were the only games, although one of the allowed Web sites was a chess site where you could play against people from all over the world.
One way of passing the time.
The prison e-mail program was allowed, as were a few utilities like calculators and spreadsheets.
Other than that, there was nothing.
Nor was there any way of loading software onto the computer. The keyboard, mouse, and screen were the only accessible parts. Everything else was locked away in a solid-looking cupboard below the table.
A sign affixed to the top of each computer warned that any attempt to interfere with the computers would result in their being removed.
That would be one way to get yourself noticed, Sam thought, and become highly unpopular with the other inmates. Still …
Sam played solitaire until BadAss left, and he kept a careful eye on the door to make sure nobody else came in.
He didn’t know where he was, and he didn’t know how long he would be staying, but he did know that he was sitting in front of a computer. And that computer was connected to the prison network.
And despite the warning sign on the top of the screen, he couldn’t resist the temptation.
To have a go.
Just once, to see if it could be done.
Control+Alt+Delete: the basic reset keys did nothing. That was no surprise.
The spreadsheet program was the key. He was surprised that they allowed it, but that had to be plain ignorance.
Most people just used spreadsheets for basic calculations, but the cells allowed functions, and functions were really tiny programs in their own right.
It was an old trick but a good one. He opened a spreadsheet and created a function that caused an endless loop. A complex mathematical calculation with no end, just whizzing around and around inside itself, going nowhere.
He opened a second spreadsheet page and copied in the same function. Already, the machine was performing like an arthritic snail.
He opened a third page and a fourth. By the tenth, the overloaded computer was taking over a minute just to bring up a page, the hourglass spinning frantically as the processor ground its teeth to nothing.
One more page tipped it. The computer froze. It stayed that way for a couple of minutes until the Managed Environment Controller decided that the machine had died (which it had) and started a reboot.
Too easy, Sam thought.
He caught the machine on the reboot and flicked it into Safe Mode, disabling all the software, including Managed Environment. When it had finished restarting, in the subdued colors and low resolution of Safe Mode, he opened the registry file and disabled the Managed Environment completely before restarting the machine again.
This time it booted up normally, and when it started, everything worked. The restrictions imposed by the security software were gone. The computer was his.
Quickly, keeping one eye on the door, he wrote a trapdoor, deep in the operating system, so that a certain combination of keys would automatically kill the Managed Environment and give him full control. That way he could return the machine to its normal state but still use it whenever he felt like it.
So, he thought, let’s have a look around.
He accessed one of his drones in Mexico, where he permanently stored a copy of Ghillie, and released it into the prison network.
The SAM database was easy, and the SysAdmin rights were his within seconds. He strode through the prison network security without breaking his stride.
Everything was there. Menus for the meals, weekly supply orders, guard rosters (along with their personal and income details).
Even the codes for the electronic doors.
10 | THE WRECK
Recton Hall Juvenile Detention Center is in Brookmont, Maryland, on the shores of the Dalecarlia Reservoir, to the northwest of the nation’s capital and just over the Potomac River from the CIA’s headquarters in Langley, Virginia. It caters to juvenile offenders up to the age of seventeen.
Like many other juvenile halls, or juvies, Recton takes pride in providing a secure environment that does not feel like a prison.
The high-security fence that surrounds the facility is softened, completely hidden in some places, by the tall red maples and river birches planted on both sides of the razor wire.
Inside the perimeter, a white picket fence adds a rustic touch and hides a proximity-and-thermal sensor. An observer with an eye for detail would also notice that the tops of the pickets are white painted metal, not wood, and are sharper than you would usually expect for a picket fence. Also, the fence, at four feet high, is a little taller than usual, just high enough, in fact, to prevent anyone from casually stepping over it. It has to be climbed. The same innocent-looking fence delineates the area in which the inmates, referred to as guests, are allowed to roam.
Every inch of the ground between the picket fence and the wire-mesh security fence on the outside is covered by cameras and monitored by motion sensors. There are plenty of blind spots among the trees, but none at all in the four-yard clear space on either side of the fence.
There is only one way in or out of Recton, and that is through the “cage,” part of the administration block. Large metal gates on the outside and reinforced doors on the inside create a kind of holding area in which all prisoners, visitors, staff, and supply vans must be cleared before proceeding in or out of the facility.
The cage is on the first floor of the administration block, along with the inmate-processing center, the loading dock, and the school office. The second floor contains administrative offices, storerooms, and the armory, plus the guards’ rest area and washroom.
The third floor is the watchhouse: the control room that runs Recton, monitoring comings and goings and the activities of the guests.
Dormitories and classrooms are housed in separate buildings spread throughout the spacious grounds.
Recton Hall, known to guests as Wrecking Ball, Rectum, or just the Wreck, does not house gang members, drug addicts, game addicts, or murderers. In the overall scheme of juvenile detention centers, Recton is at the top end. It is the place where white-collar juvenile criminals get sent for crimes like fraud, embezzlement, cybercrime, and espionage.
It surprises most people to learn that the biggest category of offenders at Recton is not fraud but espionage. Industrial espionage mostly, plus a limited amount of military or governmental espionage. Generally, the culprits have parents in high-level positions in strategic organizations and are targeted by unscrupulous agents of corporations or foreign countries.
There are a few “common” criminals at the facility, usually because their parents were powerful or wealthy enough to pull the political strings necessary to get them transferred to a “safe” institution like Recton, away from the gangbangers and addicts that fill the halls of the other juvies.
Guests have limited access to a telephone, one per dormitory, although all phone calls are recorded. Cell phones are not allowed, and a powerful network jammer ensures that even smuggled-in phones are useless.
All of this Sam found out simply by typing “Recton” into Google.
Kiwi was sitting at the end of a long table by himself and waved Sam over.
Sam had chosen a couple of salad sandwiches with some kind of unidentifiable sliced meat filling and an apple. Kiwi was biting into a grilled cheese sandwich and flicked some long stringy cheese bands with his finger as Sam sat down.
