Helen Hanson - Dark Pool Read Online Free PDF Page B

unit of the el-shaped building. French doors led out the treed side of the property. The original owner thoughtfully planted privacy hedges of Island Mountain Mahogany between the units, now lush, tall, and impenetrable. With the helpful cover of beautiful foliage, Travis could slip in or out, safe from the prying eyes of the neighbors.
    He stepped onto the patio. The drapes were drawn back. He looked in the room through the panes.
    Javier leaned on the kitchen bar at the other side of the empty room. He came over and opened the door. It glided without a sound. WD-40. Great stuff.
    “C’mon in,” Javier said, in that casual manner reminiscent of his mother. Helping a parolee violate his conditions didn’t jangle him. Travis went in and Javier dropped the drapes from the hook.
    “How much do your folks know?” Travis said.
    “Nothing, officially.”
    “Good. It’s safer for them.”
    “They’ll notice the missing key and the computer, but they won’t do anything. They think you’re innocent.” Javier dug the key from his jeans pocket and gave it to Travis. “Dad already has a clue.”
    “What’d he say?”
    “I asked him about the paint job for this place.” Javier kicked the carpet. “He made it weirdly clear that the job would start in two weeks. That’s all I got, Trav.”
    “On it, then. Where’s nerd station?”
    Javier led the way to a bedroom. A starfish in red crayon on the wall evidenced the needed paint job.
    “Javie, your starfish should have five arms not six.”
    “It’s Jewish, man.” He pointed to the other corner. A laptop lay on the floor. “The neighbor on that wall has an unsecured wi-fi. Wicked fast.”
    “When do they surf?”
    “Way past your tuck-in. They’re a couple of Dinks. She beats to the city. He beats to the valley. Gone early. Home late. Even some Saturdays.”
    “No wonder they don’t have kids,” Travis said.
    “Yeah, but they’ve got some sick rides.”
    “Black Porsche?”
    “And the Vette.”
    “Sweet.” Travis hit the floor lotus-style and turned on the laptop. It hummed to action.
    “Last guys in here left a coffee pot in the kitchen. There’s a can of MJB on the counter. Knock yourself out.” Javier walked toward the door. “I’m sacked.”
    “Seriously, man. Thanks.”
    As he left the room, Javier pumped the air with his fist. They both knew. The words were unnecessary.
    Travis cracked all his knuckles. He fired up the browser. Six months away, but the court order only made him cautious. Caution wasn’t bad. He could have used some when he agreed to help the sonovabitch who set him up.
    At twelve months old, Travis traded his baby rattle for a computer mouse. Dad was a manager at the Silicon Valley Server Farm, and he routinely took Travis with him when he worked overtime. The server farm rented computers and served as host for computers owned by outside businesses. They kept thousands of computers in a constant supply of electricity, air conditioning, and internet access. Travis learned to swap out a hard drive before he learned to tie his shoes.
    Stay off the internet for six months. Yeah, right.
    Travis went into the options menu and set the browser to don’t-record-his-every-freakin-move. He didn’t plan to get caught, but there was no reason to light the torch. He navigated to his personal web page.
    He hadn’t seen the page since he was incarcerated. It had that sense of the unfamiliar as if created by someone else. He was glad the feds let him keep it live. To them it looked like a normal kid’s web page, not something that required psychiatric evaluation.
    But he left nothing for the feds to find. His homepage links went to websites like Maverick Surf, Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, or the Exploratorium. He found the passwords he needed by collecting every fifteenth letter from a block of text about a guitar shop up in Tiburon.
    He went to the Google Groups section and typed in the name of the group he wanted. He entered the