Maybe he was being completely paranoid. A telephone call could have gotten what he needed-even a quick telecommunications visit through the Net.

But Matt wasn't about to trust himself to the webwork of circuitry most people used. Not after someone had invaded his personal system, sending Cat Corrigan into his own veeyar. Matt had always thought he had pretty good security for his computer-but not the megabucks type that rich people could surround themselves with, or the heavy-duty government programs that Net Force used.

Against the Genius, his security had been about as strong as wet toilet paper. Before Matt could use his system again, he wanted to check for bugs, tracers, trapdoors, and tricks.

Since the Genius knew who Matt was, he could tap the Hunters' phone as well as Matt's computer. He might even be able to snag Matt's credit-card transactions out of computer systems.

Matt might indeed simply be paranoid about a guy who seemed to be working on a bargain-store antique. But he couldn't be sure sure what the Genius had in the way of resources-or what tricks his opponent might have up his sleeve. what the Genius had in the way of resources-or what tricks his opponent might have up his sleeve.

No, Matt thought as he walked from the Metro station to the building where David Gray lived. It's better-safer-to do this face-to-face.

Luckily, David was the one who answered when Matt buzzed from the downstairs lobby. "David? It's Matt. I've got trouble, and I hope you can help me."

"Come on up," David replied.

Matt was ready the moment David opened his apartment door. "The guy behind the virtual vandals got into my computer," he whispered.

"Sure, Matt," David said loudly. "It's in my room." He led the way into the living room, where Mrs. Gray was watching a hologram comedy. "h.e.l.lo, Matt," she said.

"Matt needs something for school," David said. "It will only take a minute."

As they headed down the hallway, David spoke in a lower voice. "You're lucky my dad is working the night shift this month, so you've only got my mom to deal with." David's father was a detective on the D.C. police force. "He'd have taken you to interrogation city, wanting to know why we couldn't do whatever it was in veeyar." He grinned. "Plus, it's her favorite show-Old Friends."

They reached the room that David shared with his two younger brothers, Tommy and James. Even with bunk beds, the place always seemed crowded-the kids' toys fighting for s.p.a.ce with David's computer. Right now, the younger boys were playing a loud shoot-'em-up game on part of David's system.

"Out!" David said, pointing to the door. "We need the computer for a little while."

"Awwwww!" ten-year-old Tommy complained. "Right when I finally got to the next level!"

"Computer!" David ordered. "Game override. Save present simulation. Store as TOMMYTOPSCORE dot GAME."

The bright holographic image that the boys had been playing on dimmed away. "Game saved," the computer announced.

"Hey!" Tommy said. "I didn't know you could do that!"

"You can't," David told his youngest brother. " can't," David told his youngest brother. "I can. Come back and finish when we're done." can. Come back and finish when we're done."

"I'll be out of the groove by then," Tommy mourned as he and James trooped out the door.

"That game will always start right where you ended," David promised. He shut the door, then glanced at Matt. "I don't know why you don't just go to Captain Winters and let the Net Force heavy-duty techs into the system," he said.

David was a friend, but even so, Matt didn't want to tell him about the invasion of Sean McArdle's veeyar-and the attack he'd barely managed to stop. After all, David's father was in the police.

"It's getting very weird," was all Matt finally said. "There may be a clue in my veeyar, but I don't want to pick it up if the boss bad guy is able to see what I'm doing."

"I don't see how I can help," David began.

"Your virtual explorer," Matt interrupted. "With all the scanning stuff you've got in there, I figure you'd be able to check out my system from here."

Most boys Matt knew liked to design cool stuff on their computers. Matt had a couple of fantasy race cars that he designed, tinkered with, and even took out on fantasy drives. He was particularly fond of his souped-up Dodge Viper. David, however, had a different hobby. He developed s.p.a.cecraft and exploring modules that worked as well as anything NASA had come up with-at least in veeyar.

David looked a little surprised. "I hadn't thought of that," he said. "But you're right. We can set it to look for emission sources and unexpected energy concentrations, and work from there."

He opened a package of datascrips and inserted a blank into his computer. "I'll make a copy of the probe first, just so we'll know if it gets tampered with while it's in your system."

He gave a series of orders to his computer, then turned to Matt with a grin. "Want to see how your veeyar looks from outside?"

"I think you'd be better off if you just went by telemetry," Matt warned.

David frowned. "It'll be a lot more clumsy," he objected.

"This guy makes bad things happen to people in veeyar," Matt said. "If he's set up something nasty in my system, I don't mind risking your probe. You've got a copy right there." He pointed to the datascrip on the computer desk. "But we stay as far away as possible."

"I guess you've got a point," David admitted. He gave more orders to the computer, calling up all sorts of security subroutines.

David gave Matt another grin. "When you've got two nosy kid brothers, you learn how to keep things under wraps," he said. A few more orders set up holographic scales and gauges for the probe's reports.

"In we go," David said, authorizing the telecommunications link.

Matt stared at the gauges, but they told him nothing.

"The good news," David told him, "is that nothing's happened. Your veeyar hasn't been nuked or anything."

He pointed at a gauge. "But there are several outward energy leaks that wouldn't occur in your garden-variety veeyar."

"So it is bugged," Matt said.

"Your guess was right." David gave some orders to the probe. "Let's see if we can get a better look-"

He broke off, pointing at another gauge. "Whoa! Self-destruct! Not enough to hurt, even if you'd been in the veeyar. I think this guy just doesn't want people checking out his work."

They spent some more time cleaning out a couple more of the Genius's toys, including the Trojan Horse program that had allowed Caitlin Corrigan to come inside-and leave those little souvenirs behind.

"Only one more out-of-place item left," David reported. "There's an alien icon on your work surface-a program that doesn't belong."

"That's the clue I was talking about," Matt said. "Can your probe trigger it?"

David gave orders. A few seconds later, he shrugged. "Looks like a ten-second voice clip. A message for you, maybe."

He continued to give Matt an odd look. "At least nothing blew up, buddy."

Half an hour later, Matt felt a little foolish climbing back through the window into his room.

Better safe than sorry, he told himself.

Stepping into the hallway, Matt went to the kitchen to get a gla.s.s of milk.

"Still working?" his father asked.

"Just about done, I hope," Matt replied. He went back to his room and picked up the datascrip with everything he knew about the virtual vandals. Stepping to the door, he put it down in the hall. Then he went back inside and began giving orders to his computer. A scale model of his veeyar appeared over his desk. Matt moved over behind his bed, the only thing available to duck behind...just in case. Then he gave the order to trigger Cat Corrigan's earring icon.

"Matt, I've got to see you." Caitlin's voice came through a little tinny from the reduced-scale model. "It has to be in the flesh. No computers, no phones...no holograms-and soon."

Even with the substandard voice reproduction, she sounded scared.

Matt stood very still, looking at his carefully constructed veeyar. Then he ordered his computer to erase the whole thing. Not just to delete the file, but to destroy all records of his works.p.a.ce-and everything that had happened in there.

The next morning, Matt took an earlier autobus to school. He knew that Cat Corrigan usually drove in, and she did this morning. Matt had to laugh to himself. He wondered if he'd stand out, changing his schedule. But Cat was much more attention-getting, swooping in to park in a cla.s.sic Copperhead.

Matt knew his cars. This thing had to be a good thirty years old. But old or not, he had to admit it was one hot car. What was she doing, tooling around in a machine like that?

Well, one thing she did was distract anyone's attention from Matt. But she also attracted about every car-crazy guy in the school. Matt had hoped for a couple of quick words with her before Prep period.

Instead, he wound up standing at the edge of an admiring crowd.

The whole cla.s.s schedule seemed perversely set up to keep them from even b.u.mping into one another. If Matt saw Caitlin in the mad dash between cla.s.ses, it was usually at the far end of a hallway, heading in the opposite direction from where he had to go.

He was hoping for a chance to catch up with her in the lunchroom, but as she came in, so did Sandy Braxton. "Hey, Matt! Great news! My father has some friends who are into battle reenactments."

In his research Matt had read about organizations where people got together, dressed in Civil War uniforms, and pretended to refight old battles. Since northern Virginia had seen major campaigns during the war, it wouldn't be surprising that several of those clubs might exist in the Washington area.

At another time, he might have been more interested to hear what Sandy had to say.

Instead, Matt was wishing the floor would open up under the idiot. He was blocking the way to Cat Corrigan.

"Anyway, they've got holos of their battles. They were actually up in Pennsylvania, and did a reenactment of Pickett's Charge. I'll have a copy tomorrow. We both have a Library period right after lunch-suppose I set things up with Dr. Fairlie so we can view it then."

"Yeah, fine," Matt said in distraction, trying to step around Sandy. Caitlin was walking right by!

She was carrying a portfolio full of datascrips and written notes. As she pa.s.sed, a piece of paper slid loose. A note?

Matt moved for it, but Sandy scooped up the paper in midair.

"Hey, Caitlin! You lost this!"

Cat turned and gave Matt an annoyed "get-with-the-program!" sort of look.

Sandy handed over the sheet, reading it. "A cla.s.sical guitar concert! Who goes to those things?"

She rolled her eyes, every inch a Leet. "Oh, I know! I fouled up the printing menu on my computer, and this came out."

As Cat spoke, she crumpled up the paper. But she gave Matt a sharp look.

Matt watched the balled-up wad fly into a garbage bin. He headed over that way, finally managing to get rid of Sandy Braxton.

He was in luck, retrieving the note before somebody dumped a tray of chili con mystery meat over it.

Throughout lunch, the little wad of paper seemed to weigh in his pocket as if it were made of lead. Outside later, Matt walked over to a tree, leaned back against the trunk, and un-scrunched the paper.

One side was a poster from the school's music club, announcing a cla.s.sical guitar recital for that afternoon.

The other side was empty.

Matt frowned. Was it a code? Could there be secret writing? He remembered reading something as a kid about lemon juice....

He rested his head against the rough bark. No, the message was right in front of him. What better place to meet? The recital would take place in the auditorium, a large, dark room. And cla.s.sical guitars wouldn't need electronic or computer enhancement. Just old-fashioned fingers, old-fashioned ears-perfect!

Matt arrived at the auditorium out of breath and slightly late. He slipped through the doors, standing in the rear of the seats, trying to let his eyes adjust. A serious girl sat on a chair in a pool of light, her fingers flying as a complicated rhythm filled the air.

Where was Caitlin?

The music ended, and golden hair suddenly flashed before Matt's eyes as Caitlin rose from a back-row seat. She applauded, and as the girl left the stage, Caitlin brushed past Matt.

A deft hand tucked another note into his shirt pocket. Then, without even seeming to see him, Caitlin left the auditorium.

Matt sank into a seat, crossing his arms across his chest-and slipping out the note. He waited impatiently for the next piece of music to end-under the circ.u.mstances it seemed to take forever-and then left the auditorium, too.

He walked to his locker, opened the door, and spread the note on top of his books. It simply said:

SHERIDAN CIRCLE.

3:30.

He knew the place-it was one of the many traffic circles spread around Washington. It was a bit of a walk from Bradford. He checked his watch. He'd better move if he was supposed to be there by three-thirty!

Matt reached Sheridan Circle with about half a minute to spare. He glanced around the wealthy neighborhood. Quite a few countries had their emba.s.sies in this area. If one of the virtual vandals should spot him....

A second later, Matt knew why Caitlin had driven the Copperhead to school. The unmistakable shape of the cla.s.sic car came whipping around the traffic circle. Caitlin pulled up, Matt jumped aboard, and then they whizzed round the rest of the circle and across the Buffalo Bridge into Georgetown.

The girl was silent as she piloted the car through the local streets and then onto an expressway.

"Well?" Matt said. "I thought you wanted to talk."