Jeremy waited at the bar while the lunch crowd thinned out at Rick's Casablanca on Pacific Avenue. The day bartender was bored and talked too much. Jeremy put up with it in order to keep an eye on the front door. That would give him a moment or two to size up Bob Jackson when he came in. It had been ten years since Jeremy met him at his father's office. Jeremy was an awkward teenager and Jackson was just starting his climb up the corporate ladder at Satchi & Satchi. They had only talked for about ten minutes, but that conversation made an impression on Jeremy that would last the rest of his life.

Everything was ready. Jeremy had placed phone calls to a handful of Ethernaut Club members and asked them to meet at the Merrill computer lab for a special program demonstration. Most didn't have anything better to do and quickly agreed to attend. Jeremy applied a small amount of intimidation to the others before they made the commitment. His audience of subjects would be ready.

Bob Jackson came in through the restaurant's front door like he owned the place. Somehow his eyes turned in precisely the right direction and locked on Jeremy immediately. There wasn't a trace of hesitation in him as he walked straight toward Jeremy and donned a broad smile filled with Hollywood-white teeth. Suddenly, Jeremy was jolted by the realization that he had been subconsciously imitating Bob Jackson for the past ten years. It was as if he were watching himself walk in. Would the advertising executive notice? How could he miss it?

Jackson: Jeremy, how are you? Good to see you again.

Jeremy: Good to see you too, Mr. Jackson.

Jackson: None of that mister stuff, kid. Call me Bob. What do you say, shall we get to a table. I'm starving.

Jeremy: Yeah, sure. I'm getting hungry myself.

It seemed strange to Jeremy, but no one else, including Bob Jackson, noticed all the little behavioral nuances the two shared. Perhaps it was only obvious to Jeremy because he had gone through such pains to refine and stylize these routine gestures. The two took their seats at a table in the far corner of the dining room.

Jackson: I'd like to get right to the point of this trip. I spent two and a half hours driving down here. The whole way I'm saying to myself 'I must be nuts.' Twice I almost turned around and went back. Finally, I convinced myself that it's worth it just for the personal time. You know what I mean?

Jeremy: You can get caught up in everyone else's world if you don't give yourself some time alone.

Jackson: That's exactly what I mean. So, even though your mind control gizmo is probably material for the National Inquirer, my trip is already a success.

Jeremy: A good strategy, but unnecessary in this case. My "D" language technology is no fake UFO sighting or made-up ghost story. You'll see that for yourself right after lunch.

Jackson: You give it your best shot, kid, but let me say this. You've only got one shot. Throwing me a lunatic pitch like this puts all your marbles on the table. If you're blowing air up my skirt, you'll be finished in the ad game before you even get started. Know what I mean?

Jeremy: I knew the stakes before I called.

Jackson: Good. Then let's order some food, have a nice lunch, and talk business again later... if there's anything more to talk about.

In fact, the emotional stakes were considerably higher than Jeremy had previously realized. Within the space of five minutes, he met his role model and then learned that he stood to lose him forever. If he failed, he would be rejected by the only person whose opinion mattered. For the first time in years Jeremy felt the annoying fear of desperation.

Back at the apartment, Zeke got himself together physically with some strong coffee and a little food that Tom cooked up. He was beginning to calm down and start thinking again when the phone rang. Everyone looked at him as he picked it up. Could Zeke handle Jeremy's manipulations now that he knew the truth about his roommate? In his present condition, Zeke would probably just breakdown and reveal to Jeremy that he had been found out. But luckily, it wasn't Jeremy calling. Zeke looked puzzled as he hung up.

Zeke: That was Iceman.

Molly: He's the Ethernaut Club Treasurer.

Zeke: He was calling to tell Jeremy that he wasn't going to be able to make it to the meeting. Wanted me to apologize for him and try to explain it to Jeremy.

Molly: What meeting? There's no meeting today.

Zeke: He said Jeremy called a couple hours ago to tell him about a meeting in the Merrill computer lab at 2:30 this afternoon.

Tom: That's ten minutes ago. We better get over there.

Nancy: You three go ahead. I'll stay here and keep working on the computer. We've got to find out what he's doing with those images.

Tom: Call me if you find anything.

Molly took the front seat and Zeke got in back as Tom jerked the car into gear and out onto the street. Gliding through stop signs and cheating on red lights they raced through the neighborhood and worked their way toward Highway 1. Their luck held until they got to the marina canal bridge. A tall masted sail boat had caused the draw bridge to be raised. They were hopelessly trapped in the traffic jam.

But Nancy and Spike had finally found a needle in the digital haystack. Spike used Zeke's machine to show him where the Ethernaut Club's various server's were located. He searched each machine looking for any access Jeremy might have made in the last eight hours. Finally, a single log-in record showed him signing on to one of the servers at 11:18 AM. No other activity was shown, except a switch to another account - Molly McGill's. Jeremy had tried to cover his tracks.

Nancy: Spike, what does it look like?

Spike: It's got three FTP file uploads to the Ethernaut Web server and some e-mail activity. Which trail do you want to follow?

Nancy: FTP! Those files could be the "D" language images.

Spike: They look like the right size and format, but I can't tell for sure.

Nancy: Bring them down to Zeke's machine. I'll decode them from here.

Spike: Three files coming up.



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