Stephen Preer

	I must have been hitting the snooze alarm for at least three
hours, which seemed unlikely, but the clock said it was 11:00, and the
alarm was set for 8:00.  Lindsay and Ted must have carried me to bed,
because I couldn't remember anything past those few disjointed minutes
in the back of the El Camino.  I did remember being very drunk, and
then very sick, but not much from there.  Yeah, my jeans sitting,
neatly folded, on the floor by my bed.  Lindsay must have been here.
I stumbled out of my room into the hall.  There was a note on my door
from my mom, saying that she had taken the El Camino and I should take
the Metro to school.  I cursed under my breath.  I had already missed
the first three periods, and now I had to take the fucking Metro.
	Twenty minutes later I was standing on the platform of the
Medical Center Metro stop, waiting for the train.  The interior of the
station is an incredibly intimidating space.  The huge concrete vault
looms above you like the ribcage of a giant whale.  I put on my
headphones, lay down on one of the stone benches and stared up at the
ribs, letting the lightspeed guitar and cynical lyrics of the Dead
Kennedies wash over me.  The red box in my back pocket started digging
into my butt, so I stuck it in my backpack.  It was handy to have
around and being able to make free phone calls was useful, but
sometimes it could be a real pain in the ass.  After a couple of
minutes I got fed up with waiting for the train, so I decided to make
Ted's life a bit more interesting and call him up.  The previous year
this would have near impossible, and would have involved impersonating
one of his parents, but now we had our system.
	Getting the system set up had taken months of planning, and a
few very tense hour in the school late one night, but it was well
worth the trouble.  A couple of years ago they got fed up with having
to set all of the clocks independently, so they invested in a fancy
new wireless clock system which they could use to set all of the
clocks simultaneously.  It took a fair amount of time and trouble, but
with the help of Fritz and the moral support of Ted, who was still
pretty much a newbie at the time, rigged up the school payphone with
an interesting extra function.  It listened for a tone I added to my
red box, and when it heard it, told all of the clocks to start running
backwards.  This was supposed to tip Ted off to the fact that I was
trying to call, and he would go wait by the pay phone.
	This seemed liked the ideal time to put the system to use.
The whole thing went smoothly, and five minutes later I was talking to
Ted.
	"Hey man, where are you?  I was starting to worry."
	"Overslept, and my mom took the car.  Look, could you do me a
favor. . ."
	"And pick up your absence slips?  Already done."
	"Christ, you're a life saver.  Oh, and thanks for helping me
out last night."
	"Save it.  How many times have you taken me home when I was
drunk off my ass?"  There was a short pause.  "Oh, I had a great idea
on how to improve this little system.  How about if the clocks,
instead of just running backwards, pointed to the number you were
calling from, kind of like a rotary phone?"
	"Hmm.  I think maybe that's a bit much.  Besides, do you
really want to pull another all nighter in the men's locker room just
to mess with the phone?"
	"You've got a point there, but . . ."
	The circular lights along the edge of the platform had started
to blink, and I could hear the Doppler effect of the train's approach.
	"Hey, train's here.  I gotta go."
	"See you in time for lunch."
	"Sure."
	I slammed down the receiver and trotted to the edge o the
platform.  The rush of air as the train pulled in blew the hair out of
my face, and I closed my eyes and smiled.
			_____________________________________

	After school Ted, Lindsay and I sat on the low concrete wall
across the street from the school.  Ted and I smoked and talked about
our latest schemes, as Lindsay coughed politely and tried to look
interested.  Far down on the other side of Nebraska Avenue I could
make out the figure of Fritz on his skateboard.  He was moving fast,
but it looked like he was pulling a lot of tricks, and losing his
board about every other time.  With him was a figure I did not
recognize, on foot.  I would say he was probably twenty-one or
twenty-two.  I don't know exactly.  He does some free-lance
programming and runs a BBS (that is an electronic bulletin board for
all of you uninitiated) on his slicker-than-snot new IBM PC/AT.  Makes
my Commodore 64 look more than a little bit whimpy.  I don't know why
he hangs around with us high-school geeks.  Shared interests, I guess.
	He finally pulled up in front of us about ten feet in front of
the woman I presumed he was with.  She was about as tall as he was on
his skateboard, which made her probably about five-nine.  Fritz was
not a big guy.  They were both dressed suburban-punk, him in ripped
jeans and a Dead Kennedies t-shirt, her in a black hooded sweatshirt,
short skirt and ripped fishnets.  Oh, and I can't forget to mention
the ten-hole ox-blood Doc Martins.
	He kicked up his skateboard and gave a little mock salute.
	"Friends," he began, "I would like you meet Liesl.  She's been
helping me with my research."
	"Research" was what Fritz liked to call his hacking attempts.
	"Pleased to meet you," I said, extending my hand.  She had
long dark hair pulled back into two loose buns and her eyes slanted
slightly upward.  She smiled and dropped a mock curtsy.
	Ted nodded in her direction.
	"What do you mean, `helping with your research'?" he asked.
"I thought you liked to work alone."
	"True.  But then again, I don't speak Russian."
	Ted and I both started talking at once.  Finally I yelled,
"Stop!"
	"OK, now what the fuck are you trying to say here?  Are you
telling me that you broke into some Soviet computer, or just the local
Russian Orthodox concerns BBS?"
	"That was exactly what I was trying to figure out.  Unless
someone is spoofing me, it's something big.  And I don't think anyone
is going to take the time to run a spoof in Russian.  The question is,
now that I am in, what do I do?"
	"What do you mean, `what do I do'?" asked Ted.  "You break
into some big computer in the USSR and all you can ask is `what do
I do'?"
	Lindsay had been sitting quietly through all of this, staring
dreamily at the cars on Nebraska Ave.  Now she piped up, "I have an
idea.  Let's have a picnic."
	Fritz seemed to muse over the idea for a few moments.
	"Sounds fine to me.  Where? And we'll need food."
	"My mom has the El," I began, "but if you all want, we can
metro out to my place, pick it up and go from there."
	"I have a better idea," said Fritz.  "How about you metro out
and get the car, pick us up some food and meet us in Battery Kimball
park."
	"All by my lonesome?" I said, making a mock-sad face.
	"I'll go with you," said Liesl quietly.
				
	"Liesl," I said, as we walked to the Metro, "Is that German?"
	"Yeah.  I'm not though.  My mom really like `The Sound of
Music."  Liesl is the oldest daughter, remember?"
	I stifled a laugh.  "Yeah. . . I am sixteen going on
seventeen. . ."  I started singing loudly.  She glared at me for a few
seconds before clamping a hand over my mouth.
	"Don't even start," she growled in my ear.
	Her hand was warm and smelled faintly of something sweet.  A
knot formed in my stomach as I nodded, and she let go.
	We were quiet for the next block or so, and I decided to try
again.
	"So, how do you know Fritz?"
	"Our parents were friends.  We've known each other since I was
in diapers."
	"Hmm.  So you're his age?"
	"No, probably closer to yours.  I'm a senior at Episcopal."
	"I'm a senior too.  What's next for you then?"
	"I think I'll probably be a liberal arts type someplace.  I've
applied to a bunch of small places."
	"Hence the Russian?"
	"No, I picked up the Russian somewhere else.  But that's a
long story."
	"I'd be interested to hear it.  Maybe some other time.  I need
to call home to make sure the car is actually there."

	The first rule of red boxing is to avoid public places.  A lot
of cops don't know what a red box is, but the ones that do will bust
you the moment they see a punk with a tone dialer.  I suppose that my
mind was on other things when I decided to call home, because I picked
the nearest payphone, the one by the Sears exit and the metro stop,
pulled out my red box and held it to the receiver.  The cop couldn't
have been farther away than twenty feet, watching the crosswalk on
Wisconsin Avenue.  Liesl leaned up against the store front a little
ways away and smoked a cigarette.
	He walked right up to me and said, "Let me see that, son."
	I handed it to him without hesitation.
	"It's a tone dialer with memory.  Handy if you can't remember
numbers.  Only $9.95 at Radio Shack.  And I'm not your son."
	He smiled patronizingly at me.
	"I know what it is and I'm going to keep it.  No more free
phone calls for you."
	I stared at him dumbfounded.
	"What?  That's my private property!"
	"Not any more.  I'm taking it with me back to the station."
	"The fuck you are!" I said.  In retrospect, this was probably
not the right thing to say to a cop who clearly didn't think much of
standard procedure.  "I want your name and badge number."
	"You watch it.  I'm about this close to bringing you in."
	I opened and closed my mouth a few times before deciding that
keeping it closed was probably the best idea.  I watched in awe as he
walked back to where he had been standing.
	Liesl walked over from where she had been standing.
	"That was pretty smooth, telling that cop to fuck off.  This
sort thing happen to you often?"
	She dropped he cigarette and crushed it with her toe.
	"Actually, you wouldn't think it, but no, I don't tell cops to
fuck off on a daily basis.  In fact I've almost manages to cut back to
weekly."
	She smiled.
	"Hey," I said, "Let's go get the car."

	The El Camino was a beautiful car.  Most people wouldn't agree
with me.  They would say it looked like someone had squished a pickup
truck, or ripped the back off a Chevy station wagon.  It had been my
father's pride and joy in the early seventies, and the fact that it
still ran as well as it did was a testament to how well he took care
of it.  The paint was that glossy dark gold that looks a bit too much
like the color of dried vomit.  My father has moved on to newer and
faster cars, so the El Camino is mine now, and there is something
beautiful about that.
	"That's your ride?" asked Liesl.
	We had managed to keep up a light conversation for the rest of
the trip, and when we got to my place I introduced her to mom and now
the car.
	"Yup," I replied.
	"Nice.  Could have picked a better color, though."
	"Unfortunately it wasn't my choice.  It grows on you though."
	"Yeah.  Like a fungus?"
	"Ha ha.  Shall we?"
	
	We stopped by the Safeway bought a few bags of chips and a
2-liter of Coke.  Not that healthy, but standard teenage fair, I
guess.  It was just starting to dim when we got back in the car, and
it smelled faintly of rain.  It had been clear earlier, and it had
clouded over without my noticing.  We drove the rest of the distance
in relative silence.

	I pulled the car into the gravel lot at the base of the
biggest grassy hill.  The park had been something or other during the
Civil War, but there was nothing now to tell you that except for the
name, Battery Kimball.  It was the sort of park that families would
bring their kids and their dogs in their Volvo station wagons, not the
kind of park where drug dealer hang out.  I remember my parents
bringing me here when I was little.  The hill was always the focus of
activity.  During the summer we would roll down the grassy slop until
our necks got itchy, and in the winter we would sled down it in our
saucer sleds.  The only other car in the lot was a black Ford sedan.
Peering across at it I realized that there were in fact two people in
the car, both wearing suits.  I made a mental note to mention this to
Fritz.
	I was not surprised to see the other three on top of the hill.
Liesl set a brisk pace up, and I quickly lagged behind her.  Seeing
this, she waited for me to catch up with her, took my hand and hauled
me up the rest of the way.  Fritz was leaning against a tree and
Lindsay had her head in Ted's lap.  Liesl set the Coke bottle down and
sat down near Fritz.  I tossed the chips into the middle and completed
the square across from Liesl.
	"What took you guys so long?" asked Fritz.
	"Gil got into some trouble with the cops," said Liesl, matter
of factly.
	"What?" said Ted.  Lindsay looked up with a concerned expression.
	"It wasn't anything big," I said.  "I just got my red box
taken away."
	"Wait," said Ted "Yours looks just like a normal tone dialer.
No extra switches or anything.  How could they have known it was a red
box?"
	"They didn't.  The cop just took it."
	"That's fucked up."
	"Yup."
	"Where were you?" asked Fritz.
	"Outside of Sears."
	"That's pretty public.  You should watch it.  This is scary
though, that the cops have a clue.  We should all be careful in that
area."
	"You should be careful in general," I added.  "Breaking into
Soviet computers.  At least they're on a different continent."
	"Hey, you know me.  Do you think I'm going to fuck this up?"
He seemed a bit irritated.
	"No," I replied, and I believed it.  Fritz was a good hacker
and a total paranoid, which was a useful attribute in this business.
If anyone could get away with it, he could.  "So what do you know
about this machine you got on to?"
	"As far as we can tell, it is a University machine of some
sort, but a lot of the stuff on it has a very military sound to it.
If they do defense contracting or something then it could be a
springboard to even more sensitive things.
	"All the same, there is something strange about the way the
whole thing is set up, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

	 		    _________________________________

	As I have mentioned earlier, I am not a light sleeper.  Once I
am out, I am out and there is not much you can do about it.  On the
weekends I like to get twelve to fourteen hours of sleep a night to
make up for what I miss during the week.  I went to bed a three
o'clock on Friday night, so at three the next afternoon, the phone
actually managed to rouse me enough to roll over and pick it up.  It
was Ted.
	"Hey Gil, you won't believe what just happened."
	"What?"  I was still pretty bleary at this point.  "Whazzup?"
	"Fritz got busted."  He sounded panicked
	I woke up considerably.
	"Who was it, the KGB or the CIA?"
	"No, no, nothing like that.  Just the local fuzz.  Still,
they've taken him in."
	"When?  What happened?"  I sat up.
	"About half an hour ago.  There was an AT&T van parked right
on the corner of Connecticut Ave, the back door wide open.  Fritz
grabbed a handset out of the back and shoved it in my backpack.  We
were about half a block away when he said, `Wouldn't it be cool to
have one of those helmets too.'
	"So he goes back to grab a helmet.  He gets to the back and
somebody yells something.  A cop comes over and the next thing you
know, they've booked him."
	"But you got off clean."
	"I got off clean.  And I have the handset.  But I don't like
this."
	"Look, we have to talk about this.  Let's meet in BK park
tonight, like 7:00, OK?  I'll call Liesl."
	"OK, see you there."
	
	I picked up Liesl and gave her a ride to the park to meet Ted,
who had his dad's car for the day.  He was sitting on the hood of the
car, a big Olds sedan, when we arrived.
	"Hey Gil, Liesl," he said as we got out of the car.
	"How are you feeling?" I asked.
	"Not so good.  Pretty shaky still.  I mean, Fritz will make
bail and that will be pretty much it for a while, but this thing just
really freaked me out."
	"I understand.  It sounds like it would shake anyone up."
	"Yeah."
	"Fritz will be fine," said Liesl, "he's been through worse
than this."
	"Sure.  Look, I want you to have this."  He pulled the handset
out of his backpack and pushed it at me.
	"Why?  You got it; it's yours."
	"I don't want it.  I don't think I can deal with this anymore.
Here take it."
	I took the handset.
	"Deal with what?"
	"This whole scene.  I don't like being constantly afraid that
I'm going to get busted."
	"Have you been talking to Lindsay?"
	"What's that supposed to mean?"
	"Look, forget it."	
	"No, I want to know what that meant."
	"It's just that I know she doesn't like the whole
hacking-phreaking thing, and was wondering if maybe . . ."
	"No, she has nothing to do with this.  I just can't handle
this, OK?  I need to take some time off.  Just leave me alone, all
right?"
	"Take whatever time you need to.  I'll be here."
	He got in his car and drove off.
	"That was interesting," said Liesl.  "Here, lets drive around
for a while."
	I nodded silently and we got in the car.

	"How about you tell me why you know Russian?"
	"Now?"
	"Sure."
	"Oh, it's not really that interesting.  My family situation
was never all that great growing up, so I liked to spend as much time
away from home as possible.  There was an elderly couple that lived
across the street with their thirty cats, and I used to do odds jobs
for them for a quarter or two.  My parents liked it because it taught
me `economic responsibility'.  In any case, they had both moved
here from the USSR thirty years or so before.  The man spoke a decent
English, enough to get by, and his wife none at all.  So what happened
was that we agreed that every time I went over I would speak English
with the man and he would teach me Russian.  I was only eight or nine
in the beginning, but I could help him with the nuances of English
that he didn't know.  He was more than happy to teach me in turn, and
I thought it would be a neat thing to know.  This went on for about
six or seven years.
	"Hey, pull off here."
	"Why?" I asked.
	"Just do it."
	"OK.  Oh wait, this is Episcopal."
	"Yup.  I am going to share with you one of my favorite things
to do.  When I'm feeling stressed or out of perspective, I come here."
	"School?  Isn't it all locked up anyway?"
	"Of course, stupid.  That's not the point.  Follow me."
	I shut off the engine and followed her up the hill towards one
of the buildings.  When we reached the door, she produced an L-slide
from her back pocket, and within a matter of seconds she had it open.
	"Breaking into your school helps you de-stress?  Wow.  You
know, they should really think about putting a dead bolt on that
door."
	"It's just the pool.  What is anyone going to steal?  The water?"
	"Good point.  Are we going in?" I asked.	
	"Ladies first," she said.
	The lobby area was dimly lit by windows high on each side and
smelled only faintly of chlorine.  To the right was the entrance to
the men's locker room, and to the left the women's.
	"I forgot my suit," I said.
	"Don't worry about it,"  she said. "You wear boxers, right?"
	"Un-hunh.  Oh, no towel either."
	"I think I can find you one."
	"OK."
	I went into the men's locker room.  She followed me, which
surprised me.  I hadn't realized I had such delicate sensibilities.
The locker room really was dark.  I heard a couple of muffled thuds as
she threw various article of clothing in a corner, and I tried not to
figure out which ones.  I slowly took off my jeans and t-shirt and
fumbled over to a bench where I set them down.  By the time a reached
the pool she had already turned on the lights.  Not the main overhead
ones, but the ones that illuminate the pool from underneath.  It was a
strangely surreal effect, the enormous dark expanse surrounding the
shimmering water.  I stood there for a second or two staring, just
outside the locker room.
	"What's the matter?  Never seen a pool before?"
	I took me a second to figure out where her voice was coming
from, and as soon as I made out her figure on the high dive it was
gone, tumbling down in a rapid, complex series of twist and turns that
ended in a loud splash.
	After a moment I plunged in the side and swam out to meet her
in the middle.  She surfaced directly in front of me.
	"Where'd you learn to do that?"
	"We have a diving team.  Or we do at least until I graduate."	
	She splashed me and dove back under water.  We spent the next
few minutes chasing each other around the pool splashing water at each
other.  Finally I go tired and hauled myself out of the shallow end,
and she climbed up next to me.
	"You're thinking about Ted hunh?" she asked.
	"Yeah," I said.
	She put her arms around me and we stayed that way for a while.
	"He'll do what he feels comfortable with.  You can't blame him
for that."
	"I guess not."
	I stared off across the pool for a moment, and when I turned
back, she kissed me.
			  ____________________________________

	Things settled down from there.  Liesl and I spent a lot of
time together for the next few weeks.  I still saw a fair amount of
Ted, but things were tense.  I also was trying hard not to think about
my college acceptances or rejections, which would arrive any day now.
	It had been a few days since I last saw Fritz, which was odd.
He was usually around almost every day.  He hadn't even posted much to
his BBS recently.  He had been logging in though, so I assumed nothing
had happened.  Finally, that Friday, I was on his board reading old
posts when he popped up to chat with me.
	Hey man, we should talk.
	Yeah, where have you been?  I asked.
	Around.  Some pretty strange shit has happened and I need to
talk to someone.  In person, preferably.  You want to come over here?
	Yeah, I can do that.  Is this about the whole theft thing?
	No, that's not a problem any more.
	What?  Why not?
	It'll take a while to explain.  See you in half an hour?
	Sure....

	Fritz lived in the basement of a townhouse on Capitol Hill.
It wasn't even all that nice, but I'm sure it was expensive.  It was
decorated college student style - plywood and cider blocks.  There was
a couch in the living room area that I think he got out of his
neighbor's trash.  It's incredible the things people will throw out.
On an old steel desk against the far wall was the computer that was
the BBS.  All the same, it was very neat, clean even.  There was no
dust on the TV that sat opposite the couch on a pair of cinder blocks.
	Fritz looked as though he had become part of the couch,
wearing only a pair of red boxers with a print that looked like kiss
marks and a Minor Threat t-shirt.
	"Hey there Fritz, you look like a bus hit you.  What's up?"
	"Oh not to much."  He started to giggle.
	"Spit it out," I said collapsing onto the red beanbag chair
held together with duct tape.
	"Looks like I'm going to be having some lifestyle changes.
Maybe I'll be able to decorate.  I'm babbling.  OK.  I'll start over.
Remember those guys in trench coats we saw at BK park the other day?"
	"Yeah."
	"They're CIA."
	"Shit!"
	"No, no, it's not bad.  I've talked to them."
	"Why?"
	"I came home a few nights ago and they were here.  In my
apartment.  It turns out that machine I hacked into?  They were
running it."
	"Who?  The CIA?  Why would they run a spoof like that?"
	"To get me."
	"So you are in trouble."
	"No, no really.  Let me finish.  They didn't want to arrest me
or anything.  I mean why would they?  For trying to break into an
enemy machine?  No, they offered me a job."
	My jaw dropped.
	"Apparently this is there most recent attempt to recruit
`computer security experts' to work for the CIA.  They would have
me doing the same thing I do anyway, but they would pay me."
	"So you're going to do it?  Go establishment?"
	"I really wasn't sure at first, but the more I think about it,
the better it sounds.  Besides, they're going to help me get out of
trouble with the local cops."
	For a little few moments I wondered if he was just making the
whole thing up to see my reaction, but I looked at his bloodshot eyes,
and I knew it was true.
	"We'll be on different sides," I said.
	"What do you mean?  It's not like I'm going to be busting
people.  I'd be doing the same thing as ever, I'll just be getting
paid."
	"Will you have to wear a suit?"
	"I don't know.  I didn't ask."  He laughed.
	"Hey, whatever you decide is fine, but we can't let this make
this weird between us."
	"Sure.  The only things that are going to change are my
wardrobe and my income.""
	But we both knew it wasn't true.