“We call those dragons,” said Omar.
“I know the word for dragon,” Anja snorted. “I said flying crocodiles on purpose.”
Marisa activated the third Goblin, which went to work on her own connection to the target server—not breaking the connection, or even hiding it, just resetting it over and over. Then she pointed the fourth Goblin at the login page and set it loose, trying every password it could think of, starting with the most common. Usually a blunt-force attack like this would raise a red flag, and Longhorn would block the connection completely, but with the third Goblin constantly resetting the connection Longhorn would get confused, and the attack could proceed unhindered. She waited, holding her breath, and then a sad goblin face appeared in her djinni display, shaking its head.
“Crap,” said Marisa. “We’re locked out.”
“Another security layer?” asked Anja.
Marisa closed her eyes, feeling overwhelmed. “Biometric.”
“Those have got to be hard to hack,” said Omar.
“They’re impossible to hack,” said Sahara. “It’s probably a fingerprint or a retina scan or something—the only way to get through the second layer is to literally be the person in charge of the account. You can’t even cut off the person’s finger, like in the vids, because it checks for blood flow—not that I’m into severing fingers, I’m just saying.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Omar. “Give me sixty seconds, max.” He leaned back in his seat and blinked, holding up his finger for silence. He started a call on his djinni, and when he spoke his voice was pure honey. “Hi, can you connect me with Brooklyn Grace? This is Angel Vasquez, personal assistant for Francisco Maldonado. Thank you.” He winked at Marisa, and whispered conspiratorially. “LAPD financial administrator. They’re transferring me.” He looked up suddenly, smiling brightly even though it wasn’t a video call. “Good morning, Ms. Grace, this is Angel Vasquez, personal assistant for Francisco Maldonado. How are you this morning?” Pause. “Yes, he got your gift, thank you very much for sending it.” Pause. “No, please, it’s we who thank you. Mr. Maldonado considers it a privilege to donate to the department.” Pause. “Well, as it happens, Mr. Maldonado is very concerned about the news this morning. It’s always a tragedy to lose someone so young, especially a promising student like Ms. Swaim. As you know, Mr. Maldonado’s son Omar attends USC, and—oh no, don’t worry, Omar’s fine—but we would like very much to know the names of the students being held by the police, so that we could help the families with anything they might need.” Pause. “I understand the rules, but Mr. Maldonado was hoping that you might be able to bend them, just a little, out of respect for his long history of extremely generous financial support.” Pause. “Thank you very much. I’ll let Mr. Maldonado know how helpful you’ve been. Thank you. I’ll talk to you soon.”
He closed the call, and spread his arms in a gesture of triumphant humility. “That, ladies, is how you hack. Forget the software, and go straight for the user.”
“I take back what I said earlier,” said Sahara. “This is why we have rich friends.”
“How worried should I be that you have the police in your pocket?” asked Marisa.
“Just spill it already,” said Anja.
Omar sent them the list, and Marisa blinked to open it—it wasn’t just a list, it was the full police report. “James Bennett, Angela Dietz-Hanson, Jared Garrett, Cyrus Hayes, and Eliyanna Kaiser,” she read out loud. “All being held for the murder of Elizabeth Swaim. Do you know any of them?”
“I’ve met a James Bennett,” said Omar, “I don’t know if it’s the same one. Rich kid, lives in Anja’s neighborhood, studies engineering—mechanical or digital or something. He built a synthetic last month.”
“Not exactly the kind of guy you’d expect to find murdering a woman in Jefferson Park,” said Marisa.
“I’m doing quick searches on all five names,” said Sahara, “looks like they’re all from wealthy families.”
Marisa read deeper into the police report, and found the attached forensic file listing everything in the suspects’ possession at the time of arrest: lychee gum, breath mints, a couple of tampons, and . . .
“Oh, crap,” said Marisa. “All five of them had Bluescreen drives in their pockets.” She saw the pieces fall into place, and felt her heart sink. “Rich kids,” said Marisa. “Anja’s rich, too, and so is La Princesa.”
“What do we have to do with this?” asked Anja.
“It’s the Bluescreen,” said Marisa. “Even Omar said it was a rich-kid drug.”
“My sister’s using it?” said Omar. He punched the cab door again. “Me cago en todo lo que se menea!”
“That sounded nasty,” said Anja.
“Anja,” said Marisa suddenly. “Disconnect right now.”