made a big deal about whether you believe this whole thing or not, but the thing is, whether you believe it or not, it’s not about me.

            I know what you’re saying now. Who’s it about then?

            You know the answer by now.

            I can’t really say. Not yet, anyway. Not until I know that I can trust you. Not until I know that the benefits outweigh the risks. And so for now, let’s continue to pretend that this is just an interesting story -- although if you are who I am beginning to hope you are, you know that it isn’t.

            Let’s get on with it, then. I’m wasting time.

            I followed Clara out the window. At first glance you might think that it was a really bad idea, but the truth is that I preferred having to run from policemen to going to jail. Pretty much it was either trust Travis or trust this Clara Stone person, and call me paranoid, but I wasn’t too inclined to trust Travis.

            She climbed out ahead of me, and I squeezed through after her. We both landed on the top of a dumpster in a dark alleyway. She slid down to the concrete below, motioning for me to follow her, which I did.

            I was under the impression that she knew where she was going for the first five minutes or so. Clara kept to the back alleys, and I agreed with her. Better back here than out there. Here it was dim and gloomy, but at least it was safe from people who might spot me and take me back to the police station. At that moment, all I knew was that I did not want to be under the charge of Travis, Larson, and the others -- men who would decide whether I was innocent or guilty.

            I may have known that very clearly, but what I didn’t know was that I would be spending a lot of time in alleyways.

            When we came to a dead end, she hesitated for a second, seemingly uncertain of where to go. Then she whirled around and marched in the opposite direction, back where we came from.

            “You know where we’re going, right?” I whispered.

            “Yes!” she insisted, then added after a moment’s thought, “I’m just not entirely sure how to get there.”

            At that precise moment, the sound of sirens reached me. I smacked my forehead.

            “Great! They’re looking for me now!”

            Clara glanced behind her, then back at me. Her expression was strange -- not quite suspicious. More like...afraid? But not of the sirens.

            Afraid of me?

            “You didn’t do it, right?” she asked quietly.

            Suddenly I was fed up with the whole situation. “Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t,” I snapped. “All I know is that if you get caught now, they’ll call you an accomplice and throw you in jail with me, because they’re sure to think I’m guilty now that I ran out on them. Oh yeah, and Travis won’t be on my side anymore, not that he ever was to begin with, but…” I trailed off and whirled around to stare at the graffiti on the wall that marked the dead end. “So you had better help me get out of here.”

            I turned back around at her silence. I expected Clara to get angry too, but instead she had just pulled her backpack off of her shoulders and begun rummaging through it. “What…what are you looking for?” I asked, taken off guard.

            It took her a moment to reply. “For…my…sunglasses.” Upon finding the mentioned sunglasses, she lifted them up and offered them to me.

            I stared at them for a moment. “How are these supposed to help? Do I wear them like a disguise?”

            Clara shook her head like I was stupid. “No, of course not. They’re a GPS.”

            “What?”

            She sighed, shaking her brown ponytail. “Put them on and press this button here.”

            I took the glasses and examined them. On the left side, there was a button disguised as a “Made in China” sticker -- but upon closer inspection, I could tell that it was definitely a button.

            “Okay…why do I need a GPS?”

            Obviously I was taking too long. Clara took the sunglasses and placed them over my eyes, pressing the button at the same time.

            Instantly, the world lit up. Everything had a different color and label. Words and numbers flashed across the screen, confusing my vision so that I could barely see anything.

            “I’m going to run into a wall with these!” I protested, saying the first thought that came into my head.

            “Focus past the messages,” Clara instructed. “Just see what you need to see.”

            I decided to take her advice, and as soon as I ignored the codes and labels, everything became clearer.

            “Now, look down at your lower left.”

            I obliged, and I saw written across the bottom of the screen:

            Travis Thatcher: 4269

     “What are those numbers?”

            “His…tracking…number,” Clara said distractedly. I glanced over to see her working furiously on a touch screen phone. “There we go. Blink twice.”

            As soon as I had done it, another screen appeared -- this one with a longer string of numbers, and a pair of coordinates.

            “Blink three times.”

            The screen morphed into a map of the town, and I saw a red dot back at the police station.

            “That’s where he is?” I asked.

            “Mmm-hmm.” Clara nodded, still typing frantically with both her thumbs. “Still at the police station, or has he left yet?”

            “Still at the station,” I said quickly. “Does that mean that the sirens aren’t for me?”

            “They still could be,” Clara admitted, “But it’s less likely. At any rate, if Travis isn’t going anywhere yet, things are going better than I’d hoped. Keep an eye on him until we get there.”

            “Where are we going, anyway?”

            “The bus station,” she responded, stowing her cell phone in her pocket. “Let’s go.”

            “But they’ll be looking for me there!” I insisted. “It’s the most obvious place!”

            She narrowed her eyes. “They’ll be looking for us there. And of course they’ll be there -- but we’ll be hiding in a back room that no one else knows about. They’ll expect us to try and head out sometime in the night, but by, say, ten o’clock tomorrow morning, they will have given up and decided that maybe we found another way out of town. That’s when we’ll take a bus and get out of here.”

            She started to turn out of the dead end, but I grabbed her arm.

            “Wait.” Clara paused and turned to me. “Why are you doing this in the first place? Where are your parents, anyway? You’re just going to catch a bus out of town?”

            She raised her eyebrows. “Where are your parents?”

            “Dead,” I said coolly.

            “Same here,” she replied.

            “Why are you helping me?”

            “Because Travis thinks you’re guilty.”

            “Do you know Travis?”

            “Never met him before in my life.”

            “Then how -- ”

            “Look, Nathan,” she interrupted, gesturing down the alley, “I’ll explain everything when we get to the bus station -- trust me, it won’t take long -- but for now, we need to get there without being caught. So please, let’s just go.”

When Clara finally stepped back and let me lead the way -- she really didn’t have any idea how to get to the bus station, or any sense of direction at all, really -- we made good time. I figured out how to use the sunglasses pretty quickly, since I had an okay history with technology, and kept an eye on Travis Thatcher the entire way down. He didn’t move anywhere until halfway there, but when he did, his red dot began moving away from where we were heading.

“They’re going the wrong way!” I burst out. “Travis is heading the opposite direction!”

“The airport is a forty-five minute drive from there,” Clara said hopefully. “Maybe they thought we headed there, and decided to cut us off.”

I shrugged. “Maybe.” I still had a thousand questions about Travis, Clara, and this mysterious system and crime I was supposed to have committed -- but I had a promise of a somewhat explanation, and I would have to cling to that for a few more minutes.

You, however, may have to wait longer.

Sorry.

-Nathan T. Dalton       

Installment 5

            Okay. Who was it?

            One of you turned me in, and I intend to find out who it was.

            He told me it was a bad idea to start this blog, but I didn’t listen, and so now I’m in huge trouble.

            I wrote my last post on the 14^th, and the next day someone found me. At first I thought that a…certain person had turned me in, but as I found out later, apparently not. The guy didn’t catch me -- a decent amount of chapstick and an earlier planned out escape route saw to that -- but now I’m left wondering how anyone found me in the first place. And the only explanation that makes sense right now is that one of you turned me in.

            I knew that someone dangerous would end up reading this -- but I don’t know how any of them found anything useful. It could have been a hack job -- someone could have traced the posts back to my computer. At least, that’s the only reason that makes sense. I haven’t given enough information on the blog itself to explain why anyone might be able to find me. Especially since I never stay in the same place for more than a day or so.

            Anyway, here’s the problem: A certain someone (I can’t say his name anymore, although I was planning to -- it’s too risky) is sitting next to me and going on about how I can’t write this blog anymore and how I’m going to get both of us killed. And right now I’m nodding and not listening to a word that he’s saying.

            I’m beginning to think that this blog is important. I’m starting to think that they don’t want me to write it because people might find out about things that they’re not supposed to. Like I said last time…I think they’re afraid.

            I think they’re afraid that someone might believe me.

            And for that reason, I’m not going to stop writing here. For better or for worse, I have to keep going.

            But not yet, not today. To start with, there are some things I need to find out -- like how we were found in a place I thought was completely safe.

            I’ll be back soon.

            This time, I’m going to ignore the cold ache in the back of my head and say something I should really never say.

            I will be back.

            I promise.

-Nathan T. Dalton    

Installment 4

            Wow. I never thought I’d make it this far.

            Actually, I thought I might make it this far when I started -- but after yesterday, I’m not so sure anymore. I think they’re afraid that by writing this, I might get someone to believe me, and if that happens, they’re in major trouble.

            Hmm. That’s a thought. Get someone to believe me…

            I’ll deal with that later. Right now, I’ve got to continue my story before I run out of battery or someone shows up again. Luckily, I don’t think they’ll find me down here -- it’s just a matter of when I have to go.

            Travis grabbed Larson, and we all headed into the room next door. It contained a computer sitting in the corner -- a brand that I had never seen before, I noticed. Travis pulled out the chair and gestured for me to sit. I swear, he looked excited.

            “Here you are, your majesty!” he said with a mock reverence. “Behold your royal throne!”

            No one thought this was funny, including Larson. Travis apparently realized this after no one laughed, and with a sigh, gestured again to the seat. I reluctantly sat down.

            Let’s get something straight: I didn’t want to do it. Really, I didn’t. But there was something about the knowledge that I was about to try my hand at hacking into a government system that…intrigued me. But the thought that Travis wanted me to do it also annoyed me. So I guess it was with mixed feelings that I stared at the computer screen.

            Travis placed a CD in the disc drive. It was labeled “Travis’ System” in permanent marker. I began to question whether Travis’ “system” was any good at all. I mean, he didn’t act like the kind of guy I would expect to design a government computer program.

            I looked up at Travis. “Okay. What do you want me to do exactly, and why?”

            Larson seemed just as interested in the answer as I was. Travis noticed this, but pretended not to, answering me directly. “I can’t just tell you, kid. That would ruin the whole thing. But there are a couple things you should know: Number one, if you purposefully do badly, I’ll know.”

            I wanted to ask exactly how, but I refrained from interrupting.

            “Number two, if you do really well, it might just prove you innocent.”

            “What?” I burst out. This made no logical sense at all.

            “And number three…You can do whatever you want to get in. Seriously, anything you want. This is just a copy, so you’re not touching the real system. You can even use your username, if you want, though that might be a serious mark against you.”

            “He’s innocent until we prove him guilty, Thatcher,” Larson interjected. Travis rolled his eyes.

            “Sure,” he said airily, then pointed at the screen. “Get going, kid!”

            “Okay, okay,” I muttered.

            I waited for a moment or two before I began. To tell you the truth, I was a little bit stunned. Travis had just proven himself to be smarter than I thought.

            He had just offered me a deal that was impossible to resist. To start with, I didn’t trust him. But he had just told me that if I did well, I might clear my name. How could that possibly happen? It made no logical sense. And supposedly if I did terribly, then it would be a mark against me, since Travis would say that I was purposefully doing it. So it appeared that my best bet was to do my best -- except for the unfortunate, but as I saw it likely, possibility that Travis was lying through his teeth.

            In the space of a few seconds, I decided that it was a risk I would have to take.

            First thing I tried was heading to the program files on the disc. All I found was a single program to run. I assumed that this was the correct program, so I double clicked and waited for the program to load. To my surprise, the computer was ridiculously fast, and the program instantly appeared. The first…

            Wait a second. If I tell you what happened on the program, you might be able to track some remnant down…no, that’s a bad plan.

            Forget that. Let’s not describe the program itself.

            Well, I’ll say this: Travis Thatcher, despite my first impressions of him, was a genius with the electronic realm. I consider myself fairly good with computers, but after trying to hack into the system, I was forced to admit that Travis was three times better than I was. To start with, the system itself was extremely complicated, involving lots of passwords right off the bat. I was able to get through some of the safeguards by going online, downloading a few oddball programs, and finding a few passwords on out of the way blogs and forums, but after a while it would block me off again. I couldn’t find a way through, no matter how hard I tried. I had never hacked into anything professional before in my life, so I learned as I went. Funny thing is, it didn’t seem like any program I had ever seen. Most systems designed to protect something use a password and are done with it, but this was set up more like…like a maze. Some information was there to lead you down deeper, and deeper, until you found yourself trapped in the middle. I suspected that this was Travis’ way of catching any perpetrators. The longer they stayed in the system, the better it was for him when tracking them down.

Considering that there was a lot at stake and I was new at this, it didn’t help that Travis was breathing down my neck, although once when I made a particularly difficult vault into a password-protected folder, he whistled.

            “Not bad, kid,” he said in an approving tone. I confess that I felt a certain level of pleasure at that.

            Don’t tell anyone I said that.

            After a while of trying to get around the files and folders, I got frustrated. I couldn’t figure out how to make it into the heart of the system, and I didn’t know what it was trying to protect anyway. I suspected that it was another program -- a program within a program, but then again, I didn’t have any evidence to support that theory.

            So eventually, after taking hours on it, I sat back in my chair and heaved a sigh of annoyance. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to clear my head, ignoring Travis’ huff of impatience and Larson’s quick inhaling.

            Then an idea came to me.

            I leaned forward and exited the program. Then I reopened the program files, and found the system. This time, however, instead of opening it, I right clicked, and…

            Deleted the system.

            There was a few moments of stunned silence in which I had just enough time to wonder whether I was about to be arrested. Then, Travis began to laugh.

            He laughed like a lunatic, causing Larson to look over incredulously. Finally he stopped, although humor remained in his voice.

            “Delete it!” he said smiling, placing his hands on his hips. “Just delete the system!”

            Larson had one eyebrow raised in an “Are you kidding me?” expression. Obviously Travis and I were the only ones who got the joke. And luckily for me, Travis had taken it as just that -- a joke.

            I had foiled his attempts to conform me to his agenda. Do well and hack the system, or do badly and make him think that I had done it purposefully. Instead, I had cheated and bypassed the exam entirely. And for some reason, Travis Thatcher seemed completely okay with it.

            “Look, kid,” he said amiably. “That was an interesting move right there, I must say. But you’ve left us with a problem, see. We probably should arrest you…but we’re not going to.”

            Larson glanced over. “What? Why not?”

            Travis patronizingly rested an elbow on Larson’s shoulder -- a fairly decent feat, considering that Larson was taller than he was. “Come on out with me, officer, and I’ll explain a thing or two to you. And as for you,” he pointed at me, “You stay here.”

            I was just relieved that he wasn’t going to arrest me. Then again, maybe it would be better if I was arrested. At least then I might get a decent explanation.

            Travis and Larson left me alone in the room. After ten minutes of just sitting there, I began to wish that I hadn’t deleted the system. I would have liked to have taken a better look through it while waiting.

            What Larson had said earlier popped in my mind. “Have you ever heard of a program called Back Door?” Then that made me think about my theory -- a program within a program.

            What was this Back Door? Just a computer program?

            But then why was there this extensive system to protect it? And why was an attempt to steal it -- or even a possible attempt to steal it -- a matter of “national security?”

            I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I didn’t hear her come in, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when something touched my shoulder. I whirled around to face…a girl.

            She was just as startled as I was.

            “Don’t do that!” I sighed, slowing my breathing down. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

             “Sorry,” she whispered, glancing around the room. When I answered, I found that I was whispering as well.

            “What are you doing here?”

            She shook her head, her light brown ponytail flipping around. Her eyes were blue, she wore jeans and a dark green jacket, and there was a purple backpack slung over her shoulder. She looked like she was around my age.

            “Is your name Nathan?” she asked, keeping her voice down low. “Nathan T. Dalton?”

            “Yes,” I answered. “How did you get in?”

            She glanced at the window looking out into the alley, and I saw that somehow, the latch had been undone.

            “Follow me,” she said softly, turning toward the window.

            “Why?” I asked. “Who are you, anyway?”

            “Clara Stone,” she replied, throwing her backpack out the window before her. “And unless you want to deal with Travis Thatcher and an accusation of international espionage, which I really don’t suggest, you’ll come with me.”

            More as soon as I’m somewhere safe again.

-Nathan T. Dalton

Installment 3

            I hate them. I really do.

            I mean, it’s not enough that I’m running for my life and trying to write on this thing -- which is much harder than I thought, by the way -- but I’ve also got them on my tail, interrupting me when I’m peacefully writing in Starbucks.

            Anyway, I think I have some time. I’m learning not to make guarantees, though, especially when it comes to how long I can write. And wi-fi. Don’t ever make guarantees about wi-fi, or how long it will stick around. I started writing this post yesterday, but my wi-fi went out on me.

            I just got told off -- apparently we only have half an hour. And apparently my “crazy blog that no one reads anyway” is “only going to get me killed.” 

            Man, I miss Clara.

            Where did I leave off?

            Okay…right. There we are.

            “How did you hack into my system?”

            That didn’t take any time to register in my mind. “What?”

            The young man waved his hand. “Come on, I know you must be some kind of computer mastermind to beat me and my system, so tell me how you did it.”

            “I…what?”

            Larson stepped in. “Look, he claims he doesn’t know anything --”

            The man interrupted. “Doesn’t know anything? What wouldn’t he know?”

            “Your name, for starters,” Larson said rather testily.

            The man considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Fine.” The half smile returned to his face again as he held out his hand toward me. “Travis Thatcher. Pleased to meet you, kid. I really do mean that, and just know that if it were up to me, you wouldn’t have to spend six months in juvenile detention.”

            I took a step away from him. “Back up a second,” I insisted, glancing to the other cops. “Juvenile detention? What on Earth am I supposed to have done?”

            Travis waved a hand impatiently. “Hacked into my system! Done the impossible! Believe me, kid, greater than you have tried and failed -- which is why I want you to show me exactly how you did it.”

            Larson finally decided to take control of the situation. “Look, Nathan. Have you ever heard of a program called Back Door?”

            Travis made a reproachful sound. “No, no, no! Don’t!” Larson cast a withering look at him.

            “Here,” Travis decided, “You head out for a minute, and let me talk to him.”

            I didn’t have the greatest faith in Larson, but at least he wasn’t accusing me of hacking into computer systems, so it disturbed me to see him reluctantly back up and exit the room, taking his fellow policemen with him.

            Travis stood with his hands behind his back, sizing me up, his half smile spreading into an all out grin. “Nathan T. Dalton…” He shook his head. “I didn’t expect you to look like this. I pictured your nose a bit smaller…” -- here he tweaked my nose -- “…and your ears a bit bigger…” -- then pulled on my ears -- “…and maybe your eyes a bit closer together?”

            Before he could touch my eyes, I ducked. There was a twinkle in his eye.

            “How do you know me?” I blurted.

            Travis crossed his arms. “I don’t,” he admitted. “Least, I’ve never met you before. Or seen you. So I don’t know you.”

            “But…” I protested. “But you just said you didn’t expect me to look like this!”

            Travis’ eyes widened. “Does that imply that I know you? Seriously, kid, I’ve never met you before in my life. So no, I don’t know you.”

            “Right,” I said, crossing my arms as well, beginning to feel a bit testy. “I suppose you just sat here, imagining what a kid named Nathan T. Dalton might look like.”

            “Mmm-hmm,” Travis nodded. “And I imagined your nose a bit smaller, your ears a bit bigger -- ”

            “Whatever,” I interrupted. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

            Travis gestured toward the chair. “Sit down.”

            I remained standing. He shrugged and did the same.

            “See, kid, you did something that people have been trying to do for quite a while. You hacked my system. And believe me, no one hacks my system. I had a hundred experienced computer geeks in Washington try. Only one came anywhere close, but he ended up closed off, too. So imagine my surprise when a teenage kid ends up succeeding where they all failed!”

            “I didn’t hack any system!” I blurted.

            Travis’ little half smile infuriated me. I hated feeling like he wasn’t taking me seriously. “I like your username, anyway. Clever. It didn’t take me very long to make the connection back to you, though. You should be more careful.”

            “I didn’t hack anything!” I insisted, feeling my face grow hot. This was ridiculous. Sure, I was good with computers, and if I had wanted to hack something, I bet I could have, but I certainly hadn’t.

            Travis leaned in closer to me, and with a bright look in his eyes, whispered, “Now, kid, I know that, and you know that, but how are they supposed to know that? Especially when all the evidence points to you?”

            “You’re framing me?” My voice turned from fury to disbelief.

            Travis’ voice, in turn, returned to its previous tone. “I didn’t say anything like that. The point is that you hacked into my system. And my system is very important to the government, because it was guarding a very important program, which -- I assume -- was your target. Am I right?”

            It took a moment for me to answer. I didn’t want to give him a confession, since I certainly had not done it. But on the other hand, denying it didn’t do any good, either. So I decided to be cryptic. “Maybe,” I answered. “Depends what program you’re talking about.”

            Travis raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so we’re going to be clever now, are we? Sorry, kid, we’re playing by my rules here. This is the plan…” Again, he leaned in close. “You’re going to do it again.”

            “Do what?”

            “Hack into my system, of course,” Travis said in an exasperated tone. “I want to see how you did it.”

            Ten seconds turned into twenty, which turned into thirty. “And what if I don’t do it?” I finally replied.

            “Kid, you don’t have a choice,” Travis shrugged. “This is a matter of national security, so your guardians don’t have any say at all. You haven’t been arrested yet, but you will be as soon as we decide it’s necessary. And who knows? If you cooperate, we might be able to prove you innocent.”

            I was about to protest again, to scream at the injustice of it all, before something stopped me. There was something about the way he said that last sentence, his use of the word “we.” I didn’t trust this guy, not even close…but he spoke those words almost sincerely, and the half smile was entirely missing as he said it.

            So instead, I dropped my hands to my sides.

            “Fine,” I said quietly. “Where do we do this?”

            I’m going to miss our bus. Don’t worry, I’ll be back. I’d promise, but I think that you and I are both too smart to believe for a second that I could promise that kind of thing.

            To be continued as soon as I find wi-fi again…

-Nathan T. Dalton