Doctor Who_ Blue Box - Kate Orman [13]
Trina laughed as I made puppy eyes at her. ‘Come on, Chick.’
‘Give me a present for your birthday, pretty lady.’
‘My birthday isn’t until tomorrow. And there’s no way Swan wants this to get out.’
‘It’s already got out!’
‘Yeah, but I’m deep background,’ said Trina. ‘I guess you could ask to interview Swan, though. She likes to talk about herself. Just don’t get me involved.’
‘Don’t worry’ I said, eating the last of the potatoes. ‘I know her reputation. I’ll bet she knows mine!’
Not only had Swan heard of me, she’d read my stuff, and she knew right away I might be able to help solve her little mystery. She didn’t ask how I’d heard about the intruders: she just ushered me into the plasticky litde staff lounge at the centre of the TLA building. It was more like she was interviewing me than the other way around.
‘Everything I tell you is strictly off the record.’
‘Not a problem, Miss Swan.’
‘If you use what I tell you in a story, TLA’s identity will be deeply buried.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Swan nodded. She sat back for a moment, looking me up and down with her X-ray vision. ‘You’ve heard the whole story,’ she said at last. ‘Who do you know that might try something like that?’
‘My first guess would be an ex-employee – someone with a grudge, or with a money-making plan. Maybe by blackmailing you after planting a logic bomb in your system, or maybe just by fooling with your payroll program.’
‘We can forget about former employees,’ said Swan. ‘I’ve already checked.’
‘What do you have that someone might want to steal?
Anything new or unusual?’
Swan made a chopping motion with one hand, cutting off that line of conversation. ‘The police were useless,’ she said.
‘They’d never heard of a crime like this one – they weren’t even sure it was a crime. I’m sorry, but I don’t care about any of that. I want these people. And I’m going to get them, never mind the police.’
‘It sounds like you have your own procedure in mind, Miss Swan.’
Swan considered me. I could see that the two sides of her hacker personality were at war in that instant: the cool and businesslike side that knew better than to show off, and the enthusiastic side that loved nothing better than boasting and bragging.
‘Strictly off the record,’ Swan said.
We drove to Swan’s house in McLean in her Ford LTD, a station wagon with faux wood panelling. It was a lot of car for one person; I guessed she ferried computer equipment to and fro in the spacious back. We stopped en route for Japanese takeout.
The house was also big for one person. Swan explained she was renting until she found something she really liked.
The neighbourhood was quiet and wooded, denuded trees reaching into a grey sky. I got a glimpse of a big back-yard inch-deep in new snow. The driveway was clear, thanks to neighbourhood kids in need of video game quarters. Swan pressed the big button for the door remote and parked the station wagon in the empty garage.
Swan only seemed to live in three rooms of the house –
kitchen, living room, study. The other rooms were empty, or contained boxes of electronic equipment. One room was a jumble of phones of various vintages. There was an unzipped sleeping bag scrunched up on the sofa; I assume that’s where she slept.
We sat at the table, balancing our takeaway on top of wires and papers. Swan had ordered for both of us: plastic bowls of soup with about two dozen baby octopuses floating amongst the noodles. I gingerly made a pile of them next to my plate.
Swan stared at me as I ferried ex-octopuses with my chopsticks. ‘I’m no good with sushi.’
‘We’re top of the food chain, Mr Peters, she told me, slurping up one of the soft little balls. ‘We eat everything, and nothing eats us. That’s the way we’re made.’ It was more the thought of tiny octopus guts that had put me off, but I kept my mouth shut.
Swan sat down in front of a TRS-80 set up on the kitchen table. (One side of the room was an impassable jungle of cables.) I scraped a chair across the floor and sat down behind