Brain dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “That was nothing.” McLane explained that he was vice-president of his high school hacker club. Hacking, it turned out, was an extracurricular activity, for college credits, and his team had finished second in the state championship. He’d like an onion bagel and an orange juice, please. With a schmear. I got an everything with coffee.

Brain McLane spoke in great bursts, his excitement causing him to race through each sentence, pausing only at commas and breathing at the period. After reading about me following Detroit, he continued, he had decided to put his own chair online. “The Beast,” he called it, tapping it proudly. But to do that he’d had to learn the generic operating system. “I found out who made Mighty Chair…” He said it with hesitation, as if perhaps he was crossing a personal line, and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

I tapped Mighty Chair. “I’m sure Mighty Chair is happy to meet you. Cher, say hello to Brain.”

“Hello, Brain,” Cher said. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

Brain’s entire face split into a huge smile, and his cheeks reddened. “Hello, Cher,” he said, and laughed.

“So you found out who made Mighty Chair…”

His head bobbled. “You know, the original. Before, you know, all that extra stuff.” After the attack in the garage, Chair had become pretty well known himself within the community. “From a photograph,” he continued. “Then I hacked into their database. It wasn’t hard at all—they probably didn’t think somebody was going to bother hacking into a wheelchair. Once I had the code, all I had to do was find a back door into the operating system. That back door let me bypass all the upgrades you’ve made.”

I was impressed. “That’s why Cher didn’t see you looking up her skirt?”

He covered his guffaw with his palm. “Don’t worry, I sealed it for you. Nobody else can get in, I promise. But if you want to, you can tell the manufacturer.”

Y really was going to be impressed when I told him about this. Or highly pissed. “Thank you,” I said, meaning it. Sometimes you forget to lock the door and you don’t want the burglar reminding you. “Now you go ahead. What do you need to tell me?”

I was curious. This kid had come a long way to tell me something that obviously was very important to him. I couldn’t imagine what it might be. But whatever it was, I intended to treat him with respect. Brain obviously was a smart kid with great potential. I was going to take him seriously and send him home feeling good. I made a show of listening intently.

He leaned forward in the Beast as far as he could, made sure there was no one within hearing distance, and told me, “I know who cyjacked that plane.”

Brain continued, “I mean, I don’t know exactly who it was, but I know where he was. Or, or, or maybe where she was. Sorry.”