At the moment, however, what mattered most to Andy wasn’t his stellar academic record. It was an answer to his question.
“David, did you take it?”
Andy was glaring at David Townsend, who hailed from Chicago, and was the best (and only) bassoon player in the school’s orchestra. David preferred to be called by his hacker name, “Dark Matter,” and his eyes narrowed in displeasure when Andy used his given name. David was a tall, gangly boy, with a gap in his front teeth and freckled skin that reddened quickly in the sun. While not exactly handsome, David attracted a lot of attention because of his long hair, which descended well past his shoulders. David often wore his hair down, as if to invite ridicule from fellow students who would call him a girl and think they were being clever. Unlike Hilary, who ignored the attention of boys she found tiresome and juvenile, David embraced the taunts, maybe even trolled for them, as a way of proving they didn’t really matter.
“I don’t have it. I told you a million times. It’s just gone.”
Rafa began to pace. His breathing turned shallow.
“We’re dead. We’re all dead.”
“Calm down,” Andy said. His voice had a hard edge, almost scolding. “It’s not going to do us any good to panic. We just need to get honest with each other and not be greedy. Nobody will be in trouble. But the money has to be given back.”
Rafa put his hands on his knees and breathed as if he’d just run a race.
Andy looked up at the sky to clear his head and calm his nerves. He blinked away the sunspots and regarded Troy Cranston with suspicion. At fifteen, Troy, a sophomore, was the youngest member of The Shire. He also had the highest IQ of a group comprising high-IQ people.
Troy had on his favorite ratty, gray hooded sweatshirt over his school-mandated shirt and tie, and the dark sunglasses he wore anytime, day or night, outdoors or indoors. Troy didn’t like it when people knew what he was looking at. He also didn’t want anybody to see how scared he was. Troy shook his head back at Andy.
“We’re really screwed, aren’t we?” Troy said in a soft voice.
At some point, Troy’s father, a senior-level investment banker with JPMorgan Chase and a former All-American quarterback for Notre Dame, had to face the fact that the jock name he’d bestowed upon his only son did not match the boy’s physique or mental makeup in any way. The other Troys at Pepperell Academy were cool kids, muscular and athletic, probably closer to what Troy’s dad had envisioned his son would be. This Troy, however, was a pixie-sized kid with a broad, flat nose, thin lips, and an oval face without much of a chin. His dark hair was cut close to his head, and always looked in need of a good washing. Troy would say he just had naturally oily hair.
He might not have been able to dribble a basketball with any dexterity, or catch a baseball, or master any of the skills his überath-letic father dreamed about, but what he could do—and do better than anybody else at The Pep, including the professors in the computer science department—was hack. Troy, who went by his hacker handle, “Pixie,” cracked codes as other people cracked eggs. As a requirement for acceptance into The Shire, all members had to demonstrate decent hacking prowess, but Pixie’s gifts were something special. He was a digital Mozart, and probably the one most responsible for The Shire’s dire situation.
It was the conspicuous consumption and egregious display of wealth at The Pep that had initially inspired Andy to found The Shire—well, that along with a viewing of the remake of Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, starring Kevin Costner. Andy asked himself: What if I robbed from the rich and gave to the poor, just like Robin Hood?
Discussing this at school, Andy found among his peers others who shared a disdain for the gross display of wasteful spending. They’d never intended to hurt anybody. It was just for fun, and sure, the rush of doing something illegal and daring had its own appeal. The Shire stole small sums of money from the rich parents of students at Pepperell Academy and gave it anonymously to various worthwhile charities. They monitored the e-mails and text messages of their wealthy victims, and the few parents who even noticed the missing money simply changed their online banking passwords. The amounts taken were always negligible when compared to the size of the bank accounts that Troy had taught them how to access.
Always negligible, until now.
Andy took off his backpack and slammed it to the ground. “This isn’t going anywhere,” he growled. As group leader, Andy felt it was his mess to unravel, and he looked each member in the eyes: Rafa, Solomon, David, Hilary, and, once again, Pixie. “One of us has it, and that kind of money isn’t going to just disappear without somebody taking notice. This isn’t our usual small skim here. This is the big-time, people, and we need to put the money back where we got it. Now!”
David was about to respond when his gaze drifted to the girl coming up behind Andy. Andy turned to look, and upset as he was, he couldn’t suppress a broad and almost silly grin. Every hormone in Andy’s body came alive. He was so jacked up on teenage lust or love or whatever that the seriousness of the situation evaporated upon the arrival of Beth MacDonald.
To Andy, Beth MacDonald looked like every unattainable girlfriend in every ’80s teen film he’d ever seen (and he’d streamed them all). She had a dynamite smile, wavy blond hair, full lips, and the most dazzling green eyes imaginable. Hilary noticed Andy noticing Beth, and frowned.
“Hey, Beth,” Andy said, with that same toothy grin.
“Hi, Andy. Hi, guys and gal,” Beth said, directing her last greeting at Hilary. Hilary smiled weakly and tried not to look like she was checking out how Beth wore her uniform. “What are you doing?”
“Just talking,” Andy said. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. I was hoping we could study for that trig test together.”
Andy was thinking that he wanted nothing more in life than to spend every waking minute with Beth studying for that trig test. Beth was thinking that she really wanted a good grade. And she was thinking about Andy, too, at least sort of, in a strange way, because he really wasn’t her type. Her type was supposed to be Ryan Coventry, the boy she’d broken up with last week. Ryan was all-American handsome, and could have been a stand-in for Thor if the Norse god ever sported a flattop. In addition to his strong jawline, piercing blue eyes, and facial features all in proportion with the golden ratio of beauty, Ryan was captain of the football, wrestling, and lacrosse teams. He was also a champion debater, who, at the tender age of eleven, had made a list of life goals that included attending Harvard undergrad and Yale law school. Now a senior, Ryan could check at least one item off the list: along with four other students from The Pep, he had been accepted as an early decision into Harvard.
While Andy looked unblinking at Beth, Hilary made several short whistles, sounds of alarm. Andy followed Hilary’s line of sight and immediately saw what was making her nervous. Ryan Coventry was marching toward the group from the direction of the Society Building, which housed classrooms for mathematics and humanities. He looked ready for a fight.
CHAPTER 6
Beth took a few steps back to get some distance from Andy and his friends. One glance told her that Ryan had her in his sights. From the red splotches creeping up Ryan’s beefy neck, Beth knew the coming blowup was going to be a doozy. She contemplated running, but didn’t want to make a scene.
Sure enough, Ryan skipped the snide remarks about David’s long hair (a first) and didn’t even bother elbowing Andy in the taunting way he often did when the two passed in the halls. His ire, his complete and total focus, was reserved for Beth MacDonald. He grabbed Beth’s shoulder before she had a chance to pull away. Her upper arm seemed to vanish within Ryan’s massive hand.
“We need to talk,” Ryan said in a commanding voice.
Beth shrugged hard and freed herself from his hold, but the look on her face showed that it had hurt.
“Ryan, there’s nothing to talk about,” Beth said. She turned and tried to walk away, but Ryan accelerated, grabbed her once again, and forced h
er back around.
“There’s plenty to talk about,” he said in a low voice, almost a growl.
Afraid, Beth bent at the knees to try and break from his hold, but this time Ryan wouldn’t let go. She squirmed, trying to get loose.
Andy’s every impulse was to stop Ryan and help Beth. But would she welcome his involvement? It could turn into a thing between them. “Why did you interfere?” he imagined Beth might say. “This was between me and Ryan.” He didn’t want to upset her.
“You’re hurting me, Ryan. I said there’s nothing to talk about. Now leave me alone, you asshole!”
“No. Not until you talk to me, Beth.”
Andy had enough. Ryan Coventry was way out of line, threatening even. Stepping forward, Andy tapped Ryan hard, several times, between his shoulder blades.
“Leave her alone, Ryan,” Andy said. His voice came out a little weaker than he had intended; but then again, Ryan had four inches and seventy pounds on him.
Ryan whirled, catching Beth by surprise. She stumbled clumsily forward, and would have pitched face-first onto the grass, were it not for the pythonlike grip Ryan maintained around her wrist. For a time, Ryan said nothing as he glared at Andy with rabid eyes. A bull might have shuddered under his hostile gaze.
“What did you just say to me?” Ryan snarled.
“I said leave her alone, dickhead.”
“No, no, you didn’t,” David said, correcting Andy. “You called him Ryan, not ‘dickhead.’ You added the ‘dickhead’ part after.”
Pixie spoke up. “Good embellishment, though. Way more effective. I bet that’s what he wished he said the first time.”
Ryan eyed David and Pixie with contempt before setting his sights once more on Andy. The splotch on Ryan’s neck had grown to the size of Jupiter’s great red spot.
All Andy cared about was that Ryan let go of Beth. The whole rapid-boil anger thing didn’t seem to bother Andy in the least—until, moving with the speed of a lynx, Ryan lunged forward and seized Andy by his shirt, pulling him up on tiptoes as if he were a bag of feathers.
The four other boys in The Shire retreated a few steps, but Hilary held her ground. Beth leapt to Andy’s defense, slamming her fists several times against Ryan’s back.
“Leave him alone, Ryan. Stop being such a jerk,” she said.
Ryan ignored her pleas just as he ignored the blows. Andy’s shirt looked like a wrung-out dishrag within Ryan’s meaty grasp.
“You better watch yourself, geek boy,” Ryan growled. With his biceps straining, Ryan hoisted Andy up until the two were at eye level.
Andy fought to keep a serious expression, but a laugh escaped anyway, even though he had intentionally pulled his lips tight against his teeth.
“Are you freaking laughing at me?” Ryan was incredulous.
Andy tried to hold his laugh in, but it burst out once more in a loud pfffftt.
Ryan still couldn’t believe his ears. “I thought I told you to watch yourself,” he said.
Andy couldn’t keep a straight face. “It’s just that you sound like such a walking cliché, Ryan,” Andy said. “I mean, look—you’re the big, tough jock, trying to win back the affections of your beautiful girlfriend while you’re holding one of the geekiest kids in the school by his shirt. You’re kind of being Johnny Lawrence from The Karate Kid right now.”
“The first Karate Kid, with Ralph Macchio, not the remake,” Hilary said, feeling a need to clarify the reference.
Of course she’d know that, Solomon thought.
“Nah, I’d say he’s more like Biff Tannen,” Rafa said.
“From Weird Science?” Pixie asked.
“Back to the Future,” Hilary said.
“I’d go with a blanket reference and say he’s being totally Disney TV,” Solomon said in a very matter-of-fact way.
The Shire desperately needed to release some tension, but none of this banter amused Ryan. He looked furious.
By now, some of the other students were taking notice of the commotion and began a swift trot over to the action. Jake Dent happened to be transporting a broken heater fan from Hillman Hall across campus to his workshop behind the Terry Science Center when he caught sight of the student migration. He followed the gaggle and was surprised to see his son in the center of the action. Jake knew the student who was holding Andy by his shirt, and it was obvious that these were mismatched opponents.
Rather than intervene, Jake took up position by the walkway abutting the Society Building—far enough back not to be noticed, but still close enough to see the action.
“You think you’re really funny, huh?” Ryan said, pulling Andy up so high his shirt came untucked from his pants.
“I’m giving you a chance to let go of me,” Andy said. His expression turned serious.
Hidden in the background, Jake Dent had to crane his neck to get a better look over the gathering crowd. He wanted Andy to take care of his own problems, but Jake worried the confrontation would be too one-sided. He didn’t want anybody to get hurt.
“I’m going to give you one more chance to let go of me,” Andy said.
Ryan’s toothy grin suggested some devious thinking. Sure enough, he let one of his hands holding Andy’s shirt go so that he could make a fist, which he cocked back behind his head in a quick and fluid motion.
At the same instant, Andy took a giant step backward and planted his left foot behind him. As he did this, Andy bent slightly at the knees and twisted his body to the right. To the untrained eye, Andy appeared to be off balance, but Jake could see that Andy already had the upper hand. Before Ryan could throw his first punch, Andy’s right arm came up and over the arm holding onto his shirt and he twisted his body toward his left hip.
The move not only surprised Ryan, but it forced him to release his hold. Ryan was off balance, but he took a wild swing anyway. His punch connected with air.
Without missing a beat, Andy balled his hand into a fist, bent his elbow, made what he thought to be a forceful yell, and uncoiled at the waist. Andy’s elbow made a solid strike against the side of Ryan’s head. The blow felled the larger student to his knees. For a moment, all Ryan could do was rock back and forth in pain.
From his vantage point, Jake was impressed—not at all surprised by the outcome, but not entirely satisfied, either. He and Andy had worked on that move countless times. Breaking free from a front hold was one of the most basic skills in hand-to-hand combat. Andy was near perfect in executing his escape maneuver, but his yell was more warble than war cry. Jake couldn’t count the number of times he had explained that the purpose of the yell was not only to startle the assailant, but also to focus the power of the strike. They’d go over the maneuver tonight after Andy finished his homework.
Beth MacDonald looked stunned, and also a bit starstruck. Her eyes traveled back and forth between Ryan, on his knees, and Andy nonchalantly tucking in his shirt. Andy’s friends, Beth noted, didn’t seem at all surprised by the outcome of this David versus Goliath battle.
“Andy, that was—that was amazing.”
Ryan shakily got back to his feet. Embarrassed, he lowered his head and charged off in the direction from which he had come.
Andy smiled at Beth. “Meet me over at Tanner Hall and we’ll study together for that test. I’ve got enough Red Bull in my backpack to guarantee us at least a B.”
Beth nodded but looked dazed, still incredulous. She turned and departed, heading toward Tanner Hall.
Andy watched her go and waited until she was out of earshot before he spoke. A glower materialized on his face. “One of us has taken two hundred million dollars’ worth of bitcoins, and, trust me, that’s more than enough money to get us all killed.”
CHAPTER 7
Javier Martinez was in his home office, on the phone with the computer expert he hired. If he did not solve his problem soon, he was going to die. It was that simple.
When Javier first discovered the theft, he had tried to fix the problem without alerting Soto. The
computer whiz, whom he’d found through a craigslist ad seeking a bitcoin guru, had given him hope. The man went only by his hacker handle—“L10n,” or “The Lion,” in its non-phonetic form—and he seemed well versed on the subject.
“But you told me you could find it, get it all back,” Javier said.
His voice trembled and he felt on the verge of tears. Javier could not recall the last time he had really cried. It might have been at his father’s funeral, ten years ago. So much had changed in those ten years, and Javier was grateful his father was not around to see his only son murdered by a Mexican drug cartel. This was not the life they had imagined for him when they left Mexico to come to America.
Javier’s parents had grown up on the hardscrabble streets of Tepito, a barrio in Mexico City. Local residents called it “Barrio Bravo,” or fierce neighborhood, because of its reputation for crime—robbery and counterfeiting mostly. Having given their life savings—an amount equal to a few hours’ work for Javier—to a man who claimed he could smuggle them into America, Javier’s parents made it safely to California. They came to escape the violence. Evidently, they didn’t travel far enough.
“I told you, Javier, I got into the kids’ computers, all of them,” The Lion said, “but the bitcoins aren’t there.”
“I don’t understand,” Javier said. “We know who took them.”
Sure enough, The Lion had found proof of the theft on a certain piece of hardware, as well as the names of those he suspected of participating in the heist, but no actual bitcoins.
“Yes, that’s true,” The Lion said. “But I can’t get the coins back if they’re not in the wallet we thought they were in.”
“But they’re on the network!” Javier said. “I can see them.”
The Lion couldn’t see Javier tapping his finger against his computer monitor for emphasis. He was looking at blockchain.info, the public ledger website of all transactions in the bitcoin network. The ledger showed his bitcoins, but did not reveal who had them, or where they might be stored. All it told him was that the bitcoins existed somewhere in the Internet.
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