Chapter 22 chapter Five

In the morning mist, Kinney Parosara Primary School looks peaceful and pleasant. The strictly restricted private elementary school sits on eight scenic acres between Xerox's Palo Alto Research Center and an Hewlett-Packard building.Hewlett-Packard has many buildings scattered around Stanford University.This school has an excellent reputation and can make almost every student enter the secondary school they like (or their parents like).The campus is beautiful and the faculty salaries are extremely high. However, at this moment, the female receptionist who has worked in the school for several years has no intention of enjoying this pleasant working environment.Tears welled up in her eyes, and she tried to keep her voice from trembling. "My God, my God," she murmured, "Joyce was here half an hour ago. I saw her just now. She's all right, I mean, just half an hour ago. "

Standing in front of her was a young man with red hair, a mustache, and a high-end suit.His eyes were red, as if he had just cried too.He rubbed his hands together and looked very sad. "Today she and Don drove out to Napa, to the vineyards there. They were meeting and having lunch with some of Don's investors there." "What happened next?" She was so nervous that she could hardly breathe. "A car full of migrant workers ... swerved and hit them." "Oh, God," she murmured again.At this time, a woman passed by, and the receptionist called to her: "Amy, come here."

The woman walked to the visitor reception room in response. She was wearing a bright red suit and was holding a stack of paper with the words "teaching plan" written on it.The receptionist whispered to her, "Joyce and Donald Wingert have had an accident." "what?" "It sounds like the situation is serious." The receptionist pointed with his head, "This is Don's younger brother, Owen." The two nodded at each other, and Amy asked with deep sadness, "How are they doing now?" The younger brother swallowed, clearing his throat choked with sadness. "They'll be alive. At least that's what the doctors say so far, but they're still unconscious. My brother broke his back." He fought back tears.

The receptionist wiped away tears with his hands. "Joyce is active in the PTA and everyone likes her. Can we help?" "I don't know," Owen said, shaking his head, "I'm in a mess right now." "Yeah, that's normal." Amy said, "If you need any help, just ask, every teacher in the school will do their best." Amy called to a pudgy woman in her fifties, "Hey, Mrs. Nagler!" A woman in a gray suit stepped forward and looked at Owen, who nodded at her. "Mrs. Nagler," he called, "you're the principal here, aren't you?"

"right." "I'm Owen Wingert, Samantha's uncle. I saw you at the spring recital last year." She nodded and shook his hand. Wingert recounted the incident. "Oh, God, no," exclaimed Mrs. Nagler in a low voice, "I'm sorry." Owen said, "Kathy — she's my wife — is in the hospital right now. I'm here to get Sammy." "no problem." But sympathy is all sympathy, and Mrs. Nagler, who is in charge of the entire school, will not easily violate the school rules.She leaned over the computer keyboard and tapped a few times with her flat-cropped, unpainted fingers.She looked at what was displayed on the screen and said, "You are on the list of relatives who have the authority to take Samantha away." She pressed another button, and a photo popped up—the photo on Owen Wingert's driver's license .She looked at him, they were exactly the same.She continued: "There are two more things to confirm. First, can I see your driver's license?"

"No problem." He took out his driver's license.The photo on it is exactly the same as that of himself and the computer. "Sorry, one more thing. Your brother is very security conscious, you know." "Oh, of course I know," Wingert said. "The code." He whispered to her. "It's Shep, SHEP." Mrs. Nagler nodded affirmatively.Owen stared out the window, where the bright sunlight fell on the low boxwood hedge. "Sheppie, that was the name of Donald's first Airedale terrier. He brought it home when he was twelve. That was a great dog. You know, he still has them."

"I know," Mrs. Nagler said sadly. "We sometimes email each other photos of our dogs. I have two Weimaraner dogs." She fell silent, putting her mournful thoughts aside for now. side.She made a phone call, talked to the little girl's teacher, and asked her to send the little girl to the reception room at the gate. Owen said: "Please don't say anything to Sammy. I will tell her myself when I get in the car." "no problem." "We'll have breakfast somewhere on the way. Egg muffins are her favorite." Amy, who was wearing a red suit, couldn't help swallowing hard when she heard this little detail of life. "That's what she took with her class to Yosemite last time..." She covered her eyes with her hands and began to cry quietly.

An Asian woman—presumably Sammy's teacher—entered the reception room with a very thin red-haired girl.Mrs. Nagler smiled and said, "Your uncle Owen is here to pick you up." "O," he corrected, "she calls me Uncle O. Hi, Sammy." "Wow, your beard grows so fast." Wengert laughed. "Your Aunt Kathy says I look better." He knelt down. "Listen, your mom and dad decided to give you a day off. The two of us went to Napa to spend the day with them." "Are they going to the vineyard?" "right." The little girl wrinkled her freckled face, "But Dad said they can't go until next week because they have to meet the art dealer."

"They changed their minds. You come with me now." "so cool!" The teacher said: "Go and get your schoolbag?" The little girl ran away, and Mrs. Nagler told the teacher what had happened. "Oh, I can't believe it." The female teacher responded in a low voice, equally saddened by the tragedy.A few minutes later, Samantha came back with a heavy schoolbag on her shoulders.She walked to the door with Uncle Ou.The receptionist whispered to Mrs. Nagler, "Thank God, someone will take care of her properly." O. Wingert must have heard her, and turned and nodded.The receptionist was unresponsive at first, and it took a while for him to feel wrong; the smile on his face seemed odd, like an eerie smugness.But she thought that she had misunderstood, the poor man must have been under too much pressure to have that expression.

"Get up and wash up." There was an annoyed voice next to my ear. Gillette opened his eyes to see Bishop standing in front of him, shaved and showered, absent-mindedly tucking his unruly shirt into the waistband of his trousers. "It's eight-thirty," Bishop said. "Would you be allowed to go to bed so late in prison?" "I have to get up at 4 o'clock in there." The hacker complained dissatisfiedly, "I can't get used to it. But it's not surprising, is it?" He gestured to the big iron chair with his forehead, and Bishop handcuffed him on top.

"It was your own idea to handcuff you to a chair." "I thought you wouldn't take it seriously." "What's serious?" Bishop asked. "It's either handcuffed or not handcuffed, it must be one of the two." Bishop opened the handcuffs, Gillette rubbed his wrists, and stood up stiffly.He went into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and picked up a bagel from the next day. "I don't know if you have egg tarts here?" Gillette yelled and returned to the hall. "I don't know," Bishop replied. "This isn't my office, remember? I don't like sweets anyway. Bacon and fried eggs are supposed to be for breakfast. You know, that's nutritious." He took a sip of his coffee. "I was looking at you just now—while you were still asleep." Gillette didn't know how to answer, he raised his eyebrows. "You're still typing in your sleep." "Nowadays people call it tapping on a keyboard instead of typing." "Do you know that yourself?" The hacker nodded. "Ellie used to tell me. Sometimes I dream about coding." "Dream what?" "I see program scripts in my dreams—you know, lines of software source code. Programming languages ​​like Basic, C++, or Java." He looked around. "What about the rest?" "Linda and Tony are on the way. Miller too. Linda's daughter isn't born yet. Patricia Nolan is calling from the hotel." He couldn't take Gillette's eyes away. "Ask you if all is well." "yes?" Bishop nodded with a smile. "She gave me a hard time for handcuffing you to a chair. She said you could spend the night on the couch in her hotel room. You could do whatever you wanted there." "Where's Sheldon?" Bishop said: "He went home with his wife. I called him but no one answered. Sometimes he would have to hide and be with his wife. You know, because of that unfortunate incident, the death of his son. I talked to You mentioned it." A nearby workstation computer beeped.Gillette got up to look at the monitor.The robot software he'd previously written had worked tirelessly all night and roamed the globe, and now it was time to show off yet another result of its hard work.Gillette looked at the message on the screen and said to Bishop, "Trinity X is online again. He's back in the hacker chat room." Gillette sat down in front of the computer. "Continue to lure him with a false identity?" "No, I have a new idea." "what?" "I'm going to try and tell him the truth." Tony Mott sped east on Stevens Creek on his expensive Fisher bike.Passing many cars and trucks along the way, he was soon abducted into the parking lot of the Computer Crime Investigation Unit. Each time he rode the six and a half miles from his home in Santa Clara County to the investigative unit—the lean, muscular police officer rode to engage him. Speed ​​is the same as other sports, whether it is skiing on the ski slopes of the A-type depression in the Grand Canyon of Colorado, or being sent to the top of the mountain by helicopter for alpine skiing in Europe; rappelling over bare rock, all just as fast. But today he rode especially fast, thinking that sooner or later he would have to convince Frank Bishop—though he had failed to convince Andy Anderson—to allow him to carry a weapon and do some serious criminal work.He had worked very hard in school, and although he was an excellent cyber policeman today, working in the computer crime investigation team was no more exciting than writing a graduation thesis.It seems that his 3.97 grade point average at Massachusetts Institute of Technology has become his reason for not being reused. He had just locked the car with an old combination lock when he saw a slender, bearded man in a raincoat striding towards him. "Hello." The man greeted with a smile. "Hello." "I'm Charlie Pittman, the Santa Clara County Attorney." Mott shook hands with the outstretched hand.He knew many police officers in the county, but not this one.He glanced quickly at the tag hanging around the man's neck. The photo matched his own. "You must be Tony Mott?" "right." The county policeman was envious of Fischer's car. "I heard that you ride like flying." "Just go faster on the downhills," Mott replied, with a modest smile on his face, although the man was telling the truth, whether it was downhill, uphill or on the flats, he did ride like a fly. Pittman laughed too. "I don't get much exercise. Especially when I'm chasing down a computer criminal like this." Funny—Mott had never heard of any police in the county working on this case. "Did you also participate in the investigation of this case?" "Just joined in. Frank gave me an assignment. This case is tough." "That's what I heard," Mott agrees, tucking his shooting gloves that double as cycling gloves into the waist of his spandex shorts. "Well, the man Frank used—the counselor? The young man?" "Do you mean Wyatt Gillette?" "Yes, that's the name. He's really good at it, isn't he?" "That guy's a computer whiz," Mott said. "How long will he help you?" "I guess until we catch that bastard." Pittman looked at his watch. "I have to go. Report back later." Tony Mott nodded, and Pittman took out his cell phone and made a call as he walked.The county policeman walked through the parking lot of the entire investigation team and entered the parking lot of a building next to him.Mott was a little puzzled when he saw it. It was strange that there were many empty parking spaces in front of the investigation team, so why did he park his car so far away.But the thought was fleeting, and he headed for his office, thinking about solving the case and trying to be part of a quick and nimble raiding party that could kick open the door and capture Jon Patrick Ho alive. Levy. "Ants, ants, army of ants." The little girl hummed. "What did you say?" Fate asked absently.He was driving a Honda Acura Mileage sports coupe that he had stolen not long ago and that had been registered under a false identity.They were now in the car, driving to the basement of his home in Los Altos.There, duct tape, kabbars and a digital camera await the arrival of Samantha Wingert. "Ants, ants, Ants. Hey, Uncle Ou, do you like the Ants racing game?" No, not at all, Fetter thought.But Uncle Ou said, "That goes without saying." "Why is Mrs. Keating upset?" Sammy?Wengert asked. "Who?" "The lady in the reception room." "I have no idea." "Also, are Mom and Dad already in Napa?" "right." Fett had no idea where they were.But no matter where it is, he knows that this will be their last moment of peace.Soon, a terrible disaster will befall.Within minutes, someone from Kennyparosara Elementary School would call Wengert's friends and family and learn there was no accident. Fett wondered who would be most terrified when the time came, the parents who lost their child or the school principal and teachers who handed her over to the murderer with their own hands? "Ants, ants, ants, ants, ants. Who's your favourite?" "Like what?" Fett asked. "What do you think it is?" Little Samantha asked back - it's really a little big or small, both Feite and Uncle Ou think so. The little girl said, "My favorite little ant. I like Rachel. She turned into a big lion. This is a story I made up myself. I think it's great. The story goes like this..." Fate listened to the little girl babbling on and on with empty stories.The little girl chattered non-stop, but the elder Uncle Ou didn't say a word of appreciation and encouragement.His only comforts at the moment are the razor-sharp knives at home and wondering how businessman Donald Wingert will react when he receives a sticky plastic bag of presents later that day.According to the scoring method of the "Entering People" game, Feite must disguise himself as a courier of United Parcel Shipping Company, deliver the package in person, and get D. Wengert's autograph on the receipt.He gets twenty-five points for it, more than any other form of murder. He thought back to the time he had disguised himself at school.It's an excellent hack.Challenging but clean (although the less cooperative Uncle O apparently shaved off his beard last time after taking his driver's license photo). The little girl was bouncing mischievously on the seat. "Do you think we could ride that little pony Papa bought me? Man, that's a great horse. Billy Tomkins keeps bragging about how great his dog is, well, who doesn't have a dog? I mean, everybody has a dog, but I have a pony." Fate glanced at the little girl.Her hair is combed neatly and meticulously.The expensive leather straps of fine watches had been disfigured by her various illegible drawings with a pen.The leather shoes are polished because someone else polished them.Talk vulgarly. He didn't think Sammy and Jamie Turner were the same kind of people.He was reluctant to kill Jamie, because he felt that the boy had many similarities with him.No, the little girl was like all the other nasty little bastards who made school life dark as hell for young Patrick Holloway. Taking pictures of young Samantha before and after going to the basement—the thought gave him great satisfaction at the moment. "Do you want to ride Cheritz, Uncle Ou?" "Who?" Fett asked. "Huh, my little pony. Papa gave it to me for my birthday. Why, you were there." "Yes, I forgot." "Dad sometimes rides with me. Cheritz is amazing. He knows his way and knows he's going back to the stable in the barn. By the way, you can ride Daddy's horse, and we'll go to the lake for a ride." ...don't miss me then." Fate wondered if he would be patient enough to take the little girl into the basement. Just as the little girl was talking about horses, lions, or whatever, a sharp beep suddenly sounded in the car.Fate took off the pager on his belt and looked at the content displayed on it. He gasped. The gist of Sean's message was that Wyatt Gillette was at Computer Crime Unit headquarters. Fate felt like he was electrocuted.He had to pull over to the side of the road. Jesus... Gillette--the Valley Man--was helping the police get him!No wonder they knew him so well and chased him so closely.All of a sudden, all kinds of memories of Naoto Knights from long ago flooded my mind.Those incredible hacks.Hours of crazy chatting on the Internet, desperately typing on the keyboard, for fear that any innovative ideas will be fleeting.Suspicious and calculated, he took risks and was ecstatic to enter the online field that others could not set foot in. Just yesterday he was thinking of the article Gillette had written.He remembered the last sentence: Once you enter the blue virtual space, you can never completely return to the real world. Valley Man——His child-like thirst for knowledge and persistent character make him have an attitude towards anything: he will never give up until he understands it. Valley Man - He's as good at writing software as Fette is, and sometimes slightly better. The Valley Man - His treachery ruined Holloway's life and shattered his grandiose social engineering plans.The reason why he is still alive now is because Feite has not yet decided to kill him. "Uncle Ou, why are we parked here? Is there something wrong with the car?" He glanced at the little girl, then looked around at the deserted road. "Gah, Sammy, you know... I think so. You go down and see?" "What, me?" "right." "I don't know what to do." "Go and see if the tire is flat." Uncle Ou said kindly, "Is this possible?" "Probably. Which tire?" "Rear right tire." The little girl looks to the left. Fate pointed in the opposite direction. "Oh, that's it. What should I check?" "Well, what will those ants check?" "I don't know. Maybe to see if there's a nail or something." "Very well. Just go and see if there are any nails." "it is good." Fetter unbuckled the little girl's seat belt. Then he reached over Sammy to grab the doorknob. "I will do it myself." She said grumpily, "You don't need to come." "That's good." Feite sat back in his seat and watched the little girl open the door clumsily while holding the doorknob. Sammy got out of the car and walked to the back of the car. "It doesn't look like a problem to me," she exclaimed. "Very good." Fett responded.Then step on the accelerator and the car rushes forward.The car door slammed shut.Dust and grit from the wheels came towards Sammy.She screamed: "Wait for me, Uncle Ou..." Feite skids onto the road. The little girl cried and ran after the car, but soon, the huge dust raised by the speeding wheels covered her figure.And the moment Fate closed the door, he had completely forgotten about little Samantha.