She moved to her telephone and pressed the button that rang the extension in the White House private family quarters. A moment later, Mrs. Stedman’s soft voice answered, “Hello?”
“Mrs. S? I just wanted to remind you of your brunch tomorrow with the congressional wives. I’ll be in Vienna most of the day, but call my cell phone if either you or the president needs me—”
“We’ll be fine, Lauren. You and Tasha have a great time.” Mrs. Stedman’s voice brimmed with warmth and concern. “Bring home a blue ribbon, or whatever it is you win in those things.”
“The ribbon we want is purple.” Lauren grinned, then smacked her hand against her forehead. “That reminds me, Mrs. S, did the physician bring up a refill of the nitroglycerin prescription? I had a note to call him on my to-do list, but with all the goings-on around here—”
“Don’t worry, Lauren, my secretary took care of it. But it’s sweet of you to worry about us.”
“It’s the least I can do.” Lauren felt a sharp sob rise in her throat and wiped a sudden wetness from her eyes. The Stedmans had brought her out of poverty, arranged for her education, and trusted her with responsibility and position far beyond her dreams or expectations. And yet, for all their loyalty and kindness, they routinely behaved as if she were actually useful to them.
“Well, if there’s nothing else—I guess I’ll go home.”
“Good-night, dear.”
Lauren dropped the phone back into its cradle, then shook off the wave of sentimentality and surveyed her desk again. She’d bundle the pile of correspondence and tackle it on Sunday afternoon, so at least she’d be halfway up to speed on Monday morning. Maybe the combination of routine work and two days without a glimpse of Daniel Prentice would be enough to remind her of who and what she was—Lauren Mitchell, executive assistant to President Sam Stedman for as long as he remained in the White House.
Until he left public office, nothing else mattered.
Daniel spent Saturday munching on room service snacks while he painstakingly typed out detailed memos to his associates in New York. He warned Dr. Kriegel that a new code would have to be devised for human PIDs. He alerted Ron Johnson that the company would probably be retained as senior contractor to oversee the manufacture of over 266 million individual chips. For Taylor, Daniel typed out a long task list that included investigating new security devices for PT employees located outside the physical plant. Bill Royce would receive a long memo detailing several spin-off ideas Daniel had conceived while listening to the cabinet members drone on about how the Millennium Project would change the American way of life.
Before plugging his laptop modem into the wall, Daniel selected the PGP program and encrypted all four messages. Satisfied that his data was safe, he plugged the modem in, dialed into the company’s network, and uploaded the files.
On Sunday afternoon Daniel relaxed at Brad’s apartment and finally met the charming Christine. Brad tried to make Daniel comfortable, but with just over a month until the wedding, he and Christine had eyes only for each other. Watching their obvious bliss with a rueful smile, Daniel sipped his iced tea and thanked his lucky stars that Lauren Mitchell had turned him down. In the past few days he had discovered that behind her air of professional competence lay a bright and inquisitive mind. She didn’t know much about technology or computers, but she was a quick study and kept pace with him every time he explained a new concept. Moreover, she was extremely knowledgeable about world affairs, having spent most of her career trying to ensure her boss’s success in politics.
Yes, Lauren Mitchell was the kind of woman Daniel could fall for, but if he fell, he’d be mooning about like Brad Hunter while there was serious work to be done over the next year.
Thankfully, Brad seemed to be in a more businesslike frame of mind when he met Daniel at the White House on Monday morning. As he escorted Daniel to the semicircular drive on the north side of the building, he explained that they would ride together to an important meeting. Brad gave few details, but as he slammed the car door he assured Daniel that the meeting concerned national security.
They rode through the District streets in silence, then the long black limo steered toward the curb. Daniel lifted a brow in surprise when he saw that the vehicle had pulled up outside the entrance to a Ramada Inn. He turned to Brad with an incredulous grin. “We’re holding a national security meeting at the neighborhood Ramada?”
“This isn’t just any Ramada.” Brad reached for the door. “The Ramada Renaissance has one of the few electronically secure safe rooms in the District. We could have met at the Pentagon, of course, but the president is trying to distance the Millennium Project from the military.”
Brad opened his door and slid out, then walked around the car and stood stiffly on the sidewalk and waited for Daniel. With his dark suit, sunglasses, and stern demeanor, Brad looked so much like the stereotypical Secret Service agent that Daniel wanted to laugh.
“Lighten up, Brad,” he said, joining his friend on the curb. “No one followed us. And I don’t see a single suspicious character.”
The corner of Brad’s mouth drooped as he buttoned his jacket. “If they’re watching, we won’t see them,” he said simply, leading Daniel away from the hotel’s front entrance. “And believe me, lots of people are interested in what you’re doing.”
Daniel did not answer but slipped his hands into his pockets and followed Brad down the sidewalk toward a short wall that jutted onto the street. When Brad disappeared behind the wall, Daniel followed and discovered a back entrance to the hotel. A uniformed marine at the door snapped to attention and moved aside when Brad flashed his ID card. Feeling a little chagrined by the melodrama, Daniel pulled his ID from his coat pocket and held it before the guard’s eyes. As the guard studied the photo, Daniel jerked his thumb in Brad’s direction. “I’m with him.”
The marine’s resolute expression did not soften, but he nodded and pulled the door open so both men could enter.
“Why do you call it a safe room?” Daniel asked, looking around the foyer as Brad pressed the elevator call button. “Is it guarded by marines, or—” he cracked a smile—“have you shielded it against Superman’s x-ray vision?”
Brad rolled his eyes. “Joke all you want, but we thought we’d need a secure meeting space. The Ramada’s safe room has specially insulated wiring, soundproof walls, state-of-the-art locks. Special audio sweeps have been installed on all exterior doors to prevent passersby from eavesdropping. Even with all that, we still sent a team in to sweep the room for bugs. We were lucky this time—we didn’t find any.” He gave Daniel a cocky grin. “Don’t tell me you don’t have something similar at that fortress where you work.”
“We have taken precautions with the building’s designs. And we have Roberta.” The elevator dinged, and the double doors opened. Daniel waited until he and Brad entered before continuing. “Roberta represents the latest in biometric technology. She tracks every individual inside the building by voiceprint. I could ask where you were, for instance, and she would instantly eavesdrop on a selection of voiceprints, then report your whereabouts.”
“What if I was silent?”
“She’d examine the thumbprint keys for the room where your voice was last heard. If you had exited, she’d simply look for the room you had accessed next.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the elevator’s wall. “She’d find you in less than five seconds. She’s a good system, and we haven’t had any trouble.”
“Haven’t you?”Without explanation, Brad reached out and pressed the emergency stop button.
Daniel felt his stomach drop—and it wasn’t from the elevator’s braking.
“Daniel,” the stern aspect of Brad’s countenance softened, and for a brief moment the familiar spark of friendliness lit his eyes. “If we were on government property, I wouldn’t dare speak to you about this. I probably should keep my mouth shut, but it doesn’t matter anymore.”
Daniel spoke calmly but felt that eerie sense of det
achment that always preceded impending disaster. “What are you talking about?”
“We knew about your Y2K fix before you ever arrived in Washington. Right now there are probably a hundred copies of your Millennium Code circulating through our CIA and NSA mainframes.”
Daniel glared at Brad, his uneasiness spiced with irritation. “You’re not making any sense.”
Brad sighed heavily, then turned and braced himself against the opposite wall. “You’re a genius, Daniel, but you don’t have a criminal mind. We know everything you did last week. You went to Canada; you got an e-mail from the professor; you came back to see a demonstration of his program. The CIA spooks had copies of the program the next day. I knew what you’d done before you had your first cup of coffee the next morning.”
Daniel fought back a sudden surge of fury. Had they placed a spy in his company? He would never have imagined that one of his loyal associates would sell secrets to the government, but apparently he had made a serious error in judgment.
He clenched his fists and glared at Brad. “You knew they stole our program?”
“You would have never known.” Brad thrust his hands into his pockets, apparently not caring that he’d left himself unprotected while Daniel wanted to smash his face in. “You have to understand. We’re talking about national security here, and the Y2K problem is our first priority right now. We’re dealing with the survival of the USA, and we had no choice but to appropriate your program. We wouldn’t have sold it, and you will still make a fortune.” He looked at Daniel with the faint beginnings of a smile. “If it makes you feel any better, yours wasn’t the only company under surveillance, but you were the only one that rose to the challenge. We knew before you came to Washington that your Millennium Code wouldn’t solve every Y2K problem. But we saw enough to know you were the man to head up this Millennium Project.”
Daniel gasped through impotent anger. “So why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I want you to know what you’re getting into.” Brad stepped away from the wall and stood right in front of Daniel. “Now—do you want to hit me? If you do, here’s your chance. Get it all out of your system before we go into the meeting.”
“No.” Daniel turned away, his voice taut with anger. “But tell me the truth—have you been tapping my phones since I arrived in Washington?”
He thought he saw a faint flicker of unease in the depths of Brad’s brown eyes. “My department didn’t order it. But I wouldn’t be surprised if someone else did.”
“Who? The president?”
A flash of humor crossed Brad’s face. “Definitely not. Maybe the CIA, the Secret Service, the Defense Intelligence Agency, or the FBI. But not the president. He has to remain above the law.”
Daniel hesitated, reluctant to voice his next thought. “What about Lauren Mitchell? The other day one of my calls was breached not twenty minutes after I left the White House. Lauren was the only person who knew I was leaving.”
Brad gave him a look of faint amusement. “Really? How many people did you pass on the way out? Two guards at the door? Four marines at the gate? And don’t forget to count the people you didn’t see. Probably a dozen people knew when you left, and if you’re marked for surveillance, probably a half-dozen followed you. If they want to bug you, they will. You can’t outrun them, and I don’t think even you can outsmart them.”
Alarmed and more than a little perturbed, Daniel ran his hand through his hair in a distracted motion. “Brad, what have you gotten me into?”
“You’ll be all right, just don’t talk about company secrets over any telephone.” Brad gave him an exaggerated wink as he leaned forward to release the emergency stop. “When this is all over, you’ll be a hero and a billionaire, too. But stay on your toes, Danny boy. Don’t let them lull you into a sense of complacency. And remember—just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.”
Disconcerted, Daniel crossed his arms and pointedly looked away. He would have sworn that Brad Hunter was a loyal friend, and maybe this was an example of what passed for loyalty in Washington. If he weren’t a friend, would he have told Daniel about the government’s theft of his Millennium Code program? Or was this all some elaborate deception?
No—Brad had to be telling the truth. He had too much accurate information to be bluffing. Brad’s people, whoever they were, had definitely been spying on Prentice Technologies.
As the elevator creaked and hummed, Daniel closed his eyes and replayed the events of the morning he’d returned to the office. He’d come to work late, pausing outside the building for Susan McGuire, who’d been eager to assure him that her son was sick—
Did she even have a child? Susan McGuire was one of Daniel’s newest employees; she’d been with Prentice Technologies for less than six months. Daniel couldn’t remember her mentioning a child before, but he didn’t have too much contact with the lower-level programmers. Was it possible that she had come into the office early that morning, set the program to run on the monitors, and managed somehow to arrange a feed to someone else? She could have gone outside to set it up and returned just as Daniel himself was entering the building.
He glanced over at Brad, half-tempted to ask if the name Susan McGuire would mean anything to the CIA, NSA, or FBI. But if she were working for the government, she’d be working under an alias.
The elevator chimed; the doors slid open. Daniel shoved his troubling thoughts into a far corner of his mind, determined to sort through them later.
“What’s happening in this meeting?” Daniel asked, leading the way out. “If I have to answer another question about the feasibility of a cashless society—”
“Relax, Danny boy,” Brad answered, following. “We’re just going to sing your praises. That’s the agenda.”
Daniel’s first thought was that the Ramada Renaissance’s safe room looked more like a plush three-hundred-seat auditorium than a safe haven from spies. Daniel sank into one of the theater-style chairs and rested his chin on his hand as he scanned the room. Apparently several congressional committees had been invited to this impromptu gathering. An air of excited expectancy hung over the moiling crowd.
The vice president, John Miller, opened the meeting with the sharp rap of a gavel. After thanking the various honored congresspersons for taking time from their busy schedules, he proceeded to describe the threefold aspect of the Millennium Project in a manner so dry and dull that Daniel wondered if anyone in the audience would still be awake when he had finished.
In an effort to fight off his own weariness, Daniel looked away and tried to imagine why a dynamic man like Samuel Stedman had chosen John Miller as a running mate. Miller was a classic beta male, subservient to the core, and Stedman seemed to value free-thinking team members who offered divergent opinions. This yes-man, Daniel decided, had probably been tapped to fill the veep spot for geographical political reasons rather than intellectual ones. Miller had been a senator from California before the election, and whoever won that state earned a wealth of electoral votes.
Finally, Miller sat down. Daniel pretended to be enraptured as several cabinet members, General Adam Archer, and the director of the CIA stood and enthusiastically endorsed the Millennium Project, including the new national information network and the national identification system. Finally, at the end of a long list of speakers, Kathleen O’Connor, the United States ambassador to the United Nations, walked to the lectern.
“It gives me great pleasure to personally thank Mr. Daniel Prentice for convincing us that this system should be implemented as a solution to the Y2K Crisis,” she said, her eyes crinkling as she acknowledged Daniel with a smile. “And we would like to take this opportunity to offer his insights to the world. As you know, the United States is not the only country threatened by a coming computer collapse, and, as Mr. Prentice has so ably demonstrated, the world is now interconnected as one global computer network. We are all linked to one another through the United Nations, international b
anking and trade, and interdependent relationships.”
She looked into the audience, found Daniel again, and lowered her head until she peered over the rims of her glasses and met his gaze. “We would like you, Mr. Prentice, to represent the United States at a summit meeting of the European Union, to be held in January. I have already spoken to a representative of the Council of Ministers, and he has urged me to extend you this invitation.”
A light pattering of applause began from somewhere in the back of the room, and soon a great wave of sound engulfed Daniel. He smiled reflexively, nodding to the ambassador, while his brain whirled in tumult. Europe? He’d just signed on for the biggest project of his life, he’d learned that his high-tech security system wasn’t as infallible as he thought, and he had to host a bachelor party for his best friend.
Europe was the last place in the world he wanted to go.
The ambassador to the UN backed away from the lectern, still applauding, and an elderly, dignified man in an elegant black dress uniform moved to take her place. Daniel’s smile flattened. The fellow had been present at the first cabinet meeting—Archer had introduced him as General Kord Herrick, special assistant to some hotshot on the EU’s Council of Ministers. That introduction had done little to explain why a foreign official had been invited to an American president’s cabinet meeting.
The applause died down as the older man gripped the edges of the lectern. “My name,” he proclaimed in a heavily-accented voice, “is General Kord Herrick. I am the personal ambassador of Adrian Romulus, commission president of the European Council of Ministers, and I am a citizen of the new European community!” He lifted his hand at this last comment, as if he expected additional applause, but the assembled representatives only gazed at him with polite interest.
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