Dead Man's Switch by Sigmund Brouwer Page A

it.
    â€œType this.”
    Blake held up a piece of paper.
    ssh user@[216.180.38.184]
    â€œIf you care to know,” Blake said with the paper still in view, “I’ve already tapped into your dad’s computer and opened up System Preferences. From there, I enabled Remote Login and established the authenticity of the host. To get your dad’s password, I just ran a program that rips about a thousand passwords a second until it finds a hit.”
    A second piece of paper came up. Blake’s voice said, “Here’s the password.”
    awsumday0810
    Blake didn’t state the obvious, and it was a good thing, becausequick tears flooded King’s eyes. King was born on October 8. Awsumday October 8. His dad’s password was a phrase of love for King. And now King was using it against his dad.
    King forced himself to type in the password.
    And suddenly he was looking at the screen that was so familiar to King whenever he saw his dad at the computer.
    â€œYou’re on,” Blake’s voice said. “What’s cool is that there is no way he can tell on his end. Even if he was on his computer right now, you can roam around like the computer is yours. I’ve set up a mirror on this end.”
    King heard a flush of joy in Blake’s voice. The kid was a hacker. This was what he lived for.
    â€œNow, open a finder window,” Blake continued. “You’ll see all his folders. Double-click on the folder marked Vacations.”
    King groaned. Why did every step have to remind him of how bad it was to betray his own father? Vacations had felt like wonderful cocoons—times for just him and his dad and his mom in a special world that exactly fit the three of them. Why did every step have to remind him that he couldn’t trust any of those great memories if all along his father had been someone other than the person he appeared to be?
    â€œAll the way down inside that folder is one called Mount Rushmore. Open it.”
    King did. He expected to find folders.
    Instead, there were electronic bank statements.
    â€œOpen the top statement,” Blake’s voice said.
    There it was. At the top. His father’s name. The date showing a 30-day period for the previous month. And a figure at the bottom of the statement showing how much money was in the account.
    King had to look three times to believe what was in front of him. The amount was for $253,893.42.

CHAPTER 24
    Back outside the abandoned prison, King let out a deep breath beneath the moonlight. He had felt claustrophobic inside, and his calf muscles felt strained from tiptoeing through the empty dark corridors.
    When he reached the path that would take him home, a tall figure detached itself from the shadows, blocking the path.
    King reacted without thinking. Flight, not fight. He spun and dashed back toward the road that led to the old prison building. Openness and speed seemed safer than trying to run through the trees and thick underbrush.
    â€œKing!” came a shout from behind him. King knew that voice. “Don’t!”
    That’s when King knew who had been waiting to ambush him on the path.
    His dad. Mack King.
    King glanced back and saw that his dad wasn’t chasing him.
    So King stopped. Forty yards separated them. At that distance, King had a good head start if Mack made a move toward him.
    â€œWe need to talk,” Mack said.
    â€œYou mean you need to lie to me?” King said.
    â€œYou were in the abandoned prison,” Mack answered. “Why?”
    King was slowly moving away from his dad. He didn’t know whether he had enough distance to get away if his dad made a move for him. But really, where was King going to go? He was on an island.
    â€œSomething crazy and insane bad is happening at night. Trust no one. They will hunt you too.”
    â€œNo,” King answered. “Tell me why you followed me.”
    â€œIt’s night,” Mack said. He took a step toward