Blood List(79)

Almost every business in the city had closed because of the terrorist threat. People not waiting on bridges to evacuate were afraid to go out. Hospitals and newsrooms were the only things doing brisk business. The latter reported that the former were full and that there were over forty dead and two hundred injured from lootings, robberies, and home invasions. Close to a dozen had died in traffic accidents during the first hours.

The rest of the casualties came from people rushing roadblocks, trying to beat past the naval blockade or taking to the air. At least two hang-gliders and four hot-air balloons had been shot out of the sky, as well as one single-engine plane. The media warned of dire consequences that would befall any who tried to leave except through the still-congested and heavily searched approved routes. That is, they did so when they weren't busy airing a bunch of made up "facts" about Trubb and Palenti, or clips from the president's speech about the dangers of terrorism and the resolve necessary to fight it.

"Suit yourself, boys," Mrs. VanDeSande said. "I'm going to bed." She set a small tray holding a cup of tea and a plate of six shortbread cookies between them. "Just in case your friend gets back and wants a bite to eat," she said with a smile. She wandered into her bedroom and closed the door.

Gene took a cookie and munched. No point waiting for Carl on these. He studied his hand. "Three clubs, no twos."

Doug rolled his eyes at Gene's bid and threw down a seven of hearts. "Remind me to never take you to Vegas."

Gene followed with a nine of spades. "Don't worry about that. I like to win," Gene said with a smile. Doug was saved from utter defeat when Carl strolled into the den.

"You look awfully proud of yourself," Gene said.

"I got an open WiFi node a block over, near the gray apartment building with the trees on top." Carl grinned ear-to-ear. "I boosted the signal with another wireless router, ran the cable over the roof top, so we should be lights-on in here."

"Really?" Gene was excited for the first time in days. Mrs. VanDeSande's computer was old in 1992 and had no Internet access. "Who'd you get to sell you a computer in this mess?"

Carl's grin turned downright evil. "Who said anything about selling?"

"Ah, shit, Carl," Doug said. "You stole it?"

"Ain't stealing," Carl said. "I appropriated the computer for emergency government use. If movie cops can do it with cars, I can do it with a laptop."

Doug favored him with a withering stare. "You know that's illegal."

Carl grinned. "Sure! But he didn't. I flashed my badge…." Gene looked at him in alarm, and he added, "real quick, too fast to read anything, and he handed it right over."

Gene threw up his hands. "Whatever. I don't care. Just give me the computer."



Carl produced the laptop and set it on the desk. He logged in and slid it over to Gene. Gene opened a web browser and went to Gmail.



To: Maggot Face

From: Zipper





Hey its S. Zip sez 'Mellow Cricket'. If ur stuck and 1 2 get back _Yellow Brick Road_ is how. Zips ok.



Gene slammed his hands on the table. "YES!"

He clicked on the link embedded in the phrase _Yellow Brick Road_. While he waited for the page to load, he explained. "It's Sam. Mellow Cricket's a code phrase. Don't ask, but it means this message is legit."

According to the web browser's navigator bar, the web page name was "How_ya_like_them_apples.com." The web page showed a bunch of gibberish. Cyrillic and Chinese symbols scrolled down the page before disappearing at the bottom and reappearing at the top. Gene furrowed his brow. "How ya like them apples?" he read aloud.

Carl responded. "Over easy."

Gene looked up at him, confused. "What?"

"It's a me-and-Sam thing. Just type Over Easy into the computer."

Doug gave him a puzzled half-grin. "Are you blushing, Carl?"

Carl shook his head with far too much enthusiasm. "I never blush," he lied. "Just type."

Gene did so.

The gibberish dissolved away into an empty chatroom. Words flowed across the screen.



SayItAintSo: Hey there! This is as secure as I can make it, which means the right computers can hack it in a couple of weeks or months, if they know where to find it.

GMan: Hi, Sam.

SayItAintSo: Don't use names. It gives the cryptoweenies a crib. Are you guys where I think you are?

GMan: Yes.

SayItAintSo: Stuck?

GMan: Very.

SayItAintSo: All three of you ok?





GMan: Yes. How's M?

SayItAintSo: Good. Bored. Confined to bed rest.

GMan: What's up with A.D. A? Called and got impostor.

SayItAintSo: Not surprised. Long story. Will send file. Decrypt with first thing I ever said to you.