Hadens.”
“Mr. Buchold,” I said, and held up a hand. “I’m not here to judge you. And I’m not here to run back to my father and whisper into his ear about you. Right now I am here investigating the bombing of your facilities. Our primary suspect at the moment is one of your employees. Our only interest is finding out if he’s really the bomber, and why he did it.” Buchold seemed to relax a bit at that.
And then Vann tensed him all up again. “Did Dr. Baer ever talk about Cassandra Bell?” she asked.
“Why the hell would he do that?”
“Jim,” Wisson said.
“No,” Buchold said, shooting a look at his husband. “I never heard him speak about Cassandra Bell.”
“What about the researchers around him?” Vann continued.
“There would be casual talk about her because she’s on record opposing our line of research,” Buchold said. “We always wondered if protesters would show up like they do because of the animal testing we have to do. But none ever did and I don’t think anyone really gave her a whole lot of thought. Why?”
I looked over to Vann to see what she thought. She nodded at me. “Dr. Baer left behind a suicide note,” I said. “He mentioned Cassandra Bell in it.”
“How? Is she behind this in some way?” Buchold asked.
“We don’t have any reason to believe so,” Vann said. “But we also have to follow up all the leads.”
“I knew this was going to happen,” Buchold said.
“What was going to happen?” I asked.
“Violence,” Buchold said. “Rick will tell you. Those dipshits passed Abrams-Kettering and I said to him that sooner or later there was going to be a mess. You don’t just take five million people sucking on the government teat and punt them into the street and expect them to go without a fight.” He looked over at me. “No offense.”
“None taken,” I said, which wasn’t entirely true, but I let it go. “How far does this set you back?”
“You mean our research?”
“Yes.”
“It sets us back by years,” Buchold said. “There’s data in the lab that wasn’t anywhere else.”
“You don’t have multiple copies of your data?” Vann asked.
“Of course we do,” Buchold said.
“And you can’t pull it down off your networks?”
“You don’t understand,” Buchold said. “We don’t ever put anything genuinely sensitive online. The moment we do that the hacking begins. We’ll put up dummy servers with nothing on them but encrypted pictures of cats, for fuck’s sake, and we won’t tell anyone we’ve put them out there. Within four hours we’ve got hackers from China and Syria cracking them open. We’d be idiots to put actual confidential data into an outside-accessible server.”
“So all your data was stored locally,” I said.
“Stored locally,” Buchold said. “Stored multiply on internal servers.”
“What about archives?” Vann asked. “Data stored off-network.”
“We did that, of course. And stored it in a secure room on campus.”
“So all of it—local and archived data—went up with the lab building.” Vann glanced over to me with an expression that I suspect meant these people were sloppy .
“Right,” Buchold said. “It’s possible we can piece together some recent data from e-mails and the computers in the office building. If they weren’t destroyed by either the blast or by the fire-suppression system. But realistically speaking—years of research. Gone. Dead. Destroyed.”
* * *
“Oh, look, it’s midnight,” I said, to Vann, as she drove me home. “My first real day on the job is over.”
Vann smiled at this, the cigarette in her mouth bouncing as she did so. “I’m not going to lie to you,” she said. “It’s been a little more hectic than most first days.”
“I can hardly wait for tomorrow,” I said.
“I doubt that.” Vann drooled smoke out of her lips.
“You know that shit’s going to kill you, right?” I asked. “The smoking. There’s a reason why
“Mr. Buchold,” I said, and held up a hand. “I’m not here to judge you. And I’m not here to run back to my father and whisper into his ear about you. Right now I am here investigating the bombing of your facilities. Our primary suspect at the moment is one of your employees. Our only interest is finding out if he’s really the bomber, and why he did it.” Buchold seemed to relax a bit at that.
And then Vann tensed him all up again. “Did Dr. Baer ever talk about Cassandra Bell?” she asked.
“Why the hell would he do that?”
“Jim,” Wisson said.
“No,” Buchold said, shooting a look at his husband. “I never heard him speak about Cassandra Bell.”
“What about the researchers around him?” Vann continued.
“There would be casual talk about her because she’s on record opposing our line of research,” Buchold said. “We always wondered if protesters would show up like they do because of the animal testing we have to do. But none ever did and I don’t think anyone really gave her a whole lot of thought. Why?”
I looked over to Vann to see what she thought. She nodded at me. “Dr. Baer left behind a suicide note,” I said. “He mentioned Cassandra Bell in it.”
“How? Is she behind this in some way?” Buchold asked.
“We don’t have any reason to believe so,” Vann said. “But we also have to follow up all the leads.”
“I knew this was going to happen,” Buchold said.
“What was going to happen?” I asked.
“Violence,” Buchold said. “Rick will tell you. Those dipshits passed Abrams-Kettering and I said to him that sooner or later there was going to be a mess. You don’t just take five million people sucking on the government teat and punt them into the street and expect them to go without a fight.” He looked over at me. “No offense.”
“None taken,” I said, which wasn’t entirely true, but I let it go. “How far does this set you back?”
“You mean our research?”
“Yes.”
“It sets us back by years,” Buchold said. “There’s data in the lab that wasn’t anywhere else.”
“You don’t have multiple copies of your data?” Vann asked.
“Of course we do,” Buchold said.
“And you can’t pull it down off your networks?”
“You don’t understand,” Buchold said. “We don’t ever put anything genuinely sensitive online. The moment we do that the hacking begins. We’ll put up dummy servers with nothing on them but encrypted pictures of cats, for fuck’s sake, and we won’t tell anyone we’ve put them out there. Within four hours we’ve got hackers from China and Syria cracking them open. We’d be idiots to put actual confidential data into an outside-accessible server.”
“So all your data was stored locally,” I said.
“Stored locally,” Buchold said. “Stored multiply on internal servers.”
“What about archives?” Vann asked. “Data stored off-network.”
“We did that, of course. And stored it in a secure room on campus.”
“So all of it—local and archived data—went up with the lab building.” Vann glanced over to me with an expression that I suspect meant these people were sloppy .
“Right,” Buchold said. “It’s possible we can piece together some recent data from e-mails and the computers in the office building. If they weren’t destroyed by either the blast or by the fire-suppression system. But realistically speaking—years of research. Gone. Dead. Destroyed.”
* * *
“Oh, look, it’s midnight,” I said, to Vann, as she drove me home. “My first real day on the job is over.”
Vann smiled at this, the cigarette in her mouth bouncing as she did so. “I’m not going to lie to you,” she said. “It’s been a little more hectic than most first days.”
“I can hardly wait for tomorrow,” I said.
“I doubt that.” Vann drooled smoke out of her lips.
“You know that shit’s going to kill you, right?” I asked. “The smoking. There’s a reason why
Similar Books
