“Academy e-mail,” Troy says.
“Familiar,” the dark-haired boy says, leaving his post at the door and sliding into the chair in front of his computer. “Situation?”
“Blocked sender.” Troy moves farther into the room and sits on the unmade bed, on the edge nearest the desk.
“Impossible.” Dark-haired boy clicks rapidly on his keyboard.
“Not impossible,” Troy says, leaning forward so he can see the monitor. “I’ve seen it.”
Nicole leans close to my ear and whispers, “Urian’s a little psycho, but he knows computers better than anyone.”
Dark-haired boy stops typing. “Additional inconsistencies?”
“The message won’t print.”
Dark-haired boy grunts and starts typing faster than ever. Images flash across the monitor at warp speed.
I feel like I’ve entered nerd-ville.
I stick to my spot just inside the door. From what I can see in the flickering light, the rest of the room looks like a hurricane, tornado, and tsunami took turns messing with the contents. I’m suddenly very glad I had to wear pants and closed-toe shoes for camp today. Who knows what’s living in those piles.
“Access codes?” dark-haired boy finally asks.
“Phoebe,” Troy says, “tell Urian your user name and password.”
“No way,” I say. I don’t know this guy. I’ve read about those identity thieves who hijack your e-mail and use it to send spam about discount prescription drugs and pirated computer programs.
“Urian’s all right,” Nicole says.
I stand my ground. “I don’t know him.”
“Phoebe, this is Urian Nacus.” She nods at the dark-haired boy. “Urian, Phoebe Castro.”
Urian spins in his chair faster than an Olympic sprinter. “Castro?” he asks, brows raised. “The aponikos?”
“The what?” I asked, thinking I might need to get offended.
“Descendant of Nike,” Troy says quickly, as if he can sense I’m upset.
Urian leaps to his feet and bows politely. “A pleasure.” Flashing me a smarmy smile, he takes my hand—which I didn’t offer—and kisses my knuckles.
“Uh, thanks,” I say, retrieving my fingers.
I glare at Troy over Urian’s head. What has he gotten me into?
“Please,” Urian says, waving at the flickering computer screen. “Key in your user name and password. Your access codes shall remain your own.”
After giving Troy one more who-is-this-guy? look, I plop into the desk chair, and access my e-mail. A split second later, my in-box is on the screen.
“That was fast,” I say, impressed.
“I installed a signal enhancer,” Urian says, leaning over my shoulder to read the screen. “It quadrupled my connection speed.”
Figures. He probably spends all his time downloading episodes of Hercules and Xena.
Before Urian the Curious can read all my other messages, I click open the blocked e-mail.
“There it is,” I say, nodding at the screen.
Urian studies it for a minute. His bushy eyebrows keep scrunching and unscrunching, as if he’s physically processing with his forehead. Weird.
“May I?” he asks, nodding at the chair.
I shrug and get up.
“First, I need to access the Academy mail server,” he says. A new window opens up on the computer. “The original file might still contain the metadata from the—” He smacks his mouse down on the desk. “Blast! It’s blocked, as well.” More furious typing. “The source file didn’t even log the originating IP address.”
Before my eyes permanently roll back in my head from trying to follow the computer-speak, I ask, “What does that mean?”
“In plain English?” He glances up at me. “Whoever sent this is very, very smart.”
“Or very, very powerful,” Troy says. “Bypassing Academy e-mail security is anything but easy.”
“True.” Urian squints at the screen. “This isn’t a simple hack job. It’s going to take me a while.”
“Sometime before midnight Tuesday would be nice,” I say. “I’d like to know who I’m meeting.”
“You’re not seriously going?” Troy asks.
As if there was any doubt?
“Of course I’m going,” I say. “What other choice do I have?”
“Um . . . not going.”
“Troy, I have to find out what happened to my dad.”
“We know what happened to your dad. He got smoted. End of story.”
“Not,” I snap, “end of story. At least, not anymore. I can’t just let this go.”
“Fine.” Troy crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll go with you.”