Phantom Wheel

by Tracy Deebs

  “As long as it doesn’t involve any fast rides,” Alika cracks, and for the second time in as many minutes, I’m kind of shocked by the dirty mind on Little Miss Perfect.

  “How about giving me what I want?” Harper asks as she reaches for the veg curry. “Pull up the blueprints to that building. I want to find the best way in.”

  “The best way in is going to depend on how we get there,” Owen says.

  “We’ve got two days to figure it out,” Ezra says as he hits a few more keys and lights up all available ways into the building.

  “Two days?” I exclaim, dismayed. I was hoping to be on my way home by then.

  “Disappointed you won’t have more time with me?” Ezra asks with a grin.

  “Obviously. Who wouldn’t want that?” I roll my eyes. Still, I study the plans, trying to see what’s so complicated.

  It only takes a minute.

  “Are you telling me we’re going up against a Vector?” I ask, referring to one of the best security systems in the world. It’s considered practically unhackable, partly because it runs an eight-digit encryption code that takes way too long to even try to crack and partly because it employs a rudimentary type of AI. “That’s impossible.”

  “Not impossible,” Ezra answers.

  “No, it’s impossible,” I argue. “I mean, unless it’s a bagbiter, which it won’t be. The system’s a dragon, like five times over.” I do a quick backdoor search on my laptop and skim the results.

  It only takes a few seconds to find what I’m looking for. “See?” I continue, turning my laptop around so that everyone can see the screen. “The Vector forms a complex neural net that adjusts to what we’re doing.”

  “I know that,” Ezra tells me.

  “Do you? Do you really? Because from where I’m sitting, it seems like this whole trip out here has been a total waste of my time. Time I couldn’t afford to waste.”

  “There’s a way around it,” Owen assures me. “There always is.”

  “Is there?” I answer sarcastically. “Because I’m in the middle of doing my senior project on Vector’s new systems, and there’s a reason they call them unhackable. It’s because the AI they utilize is some of the top in the world. It learns from every attempt we make to circumvent the security. Which means—”

  “We make it stronger every time we try to get past it,” Seth adds quietly.

  “Exactly!” I nod. “Which is why I say it’s unhackable.”

  “You don’t need to sound quite so triumphant,” Owen tells me drily. “The goal is to beat the thing, after all.”

  At the same time, Alika assures me, “Nothing’s unhackable. Some things just take longer than others.”

  I don’t agree, but at this point I’m willing to back off and give them all their say. After all, I’ve never been in a room with five other hackers as good as I am before. Maybe Alika’s right. Maybe nothing is impossible.

  “This is the other problem,” Ezra says, lighting up a perimeter around the entire compound for the first time. “You’ve got two or three armed guards at each of these guardhouses, as well as a minimum of five patrolling the grounds at any given time. I mean, just in case an eight-digit encryption code isn’t enough to back you off.”

  Owen whistles. “Overkill much?”

  “I’m pretty sure two days is optimistic,” Seth agrees as he starts gathering up the empty food containers. “Hey, Ezra, where’s your recycle?”

  “Downstairs, but I don’t know what the cleaning people did with our bin. Just dump it in the trash.”

  Seth looks horrified. “Umm, no. The planet is dying, dude. You really want to kill it faster?”

  Ezra rolls his eyes. “Fine. I think there’s some green bags under the sink in the kitchen. Put it in there and I’ll run it down later.” Then, problem solved, he turns back to the rest of us. “We haven’t even gotten to the security unique to each of the buildings, particularly the one that houses the servers.”

  “Are we sure Jacento isn’t some cover for the CIA?” Alika asks incredulously. “Even Langley doesn’t have security this tight.”

  “Kind of makes you wonder what they’re hiding, doesn’t it?” Harper crosses to the minifridge built into the cabinets along the back wall and pulls out a LaCroix. She lifts her brow in silent inquiry as the rest of us nod, and I hold my hand out for the cold blue can.

  “If it’s as complicated as it looks, what are we realistically going to be able to do in two days?” I demand, getting more freaked out with every second. School doesn’t start for two weeks, but I can’t be away that long. There’s no way Lettie and my dad can handle things for more than a few days without me. “Eight-digit encryption and AI—”

  “Won’t be a problem,” Ezra interrupts. “Because in two days, they’re closing the whole compound down for a party—half holiday bash for employees, half celebration of the soft open for the kiosks on New Year’s Eve. Tons of people are invited—including the press and caterers and influential members of the tech community. It’s our best chance to get in.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re telling me they have this kind of security, and in two days they’re just going to open the whole compound to half of San Francisco?” Owen asks.

  “It’s a little more selective than that, but yeah. Basically. We’ll still have to get through the building security, which is pretty freaking intense, but we’ll be able to concentrate on that if we don’t have to also figure out how to get through the outer ring of security.”

  “Two days it is, then,” Harper says.

  “Yeah,” Seth agrees. “Besides, who doesn’t like a party?”

  Alika and Owen nod, and even I have to admit it’s the best chance we’ve got. That doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.

  “How are we going to get in, though?” I ask. “They’re not just going to open the place up for whoever wants to come.”

  “Leave that part to me,” Ezra tells me. “I’ll get us in.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Don’t tell me not to worry about it!” I push to my feet. “I don’t know you, and therefore I don’t trust you, so if you expect us to have your back—and to believe you’ll have ours—you need to be a little more forthcoming than ‘Don’t worry about it.’”

  Silence reigns after my little outburst, but I don’t apologize, and I don’t take it back. If we get caught breaking into this place—let alone hacking its unhackable system—we’ll be in the kind of trouble that isn’t easily fixed.

  A quick glance at the others tells me most of them feel the same way, even if they haven’t said it yet.

  Ezra looks pissed, all locked jaw and simmering dark eyes as our gazes meet. I think he expects me to back down, but that’s not going to happen. Especially when we’re talking about doing something so illegal that it could land us in jail for decades—even if it is for a good cause.

  “Fine,” he finally says, after the silence stretches past awkward into downright uncomfortable. “You’d be surprised what being Victor Hernandez’s son will get me. Getting an invite to the Jacento party is no problem. The PR people will love the photo op, if nothing else. It sounds douchey to say it, though, so I wasn’t going to.” The sarcastic Thanks for making me do it anyway is totally implied.

  I can tell he’s waiting for an apology, but he’s not getting it. He might be embarrassed of his pedigree, but it is what it is. And right now, I’ll take any advantage we can get. “You’re right. It does, but I’ll take douchey and honest over sketchy and polite anytime.”

  “Me too,” Seth contributes, and it breaks the tension. “And I don’t know about anyone else, but I feel better knowing you’ve got an in.”

  “I don’t have one yet, but I will.” The look he shoots me is half-amused and half-exasperated. “Good enough?”

  “For now,” I answer with a nod.

  “Then let’s get back to work.”

  “So, do we have the party schematics?” Alik
a asks. “Where they’re going to set up, what kind of stuff they’re going to have?”

  “We do, courtesy of the party planner’s ridiculously easy password.” He pops up the graphic.

  “It’s a circus theme?” Owen says incredulously.

  “How do you know that?” Seth leans closer, as if proximity to the screen will make everything clear.

  “It says ‘Big Top’ over the huge striped-tent schematic. I’d say that was self-explanatory.”

  “So who gets to be the clown?” Harper wonders.

  “Dude.” Seth almost topples out of his chair in his vehemence. “I don’t do clowns.”

  “No one’s asking you to do one,” Ezra deadpans.

  “You know what I mean.” Seth looks seriously spooked. “I’ll do anything else, but I am not dressing up like a clown. Those things are evil!”

  “Because Stephen King says so?” Alika teases.

  “Umm, yeah. The man knows some really freaky stuff, and if he says clowns are evil possessed beings, I’m totally okay with believing him.”

  “You know, Seth, just because you put on a clown costume doesn’t mean you suddenly become evil. It’s still you, in the costume,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not taking any chances. I say let Ezra be the clown.”

  “But then how would we ever know if Stephen King was right?” Harper is all wide-eyed innocence as she scrolls through her phone.

  Alika bursts out laughing.

  “Wow.” Ezra leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest. “This is not how I thought this afternoon would go.”

  “Don’t pout. It’s so unbecoming,” I tell him and have to stop myself from smiling at his wounded expression. “But seriously, Ezra, you’d make a great clown.”

  He looks like he’s about to say something back and then seems to change his mind and starts scrolling through the info he hacked from the party planner.

  “Can you split the screen, keep the party schematic on one side and the map of the headquarters on the other?” Owen asks.

  “Call me an evil clown all you want, but I’m going to start getting really insulted if you people keep doubting my skills,” Ezra complains as he does what Owen asks with a couple of keystrokes.

  “Rich, good-looking, and useful,” I mock, even as I study the maps, looking for weaknesses. “I’m sooooooo impressed.”

  “No doubt.” He tears off a small piece of his naan, tosses it at me. “I can tell.”

  I dodge the bread, and Seth picks it out of the air before popping it into his mouth with a grin. “Yum.”

  I laugh despite myself—we all do—and then we roll up our metaphorical sleeves and get to work.

  Case Study:

  Seth Prentiss aka 5c0ut60

  DOB: 2/2/01

  Sex: Male

  Height: 6′

  Weight: 150 lbs.

  Eye Color: Blue

  Hair Color: Red (dyed)

  Race: White

  School: Westlake High School (public), Austin

  Parents: Michael and Sarah Prentiss

  Personal Net Worth: $10K + large college fund

  Family Net Worth: Varies depending on company stock prices, but A LOT

  Interesting Fact: His parents are part of the new tech revolution, nerds from Stanford and Berkeley who pretty much helped invent social media more than a decade ago.

  Most Notorious Hack: Freaking Metrobank, where he took one dollar from each account and donated it to Doctors Without Borders. Seriously. That’s who this guy is.

  OBSERVATIONS:

  Nobody, I repeat nobody, is this nice—not even the son of techie do-gooders determined to make the world a better place. Seriously. Nobody. Except, it seems, Seth Prentiss. I’ve been digging for weeks on the kid, and everything I turn up points to him actually being the “nicest person ever.”

  He volunteers at his local Austin food pantry, has been on two trips with Habitat for Humanity this year alone, teaches about composting and water reclamation at various community centers in Austin, and is a mentor at the local middle school. Even his hacking has a whole Robin Hood vibe going on—steal from the rich, give to the poor—a redistribution of wealth that has nothing to do with lining his own pockets.

  I mean, seriously, his CV is enough to send a person like me into sugar shock… or it would be if I believed it. Which I don’t.

  I don’t care what the research says or how his college rec letters gush about how amazing he is. There’s got to be more here than meets the eye. Some people might be okay with the amount of sweetness and light Prentiss gives off, but mark my words. This kid has a giant skeleton in his closet somewhere. I guarantee it.

  I just hope I figure out what it is before it brings the rest of us down.

  SURVEILLANCE FOOTAGE:

  12/27/18

  07:06

  FISHERMAN’S WHARF

  SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

  Footage begins at 07:06 in the Starbucks on the outskirts of Fisherman’s Wharf (security camera S2). Seth Prentiss waits in a very long line.

  At 07:14, an altercation breaks out at the front of said line—started by a customer, Robert Macentire, and directed at Rosa Menendez, employee. Macentire is not facing the surveillance camera, so it’s not possible to lip-read, but he is visibly upset. At one point, he opens the top of what is later revealed to be an iced latte and spills the cup across the counter. Menendez is splashed with coffee.

  At 07:18, Prentiss makes it to the counter, where he orders a Venti black coffee and two blueberry scones. He pays with a twenty-dollar bill and leaves the change in the tip jar.

  At 07:23, he heads out of the Starbucks, order in hand, and turns left (security camera GS1). He walks quickly toward Hyde and turns right, scanning the crowd, obviously looking for something. He finds it at 07:29 at Hyde Street Pier (security camera FW15), where Macentire is sitting on a park bench drinking a new iced latte, this one made with whatever specifications he apparently felt were missing from his first drink.

  Prentiss sits next to Macentire on the bench and strikes up a conversation. At one point he must ask to borrow his phone because Macentire hands it over. Prentiss dials a number. (A check of Macentire’s phone records shows that the call was actually to Prentiss’s own phone.) As he calls, he swipes the phone past his own device, in a way that suggests cloning. He then deletes the call from Macentire’s log and hands the phone back to Macentire with a shrug that implies “No answer.”

  Prentiss guzzles his coffee and eats his scones, then—after making sure to put his trash in the appropriate recycling containers—heads back down Hyde in the direction he came from (security camera G3), turns left on Beach, and reenters the still-busy Starbucks at 07:46 (security camera S2). A search of phone activity shows that at 07:49, while he waits in line, he cracks Macentire’s Starbucks account. At 08:02, he orders two more blueberry scones and pays with Macentire’s account. He then uses said account to leave employee Menendez a five-hundred-dollar tip.

  At 08:05, he eats his scones in two bites each and walks out onto Beach Street, turning right this time. He interacts with no one else until he enters 201 Folsom Street at 08:35.

  10

  Harper

  (5p3ct3r)

  “I’m hungry,” Mad Max says, breaking the silence in the room—and my concentration.

  “How is that possible?” I ask him. “Weren’t you just at Starbucks?”

  “Umm, everyone knows Starbucks isn’t real food. They’re a warm-up, like an amuse-bouche for breakfast.”

  “Pretty sure there’s no such thing,” Snow White tells him drily.

  “Sure there is,” he answers. “Besides, I’ve eaten every Snickers bar in the place and my emergency stash of M&M’s. Which means it’s time to take a break before I waste away.”

  “We don’t have time for a break.” Buffy doesn’t even bother to look up from her keyboard. “In less than twenty-four hours we’ll be breaking into Jacento, and we still haven’t com
e up with a plan that won’t get us caught.”

  “A fifteen-minute break isn’t going to stop us from fixing that,” Mad Max tells her as he stretches his long, lean frame so thoroughly that I swear I hear his spine pop.

  “You don’t know that.” She still doesn’t glance his way.

  “You’re right. I don’t. But I do know if I have to go any longer without snacks, I’m going to gnaw off my own hand. And then I’ll be no use to you at all. Must have sustenance.”

  He heads to the kitchen, pausing only long enough to turn on the very large TV mounted on one of the few interior walls on the first floor of Silver Spoon’s family’s penthouse.

  The TV’s tuned to MSNBC, and as Mad Max walks away, I look up just in time to see Roderick Olsen, global CEO of none other than Jacento, take over the screen.

  “Hey!” I call out as I make a grab for the remote to turn up the volume. “Look.”

  Even Buffy stops what she’s doing as we gather around the TV to watch Olsen talk about Jacento’s numerous holiday donations and the new series of internships they’re making available to American college students. It’s a puff piece, pure and simple, one meant to make everyone feel good about using and gifting Jacento products this holiday. After all, it’s hard to feel like a capitalistic pig if just the act of buying or receiving a smartphone helps combat hunger and disease in developing nations. And if that message comes from a notoriously reclusive CEO known for being an eccentric genius? It just makes the message that much stronger.

  Even as I think it, I can imagine Mad Max saying, Wow, cynical much?

  At the same time, Buffy asks, “Do you think he knows?”

  Snow White laughs. “Of course he knows. That’s how these things work.”

  So I’m definitely not the only cynical one in the room. Good to know. Except…

  “Not necessarily,” Mad Max tells her, right on schedule. “He’s actually a really good person. I have trouble believing he’d be a part of something like this.”

  “Just because a guy gives money to charity doesn’t make him a decent person,” the Lone Ranger says. “Look at Ezra.”