We’re going in, I told a shell-shocked Lieutenant Kantowicz.

Going in where? he protested. Where are we?

Uh ... I realized I just took a total stranger to Mouse's front door, and cop no less. So, I lied, My secret hideaway.

With my avatar extended, Mouse's doorway blended into the surrounding chaos. The door shifted around packets of information and strings of code, disappearing and reappearing like a cave beneath a waterfall. Blindly fishing through the wavering stream, my fingers swept over the smooth surface of the door. I needed a portal of some kind to access mouse.net, a keyhole or command line. I wished I'd been paying more attention to the page when he brought me here the first time.

Where are we? Why do I feel so weird? Kantowicz asked.

It's the undercarriage of the LINK, I explained, not thinking. This is mouse.net. Mouse's house.

So, Kantowicz said appraisingly, you're the Mouse?

I was so absorbed in finding the lock, Kantowicz's question threw me off guard. Oh, damn. What? No, he's just a friend.

Interesting friends you keep.

The same could be said for you, I said, as my hands continued to grope for the keyhole. I dared a glance up at the LINK, but the whole datastream flowed into one glittering mass; it was impossible to distinguish Kick's from any other specific address. I had no idea if the police could pursue us here.

Even though I knew that only a few minutes had passed in real time, I could feel myself starting to panic. This was taking far too long. We would have to return and give ourselves up for arrest if I didn't find that command line soon.

Beside me, Kantowicz strained against our enforced connection. Why not just off-line here? His electronic voice crackled with distortion. We're out, aren't we?

Not really, no. We're in between. I extended us "under" the door, but we're not inside yet.

Can't we just log off?

Kanowitcz's questions were driving me buggy. I didn't really have time to explain all the nuances of how mouse.net worked, especially since I'd only recently understood it myself. I was tempted to let him go, let him fry his receptors, but I needed him to survive – if only so that he could get word to Daniel. Sure, you can log off if you want, I said; though I made no move to let him go. But I don't want to be there when they find your body. Your internal LINK processors are already overextended. Tell me, Kantowicz, what are you seeing right now? Is it clear? Even our avatars have mostly dissolved. What do you think a hardboot is going to do to your brain right now?

He was quiet as I continued my search. Lines of information slithered between my fingers, making it difficult to latch on to anything solid. Mouse was no fool. It was not going to be an easy task to break into his hub. My fingers connected with something, only to drip through my grasp. Damn it, I said, almost had it.

Kantowicz twitched nervously. I tried to shut him out and concentrate on finding that slippery line. I wished that I could call up a real-time clock, but since I'd have to be a registered user to log a request to the atomic clock, I left that option behind when we sank beneath the floor of the LINK cafe. I reached once more through the waving waterfall in front of Mouse's door. I connected. Before I could lose it again, I wrapped my fingers tightly around the command line.

Got it! The distortion that flowed around us disappeared. My vision became black and white. Looking above, I could no longer see the glitter of the LINK. Kantowicz's avatar vanished completely, although a line of text informed me that we still had a solid handshake. We were in a kind of nebulous space that was neither LINK nor mouse.net.

Now entrance was a matter of a password or a key of some kind. On a hunch, I threw the standard battery of words in the direction of the keyhole. It would be very Mouse to protect the most precious hub in the world with something so simple as the phrase, "God," but, after trying all the typical passwords I knew, I came to the sad realization perhaps Mouse preferred safety to irony.

This is crazy. White words appeared against the blackness surrounding me. A whisper, like wind through trees, hissed in my ear. Cracking Mouse's house is the quickest way to a blank slate.

I wasn't sure if the words came from Kantowicz or were a part of a security program Mouse installed; either way, I ignored them. Even though I doubted they would do any good, I tried a few more words and phrases associated with Mouse: Koran, alms, Cairo.

The door stayed closed.

We should give ourselves up. God only knows what's happening up there, the haunting, electronic whisper tickled my senses again.

I stared angrily at the glowing words and entered a command to check on the status of my connection to Kantowicz. I still held him firmly. My action jogged an idea loose in my mind. As I grimaced at the glowing text warning that hung in front of my face, I suddenly knew why this place felt familiar. It was like my computer screen.

Thanks to the excommunication, I'd been using the same kind of computer terminal that, according to Mouse's page, made up the ground floor of mouse.net.

My stubborn refusal to be completely isolated from the LINK had led me to ferret out and use an antiquated read-only process called "ftp." I'd only used ftp to connect to the main LINK nodes before, but, if memory served, the process was supposed to open directories of any sort to one another. If this didn't work, I'd have to surrender myself to the police or fry my brain with a violent off-line. Neither option was very pleasant. I steeled myself for failure, and entered the anonymous user password.

The blackness remained unchanged.

Damn it all to hell. I sighed. Just as I was about to send the release command to Kantowicz, a gray light appeared on the horizon. Like a sunrise, it seeped slowly over the darkness, until it warmed the entire space. Above, pinpricks of light widened until I could, once again, see the LINK. Next to me, Kantowicz's avatar shimmered like a ghost, then, solidified. The image of thin features and round, vanity glasses was a welcome sight. I'd done it. I could've hugged him, but we still had work to do.

Okay, we're in. Here's the ground rules, I said. It's bad enough that I've exposed my friend's hub to an outsider, so we're only staying here long enough to slide out from this address, got it?

Kantowicz frowned, obviously curious about the hub, but he didn't protest. I continued to hold his hand as we stepped through to the next directory. The cobwebs brushed my face as we moved easily over the boundary. I saw Kantowicz's eyes widen, as mouse.net's true nature dawned on him.

This is like the old web, he said, the glee of a brilliant hack illuminating his face.

I smiled in acknowledgment and wondered if all LINK-cops had such an appreciation of the criminal mind.

Our avatars reached a spot clear of directory threads. Though a roiling mist hung in the gray space, I could see the LINK without obstruction. We would have a safe reentry from here. Schooling my avatar's expression, I warned, Just remember I saved you from arrest. If you use this against my friend, I'll find a way to tell your captain that you're associated with the Malachim.

Disappointment showed on his face, but he nodded gravely. It was the first real indication that I'd nabbed the right guy.

I pointed to the twinkling river above. Once we get back there, tell Danny to meet me at Yankee Stadium.

It'll take us some time. We're still in Manhattan, and moving slowly.