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His server was back online the next day, after he had changed all the server passwords. Undiscouraged, I looked for another way in and found he was supporting some servers at “pagesat.com,” a high-speed news service. It took less than a day to get root and install a sniffer.

I kept watching the sniffer. Within hours, Mark logged in to pagesat, and from there connected to his own server and logged in. My sniffer grabbed his log-in credentials.

I was stoked. Waiting anxiously until 6:00 a.m., when I figured he was likely to be fast asleep, I connected to his server and got in once again. Incredible: the file I had attempted to transfer the day before was still there. Thirty minutes later, I had copied the file to one of my hacked accounts at Netcom.

From the email and file exchanges between them, it appeared that Lottor was the project lead, while Shimomura was working on it at his leisure. It was obvious that Tsutomu would also have the OKI code on his machine, and maybe even more information than I’d been able to grab from Lottor. I was determined to find out. At some point, I needed to get back into Shimomura’s computers.

I guess I sometimes don’t do a very good job of hiding my feelings. After I’d been working on the Help Desk at the Virginia Mason Medical Center for three months, my boss said to me one day, “We know you’re bored here.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “I’ll go find something else.”

Even though this left me jobless and with no income, I was glad not to face that boredom each day. Life, as they say, is too short.

So it was back to Kinko’s, to make up some new phony résumés. I had brought along my handheld RadioShack Pro-43 scanner, which I had loaded with the radio frequencies used by the FBI, DEA, Bureau of Prisons, and U.S. Marshals Service, as well as the Secret Service because, as I’ve said before, the Feds sometimes “borrow” other agencies’ frequencies if they suspect their target might be listening. The scanner’s squelch was set to pick up only nearby conversations.

The new résumés were taking shape when I heard my radio crackle with voices. I opened the squelch a bit and waited. Moments later, radio traffic began on one of the Secret Service frequencies.

“Any activity?”

“Nothing here.”

Very interesting. Some Federal agency was apparently conducting a surveillance operation. I increased the volume and propped the scanner on top of the computer to get better reception.

Soon the scanner began buzzing with voices: it sounded like the buildup to the climax of a television cop show. Obviously a raid was being set up.

“No activity here,” one voice said.

“We’re in the alley covering the back,” another answered.

A girl working at the next PC asked what I was listening to. I smiled and said it was the Secret Service, then laughed as I added, “Sounds like somebody’s going to have a bad night.” She laughed, too. We both listened intently to see what would happen next.

“Could he be at the computer store?” came blurting out from the radio.

Now, that was weird. “Computer store”—did their target work in a computer store, or could it be a customer?

No response.

I started to get a bit anxious and worried—could it be me they were waiting for? I stopped working on the computer and paid closer attention to the radio.

But then I heard, “What kind of car does our guy drive?”

So it couldn’t be me they were after: I was using public transportation. But I was still wondering about the computer store thing.

Twenty minutes, and then, “We’re going in now.”

And then radio silence.

I continued working hard, drafting about fifteen résumés for as many different businesses in the Seattle area, as usual tailoring them to meet 90 percent of the advertised requirements, my best shot at landing an interview.

Still nothing on the radio. The girl next to me got up, smiled, and wished me a good night. We both looked at the scanner and laughed, wondering what had happened to the guy they were waiting for.

A little after midnight, I finished writing