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

Installment 2

            I meant to get back sooner. Sorry about that. Of course, you might be thinking that that wasn’t a long time at all, but seeing as how I don’t have any guarantees of how long I’ll be able to write anything, I have to do this as quickly as possible.

            I’m writing in a Starbucks right now. I have one or two hours, thanks to my lovely travelling companion. We’re three states away from where we were last time, and apparently he has some connections here. Anyway, he left me to keep myself from getting killed for a couple of hours, so I figured I’d head in here, since they know that I hate coffee. Well, hate coffee I may, but Starbucks has wi-fi, so…

            Anyway, I’m digressing again, and I promised myself that I would get started today, so here we are.

            The funny thing is, I’m not sure where to begin a story that started before I was born.

            It started two months ago. It was my birthday, actually -- or close enough. I don’t actually know my birthday. No one does, since I don’t have a birth certificate. Neither of my parents are alive to tell me, either. Nobody knows how they died, but they did, and apparently they gave me up before they died, because they knew that something would happen to them. At least, that’s what I figured -- but then again, I’m getting ahead of myself.

            So it was sometime around my birthday when I came home from school to find policemen sitting in my living room. Needless to say, I was startled -- but I didn’t say anything.

             One of them stood up and put his hands behind his back. He inspected me carefully, as if I were some product he wanted to buy.

            “What’s your name?” he finally asked.

            “Nathan,” I replied, looking him up and down. “Nathan Dalton.”

            The other two cops glanced at one another in surprise. One of them piped up. “T?” he asked. “Nathan T. Dalton?”

            I shrugged. “Does the initial matter?”

            The first policeman looked back at his companions. “Apparently. That is, it might. Where are your parents?”

            “Dead.”          

            This obviously took him off guard. “Then where are your guardians? Or guardian?”

            “They’re not here?” This didn’t really surprise me. They weren’t normally home on a Tuesday night, but since the cops had gotten in, I had assumed that they had been let inside the house by someone.

            Apparently not.

            “No, they’re not,” the policeman replied. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Larson -- Drew Larson. And I’d like to ask you to come with us to the police station.”

            This definitely surprised me. “What? Why? Are you arresting me?”

            Larson shook his head. “No, this isn’t an arrest, though it probably should be. We need to ask you some questions, but if our lead proves correct, then I’m afraid that you are in deep trouble.”

            My first thought was of Mike Mallory. (No, that’s not his real name; though if there’s anyone I would want to get in trouble by spilling their name on here, it would be him.) I had already gotten in trouble once that day for toppling Mike Mallory’s little kingdom at school -- I was certain that somehow, the police had found out about it.

            After the initial reaction passed, I realized that there was no way that I would get taken to the police station for something like that. Besides, the teachers wouldn’t turn me in. They made a show of punishment, but really, I knew that deep down, they were on my side.

            “Is this about the conspiracy?” I asked, just to be sure.

            “What conspiracy?” Larson inquired, raising his eyebrows. 

            “Mike Mallory?” His face was blank. “This has nothing to do with my school?”

            He shook his head. “No. Please come with me, Mr. Dalton.”

            I know what you’re thinking. I did some sort of drop kick on him, ran out the door, met some girl named Clara, and went off to save the world or something like that.

            I went with them.

            Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s what happened. But I’ll tell you one thing. If I hadn’t gone with them, I probably wouldn’t be around to write this.

            I can’t tell you where I lived, but I’ll say that it wasn’t a very large town, and it didn’t take very long to drive to the police station. I was trying to figure out why the policemen had come to my house and were taking me to the station. I couldn’t think of anything I had done, but that didn’t stop me from trying.

            “So,” I said finally, if only to start some conversation. “Am I allowed to know what I’m being accused of?”

            “You aren’t being accused of anything,” Larson replied. “That is, not by us. We’re just taking you in for questioning.”

            “Aren’t you legally required to contact my guardians?” I mentioned casually.

            “Not in a case of national security.”

            I was about to ask why -- if this was so important -- they hadn’t arrested me, when the words national security resonated in my head.

            “National…national security?” I repeated.

            Larson nodded. “Don’t ask any more questions. I can’t say any more. We have to let him talk to you.”   

            After a few more minutes of silence, we reached the station. I got out of the car and followed Larson inside. The building wasn’t very impressive -- like I said, my town wasn’t a big city or anything. But it was clean, well kept, orderly, and the cops were all trained professionals -- with guns, a fact that I was painfully aware of as Larson led me toward a door down a small hallway. He opened the door and gestured for me to enter the room.

            In the back of my mind, I was expecting a medieval times torture chamber. But no, apparently not. It looked like a doctor’s waiting room, with chairs lining the walls, and a table with a few thick books on it. Upon surveying my surroundings, I noticed that there was a man sitting in one of the chairs.

            His hair was dark -- not quite coal black, but too dark to be called brown. Not particularly tall, but not short, either, his build was wiry. I wouldn’t call him scrawny, but neither was he terribly strong-looking, either. The instant he spied me, he sprang up from the chair, a light dawning in his eyes, which were the same color as his hair. A crooked, half smile spread across his face.

            “Nathan?” he said slowly, as if tasting the word. “Nathan T. Dalton?”

            “Nathan Dalton,” I repeated. “That’s me.”

            “Nathan T. Dalton,” he corrected. I got a strange feeling from this young man that I couldn’t quite identify.

            “I don’t normally use the initial,” I informed him, keeping my hands behind my back and my expression guarded.

            “Don’t use the initial?” he said in a voice that suggested I was planning to blow up the White House.

There was the feeling. It was a feeling like he knew me from somewhere, which I couldn’t explain, seeing as how I had never before met the man in my life.

Then, his expression changed from borderline horrified to grave, although I still saw a small twinkle in his eye. “I have a question to ask you.”

            I plopped down in a seat. Already I had started to become bored of the whole situation. Don’t ask me why, but I react differently to things than other people do. Where one person is excited, I’m bored. Where one person is happy, I’m bored. Where one person is scared out of their wits…you get the picture. Not that I’m bored all the time, you see -- I just get bored at strange times.

            “Sure. Go ahead. What’s the question?”

            “How did you hack into my system?”

I have to stop writing now. I think I just spotted someone outside Starbucks…

            I’ll be back.

            I hope.

-Nathan T. Dalton