Zack doesn’t know, of course. He probably won’t ever know.

Because he sees Karloff start to type. Deliberately. Digit by digit.

What to do? How to stop him?

Think. Figure it out.

Beneath the rim of the witness box, Zack scrolls through the few texts on Joey’s phone and calls the last one back.

A phone rings at the back of the courtroom. Heads turn, looking.

It keeps ringing. Karloff has little choice but to take it out of his pocket. Distracting him from the disposable he is holding.

He is now holding two phones. Which draws some attention from a few of those around him. Including an overweight Hispanic man seated near him.

Who gets up. Seems to be heading toward Karloff, toward the ringing.

But there are still lots of people, lots of bodies, between Lopez and Karloff.

Karloff doesn’t answer the phone. Instead, he fumbles with it to stop its ringing.

How else can Zack confuse Karloff? Delay him? Give Lopez a few more precious seconds to get to him?

He only has time to send a short text.

He sends a text with just six digits.

777549.

Changing just the last digit of the code. So he doesn’t blow them all sky high. Taking the risk. The risk of a single digit.

Zack still doesn’t know what 777548 means. But he assumes it means something.

And meaning something, and receiving it from Joey’s phone just slightly wrong, could be just enough to baffle Karloff for a moment.

Karloff looks down at the number on his iPhone. Looks up, confused.

He looks at Zack. Who looks back blankly. No phone in Zack’s hand. It’s back in his pocket.

Karloff looks at his iPhone again. And then back at the disposable.

He is backing out of the room now, focused on the disposable as he begins to type once more, when a big, overweight Hispanic guy approaches him.

And brushes past him.

Zack watches helplessly as Lopez passes Karloff, exiting the courtroom.

To become the only survivor, Zack realizes, of whatever Karloff is about to unleash.

Damn. Lopez has proven himself highly skilled. Highly intuitive. But he’s not magical. He’s not superhuman. How would Lopez even know what Karloff looks like—a master criminal known for his low profile, his invisibility?

And then, in a motion so unexpected in the realm of normal, hushed, formal courtroom etiquette that no one sees it coming, Lopez—just a fat Hispanic guy who brushed past Karloff in the doorway—turns back and grabs Karloff’s disposable phone out of his hand.

Now the phone is in Lopez’s hands. Just like that.

And Karloff—who’d been looking down, typing something, hardly even aware of the big Hispanic guy—is apparently so confused, so unnerved that he doesn’t even reach to grab it back, but instead backs out of the room, turns, and disappears.