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Both times the call had been placed to the U.S. Attorney’s Office in Los Angeles… but to the Civil Division, not the Criminal Division. Whew!

In my spare time, I was still working out at the YMCA every day, of course, and still keeping busy with my hacking projects, of course. But I was also finding time to enjoy the variety of activities that Denver had to offer. The planetarium, besides reawakening a childhood interest in astronomy, also offered laser light shows accompanied by rock music, often from favorite bands of mine like Pink Floyd, Journey, and the Doors—a really enjoyable experience.

I was starting to settle into my new cover identity, becoming more sociable. Sometimes I’d go to one of the local dance clubs, just to find people to talk to. I met a girl I dated a few times, but I didn’t think it would be fair to her for us to get more involved: if I got picked up by the Feds, anyone I was close to could be put in a very uncomfortable situation, either being leaned on to give evidence against me or maybe even becoming a suspect herself. And, too, there was always a chance that I’d say something to give myself away, or she might spot some documents identifying me by some other name, or overhear a phone call. Pillow talk can have its dangers. From comments by fellow prisoners while I was in custody, I had learned that most had been ratted out by their significant others. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake.

There was a bookstore in the Cherry Creek area of Denver called the Tattered Cover, where I’d drink my fill of coffee and read computer books one after another. I tried a few of the rock clubs, but they drew a heavy-metal crowd of brawny guys with tats, so I felt more than a little out of place.

Sometimes I’d just go bike riding and enjoy the scenery, the glorious Denver scenery with all those mountains, so beautifully snowcapped in winter. Or visit a casino on one of the nearby Indian reservations to play a little blackjack.

I always looked forward to my next conversation with my mom, using those prearranged signals where she’d call from one of the casinos. Sometimes Gram would be with her. Those calls were so important to me, making me feel happy inside and giving me strength, though they were a great inconvenience to my family and a huge risk for me, should the Feds decide to step up their surveillance. It was hard not being closer to my mom and grandmother, who had showered me with so much love, caring, and support.

Meanwhile, to change my appearance and maybe also as a natural part of approaching the age of thirty, I let my hair grow long, so it eventually reached shoulder length.

I liked a lot of things about my new life.

After several months in Denver, I was ready for a trip to see my family, traveling this time by Amtrak. Mom and Gram came to the train station to pick me up. Now that my hair was long and my mustache had sprouted, my own mother almost didn’t recognize me. It was a really cool reunion, and I entertained them with stories about my job and my coworkers at the law firm.

I was able to feel more relaxed in Vegas now, thanks to my credentials as Eric Weiss, but I was still cautious. My mom and I would meet in unlikely locations. I’d get into her car in a parking garage and lie down in the backseat until she had driven into her own garage at home and closed the door. She fussed over me and made foods I liked, pressing seconds on me even as she told me how pleased she was that I still looked trim and fit.

I could see how much strain this whole thing had put on Gram, but even more so on my mom. Though she was happy and comforted to see me, having me there in person seemed to make her that much more aware of how much she missed me and how worried she was about my safety in Denver. And I constantly felt her conflict between cherishing my visit and fearing that my being in her company put me in much graver danger.

In the week I was there, we probably got together a dozen times.

Back in Denver, the atmosphere at work soon slid downhill after