Michael Connelly - Chasing the Dime

"They are. And so am I."

Pierce nodded. Feel young, stay young -a common Malibu life ethic.

"I keep forgetting about how nice you got it out here, Code."

"For a college dropout, I can't complain. Beats selling one's purity of essence for twentyfive bucks a bag."

He was talking about plasma. Pierce turned away from the view. In the living area there were matching gray couches and a coffee table in front of a freestanding fireplace with an industrial, concrete finish. Behind this was the kitchen. To the left was the bedroom area.

"Beer, dude? I've got Pacifica and Saint Mike."

"Yeah, sure. Either one."

While Zeller went to the kitchen Pierce moved toward the work area. A large floor-toceiling rack of electronics acted to knock down the exterior light and partition off the area where Zeller made his living. There were two desks and another bank of shelves containing code books and software and system manuals. He stepped through the plastic curtain that used to be where the door to the garage was. He took a step down and was in a climate-controlled computer room. There were two complete computer bays on either side of the room, each equipped with multiple screens. Each system seemed to be at work. Slowly unspooling data trails moved across each screen. Digital inchworms crawling through whatever was Zeller's project at the moment. The walls of the room were covered in black foam padding to dampen exterior noise. The room was dimly lit by mini-spots. There was an unseen stereo playing an old Guns N' Roses disc that Pierce had not heard in more than ten years.

Affixed to the padding of the rear wall was a procession of stickers depicting company logos and trademark names. Most were household words, companies pervasive in daily life. There were many more stickers on the wall than the last time Pierce visited. He knew that Zeller put up a logo every time he conducted a successful intrusion into that company's computer services system. They were the notches on his belt.

Zeller earned $500 an hour as a white-hat hacker. He was the best of the best. He worked as an independent, usually hired by one of the Big Six accounting firms to conduct penetration tests on its clients. In a way it was a racket. The system that Zeller could not defeat was rare. And after each successful penetration his employer usually turned around and got a fat digital security contract from the client, with a nice bonus going to Zeller.

He had once told Pierce that digital security was the fastest growth area in the corporate accounting industry. He was constantly fielding high-price offers to come on board fulltime with one or another of the big firms, but he always demurred, saying he liked working for himself. Privately, he told Pierce that it was also because working for himself allowed him to eschew the random drug testing of the corporate world.

Zeller came into the clean room with two brown bottles of San Miguel. They doubleclicked bottles before drinking. Another tradition. It tasted good to Pierce, smooth and cold. Bottle in hand, he pointed to a red and white square affixed to the wall. It was the most recognized corporate symbol in the world.

"That one's new, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I just got that one. Took the job out of Atlanta. You know how they got some secret formula for making the drink? They were -"

"Yeah, cocaine."

"That's the urban myth. Anyway, they wanted to see how well the formula was protected.

I went in from total scratch. Took me about seven hours and then I e-mailed the formula to the CEO. He didn't know we were doing a penetration test -it was handled by people below him. I was told he almost had a goddamn coronary. He had visions of the formula going out across the net, falling into the hands of the Pepsi and Dr Pepper people, I guess."

Pierce smiled.

"Cool. You working on something right now? It looks busy."

He indicated the screens with his bottle.

"No, not really. I'm just doing a little trolling. Looking for somebody I know is out there hiding."

"Who?"

Zeller looked at him and smiled.

"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you."

It was business. Zeller was saying that part of what he sold was discretion. They were friends who went back to good times and one seriously bad time -at least for Pierce -in college. But business was business.

"I understand," Pierce said. "And I don't want to intrude, so let me get to it. Are you too busy to take on something else?"

"When would I need to start?"

"Uh, yesterday would be nice."

"A quickie. I like quickies. And I like working for Amedeo Tech."

"Not for the company. For me. But I'll pay you."

"I like that better. What do you need?"

"I need to run some people and some businesses, see what comes up."

Zeller nodded thoughtfully.

"Heavy people?"

"I don't really know but I'd use all precautions. It involves the adult entertainment field, you could say."

Now Zeller smiled broadly, his burned skin crinkling around the eyes.

"Oh, baby, don't tell me you bumped your dick into something."

"No, nothing like that."

"Then what?"

"Let's sit down. And you'd better bring something to take notes with."

In the living room Pierce gave him all the information he had on Lilly Quinlan without explanation about where it was coming from. He also asked Zeller to find what he could on Entrepreneurial Concepts Unlimited and Wentz, the man who operated it.

"You got a first name?"

"No. Just Wentz. Can't be too many in the field, I would guess."

"Full scans?"

"Whatever you can get."

"Stay inside the lines?"

Pierce hesitated. Zeller kept his eyes level on him. He was asking if Pierce wanted him to stay within the bounds of the law. Pierce knew from experience that there was much more out there to be found if Zeller crossed the lines and went into systems he was not authorized to enter. And he knew Zeller was an expert at crossing them. The Doomsters were formed when they were college sophomores. Computer hacking was just coming into vogue for their generation and the members of the group, largely under the direction of Zeller, did more than hold their own. They mostly committed pranks, their best being the time they hacked into the local telephone company's 411 information bank and changed the number for the Domino's Pizza closest to campus to the home number of the dean of the Computer Sciences Department.

But their best moment was also their worst. All six of the Doomsters were busted by the police and later suspended. On the criminal side everybody got probation with the charges to be expunged after six months without further trouble. Each boy also had to complete 160 hours of community service. On the school side they were all suspended for one semester. Pierce went back after serving both the suspension and the probation.

Under the magnifying glass of police and school administrators, he switched from computer sciences to a chemistry curriculum and never looked back.

Zeller never looked back, either. He didn't go back to Stanford. He was scooped up by a computer security firm and given a nice salary. Like a gifted athlete who leaves school early for the pros, he could not go back to school once he sampled the joys of having money and doing what he loved for a living.

"Tell you what," Pierce finally answered. "Get whatever you can get. In fact, on Entrepreneurial Concepts, I think some variation of abra cadabra might help you get in.

Try it backwards first."

"Thanks for the head start. When do you need this?"

"Like I said, yesterday will be fine."

"Right, a quickie. You sure you didn't stick your dick into something nasty?"

"Not that I know of."

"Nicole know about this?"

"Nope, there's no reason. Nicole's gone, remember?"