“What does that mean?”
“I’m just saying. This could be dangerous.”
“Way too dangerous!” Grandpa shouted. “That’s what everyone told him. And even if he pulled it off, any fool would know there would be payback in the long run. The Germans don’t just take things lying down.”
Jack didn’t know how to “just roll” with this one. He stayed on track with Andie. “Would you feel better if I was going with Theo?”
“No,” she said. “Definitely not.”
“Now I remember,” said Grandpa. His finger was in the air, as if the lightbulb had come on. “He went back to Liverpool. Is that far from where you’re going?”
“Not too far.”
“Good. Go see him.”
“I’m sorry. See who, Grandpa?”
“The general, of course. And when you see him, kick his ass. You hear me? You kick General Swyteck’s ass for me!”
General Swyteck? Alzheimer’s or not, Grandpa suddenly had Jack’s complete attention. Even the neurologists had told him that people with Alzheimer’s could have solid memories of the distant past.
“Is there really a General Swyteck?” asked Jack.
“No!”
“Then why-”
“Nono!
“Grandpa, why did you say-”
“Pio Nono! Pio Nono!”
Jack’s heart sank. More ranting about the pope was not a good turn of events.
“Harry!” Grandpa shouted, calling for Jack’s father. “Harry!”
The nurse entered the room, her tone soothing. “Harry is not here, Joseph.”
“Harry!” he shouted, swinging his fists at the nurse. She tried to get out of the way, but Grandpa landed a punch squarely to her chest, then another to her shoulder. Jack grasped his hands, and the nurse pushed the red panic button on the wall.
“No, no! Pio Nono!”
“Grandpa, it’s okay,” said Jack.
The old man shouted even louder. It pained Jack to watch, pained him even more to think that his question about General Swyteck had brought about the outburst.
The nurse’s aides raced into the room. Two large men went to the bed, one coming between Jack and his grandfather, the other positioning himself at the opposite rail. Jack backed away.
“It’s best if you wait in the hallway,” the nurse told him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Jack.
She persisted, but Jack wasn’t listening. Even with the Alzheimer’s, Jack wondered if there was some thread of truth running through Grandpa’s confusion over the Petraks, Czech Jews, and now this mention of a General Swyteck.
“Please, sir,” the nurse said, “wait in the hall.”
“I’m staying,” said Jack.
“But-”
“No buts,” said Jack, and then he reached for the little bit of Yiddish he’d learned from his friend Neil. “I’m here for my zeyde.”
Chapter Forty-eight
Chuck Mays spent Monday evening alone at his computer, surfing the Internet. The dark side of the Internet.
Peer-to-peer (P2P) file trading was nothing new in the digital world. For years, software has allowed complete strangers to connect online to search for shared files on the computers of others. Any content that can be distributed digitally can be downloaded directly from “peers” on the same network. Most people shared music or video, which grabbed the attention of the music industry in a big way. Lawsuits over illegal trading of copyright- protected material shut down Napster in 2001, but the battle continued. Of greater interest to guys like Chuck Mays was the fact that, on the most popular peer-to-peer networks, roughly two-thirds of downloadable responses with archival and executable file extensions (especially responses to movie requests) contain malware-viruses, worms, Trojan horses-that turn personal information on a home computer into the cyberspace equivalent of an unlocked and unattended vehicle with the keys in the ignition and the motor running. P2P was a virtual smorgasbord for identity thieves.
And for all kinds of criminals.
Mays tried another P2P program and entered his password. The usual self-serving disclaimer popped up:
This program enables access to the Gnutella file-sharing network, which is comprised of the computers of its many users. There is no central server for the files that populate Gnutella. We cannot and do not review material, and we cannot control what content may exist in the Gnutella.
Mays scrolled through the legal mumbo jumbo, then stopped at the italicized words at the bottom of the page: “Be advised that we have a zero-tolerance policy for content that exploits children.”
It almost made him laugh. Yeah, and Big Tobacco has zero tolerance for sales of cigarettes to minors.
His sardonic smile faded. It was time to get down to business. Mays was no stranger to the darkest doors in P2P, and with just a few choice keystrokes-abbreviations for words that should never be linked together in the English language-he was knocking on an old standby. With a click of the mouse, a menu popped up on his screen. A list of files followed, digital content that network peers were offering for trade. Bloody Hairbrush Spanking caught his eye, but he’d seen that one before, and it was tame compared to what he was trying to find. He typed in a query-AV/IF/IB-and waited.
A P2P chat room was a lively marketplace, and for the next several minutes, Mays stared at his screen and watched this trader link up with that trader right before his eyes. It took a little imagination, but for him, the bartering harkened back to the Roman forum. Much of it was legal. An unknown quantity was patently illegal, but no one seemed to worry about getting caught. The typical trader who flouted copyright laws was basically of the mind-set that there was no reason to pay for something that could be downloaded for free. Traders in this chat room came from a different place entirely. No matter how much money was in your bank account, you couldn’t go on Amazon and buy this kind of content. You couldn’t even buy it at pornstars. com. These weren’t girls gone wild. These were girls gone missing.
Mays’ computer chimed. His query of AV/IF/IB-Asian virgin in the front or in the back-had drawn a quick response. It was from someone who called himself Mustang.
What are you trading?
That was always the question. Mays took his time to formulate the right response. In a world where mere possession of illegal files meant prison time, only undercover cops posing as traders answered quickly. Sixty seconds passed. Long enough.
FMLTWIA, he typed, waiting another sixty seconds before adding the all-important number, the girl’s age: 16.
Then he drew a long drag on his cigarette, and he waited for Mustang’s reply.
Chapter Forty-nine
Jack did all the right things to avoid jet lag. His wristwatch was set to London time before boarding. Plenty of water, no alcohol on the flight. He even managed to sleep a few winks before landing. Still, as they settled into their
