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The U。S。 Secret Service was charged with all manner of important duties and missions； any of which Ab Cover might have been assigned to upon his graduation from the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center at Glynco； Georgia。 He could have protected the President from freaks and mies and assassins。 He could have guarded the precious metals in Treasury vaults； or fought the clearcut war on counterfeiting and forgery of U。S。 currency。
Instead； he was part of an ongoing crackdown on puter crime that had begun with Operation Sundevil in 1990。 Based in Arizona； Sundevil had targeted hacker abuse of credit card numbers and phone codes。 More than forty puters and twenty…three thousand floppy disks had been seized from private citizens across the country。 Since then； the Secret Service had acquired a taste for the slippery little anarchists who loved to hide behind their keyboards in their dark dens of iniquity； but could be so rewarding once they were dragged out into the sun。
So instead of guarding the President； Cover busted funny…looking misfit geniuses who weren't usually old enough to go to prison for crimes that nine tenths of the American public didn't understand。
In Washington they told him it was an honor。 At any rate； it was a living。 But sometimes he wondered if it was a good one。
Eddy clutched her copy of the search warrant and watched the cops swarm over the apartment。 Now that the guns had been put away…though she was very conscious of the filthy things bulging under jackets and dangling from carelessly snapped holsters； looking as if they might crash to the floor and go off at any moment…she was able to take a look at the men behind them。
The Secret Service drones were sleek and broad…shouldered and well dressed； with razor…cut hair bed severely back from feral faces； with clean square jawlines and hard glittering eyes。 They all seemed to be wearing expensive leather tassel loafers； and Eddy was hardly surprised to see that several even sported mirrorshades。 She assumed that the guys in the cheaper jackets and plain loafers were lower…echelon agents； though in fact they were from the telephone pany。
And of course she recognized the New Orleans cops。 She had a long and bitter acquaintance with them； from her bust for a joint's worth of marijuana at sixteen （which Zach had since wiped from her record） to the clumsy attempts at entrapment she had been subjected to at the Pink Diamond （〃How much wouldja charge to show a little more？〃 they'd leer； tugging at the crotches of their tacky plainclothes slacks）。
After the agent in charge had examined her driver's license and realized that there was no puter equipment left in the place except the printer； he seemed to view Eddy as a minor threat at best。 She still saw his mean； handsome face glowering in her direction from time to time as he snapped out orders； but she had mostly been forgotten。 The printer quickly disappeared out the door in the arms of another sharp…dressed； eerily efficient Secret Service man。
〃Zach moved out months ago；〃 she said。 〃I think he left the country。〃 No one paid any attention。 A suit with a camera clicked off shot after shot of the desk； the bookshelves； the towering stacks of paper。 Two others busily sorted and packed puter printouts； smudgily printed zines； cassettes and CDs。 With a sinking heart she saw the folded page from the Times…Picayune going into one of their goodie boxes； along with a copy of the science fiction novel Neuromancer。 That had been one of Zach's favorite books。 The main character plugged his puter directly into a jack in his brain and entered the matrix； where he stole information from huge； faceless corporations。 To Zach； William Gibson's seamy world must have read like the paradise of his wildest dreams。 To these guys it was just more proof of sedition。
They unplugged the phone and the answering machine and took those too。 They took poor Stefan； Eddy saw him being hustled； out the door between two broad blue backs； a thin string of puke still dripping from his chin。 She wondered what they'd gotten him for。 Tampering with evidence； probably； for throwing his ID in the toilet。 Eddy thought it had been a pretty good trick； too bad he hadn't managed to flush and send them fishing in the sewers。
New Orleans' finest； busting pitiful teenage geeks while old ladies visiting their husbands' graves stood a good chance of getting robbed or raped in the cemetery。 Real heroes。 And robbed and raped was how she felt right about now； watching these cookie…cutter robots swarm over her home and sift through her belongings and not being able to do a damn thing about it。
As soon as this nightmare was over； Eddy decided； she would go to the bank and withdraw part of the ten thousand dollars。 Not all of it； that might look suspicious； but enough to have around in case 。 。 。 what？ In case she needed to leave in a hurry？
Goddammit； she thought； I haven't even broken the law yet and I'm already as paranoid as Zach was。 Is this any way to live？ Is it worth the gnawing in your stomach； the constant urge to look over your shoulder？ For Zach she supposed it had been； he was addicted to the thrill； the risk。 But for her； this state of affairs would not do for long。
She didn't know if she should go anywhere near that money； and wished she had been able to ask Stefan if it was safe。 But Eddy thought she would feel more secure with wads of cold cash sewn into her mattress than with illegitimate funds lurking in any electronically accessible part of her life。 She wished she had never seen a puter。
Right now； if she was to be perfectly honest； she wished she had never met Zach。 He was the best friend she had ever had； he was generous and brilliant； he had introduced her to all manner of exotic things she might never have found on her own。 But he was also confusion and trouble and heartache。
And； on top of all that； she missed him so badly she thought it might kill her。
Chapter Thirteen
Trevor was in a small square room with a high ceiling lost in the shadows of dawn； a room whose walls were painted shabby gray to match the city beyond。 He heard rain hitting the loose panes of the window。 Soon would e the sound of doors opening； boys' footsteps in the hall； boys' voices in the early morning stillness； and it would be time to get up； time for breakfast and school； the sameness of another day。
He often dreamed that he was back at the Boys' Home； that he had been handed all those years like penance to do over and over again until he got them right 。 。 。 whatever right would be。
Trevor opened his eyes and found himself staring at the back of a neck in extreme closeup。 The dark hair at the nape had been recently shaved and stood up in baby…fine bristles。 The skin was translucent white； almost poreless。 The neck curved down to a bony shoulder； Trevor saw his own hand resting on that shoulder； encircling the sharp knob of the bone。 The rest of the body was nestled cozily into the curve of his own。
He was amazed that the sensation of another person in bed with him…the slow rise and fall of breathing； the vibration of the curious heart…hadn't kept