Dieter Lassenbach is famous among techies for being a recluse. He’s sort of the J.D. Salinger of tech gods.He’s also infamous for being something of an evil genius… but I don’t think anybody would have pegged him as a serial killer. Which means he has the perfect cover.As teenage hackers, Mailin and I knew him as one of the legendary antiheroes of the internet. And that was more than a decade after he’d done most of his damage.Dieter was the only son of immigrants who escaped to the U.S. from East Germany back during the Cold War. A child prodigy and college dropout, he was also one of the first guys to deal in encryption for banking transactions back in the 1990’s. He sold his company for hundreds of millions when he was in his mid-twenties.During the dot.com bubble era, he was known as a tech Nostradamus who could spot an intriguing startup in its early stages. He’d make an insanely low offer for 51% of the stock, and when he was rebuffed, he would then reverse-engineer the comp

There’s a pretty big McMansion inside the gated compound. Nobody’s home – which is what I discovered by hacking the house’s security network, and why I chose this house instead of all the others bordering Epicurus’s property. That’s crucial to my plan.So is leaving Duplass and Mailin behind.The limo is parked next to the McMansion. The car doors are open, the windows are down, and Mailin and Tony the driver are handcuffed to the metal door frames. The handcuff keys glitter tantalizingly in the grass about twenty feet out of reach. Duplass is slumped unconscious on the backseat, though he’s still chained to his car door, too.“This is a FUCKED UP PLAN, Eve!” Mailin yells angrily.We all ignore him as JP picks the lock on the McMansion’s front door. I’ve already deactivated the alarm, so there’s no chance a security company or the police are coming.Once JP and Dominique are inside, I hold a cell phone out to Mailin. “Do it like I told you: call the FBI and get a strike team for Epicu

Then I switch back to the plan. Because what I really want is for me and Grant to come out of this alive.First I make a series of preparations that are absolutely necessary. For instance:Audio of me saying various things, in case I need to distract Epicurus but can’t speak aloud. I’m inspired by my Al Pacino soundboard, so I use the program to record a bunch of elements I think I might be able to string together into a semi-coherent conversation.Also, five-minute-long video loops of blank footage for every outside camera on the property. That’s so Dominique and I can approach the mansion undetected by Epicurus’s security detail – at least as long as they’re only watching the video cameras. Running across any guards face-to-face will be a different matter.A list of usernames and passwords for all of Epicurus’s computer systems, courtesy of the NSA’s backdoor.Then I bring up schematics of Epicurus’s house. How’d I get them? From Grant’s online vault of client blueprints. I found th

I switch to a view of the plastic room and wince in apprehension of seeing Grant in pain – but Epicurus seems to still be in gloat mode.I click a button on my laptop, the soundboard activates, and an audio clip of my voice plays over the loudspeaker in the plastic-wrapped room beneath me – just like Al Pacino or Arnold Schwarzenegger. I can hear it distinctly, even in the air duct.“Heeeeey Epicurus. Or should I say, ‘Dieter’?”The shock on Epicurus’s face is something to behold. I have to stifle a laugh as he whirls around like a surprised baboon.“WHAT?! NO! How did you find me?!”I muted all audio from the laptop, so I’m actually hearing him shout from right beneath me. He’s more than loud enough for his voice to carry through the reinforced metal.I click a button, and my voice speaks in the room beneath me. “It was easy. TOO easy.”While Epicurus continues to flail about like a chimp on crack, I check the surveillance feeds in the rest of the house. The audio may be silent, but

I sit there in shock. All I can think of is, Did he just SAY that?“‘Crucified’ is hardly the way an objective investigator would talk, Agent Duplass,” Grant says. Somehow he still manages to sound calm and composed.“Objectivity went out the window when I lost my two agents in Paris – in part because of your illegal activities, I might add.”“Epicurus had them killed!” I cry out.“I have no proof of that,” Duplass says coldly.“Then who the hell do you think killed them?!”“The same gunmen who abducted Mr. Carlson in Paris.”“Who were PAID by Epicurus!”“I have no proof of that.”“Jesus, are you trying to be obtuse?” I ask angrily. “Why the hell do you think they brought Grant to San Francisco in the first place?”“All I know is that my agents were killed by a group of unidentified gunmen. Until we find out more, I’m not going to speculate.”“You’re not going to speculate,” I repeat, half-mocking, half disbelieving.“No. I only care about the truth,” Duplass says in that self-righteo