Wilson laughed lightly. “Right. You’re telling me some high school kid took control of this baby here…”—he tapped Mighty Chair’s arm—“then told you some story you obviously believe is so important you reached out to me, and you really think my curiosity is going to let me walk away? You kidding me? C’mon, man, you’re the Rolling Stone. Let’s rock and roll!”

I nodded my appreciation. Without thinking about it, I lowered my voice. “The first thing I want to know is if what this kid told me is plausible. It seems like a stretch to me.” Rather than revealing the specifics, I asked him about Mozart. Was it possible to identify repetitive patterns in his composition, in a symphony, for example, and use that data to determine if he had written a different piece of music?

Hack considered that. “You mean, does an artist have a signature? I guess in theory—sure, why not? Art experts match brushstrokes and paint composition to identify the artist, so I guess it could be done. There would have to be a bunch of known factors and it would require more than just a sampling to be certain, but most coders have their own styles.” He nodded decisively. “Yeah, it could work.”

The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself it was possible. The concept clearly intrigued him. He went into a lengthy and somewhat technical explanation of what constitutes a discernible pattern and how often people confused it with simple repetition, copying, or even chance. “There’s a measurable element of chance in every comparison. Even the legal system recognizes that.” For example, he continued, every fingerprint consists of a unique array of arches, loops, and whorls, but given several billion possibilities, certain elements of two different people’s prints will look very similar, which is why the FBI requires at least twelve points of comparison before accepting a match. He circled back to my question. “Is it possible? Yeah, sure. So what’ve you got?”

“Okay, okay. Here’s the deal, Hack. These kids think they’ve ID’d the Flight 342 cyjackers.”

Whatever reaction I might have been expecting didn’t happen. His expression gave nothing away. He wet his lips, cleared his throat, and said, “Boy, that’s something. So what do you need me for?”

“I want you to take a look at these charts,” I said, twisting around and pulling a manila envelope containing the code samples, the graph, and several other documents Brain had sent me from my backpack. I’d removed all the identifying information, just leaving the bare bones. It was possible Hack would recognize the hacker’s coding the government had released to the cyber-community. But even if he did, he’d have no way of knowing where the original code had come from. “I just want your opinion. Are they from the same source or not?”

He slipped a fingernail under the clasp to pry it open. I stopped him. “Not here, not now. Take a really good look at them, Hack. Just tell me this isn’t crazy.”