Chapter 8 chapter eight

Looks like we won't make it, Jamie Turner thought hopelessly. It was almost noon, and he was sitting alone in the cold, dark computer room, still wearing a wet jersey (iron boots, playing football in the rain does not cultivate character at all, it only makes you wet like a soaked chicken).But he didn't want to waste time taking a shower and changing.As he ran on the field, all he could think about was whether the university computer he successfully attacked had cracked the password of the school gate. Now, looking at the monitor through thick, blurry lenses, he concluded that the Cray might not be able to crack the code in time.According to his estimate, it will take two more days to do it.

He thought of his brother, and the Santana concert, and his pass to backstage—all of which seemed out of reach—and he nearly cried.He typed some commands to see if he could log on to another computer at the university—a much faster machine in the physics department, but the line of users trying to get into that computer was long.Jamie leaned back in his chair, frustrated.Although he wasn't hungry at all, he gobbled down a large bag of M&Ms. He suddenly felt a biting chill, and immediately took a quick look around the musty, dark room.Trembling with fear. It's that nasty ghost again...

Maybe he should just forget about it altogether.He didn't like to be scared, didn't like to feel cold.He should get out of here and stay with James Nance or Todt or some other French club boy.He put his hands on the keyboard, ready to terminate the crack-er software and run the overlay program at the same time, destroying all evidence of the attack. Just then, something strange happened. On the screen in front of him, the root directory of the school computer suddenly appeared.too weird!Then, that computer dialed itself to connect to another machine outside the school.The two computers greeted each other with an electrical handshake, and a moment later both Jamie Turner's Crack-er software and Iron Boot's password files were being piped to the other computer.

What the hell does this happen?Jamie Turner has seen a lot about all aspects of computing, but this situation has never been seen.The only explanation is that the first computer—the one at the university—had some kind of agreement with the computer departments of other universities that time-consuming tasks were automatically sent to high-speed computers for processing. But what is really strange is that the computer receiving Jamie's software is a parallel unit of the supercomputer cluster at the Defense Research Center in Colorado Springs, which is the fastest computer system in the world today.It's also one of the most secure, largely impenetrable computer systems (Jamie tried, he knows).It contains top-secret information and has never been released to civilians in the past.Jamie guesses that maybe they are now renting out the system to pay for the high maintenance costs of the parallel fleet.Jamie stared at the screen in ecstasy as the DRC computer team cracked the Iron Boot code at breakneck speed.

So, even if there was a ghost in his machine, it was a good ghost after all.Maybe even a Santana fan, he smiled to himself. Jamie is now on to his next job, the second cyberattack before the escape.In less than sixty seconds, he had transformed himself into an overworked middle-aged maintenance technician from West Coast Security Systems, who unfortunately forgot where he left the diagram of the model WCS8872 alarm fire safety door he was repairing. , so ask the technical director of the manufacturer for help. The other party was too happy to help. Fetter sat in his cafeteria office, watching Jamie Turner's software toil away on the DRC's supercomputer group, where he had just shipped it, along with the cipher file.

Unbeknownst to the supercomputer system administrator at the Defense Research Center, the supercomputers at his disposal are expending $25,000 worth of computer time just to get a middle school sophomore to open a locked door. door. The first supercomputer Jamie used was at a nearby university, and Fett looked at its progress and saw at a glance that it was unlikely to break the code in time, so the boy would not have time to escape from the school , to meet his brother at 6:30. This meant that he would be locked up in St. Francis High School safely, and Fett would lose the round.This is absolutely unacceptable to him.

However, he knew that the computer team at the Defense Research Center could easily break the code before that deadline. If Jamie Turner did make it to the concert that night—which was clearly out of the question under the circumstances—he had Fetter to thank. Fetter then began hacking the computer files of the San Jose City Planning and Zoning Commission and found a building proposal submitted by the principal of St. Francis Middle School, who wanted the commission's approval to build a gated wall.Fetter downloaded the file and printed a floor plan of the entire campus. He was studying the campus floor plan when the clock beeped, and a mailbox flashed on the screen.It was a reminder that he had an email from Sean.

He felt a rush of excitement, the way he always did when Sean got a letter.This reaction seemed to him to be very meaningful, and it was an important basis for understanding the personal development of Fetter-no, it should be Jon Holloway.He grew up in a family with a lot of money and little love, and in that environment he knew he had developed a cold, distant personality.The same with everyone—family, colleagues, schoolmates, and the few people he ever tried to form relationships with.But Fett's deep affection for Sean proves that he is not emotionally insensitive, and that deep within him there is a great source of love.

Eager to read the letter, he quit the city planning and zoning committee network and clicked on the mail. Clear words skipped in front of his eyes, the smile faded from his face suddenly, his breathing was rapid and his pulse quickened. "Oh, God," he murmured. The general content of the email was that the police were tracking him much faster than he expected.They even got hold of murders in Portland and Virginia. Then he glanced at the second paragraph, fixing his eyes on the words Millikan Park. no no…… Now he had a real problem. Fate got up from the table and ran down the stairs to the basement.He catches another glimpse of dried blood on the ground—that of Liella Gibson's character.He opened the military-style bedside cabinet where his personal belongings were stored and took out a black, rusty saber.Then go to the washroom, open the door, and press the light to turn on.Ten minutes later, he drove his Jaguar quickly onto the highway.

At the beginning, God created the Defense Advanced Research Projects Organization computer network, which was called ARPAnet according to its English initials.Arpanet developed vigorously, giving birth to the military network (Milnet), and later the Internet was born jointly by Arpanet and the military network.The Internet, with its descendants Usernet newsgroups and the World Wide Web, became a holy trinity that has forever changed the lives of its people. These are the words that Andy Anderson used to describe the Internet when he taught computer history class. At this moment, when he was driving through Palo Alto and saw Stanford University directly in front of him, this not without clever metaphor suddenly Pan over my heart.Because it was at Stanford Research Institute not far from here that the Department of Defense built the Internet's predecessor, Arpanet, in 1960, linking Stanford Research Institute with the University of California, Los Angeles, the University of California in Santa Barbara County, and the University of Utah.

But as he drove on, and saw ahead through the drizzle the desolate slopes of Hacker Hill in John Millikan Park, the reverence for the place faded.On weekdays, this place always gathers many young people, exchanging software or exchanging their online achievements.But today, a cold April drizzle has left the place deserted. He parked the car, put on the rumpled gray rain hat that was a birthday present from his six-year-old daughter, and stepped out of the car.He walked quickly across the grass, splashes of rain splashing under his feet.He was disappointed because there were no witnesses at the scene who could provide information about the arms smuggler Peter Fuller.However, in the middle of the park, there is a shed bridge that can keep out the wind and rain.Sometimes young people gather there when it rains or the weather is cold. But when Anderson approached the shed bridge, he found that there were also few people there. He stopped and looked around.The two people I saw in front of me were obviously not hackers: one was an old woman walking a dog, and the other was a businessman who was making a phone call on a mobile phone under the awning of a teaching building not far away. Anderson remembered a coffee shop near the Hotel California in downtown Palo Alto.Internet gurus often gather there to sip espresso and talk about their hacking feats.He decided to give it a try, to see if anyone had heard of Peter Fuller or anyone who sold knives in that area.If not, he was going to go to the computer science building again and ask the professors and graduate students there if they saw anyone... At this moment, he noticed someone walking nearby. Fifteen or sixteen meters away, a young man was walking furtively through the bushes towards the shed bridge.He looked restless and suspicious. Anderson ducked into a juniper forest, his heart pounding like a piledriver—because he knew that this man was the murderer of Liera Gibson.He was in his twenties and wore a blue denim shirt from which the denim fibers must have fallen from the dead man's body.He has blond hair and a clean-shaven beard: the beard he had grown in the restaurant was nothing more than a fake beard, glued on with stage glue. Pseudo-social roles... Then the man's jacket was blown away by the wind, and Anderson saw a bulging protruding from the waistband of his jeans, which must have been the hilt of a Kabbah.The murderer quickly gathered his coat tightly, continued to move forward to the shed bridge, walked into the dark place, and looked out. Anderson continued to hide in place.He called the State Troopers Combat Operations Central Dispatch, and a moment later he heard the dispatcher check his number. "438920" Anderson whispered. "Immediate reinforcements requested. A murder suspect identified. I am in John Millikan Park, at the south end of Palo Alto." "Recording complete, 4380" the dispatcher replied. "Is the suspect armed with a gun?" "I saw a knife. Not sure if there were other weapons." "Does he drive a vehicle?" "No," Anderson replied, "he's walking now." The dispatcher asked him not to put down the phone yet.Anderson stared at the criminal, squinting tightly, as if that would keep him in place.He whispered to the central dispatching room: "When will the reinforcements arrive?" "Wait a minute, 438...Okay, I see, they will arrive in twelve minutes." "Couldn't someone be faster?" "No, 438. Can you keep an eye on him?" "Do your best." But at this moment, the man started walking again.He left the shed bridge and started walking along the sidewalk. "The suspect is moving, Central Dispatch. He is walking west from the middle of the park toward the school building. I will follow him and keep you posted on his location." "The recording is complete, 438 a CAU has departed." What are CAUs?he thought.What exactly does that mean?Oh, yes: it refers to the nearest police force (clcxsest available unit). Under the cover of trees and bushes, Anderson moved to a place close to the shed bridge, out of sight of the criminals.Why did he come back here?Looking for the next attacker?Or to cover up evidence?Or want from Pete?Where did Fleur buy weapons? He glanced at his watch.Less than a minute had passed.Should he make a phone call and tell the police to quietly surround him?he does not know.There may be a procedure for dealing with such things--as Frank Bishop and Bob Sheldon must have known.The police work Anderson was familiar with was completely different.His usual ambush was sitting in a light vehicle, staring at the screen of a Toshiba laptop connected to a Cellscope wireless directional system, and he hadn't removed his pistol or handcuffs from their respective holsters for a full year. This reminded him: the weapon... He looked down at the heavy stock of the Glock he was wearing.Pulling it out behind his back, muzzle down, finger off the trigger, he knew from vague memory that he should. Then, through the drizzle, he heard the faint ringing of the phone. Someone called the killer.I saw him take off the phone from his belt and put it close to his ear.He looked at his watch again and said a few words.Then he put away his phone and turned back to the way he came. Hell, he's going back to the car, Anderson thought.slipping away from me... Andy Anderson decided to put all his eggs in one basket.He was going to do something he had never done before: fight alone and catch the murderer alone.