Midnight Kiss (Men of Midnight #7) - Lisa Marie Rice Page 0,24

in a bad situation —”

“The worst situation.” Felicity’s mouth tightened.

“All the more reason to give it to them.”

“Well … that’s generous.”

It wasn’t. Hope had more money than she could use in ten lifetimes. Felicity was helping her every way she could in a difficult period for her. For some reason her other two friends, who would usually be there for her, were AWOL. Emma and Riley. As soon as they saw her bat-signal, they’d get in touch but for now it was Felicity and her team, who turned out to be absolutely ace. And if Black Inc was their friend, Black Inc was her friend, too.

“Just hope it’s useful.”

Felicity gave a small, evil smile. “It would sure be useful to the CIA. They have been leaking like a sieve lately. But they won’t get it.”

Hope gave a small evil smile right back at her. “Nope. But you guys and I guess Black Inc will be safe. For a while. The best that can be hoped for.”

“I agree.” Felicity sighed. “Listen. I’m nearing the end of my leash, or at least the amount of work Metal is allowing me.”

There was a bass sound in the background that sounded like a growl. Hope looked, startled, at Luke. He gave a shrug.

“So before I am forced to go dark,” Felicity continued. Her voice was weaker than before. “I tried to crack the nut of your parents’ origins.”

“Not my parents.” Hope was clear on that.

“No. The people impersonating your parents. I traced something back to Sacramento.”

For a moment, Hope was lost. “Sacramento what?”

“California. Sacramento, California. There’s a string there but I didn’t have time to pull it. I’m sending my files … now.”

Then Felicity’s face disappeared and Hope stared for a moment at the dark screen. California. California. She had no connection whatsoever with California.

“What’s the deal with the security system?” Luke asked and Hope had to wrench her mind back to her firewall, when just about every molecule of her mental hard drive was fixated on California.

“Oh, that. Well, essentially, I set up a system where you establish your own DoS attack — a Denial of Service — to safeguard your system. Imagine there’s a highway between outsiders and your files. It’s a two-lane highway and cars go by slowly enough for you to have a shot at crossing it at a run. You have to time it carefully and there’s a little danger, but it’s doable.”

He was listening carefully, head cocked to one side, probably wondering where she was going with this. “Okay.”

Hope nodded. “Now imagine you still want to get over to the other side. But now it’s a twenty-lane superhighway, full of trucks going 100 mph, and it’s bumper to bumper traffic. And as soon as you think you’ve seen an opening to cross one lane, another truck whizzes by unexpectedly. There are twenty lanes to cross. My algorithms shift every ten seconds. You’d need a quantum computer to deal with the firewall and those don’t exist yet. Not in any meaningful way.”

Luke thought a moment. “And by the time they do, we’ll be living under the jackboot of Skynet, as you said, and it won’t make any difference.”

She beamed a smile at him. “Exactly.” It was nice to see he got it.

“On behalf of ASI and on behalf of Black Inc, I thank you. Computer security saves lives. You about done there?” He nodded at her plate and she realized she’d been eating and had stopped. She consulted her belly and it was full so she nodded.

“Good.” Luke rose. “Housekeeping will take care of this. Can you pack again? Put everything back in the wheelie Felicity sent you?”

Hope was still thinking of her firewall. “What?”

Luke took her elbow gently and guided her back to her room. “Pack. Please.”

“We’re going somewhere?” She’d just arrived in Portland and they were leaving?

“Yeah. Sacramento.”

Willard Hotel

Washington DC

“Senator, it’s time.” Court Redfield’s personal assistant, Leland Barton, heroically kept from glancing at his expensive Phillipe Patek watch, but it was clearly an effort. His young face was carved with worry lines, giving a flashing glimpse of what Leland would look like in thirty years’ time. Thank God Leland wouldn’t be around him in thirty years’ time.

Leland was a moron and Court entrusted him only with the most mundane of tasks and never paid attention to what he said. Hiring Leland as his ‘personal assistant’ was a token to the old boys’ network, and assured the help of Mercer Barton, who owned a slew of radio and