A Calculated Risk, Katherine Neville [english novels for students txt] 📗

called the personnel director and told him Tavish’s transfer to Karp had been approved—they could cut the paperwork. I phoned Karp, who was effusive with thanks, lies, and bullshit at the other end.

Then I called Tavish.

“Did they take the bait?” he asked.

“Hook, line, sinker, and part of the pole,” I assured him. “No one will be the least surprised when you resign on Monday—except maybe Karp, who’s a bit slow on the uptake.”

“I wish you could join me,” he said sadly, “but I understand someone’s got to stay behind and mind the shop. I’ll think of you in New York.”

“Give my love to Charles and the Bobbseys,” I said, for we’d agreed that Tavish could monitor our operation quite well by using Charles—and the Bobbseys were grateful to hire someone who could help with their operation, even though on a temporary basis, and give them a long-needed break. “If you happen to hear from Pearl or Tor,” I added, “give them my best—but tell them we’re still going to beat them!”

When we hung up, I felt a terrible cold chill move through me. I was alone now—surrounded by villains—and who knew for how long? I hadn’t heard from Tor in weeks, not since they’d left for Europe.

I glanced at the calendar on the wall—February 1—just over two months since my night at the opera. In the seventy-two days that had passed, I’d knocked over two of the largest financial institutions in the world (if you counted Tor’s theft, it was three), and everything in my life had been turned upside down. Though I knew it, I couldn’t really feel it; I just felt numb inside.

I was thirty-two years old, and by most standards, a success. All the achievements in my life had been won by beating the System. But soon there wasn’t going to be a system to beat anymore. I was destroying it, wasn’t I?

Tor had known this all along, of course. With one swift kick, he’d knocked away my supports, so the only thing I could cling to was reality—actual reality, not the kind found in systems and structures and other people’s rules. He wanted me to take a good, hard look at my life, stop playing the games we all invent to pretend to ourselves that what we’re living out isn’t real. And if what I saw stretching behind me was a crumbling, rotten bridge of my own making—a wasted ruin—I knew what he’d tell me to do.

I sat in my office surrounded by glass, and looked at the fading orchid in the vase before me. A few brown blossoms had fallen, scattered across the desk. I heard Tor’s voice whispering, ever so softly, in my ear. His voice said, “Light the match.”

By the Monday of Lawrence’s return—when I was expected to shut down my project and get off the system—I still had no solution to the dilemma.

By then, Tavish and I had finished transferring the monitoring of our crime to Charles Babbage’s full-time diligence, though it meant the little computer would have to stay up around the clock for a while in New York. Someone still had to keep an eye on the systems here, just to see who might be snooping around. But if I got transferred back to Kiwi, as Lawrence had threatened, I’d be occupied full-time cleaning the lavatories with my toothbrush.

As I passed through the fairyland of glass walls to Lawrence’s office, I was pretty glum. Though Tor had always said the best defense was a good offense, I wasn’t sure what I could do that would be offensive enough to stop the wheels that were already set in motion. The least I could do was to give it my best shot.

Lawrence greeted me without rising; he was dug in behind the entrenchment of his desk and unwilling to part with ground. It hardly mattered—the ammo I had this time would melt under a small blowtorch, and I knew he could do better than that with his breath.

“Let’s have a look—this is the wrap-up report?” he said, extending his hand.

He skimmed the first few pages, then read the rest more closely than I’d hoped for, considering that my hours on earth were numbered. I sat there swinging my legs, looking out at the fog-bound view. I knew I might get one shot if I were lucky. I closed my eyes and tried to visualize the terrain in the dark.

“Banks,” he said, looking up with patience, “this study seems unnecessarily alarmist to me. You suggest our security can be violated—”

“Has been violated,” I corrected.

“But I shouldn’t describe our systems as ‘lax in security.’ It might be misunderstood. I realize these systems aren’t exactly state-of-the-art—”

“Unless the art is Renaissance fresco painting,” I agreed.

“But frankly I’m losing patience with all these studies, and I no longer plan to finance them. I’ll be responsible for making sure that your concerns are addressed. Your request for follow-up work is denied.”

“I’m not requesting that you finance any improvements to security,” I assured him, “or that the Managing Committee should be involved either.”

I stood up and took a deep breath—it was now or never. “That’s why I’m turning my findings over to the audit department,” I said. “It’s really their job to ensure the appropriate safeguards are put into our systems, and now that Tavish has left, I’m the only one who can advise them about where to look for holes in security.”

I surely didn’t want the auditors inspecting the system just now, but since it seemed they already knew that we’d violated security (hopefully, not why!) they’d be expecting to see my report—that was the reason Lawrence had used for wrapping things up on my project. On the other hand, if I could work along with them, it would serve the double job of keeping me informed of their activities—and out of Kiwi’s hands.

But Lawrence’s response was something I hadn’t bargained for, and it threw me for a loop. I assumed he’d either send me packing back