Chapter 25 Hack
Hack
As I walk through the comic book store, I pass by the racks of new comics and piled-up boxes of old comics. I head into the game room in the back, Oscar now following me close behind.
He says, “The girls are pissed, dude.”
I shrug as I keep on moving.
Carter T. Douglass is sitting in a folding chair at a card table, along with several other guys who all kind of look like him but are of different races. There’s also one Indian American girl there, wearing a white shirt, a red tie, and a black vest.
“Hunter,” Carter T. Douglass says, kind of confused to see me here.
“I need your help,” I say.
“I’d be delighted to help.”
I pull him aside and say, “I can’t tell you what this is all about.
I just need you to help me with something if you can.
And I know it might sound super shady, but I really can’t explain what’s going on.
I understand if that’s a dealbreaker. I don’t wanna get you involved in something that makes you uncomfortable. ”
“It’s quite all right. I’ll help you.” Carter T. Douglass gives my arm a friendly pat. “That’s what friends are for.”
I tell him that it’s urgent that I get into my brother’s computer. Carter T. Douglass doesn’t question it. He just sits me and Oscar down at a table in the corner, and he brings over the girl, who he introduces as Sruthi. He’s explained everything to her and what I need.
While Carter T. Douglass doesn’t know anything about hacking, apparently Sruthi does—but just a little.
“I’m no expert,” she says, “but I’m learning fast.”
After she graduates, she wants to work for the government to help take down terrorists by using her technological expertise.
“Maybe I can even be sent out in the field, like as a spy,” says Sruthi.
“I mean, no one would ever expect a small brown girl like me to be a secret agent for the United States government. I would be perfect. Since I was born here, I have an American accent, but I can turn on a Mumbai accent just like that and fool everyone.”
As Sruthi speaks, she works on her own laptop, downloading powerful password-cracking software from the dark web.
“What’s the dark web?” asks Oscar.
Sruthi responds, “It’s like a secret internet.
Normal people don’t know how to access it or that it even exists.
Some people use it because they’re afraid of being tracked by the government.
Some people use it to do illegal things, like sell drugs and buy weapons.
There’s some real messed-up stuff on there. ”
This makes Oscar curious. “Like what?”
“Believe me,” says Sruthi, “you don’t want to know.”
Oscar looks around the room, observing the Magic: The Gathering kids and some other boys who are flipping through comic books or playing games on their phones.
He leans toward me and whispers, “Damn, bro, it’s like a secret lair for nerds in here.”
Sruthi finishes downloading software, moves it onto a flash drive, and sticks it in Nash’s computer.
After a couple of minutes, she says, “There we go.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“I found a way to keep the laptop from locking us out. Now the software I’m using is generating and trying a bunch of random PINs.”
“How long do you think it’ll take to find the right one?”
“It depends on how long his PIN is. It could be minutes. It could be hours. Who knows?”
I look at the clock on the wall. It’s almost 6 p.m.
“How long are you all gonna be here?”
Carter T. Douglass says, “Probably until 8 p.m.”
“Do you guys mind if Oscar and me leave for a little bit? We have to go to this thing tonight as soon as we get a text about it, but we need to go home and change first.”
“Yeah, sure, we’ll just keep this program running until you get back,” Sruthi says.
“Thank you. Both of you. Is there anything I can do for you two? Anything?”
Sruthi shrugs. “Not right now. But I’ll let you know if I think of something.”
“What about you, Carter T. Douglass?” I ask.
“You perform quite well at sports,” he says.
“Track mostly. But yeah, I play other things.”
“I’m somewhat of an embarrassment on the softball field.”
I shake my head. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“It is,” he says. “One day, I would love to be able to swing at the ball and not be the laughingstock of the entire class. I mean, my aim is reasonably accurate. I can guide the bat to touch the ball, but there’s no power, no velocity, no speed.
The ball simply rolls to the pitcher, and I get tagged out. Always.”
I should be rushing out the door right now because there’s so much going on, but I want to take a minute to help Carter T. Douglass, if I can. After all, he and his friend are doing me a huge favor.
Leaning against the wall is a long packing tube, the kind you put rolled-up posters in. I grab it and hand it to Carter T. Douglass.
“Show me your swing,” I say.
“We don’t have to do this now. You must go.”
“This will only take a second.”
He gets into batting stance and swings.
“Again,” I say.
I observe carefully, as he swings once more.
I take the tube from him. “You know, I think you’ve got the strength, got the power, to hit the ball really hard. I think the problem is simple. It’s just the angle that you’re coming at the ball. You start out in the right position, but you don’t follow through correctly.”
He watches me closely.
“You’re swinging like this.” I demonstrate. “See how the bat, at the last moment, curves down? If you put as much attention on the end of the swing as much as the beginning of the swing, you’ll do great. Now show me.”
I hand the tube back to him. He swings.
“That’s great!” I say. I mean it. “See how that feels? Feels different, right?”
Carter T. Douglass keeps swinging. He smiles. He nods. “Indeed. It’s quite different. I didn’t completely know every part of my swing before. Now I understand what to pay attention to.”
I say, “You do it like that, and you’re gonna get some real power there.”
“Thank you, Hunter. Perhaps I might start impressing people on the softball field.”
“A skill like that,” I say. “It’s not just for softball. You adjust it some, and then you can chop wood, you can build things, you can do all kinds of stuff. Hell, if you get into trouble with somebody one day, you can give them a good whack over the head.”
“May I never be that unfortunate,” says Carter T. Douglass.
“We’ll be back in like a half hour,” I say.
Oscar and I head out, as Carter T. Douglass continues to practice his swing.