The Poll Bearer Part 11 see more novels at www.writemeamystery.com

He began with the overall chronology of Stryker’s life going year by year. When that didn’t produce anything, he went month by month; that’s when he found something. The family moved across country when the boy was in the equivalent of eighth grade and Stryker was transferred from one private school on the east coast to another one on the west coast. He went for one month, then he transferred to another private school. It could have been something as simple as him outgrowing the school mentally or in not finding suitable companions or teachers to his liking, but it was the only thing Ron had so he figured he might as well give it a try.

He hacked into the records of the Thomas Carlyle School for Gifted Children and found the scholastic records for one Mathias Stryker. Everything was perfectly normal: Stryker was a genius; he was in perfect health; his tuition was paid on time; and…and there was an asterisk. Trying to penetrate deeper into Stryker’s one month stay at the school, Ron found another one page record hidden under a PRIVATE file. Mathias was asked to leave due to a suspicion of tampering with student grades…not his own, which was first in any class he ever attended, but with all of the other students. Apparently, he changed all of their grades to Failing. Whether he did it out of spite or as a prank or to show that he could do it, suspicion fell directly upon him and he was quietly asked to leave, a slight blemish on a magnificent career.

Why would he do it, Ron asked himself. To even the uninformed eye, it would be obvious that the only student with an “A” would be responsible for changing everybody else to an “F.” Therefore, he was just showing his superiority over the students and the administrators.

Ron thought back to the example he had given Dan concerning the true-false test. He remembered saying that no one would make all of the answers true then false then true and so on because it would mimic the exact title of the test. Ron had said he’d have an advantage in eliminating that possibility because it would be the most obvious. But what if that was the key to beating Stryker? What if there was no protection on the third level? The super hacker would become stymied because all of his efforts wouldn’t produce the desired results of opening another piece of the puzzle. It would be like trying to unlock an already unlocked door. Your efforts would only succeed in having you lock it yourself. What if every key stroke you made simply turned the key tighter and tighter? What if simply hitting ENTER was the special Open Sesame key stroke, anything else triggered a response?

            Ron was now faced with the most important decision in the entire process. If he had figured correctly, one key stroke would open the file; if he was wrong, the whole thing would collapse in on him like a mine cave in. Now he had to decide whether to tell Dan or to take the risk himself.

            An hour went by and then another without him making the decision. He could hear Dan pacing in the background out of sight of Louis’ spy devices. Ron was sure Dan was wondering why he was delaying.

            Suddenly, out of the clear blue, he hit ENTER. Nothing happened. The world kept turning; the sun still rose in the east; and gasoline prices were still rising…but on the computer, the screen was black. A minute went by…then another…and another. Nothing. Then all hell broke loose as the screen filled with data so fast that it was impossible to read. It was as if all the prize lights on every slot machine in Vegas signaled WINNER all at the same time. This was the El Dorado of information.

            “You did it!” Dan shouted and came running up to Ron and hugging him in his chair. “You did it!”

            Ron just smiled, mentally and physically and emotionally drained, but happy in a way he couldn’t describe. All he could think about was the line, “The king is dead, long live the king.” When an idol falls, it’s only fitting that his former worshipper should take his place.

            Louis came running into the room.

            “What’s next?” he asked in his clipped dialogue style.

            “Aggregation,” Dan said smiling knowing that he had seventeen million reasons off his back to do so. “Aggregation.”

CHAPTER 8

            The next two days, the computers worked non-stop filtering through names and dates and everything else there was on all of the people who lived in the United States of America. All of this data was cross-referenced a thousand different ways until finally, at 11:58 PM on the last day, a single name, picture, and profile filled the screens of each of the dozen monitors in each of the big rooms: Andrew J. Slate. The whole search had boiled down to one person: the most average individual in the fifty states. Theoretically, by monitoring the activities of this single man without his knowledge that this was being done, the observers would be able to get honest opinions on what the Average American was thinking, doing, buying, liking, hating, cheering, wishing for, and voting for.

With the first part of the process completed, Dan now turned his attention to phase two. He paid off everybody and let them go, but he kept Ron on as a consultant. Next, he decided to try a bold approach that deviated slightly from his original plan. He told Lisa that he had to speak to Louis immediately, and within five minutes the man was in Dan’s office from which the dorm room atmosphere had been eliminated. Taking his usual chair, the dapper man sat back to listen.

“In order to enter phase two,” Dan said standing up from his chair and then sitting on the edge of his desk so he was physically speaking down to Louis; “we need round-the-clock surveillance on Andrew Slate. My original intention was to hire a private detective firm to do the job, but there was a slight catch. Slate’s house had to be bugged without his knowledge, an activity frowned upon by law abiding citizens. Then I thought to myself, I’m being bugged right now by Mr. Postadolas; so why reinvent the wheel. Obviously the people you are using have no scruples.”

Dan stopped to see Louis’ facial expression and his body language, hoping it wasn’t going to be violent. He was mildly surprised that there was absolutely no reaction at all on his guest’s part. Louis appeared to be listening intently, not letting any personal jibes interfere with his opportunity to make legal money, the kind that is so plentiful that even if you pay taxes on it you are still filthy rich.