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Using that scripting feature, he could run whatever code he wanted and even install unapproved software. Within Microsoft Word, he discovered a feature that allowed him to write scripts in a language called Visual Basic. But Hutchins found he could program his way out of those constraints. The school's computers prevented him from installing the games he wanted to play, like Counterstrike and Call of Duty, and they restricted the sites he could visit online. In computer class, where his peers were still learning to use word processors, Hutchins was miserably bored. He was one of only a few mixed-race children at his school, and he refused to cut his trademark mop of curly hair. He was taller than the other boys, and he lacked the usual English obsession with soccer he came to prefer surfing in the freezing waters a few miles from his house instead. Hutchins didn't always fit in with the other kids in rural Devon. But when the farmer put down a lame, brain-damaged calf that Hutchins had bonded with, he cried inconsolably. Hutchins was a bright and happy child, open to friendships but stoic and вЂњself-contained,вЂќ as his father, Desmond, puts it, with вЂњa very strong sense of right and wrong.вЂќ When he fell and broke his wrist while playing, he didn't shed a single tear, his father says. They built tree houses and trebuchets out of spare pieces of wood and rode in the tractor of the farmer who had rented their house to them. Then, 11 minutes into the interview, his interrogators asked him about a program called Kronos.ДЄt first the farm offered exactly the idyll they were seeking: The two boys spent their days romping among the cows, watching farmhands milk them and deliver their calves. For those minutes, Hutchins allowed himself to believe that perhaps the agents wanted only to learn more about his work on WannaCry, that this was just a particularly aggressive way to get his cooperation into their investigation of that world-shaking cyberattack.

The two agents flashed their badges: They were with the FBI.ДЇor the next few minutes, the agents struck a friendly tone, asking Hutchins about his education and Kryptos Logic, the security firm where he worked. When the red-headed man returned, he was accompanied by a small blonde woman.

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The agents walked him through a security area full of monitors and then sat him down in an interrogation room, where they left him alone.

Was it that he might have left marijuana in his bag? Were these bored agents overreacting to petty drug possession? Surely, he thought, it couldn't be the thing, that years-old, unmentionable crime.

Hutchins remembers mentally racing through every possible illegal thing he'd done that might have interested Customs. In a state of shock, feeling as if he were watching himself from a distance, Hutchins asked what was going on. When Hutchins confirmed that he was, the man asked in a neutral tone for Hutchins to come with them, and led him through a door into a private stairwell. вЂњAre you Marcus Hutchins?вЂќ asked the red-haired man. Hutchins was composing another tweet when he noticed that three men had walked up to him, a burly redhead with a goatee flanked by two others in Customs and Border Protection uniforms. He humblebragged about some very expensive shoes his boss had bought him in Vegas and retweeted a compliment from a fan of his reverse-engineering work. вЂњHaven't touched a debugger in over a month now,вЂќ he tweeted. He was still hours early for his flight back to the UK, so he killed time posting from his phone to Twitter, writing how excited he was to get back to his job analyzing malware when he got home. He wandered leisurely to an airport lounge, grabbed a Coke, and settled into an armchair. The story, after all, was irresistible: Hutchins was the shy geek who had single-handedly slain a monster threatening the entire digital world, all while sitting in front of a keyboard in a bedroom in his parents' house in remote western England. He and his entourage had been invited to every VIP hacker party on the strip, taken out to dinner by journalists, and accosted by fans seeking selfies.

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This legendary feat of whitehat hacking had essentially earned Hutchins free drinks for life among the Defcon crowd.

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Just as that self-propagating software had begun exploding across the planet, destroying data on hundreds of thousands of computers, it was Hutchins who had found and triggered the secret kill switch contained in its code, neutering WannaCry's global threat immediately. Less than three months earlier, Hutchins had saved the internet from what was, at the time, the worst cyberattack in history: a piece of malware called WannaCry. Hutchins was coming off of an epic, exhausting week at Defcon, one of the world's largest hacker conferences, where he had been celebrated as a hero.

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