Pawn dropped unceremoniously into the chair at his desk. The RFID writer was connected to his laptop, and injection tag number one was lying across the face of it. He was on the verge of laying down the wildest hack of his life: an SQL injection encoded onto an RFID tag, carried via radio waves to a database system nestled deep inside the most technically advanced retail system he had ever seen. It was, indeed, a seriously righteous hack.

In the next twenty-four hours, he would need to stroll into the caf no less than three times and, under heavy surveillance, attack their systems, snag the receipt containing his output, get his mocha and leave without getting busted. Normally, the threat of danger would have excited him; the inevitable rush of adrenaline emboldening him. The undercurrent of risk existed in every hack he had ever done, but the risks associated with hacking The Java Script were unlike anything he had faced. The invisible threat looming behind The Java Script worried him, but he was not afraid for himself. He could take care of himself. He was worried about Gayle and what would happen to her if she lost her son again. Worry stole the joy right out of this challenge and replaced it with a driving urge to get it done.

He looked at the gear on his desk and reminded himself that the result of this hack would be good for the caf . Once the...