This was all still gibberish to me. This was something out of a science fiction novel, or a Stephen King movie with Tom Cruise where Tom Cruise has to run someplace from some people—because that’s what Tom Cruise does, he runs while looking concerned and futuristic.

Therefore, I decided to look surprised and thoughtful.

“Yes.” She nodded; she believed I was following her train of thought. I wasn’t following her train because mine had derailed on thoughts of a running Tom Cruise…weird little man.

“I see you understand,” she said.

“You’re wrong, Agent Bell.” I shook my head, hoped she’d think I was lying. “I don’t understand.”

She looked disbelieving. “Then let me spell it out for you. The NSA believes—this country believes—that Alexander Greene knows at least one of the creators of bitcoins. He knows at least one of the original three or five developers and hackers who wrote the code, developed the algorithms, and promulgated bitcoins as a currency sometime between 2007 and 2009.”

My disbelieving huff and laugh were genuine. “That’s completely preposterous. He would have been only fourteen or fifteen.”

Her pretty mouth curved into a knowing smirk. “And how old do you think he was when he hacked into the NSA—the first time?”

I blinked at her but didn’t respond. The first time?

“Didn’t he tell you? He was twelve.”

Um…what? Though it took all my superpowers to support the façade, I didn’t allow any of my confusion or alarm to seep through my expression. Instead, I frowned as though I were listening intently—because I was listening intently.

She continued. “The first time we became aware of him he was twelve. That time we were pretty sure he did it for fun, because he could, and we were actually very thankful to him for pointing out the flaws in our systems. We were willing to bring him in as a consultant. He refused.”

She pressed her lips together, waiting for my reaction to that piece of news, as though no one could comprehend someone who didn’t want to help the NSA.

I said, “Then he did it again, this time to mine bitcoins.” I was careful to make my words a statement that merely repeated what she’d said earlier.

“No.” She appeared rueful, and I recognized reluctant admiration in her words. “We have no idea how many times he’s done it, and….” Agent Bell took a deep breath then released it, and I knew she was getting to the crux of the discussion. “He’s still doing it.”

I couldn’t help it. This time my surprise did show. I coughed to cover my urge to laugh. “That’s unbelievable!”

She glanced at her hands. “We need your help.”

“Well, you need someone’s help, that’s for sure,” I muttered, my reaction still honest.

Still doing it? How the heckity heck could he still be doing it? I’d been to his apartment. He had no computers or electronics of any kind. I was sure the NSA kept him on a tight leash.

However, we’d been able to go to Janie and Elizabeth’s apartment yesterday without them intervening. Apparently, Quinn’s building was also NSA-proof, and that had them rattled.

Where else did Alex go? Maybe he had a secret lair, like Batman. But when did he go? He was always followed. Sundays were a possibility. By his own admission, Alex disappeared on Sundays, all day.

I was lost in the possibilities when she interrupted my thoughts with her next statement.

“It’s not the hacking that concerns us. I believe, I honestly believe, he thinks he’s doing a good thing.”

“The hacking doesn’t concern you?”

Gah! I asked a question. Strike one for Sandra.

She ignored my question. “Don’t you see? If he knows the creators of the bitcoin, and I’m positive that he does, then he holds the key to all the bitcoins in circulation. Those initial algorithms can only be decoded by a creator. He can control billions of dollars; he can take, and he can give. We have a pretty good idea who the illegal holders of bitcoins are. We do; he doesn’t. If he gave us the key, then we could bankrupt criminal organizations around the world.”

I stared at her. Admittedly, I still didn’t understand what in the feck she was talking about, how bitcoins worked, how Alex’s knowledge of the creators could help. But the gist of it seemed to be:

1) Alex was a mastermind hacker of epic and global proportions.

2) He may or may not know who developed bitcoins.

3) He was somehow continuing to breach firewalls and all those other computery thingies that keep information safe. In fact, he was so good he could do it without access to—or with limited access to—a computer.

4) The NSA and the US government desperately wanted him to give them some mysterious and magical key. I was guessing the key was like some sort of password. This key/password would mysteriously and magically allow them to bankrupt criminal organizations.

After a protracted period of time with my thoughts. I decided I needed more time with my thoughts. This was too much. This was too much information for me to absorb without coffee, chocolate, clean hair, my fuzzy red slippers, and my situational T-shirt that read I’m thinking.

“Right,” I said, and then I stood and looked around the basement landing.

“Right?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “You’re going to help?”

I bit the inside of my lip and considered her. Here was someone who drank the Kool-Aid. She was a “good citizen.” She believed that Uncle Sam hung the moon and stars.

She also believed that she was entitled to listen in on everyone else’s moon-and-star discussions.

My beliefs tended to be someplace in the center of everything, or not well-researched. I didn’t drink the Kool-Aid of patriotism, nor did I drink the moonshine of anarchy. I just wanted to pay my taxes, have roads that were drivable, have police who came when I called, and a school to send my bratty children to when the time came.

Maybe, at some point, I was going to have to reevaluate my centrist ambivalence to conspiracies and the sacrifices of our public servants, but for now, I couldn’t think about that.

I needed to find out what in the heckity-heck a bitcoin actually was; then, I’d figure out my next step.

“Agent Bell,” I said, “I don’t know if I can help, and I need some time to think.”

She nodded, her forehead wrinkled, but then she reached forward and grabbed the wrist of my lab coat, making me want to yank my arm out of her fingers, but instead I gave her a pointed look, and she let go. “You need to understand—this is a very serious.”

“I do understand,” I said, using my most soothing voice. “I understand the severity. However, I need time to think. Again, I don’t even know what I can do. I have no idea if he’ll talk to me.”

“Dr. Fielding, you are the first person he has ever talked to—that we know of—with any frequency. I’ve been assigned to Mr. Greene since he was arrested. We thought that if he felt like he had more freedom, he might be more cooperative, and he has been. He’s given us some valuable information.”

“He has been cooperative.”

“No. He’s mailed some coded letters to someone he thinks is a contact. We’ve intercepted them.”

I nodded, found this hard to believe, but didn’t voice my opinion.

She continued, “He doesn’t associate with anyone other than the Patels, and they have no influence. He barely talks to them. Early on there was a girl…one girl…one time…a single occurrence. We approached her, she tried to help, but he knew immediately something was up and cut her off. He wouldn’t see her again.”

Gah….

I swallowed and had to hide my grimace. “You’re obviously approaching me again because you think he’ll talk to me. You might be disappointed.”

“I don’t think so. He brought you up to me during the weekly session. He specifically requested that we leave you alone. That tells me you’re important to him.”

I seized on the words weekly session, but opted to ignore them rather than display pointed interest in one topic.

Instead, because I needed time with my thoughts, I said, “Okay, well…like I said, I need to think about your request.”

Her eyes searched mine. She then bent to pick up the recorder from the chair and turned it off.

As she straightened, tucking the device in her pocket, she said, “I’m not threatening you.”

I tensed. My eyes narrowed. I turned to face her completely and squared my shoulders. “That’s good to know.”

“I’m not threatening you, yet. I believe you will do the right thing without the need for threats. But don’t doubt that we know everything about you. We even know where you worked in college.”

I swallowed, my lips in a firm line, and controlled my urge to poke her in the eyes, Three Stooges style. “I’m sure you do. I’m sure you also know, then, that I meant what I said. I don’t know if I can help. I need time to think about it.”

Agent Bell nodded. “Fine. I’ll be in touch.”

***

Around 5:00 p.m., my brain started to sound like the adults in Charlie Brown—the squawking trombone, wah wuh wah wah wuh. I was tired of thinking.