by Amelia Hart
The empty, locked offices; where all the screens, all the whiteboards faced away from the centre of the building so no one else could see them; where internal blinds could be lowered to block all sight of the rooms.
She caught a breath. Stood. Went to the stairwell and climbed, taking the steps two at a time. At the top she walked only as far as she go without being seen from the ground floor of the atrium. She craned her neck, scanning . . .
There. A chain, securing the computer to the floor. And there. Another one.
She drew a sobbing breath. They were there. They were inside. Chained down computers behind a locked door and – she was willing to swear – bulletproof glass. Of course. Hidden in plain sight.
The Datacentre had never been the target. This was.
Oh God, how to get inside there? Only Mike Summers and the five programmers who worked there – the elite programmers of the Platform Division – had the necessary clearance.
There was no way to do it without arousing suspicion. Even if she cosied up to one of the five programmers there was no need, no excuse for Cathy-the-go-fer to be in that secure room.
She couldn’t get in that way. But what if . . .
What if she got in there on her own merits?
Sure, with only her fake identity she had no apparent qualifications, nothing to recommend her. But if she’d learnt one thing about DigiCom it was that the company didn’t stand on ceremony. If she could outperform the other programmers to a high enough level, that might be her ticket into that locked room and thus out of here for good.
She wouldn’t go out there with all guns blazing, challenging the others on their own turf. That would draw too much attention. No, she’d work out of sight of everyone else and simply send in her answers. Then she’d have a quiet word to Mike Summers afterwards to reveal herself as the secret genius. Awkward and a bit of a strange way of doing things, but this was a man who managed a company full of treehouses and other playground equipment. He was well used to weirdness. She thought he would probably take the whole thing in his stride.
She had to be the best, though, or near the best. It was all speculation until she placed in the competition. She could do it, must do it; was used to cleaning up at competitions like this, held at university and independent programming events.
Back at the atrium she found the competitors starting challenge number two. This one was a much more subtle puzzle. It would take some real skill. She watched Alex win first place with a raised eyebrow. Shouldn’t that have been one of the programmers from the Platform Division? Weren’t they the top in the company? But then they were sitting together talking casually and she wasn’t sure if they were even competing yet. Damn DigiCom and its informal way of doing things. What were the rules?
Should she begin now or linger to watch her competition? The winning scripts for the first two challenges were displayed on giant projection screens suspended from near the ceiling and to her eyes each was obviously hasty. Thrown together chaotically without the discipline of an underlying scheme. There was no artistry to it, only speed. Her lip curled into a quiet sneer. She could do better than that in her sleep.
She decided to wait, not to join in until the Platform Division started to take part. If it was good enough for them, it was good enough for her too. In the meantime she mentally rewrote the code of the winners until it was perfect, frowning upwards through her unnecessary glasses, her hands shoved deep into her pockets.
After the third challenge there was a quick break to eat and then they were back into it, swapping battery packs on laptops and cracking knuckles. Again Cathy wanted to try. Eventually she left again. She must have some envelopes to stuff somewhere.
By mid afternoon the remaining competitors were flagging. The original numbers had been whittled down, and spectators had fallen away too, though with the end of each round the winner’s name circulated. Mike gave a revving pep talk to the final dozen about their evident skills, and his pride in their prowess. He was good. His enthusiasm was infectious. She could almost see his employees perk up, like thirsty plants that had just been watered.
It was a different style of management than she was used to. She had always worked in the family business. Her father drove his employees, rather than leading them. And family came in for harsher treatment. He expected more of them, given they would one day take over the whole operation. There was no time for slacking.
With Dad at the helm you lived for the occasional approving pat on the shoulder or nod. They were few and far between.
But that made them more precious, of course. Anyone could give smiles and nice words. They were essentially meaningless. When barely anyone got praise, every piece was valued. Mike devalued his currency, handing it out to everyone like that. He should hoard it, make people truly strive to earn it.
“Treat them mean to keep them keen,” Dad liked to say. It was how he’d trained her and she’d ended up sharp as a tack; the head of her class. A real achiever.
This was no way to run a business; playgrounds and competitions and falling all over yourself to indulge your employees. Even if it was fun.
Rachel had sent her to make and deliver a cup of coffee to Mike Summers’ PA upstairs and now she stood overlooking the competitors in the atrium, tapping her finger on the railing, her swift tattoo creating a soft chime on the cool metal. She could feel the frustration, the agitation rising in her like a tide. They were doing it, those programmers; buried deeply in the midst of the struggle, the delight. This was what she loved, this bending one’s will to a problem, solving it within the rigid limits of a computer’s understanding, with precision, conciseness, each keystroke a piece of the puzzle.
No, that was the absolute limit! She was not going to stand by any longer, regardless of what the Platform Division was doing. Hurrying down the stairs she snagged a nearby empty workspace on the edge of the atrium, downloaded the spec and threw together an elegantly simple piece of code to fulfill it. She attached it to an email which she made anonymous and bounced through two network nodes to strip the IP address.
Peering round the edge of a giant ‘jungle leaf’ made out of painted material, she watched Mike receive it. He stiffened in his seat. A small smile of what looked like triumph curved his lips. Would he announce a mystery contender? Perhaps she would have to stop playing if he did. There were too many curious eyes around the building, to be a go-fer feverishly and strangely poised over a console while there was a mystery competitor on the loose. She still needed to avoid too much attention given her ultimate intentions. Winning this event was a necessary evil.
But oh! It sure felt good to be in the game.
Mike didn’t say a word. He acted like he’d never received the emailed solution. She double-checked the email address she’d used. No, she had the right one, she was certain.
She waited in suspense for one of the competitors to finally complete their own version of code, for someone else to win that stage. For the next set of specifications to appear on the screen. It was another ten minutes until someone else cracked it.
Tui won.
That grated on her too. She was certain her solution was better, and she’d certainly sent it through faster. She narrowed her eyes at his sunny smile, the smugness almost hidden behind it, but visible to her.
You’re good, mate, but you’re not good enough.
She sat poised over the keyboard until the rustle and tapping told her the new specs were available. Swiftly she accessed them through the network rather than taking them from the screen. It was more discreet. She raced herself to set a better time, regardless of the increase in difficulty.
Layers. Layers within layers. A dozen different functions with delicate tipping points. Her fingers flew and she muttered under her breath, scarcely keeping up with the code appearing on the screen. ‘Yes!’ she hissed, and gave a soft laugh as she sent this new program through.
She caught Mike’s reaction as he received it, his own hands dancing on the keyboard
of his laptop. Tracing? She wiped the system logs and then left the work station. She went to her bag and pulled out her own laptop, choosing another work area, bland and impersonal.
Time to work from the laptop. Her computer had defenses she had honed through years of hacking. No one was getting into that to find her.
She was grinning like a loon, blood pumping. It was too long since she’d played these sorts of games against an opponent. And she didn’t mean Tui. Mike was still tapping away, and no one had finished a functioning program yet. They might be another hour.
Impatient, daring, reckless, she searched for the file holding the rest of the competition specs and found it swiftly.
Ahhh. This one looked like it had a simple solution, but . . . no, on further thought would require a slow, brute force attack. Hmmm. Still her instincts told her there had to be a more refined approach.
She typed furiously, a feral grin on her face.
With the second she found the solution too easily and glared at the screen. Did her solution really explore all the options? Perhaps she could guide a search for a solution with the right heuristics, just to double check. She was not about to turn in something that missed the correct answer.
It took forty-three minutes to complete the rest, and she sent them off simultaneously and then sat back to watch Mike.
But he was gone. His seat was empty.
Her gaze flicked around the atrium. Programmers in beanbags still littered the space, but his energetic frame was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Five
“So it’s you then, is it?” he said softly, and she jumped and spun her chair, trying to put herself between the screen and him in the same motion. He was leaning against the back wall, arms crossed on his chest, head tilted to one side as he took her in. How long had he been standing there, watching her? She’d never even sensed him, in her rush to complete the programs.
“Pardon?”
“Competition programs from an anonymous source. The embellishments on internal documents. And the debugging too, I presume.”
“What? I don’t know what you mean.”
He snorted in disbelief. “As if I hadn’t just watched you feverishly coding for the past five minutes. I bet if I check I’ll find a new solution has just been uploaded.”
“Three.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Why would I do that? Bother with work I don’t have to do, I mean?” She was poised on the edge of her chair, fingers digging into the soft foam of it in a white-knuckled grip, though she labored to keep her tone casual.
“Good question. Though a better one is why you would pick working as a go-fer instead of a programmer. There’s quite a difference in pay grade and perks. Not to mention kudos. If you like that sort of thing.”
“Kudos are overrated.”
“Bull. You’re a competitor. Don’t think I can’t see you’re high on adrenaline.” It was true. She was still quivering slightly with the tension of hunching over the keyboard, fingers flying, striving to improve on her own abilities, to push her limits and exceed them. “You’re just busting to get out of that meek, subservient guise and get your head out in the sunshine. You want everyone out there to know you just wiped the floor with them.”
A wave of heat rolled through her, to have him watching her so intently, then sum her up to within a hairsbreadth of perfection. No one did that. No one really saw like that. Or was this why he had got the job as a manager: because he could see people like that, as virtually no one had the focus and interest to do?
It wasn’t just a generic embarrassed heat she was feeling, though. No, it was quite specific. It was a rush that started at the back of her neck and swept downwards past her breasts, hardening her nipples, through her torso and centered on her groin.
She was aroused by him. By his focus on her, this male animal of a man, by his challenge. She felt alive, with her heart pounding, the blood surging through her veins and the thrill of competition not yet faded. She had known already she found him attractive. Well built and powerful with a graceful symmetry. But her observation had been the next best thing to dispassionate, until his gaze met hers with that avid stare of triumph. Her body responded to it like it meant something else. Like it was a gaze charged with lust.
It wasn’t, of course. He was triumphant to have solved a puzzle. That was the limit of it. For with a sickening lurch she recalled how she looked, how unlikely she was to stir any man in this get-up.
His was a professional interest, of course. Solve a puzzle, find a freak programmer, liven up one’s managerial duties. Woohoo. That was all it was.
She considered for a long moment, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes at him. “Maybe,” she conceded.
“So why hide? Why be something you’re not? And I get the feeling you’re not the best go-fer.”
“You get the feeling?” she probed, and he laughed.
“Okay, okay. I was trying to be nice. I don’t get the feeling. I know. People have complained.”
“So you’re going to fire me?” she asked pertly, forgetting her goal of promotion in the heady desire to challenge him, to duel.
“Promote. I’m going to promote you to something more your speed. Oh, and we haven’t been properly introduced, Cathy Thorpe. I’m Mike Summers.” He held out his hand for her to shake. She took it, shook it once briefly, then let go. Warm, dry, lightly callused. A firm grip. A good handshake. But then anyone could learn to give a good handshake.
Still, the contact made her even more conscious of his overwhelming presence in her space. The cubicle was pretty small. The heavy fringe and the glasses felt like some defense against that penetrating assessment, but not enough. She folded her arms across her chest, lifted her chin and returned him stare for stare.
Her boldness seemed to amuse him, for he grinned.
“You’re a conundrum, you know,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Your attitude doesn’t marry up with your position or image,” he said with surprising bluntness, gesturing to her shapeless, dowdy clothes and unadorned face and hair.
“Are you commenting on my clothing choice?” she asked in a loaded tone she was certain conveyed all she meant to say about the thorny question of how a male boss should address the subject of a female employee’s wardrobe. That is: not at all when she fit comfortably within the dress code of casual.
He was untroubled by her salvo. His grin only grew wider.
“We paint pictures for others with the clothes we wear, our grooming. We tell them what to expect from us, for better or worse. Your picture doesn’t match the reality. Are you trying to disconcert?”
“Of course not,” she dismissed with casual certainty, while internally cursing her own habitual forwardness that she seemed unable to tone down, especially with him. “I just don’t give it much thought. I can’t see why you would either.”
He didn’t take offense at the edge of rudeness. Perhaps he was used to employees with few social skills. All in a day’s work. “That’s my job.” His comment fell so perfectly in accord with her unspoken thoughts she blinked in surprise, before matching it up with her own words and making sense of it. “Look, if that is you fiddling with the code – and I’m pretty sure it is – you’re wasted sitting down here waiting for an errand to run. I’ve got projects for you to work on. Come with me.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t me.”
“Whatever,” he said in good-natured dismissal. “Come on.” He backed up several steps and made a beckoning gesture. As she looked at his bland expression, overlaid on that handsome face, she thought this was what the devil would look like, if he ever actually showed up to tempt a mortal: beautiful and sinister. Then he smiled and the impression was gone, lost behind the glint of his eyes.
“Come on,” he said again, in clear dismissal of every lame prevarication she had offered, as if they had never existed.
She looked at that smile and went, unresisting, the duel lost but t
he ultimate goal won.
There was a confidentiality contract of a dozen pages to sign. She read it carefully like she intended to obey it, then signed her false name with reckless abandon. Mike left his PA running the competition and took an hour to guide her through the protocols of this ivory tower: that no data could go in or out without Hamish’s permission, no one other than Mike and the Platform Division had access to the suite, she could create enhancements on any software on the servers so long as the original file remained intact and archived.
He introduced her to the current running projects and the buzzing in her ears made it almost impossible to take it in. Between the thrill of the moment, the nervous tension and the way she kept zoning out staring into his dark eyes – that turned out on closer examination to be a very deep slate blue – she wasn’t managing to maintain focus. But she nodded anyway and tried to look appropriately serious and sober about it rather than fizzing with excitement.
Go away, she chanted silently. Go away with your big, distracting body leaning over me and your broad hands on the keyboard, that I keep imagining somewhere else. Go away and leave me here with this treasure. Leave me alone to marinate in it. She quivered with the lust to see it, to see the source code on which this company and everything it built was made, her fingers flexing hungrily in her lap. Go away go away go away so I can think straight, so I can be alone with it. Go away.
And finally he went, with a nod and a secret smile that said he saw more of her than she wanted and understood more than she would ever choose to share.
It didn’t matter right now. Nothing mattered but this. The code. Oh, the beautiful, beautiful code.
Chapter Six
She was very focused. Driven, even. She would work for hour after hour, hunched over the keyboard as she was now.