So, then, is it to simply demonstrate something to the system? Which means it’s symbolic, to some degree. It’s something beyond just the practical matter of Karloff maintaining his crime syndicate.

And let’s say it is symbolic. Not just to get a job done, but to teach Joey a lesson as well. Joey’s phone—first causing the problem, now solving the problem. There would be a perverse satisfaction in that for Karloff.

And if it is symbolic, then the code Karloff picked for it might be symbolic too.

Like, let’s say, the prosecution’s case number. Or Joey’s prison number again. Or any of a thousand numbers.

Or maybe just a random number. Thought up by Will Shale, the tech guy who probably did the programming himself, and who seems quite comfortable, quite at home, in a random, lawless universe.

As Steve said, when he looked up at them: So where’s the bomb, and what’s the code?

Zack has stumbled on the right numerals before.

With a lucky glance, when he looked over at Joey’s phone.

With a clever guess, when he came up with Joey’s prisoner number.

Could he, against all odds, do it a third time?

Because wouldn’t knowing the code presumably give Zack, with Steve’s assistance, some control over the bomb? Either to disarm it, or if necessary to set it off before it gets inside the courtroom?

For now, Zack senses—simply, deeply, taking it on faith—that if he can somehow discover the code, the code will somehow, in some way, prove worth knowing.

“What can you tell me about Karloff?” Zack had asked Joey when they sat together in the GreenGirl at that first anxious meeting, once Joey showed Zack his phone.

“That’s the point,” Joey had said. “Nothing. No one knows anything.”

But Zack now sees a different point. A deeper point. If no one can tell you anything about Karloff, then there must be a point to Karloff keeping it that way.

He’s not a blank slate, as much as he might cultivate that. He has a history. He has a past.

And Zack will try to find out who and what he is.

Where’s the bomb, and what’s the code?

Maybe Karloff’s past is Zack’s only real chance at guessing.

65.

65.

Zack spends the night on Steve’s floor. He has nowhere else to go. It’s as if they’re back at camp. As if they’re both ten years old again and his life hasn’t progressed at all.

He tosses and turns for several hours, can barely sleep at all. In exhaustion, he finally dozes off.

He opens his eyes to a sudden bright light that Steve must have switched on. Like a sudden, unscheduled interrogation.

He finds Steve staring at him. His friend’s expression unreadable. But unprecedented for Zack.

Zack glances instinctively at his phone: 3:00 a.m.