The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [132]
“You guys really got the whole Buck Rogers thing going, don’t you?” Charlie asks.
“This?” Truman laughs, motioning to the screen. “You’ll see Pass-faces everywhere in the next few years.”
“Passfaces?”
“Ever forget your PIN code at the ATM?” he asks. “Not anymore. There’s a reason people don’t forget a face—it’s embedded in us at birth. It lets us know mommy and daddy, and even friends we haven’t seen for over a dozen years. Now, instead of random numbers, they give you random stranger’s faces. Combine that with a graphical overlay, and you’ve got the one password that cuts across every age, language, and educational level. Global authentication, they call it. Let’s see your PIN code do that.”
Tapping the center square, Truman selects one last face. The box with a blond woman blinks on and off. Magnetic locks hum, the door clicks open, and Truman heads for the back with our pho—
A rush of adrenaline flushes my face. I don’t believe it. That’s it.
“Did you say Stoughton still works at Disney.com?” I call out as he leaves.
“I think so,” Truman says. “You may want to check the website, though. Why do you ask?”
“No… nothing,” I tell him. “Just curious.”
The door slams shut and Truman disappears. Charlie’s still lost, but the longer I eye the touch-screen…
“Sombitch,” Charlie mutters.
Gillian’s mouth drops open and we’re officially on the three-person bike. “You think that’s—?”
“Abso-friggin-lutely,” Charlie whispers.
I can’t help but smile.
All this time, we’ve been staring at the inkblot upside down. Like Charlie said on the way back from Five Points: You don’t safekeep what’ll get you in trouble—you keep what you want to protect. Like the combination to your bike lock. When I was in eighth grade and Charlie was in fourth, I used to keep my combo in his knapsack; he used to keep his in my Velcro wallet. It’s no different now. We thought the key was to figure out the faces; but now… it’s clear that the faces are the key. Literally. Forget random strangers; Duckworth used people he knew.
Charlie’s so excited, he’s even stopped staring at Gillian. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. Let’s go, he says with a nod.
As soon as Truman brings back the photos, I nod back. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” I say to the receptionist as she looks up from her magazine. “But do you have any idea where we can get some Internet access?”
63
There’re thirty spanking new computers on the fifth floor of the Broward County Library. All we need is one. One computer, some Internet access, and a little bit of privacy, which comes courtesy of the Out of Order signs that Charlie just drew up and taped to the screens of the three computers closest to ours.
“Anyone mind if I type?” he asks, sliding his chair up to the keyboard.
I’m about to object, but decide against it. It’s a simple concession—and the busier I keep him, the less he’ll catfight with Gillian. Naturally, he’s still annoyed I invited her along, but between his typing responsibilities and figuring out the photos, he’s distracted enough that he almost doesn’t mind.
“All set?” Charlie asks as Gillian and I scoot our chairs next to his.
I nod, practically bursting with energy. Finally, a can’t-miss.
“Go to www.disney.com,” Gillian says, equally excited.
He shoots her a glare that would carve diamonds. “Really? I wasn’t sure,” he says sarcastically.
I lean in and pinch his back.
Shaking his head, he types the address. The computer chugs to the front page of the Disney website. “Fun for Families,” it says in gold letters, which are right next to our first pair of mouse ears—Mickey and Pluto sitting outside a cartoon house. “Where the Magic Lives Online,” it says at the top of the screen. “It better,” Charlie