I’m out, I’m dry, and I’m in my nice baggy shiny blue suit. I am the picture of a callipered, monitored neurobic modern Noughties Boy. With money of his own.
The Armament comes in. He looks like somebody who divides his time between weightlifting and V-games, hairy golden biceps, a smile like a rodent’s and heavy-duty multipurpose specs. His manner is unfriendly. “You’re Alistair Brewster. Hello. We’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“I don’t see what’s stopping you.” I don’t do polite even with Armament.
“Fine.” He sits down without being asked. His specs have a little blinking light. Smile, you’re on candid camera. “Mr. Brewster, you used to work for SecureIT Inc.”
“Was that a question or a statement?”
He blinks. “You worked on the design of security systems.”
There is no lie as effective as the truth. “That’s how I made my money. I came up with some of the recognition software, the stuff that means the ordnance knows who it’s dealing with.” I try to make it sound rich.
He nods and pretends to be impressed. “I was wondering if you could help us understand some of the ways in which these safety checks could be subverted. During the recent spate of thefts.”
Now, this is trouble. It’s coming from an angle I was not expecting. They don’t think I’m a thief. They don’t think I’m a donor.
They think maybe I’m part of Silhouette’s crew.
I stall for time. “Can I confirm your ID?”
“Sure.”
“I’m not talking security until I know who you are.”
“Very wise, Mr. Brewster.”
“Not wisdom. Habit. You get by on habit at my age Mr. …”
Secret Squirrel here won’t give me his name, just a look at his dental work. So he leans forward, and my TV checks out his retinas. We share a polite, stone-cold silence as it chews over this for a while. Then out comes his stuff.
Secret Squirrel is thirty-six years old, has a tattoo on his right knee which sounds real romantic and is validated as Armament, Security Status Amber … oh, it takes me back to the good old days. It still won’t give me his name. Psychological advantage.
I always hated Armament, for the same reason I hate Silhouette. They shoot people. Also, they never once gave SecureIT a clear brief. “OK, Secret Squirrel, shoot. I don’t mean that literally, by the way. Feel free to make a few more statements you already know the answers to.”
“Smart ass,” says the Armament.
“Look, Squirrel, I’m rich, I’m happy, I don’t have to take anything from anybody, and it was difficult getting to the point that I can say that with confidence. I didn’t ask you in here, and I don’t have to cooperate. In fact, I signed a nondisclosure agreement with SecureIT when I left. What they would prefer and what I would prefer is that you go talk to them instead of me. So. You want me to be nice to you, you start thinking nice thoughts about what a sweet old guy I am and how much you respect me.”
“Age Rage,” he says sweetly, calmly. “You’re a suspect, Mr. Brewster, not an information source.” He keeps smiling and waits for me to fall over in shock.
I just do Mr. Rich Disgusted. I roll my eyes. And hold up my hands like, I live in this place, so why would I have Age Rage?
He keeps his poker smile. “So, Mr. Brewster, it is in your own interests to cooperate fully. In the first place, Mr. Brewster, it is true that you came up with a lot of this stuff, and it is also true that it is all patented in the name of SecureIT and that you didn’t get a bean. Isn’t that so.”
“I got paid,” I say. “A lot. A lot more than you. And I’m smart with my money.”
“Eighty percent, Mr. Brewster. Eighty percent of online crime is by employees or former employees. You fit the profile like a glove. Your profile is in neon lights all around your head.”
I don’t like his attitude. “First thing, I got nothing to do with all this crap. My own granddaughter just got her face
The Armament comes in. He looks like somebody who divides his time between weightlifting and V-games, hairy golden biceps, a smile like a rodent’s and heavy-duty multipurpose specs. His manner is unfriendly. “You’re Alistair Brewster. Hello. We’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“I don’t see what’s stopping you.” I don’t do polite even with Armament.
“Fine.” He sits down without being asked. His specs have a little blinking light. Smile, you’re on candid camera. “Mr. Brewster, you used to work for SecureIT Inc.”
“Was that a question or a statement?”
He blinks. “You worked on the design of security systems.”
There is no lie as effective as the truth. “That’s how I made my money. I came up with some of the recognition software, the stuff that means the ordnance knows who it’s dealing with.” I try to make it sound rich.
He nods and pretends to be impressed. “I was wondering if you could help us understand some of the ways in which these safety checks could be subverted. During the recent spate of thefts.”
Now, this is trouble. It’s coming from an angle I was not expecting. They don’t think I’m a thief. They don’t think I’m a donor.
They think maybe I’m part of Silhouette’s crew.
I stall for time. “Can I confirm your ID?”
“Sure.”
“I’m not talking security until I know who you are.”
“Very wise, Mr. Brewster.”
“Not wisdom. Habit. You get by on habit at my age Mr. …”
Secret Squirrel here won’t give me his name, just a look at his dental work. So he leans forward, and my TV checks out his retinas. We share a polite, stone-cold silence as it chews over this for a while. Then out comes his stuff.
Secret Squirrel is thirty-six years old, has a tattoo on his right knee which sounds real romantic and is validated as Armament, Security Status Amber … oh, it takes me back to the good old days. It still won’t give me his name. Psychological advantage.
I always hated Armament, for the same reason I hate Silhouette. They shoot people. Also, they never once gave SecureIT a clear brief. “OK, Secret Squirrel, shoot. I don’t mean that literally, by the way. Feel free to make a few more statements you already know the answers to.”
“Smart ass,” says the Armament.
“Look, Squirrel, I’m rich, I’m happy, I don’t have to take anything from anybody, and it was difficult getting to the point that I can say that with confidence. I didn’t ask you in here, and I don’t have to cooperate. In fact, I signed a nondisclosure agreement with SecureIT when I left. What they would prefer and what I would prefer is that you go talk to them instead of me. So. You want me to be nice to you, you start thinking nice thoughts about what a sweet old guy I am and how much you respect me.”
“Age Rage,” he says sweetly, calmly. “You’re a suspect, Mr. Brewster, not an information source.” He keeps smiling and waits for me to fall over in shock.
I just do Mr. Rich Disgusted. I roll my eyes. And hold up my hands like, I live in this place, so why would I have Age Rage?
He keeps his poker smile. “So, Mr. Brewster, it is in your own interests to cooperate fully. In the first place, Mr. Brewster, it is true that you came up with a lot of this stuff, and it is also true that it is all patented in the name of SecureIT and that you didn’t get a bean. Isn’t that so.”
“I got paid,” I say. “A lot. A lot more than you. And I’m smart with my money.”
“Eighty percent, Mr. Brewster. Eighty percent of online crime is by employees or former employees. You fit the profile like a glove. Your profile is in neon lights all around your head.”
I don’t like his attitude. “First thing, I got nothing to do with all this crap. My own granddaughter just got her face
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