classes.” Advanced Placement. College credit, if she did well. “The only reason you’re pushing me to go is Dad can’t stalk me today so you want me with him.”
“First, you’re right, we want you covered,” Don replied. “Second, you’re a smart kid. You can miss a day. And third, I really would like your company.”
“If you’re not stalking me on the way to school, who’s going to protect Sufyan?”
“His uncle. Trust me, he’s got Sufyan’s back,” Don said. “Don’t you think?”
Emma had to agree. “Okay, but I better go change.”
Lana grinned at their back-and-forth, relieved they got on so well. Don was lucky to have reentered his daughter’s life when he did. Another year or two and he might have missed the boat entirely.
Missed the boat? She wondered whether he did miss his forty-four-foot sloop on which he’d plied the Caribbean. She was deeply grateful to have him back—and felt just the opposite about the undeniably disturbing presence of Robin Maray.
She didn’t even think about the agent again until she backed her Prius out of the garage and saw him parked in front of a neighbor’s house in the Charger.
With a quick wave she acknowledged him as she drove down the sunlight-dappled street, making an effort to put aside any intrusive memories. She had far too much on her mind with the workday looming ahead.
Lana pulled into her spot in CyberFortress’s underground parking garage and hurried to the elevator. An armed security guard stepped in behind her and pushed the button for the lobby.
“Good morning,” Robin said, slipping in as the doors began to close.
Lana replied in kind with an effortless smile, then remembered her guilt.
For what? she challenged herself. It’s not going to happen again .
But the fling two years ago felt as near as yesterday when Robin had walked into Holmes’s office.
Robin let her exit the elevator first. She felt peered at from behind and acutely aware of her body. She’d dressed modestly, as she always did for work, but after brushing out her shiny black hair she’d dabbed on Byredo’s Seven Veils , a scent she adored. She hadn’t even thought much about it till now. She’d just done it. Like a few other things that you’re now regretting .
“Ask Maureen Henley to come to my office,” Lana said to Ester Hall, her new executive assistant, an amateur tennis champion at fifty who smiled when Robin came into view.
Lana closed her door to him. He understood that he would not have access to her office or the war room, while young Maureen Henley was escorted in moments later by Ester.
“Have a seat,” Lana told the MIT grad whose senior thesis on the economics of scale in the development of macro cybersurveillance systems had landed her a prestigious position at CyberFortress.
Maureen settled and shifted her silky red hair off her long graceful neck.
“This is a first,” Maureen said.
“A first what?” Lana replied with her eyes on her inbox.
“The first time I’ve been in your office for a one-on-one since you interviewed me for the job.”
“I think I’m about to disappoint you. What I need will call less on your cyberskills than your analytical ones. I want you to systematically review the posts of Steel Fist’s followers. Hack where you need to, but you should start with the public sites because they’ll be the most heavily trafficked. I’m guessing they’ll also be on private sites, on social media, in chat rooms, all that stuff. I’m not interested in the threats against my family and me or Sufyan Hijazi, unless they depart from the usual fare. I want to know what’s the story here, and, more importantly, I want to know when the story changes .”
Maureen read at more than one thousand words a minute, even faster than Lana who clocked in at about eight hundred. So while the assignment was daunting, given Steel Fist’s ten million subscribers, Maureen could race through the cyberclutter faster than anyone
“First, you’re right, we want you covered,” Don replied. “Second, you’re a smart kid. You can miss a day. And third, I really would like your company.”
“If you’re not stalking me on the way to school, who’s going to protect Sufyan?”
“His uncle. Trust me, he’s got Sufyan’s back,” Don said. “Don’t you think?”
Emma had to agree. “Okay, but I better go change.”
Lana grinned at their back-and-forth, relieved they got on so well. Don was lucky to have reentered his daughter’s life when he did. Another year or two and he might have missed the boat entirely.
Missed the boat? She wondered whether he did miss his forty-four-foot sloop on which he’d plied the Caribbean. She was deeply grateful to have him back—and felt just the opposite about the undeniably disturbing presence of Robin Maray.
She didn’t even think about the agent again until she backed her Prius out of the garage and saw him parked in front of a neighbor’s house in the Charger.
With a quick wave she acknowledged him as she drove down the sunlight-dappled street, making an effort to put aside any intrusive memories. She had far too much on her mind with the workday looming ahead.
Lana pulled into her spot in CyberFortress’s underground parking garage and hurried to the elevator. An armed security guard stepped in behind her and pushed the button for the lobby.
“Good morning,” Robin said, slipping in as the doors began to close.
Lana replied in kind with an effortless smile, then remembered her guilt.
For what? she challenged herself. It’s not going to happen again .
But the fling two years ago felt as near as yesterday when Robin had walked into Holmes’s office.
Robin let her exit the elevator first. She felt peered at from behind and acutely aware of her body. She’d dressed modestly, as she always did for work, but after brushing out her shiny black hair she’d dabbed on Byredo’s Seven Veils , a scent she adored. She hadn’t even thought much about it till now. She’d just done it. Like a few other things that you’re now regretting .
“Ask Maureen Henley to come to my office,” Lana said to Ester Hall, her new executive assistant, an amateur tennis champion at fifty who smiled when Robin came into view.
Lana closed her door to him. He understood that he would not have access to her office or the war room, while young Maureen Henley was escorted in moments later by Ester.
“Have a seat,” Lana told the MIT grad whose senior thesis on the economics of scale in the development of macro cybersurveillance systems had landed her a prestigious position at CyberFortress.
Maureen settled and shifted her silky red hair off her long graceful neck.
“This is a first,” Maureen said.
“A first what?” Lana replied with her eyes on her inbox.
“The first time I’ve been in your office for a one-on-one since you interviewed me for the job.”
“I think I’m about to disappoint you. What I need will call less on your cyberskills than your analytical ones. I want you to systematically review the posts of Steel Fist’s followers. Hack where you need to, but you should start with the public sites because they’ll be the most heavily trafficked. I’m guessing they’ll also be on private sites, on social media, in chat rooms, all that stuff. I’m not interested in the threats against my family and me or Sufyan Hijazi, unless they depart from the usual fare. I want to know what’s the story here, and, more importantly, I want to know when the story changes .”
Maureen read at more than one thousand words a minute, even faster than Lana who clocked in at about eight hundred. So while the assignment was daunting, given Steel Fist’s ten million subscribers, Maureen could race through the cyberclutter faster than anyone
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