Home > O Magnet (Titans of Tech Book 2)(6)

O Magnet (Titans of Tech Book 2)(6)
Author: Tessa Layne

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

Stockton

 

 

Four Years Earlier

 

Harrison walks into my office and drops a file on my desk. "I need you to leave right now and go pick up a hacker."

I remain focused on the string of code scrolling down my monitor. "I'm a little busy here," I point out, letting the snark enter my voice. We've been dealing with a new wave of cyberattacks that's had me pulling consecutive all-nighters for a week.

"I've got a meeting with Tokyo in an hour. And besides-" Stockton taps the folder with his knuckle. "You're gonna want to read this file."

"Doubtful." Truth is, if you've seen one hacker, you've seen them all. Mid-twenties, male, pasty from lack of sun, too smart for their own good. Which is where we come in. "Retrieving" hackers from FBI custody is nothing new for us. In fact, it's how we've managed to build one of the top cyber-security divisions in the world. No one can stop hackers better than a hacker, and in a world where seconds count, I want the smartest there are. So when the FBI calls, we swoop in with a probationary job offer. The guys always take it so they can avoid jail and keep doing what they love most - solving puzzles. Usually Stockton handles these deals. It carries a little more weight when the CEO gives you a get out of jail free card. The first six months, they eat, drink, and breathe Steele Conglomerate while I take them through a series of complex puzzles, each one harder than the last, designed to test not only their skill but also their ethics. The ones that fail go straight to jail. There's too much at stake to take any shit.

"Stockton," he says sharply. "I'm not dicking around. I need you to go to Rolla. Right now."

That grabs my attention. "Rolla? Do we have some kind of a wunderkind?" The University of Missouri has a science and tech school there - mostly local kids from rural Missouri and the surrounding states. When the FBI calls, we end up flying to places like Vegas, the Bay area, or the Beltway. Most hackers gravitate to money. Or power.

But Rolla? Now I'm curious. A kid like that, depending on the level of his offense, could be groomed to take over my position someday.

"Just read the file. Helicopter's waiting on the roof."

Only I don't, because I spend the brief flight setting up a trojan horse in our third line of defense that will destroy a hacker's hard drive. Special Agent Locke is waiting for me at the helipad. "Fair warning, DoD is on their way, so is the CIA. You have about a half-hour before General Woodward lands."

"Wait, isn't he-"

"Commander of U.S. Cybercomm? Yes. Everyone wants this kid." Agent Locke hands me a folder that's probably identical to the one Harrison gave me. And now I'm kicking myself. If military brass are involved, this kid is a super-genius and a threat. Which means his life changes forever today. "Managed to expose a trillion-dollar vulnerability deep within the walls of Social Security."

For a half-second I feel sorry for the punk and wonder what in the hell is in the file I'm holding. But before I can ask any questions or sneak a glance at the file, Agent Lock pushes open the door to a conference room and waves me in. What I see halts me in my tracks. This isn't some cybernerd who's lived in his bedroom or a basement since puberty.

It's a fucking girl.

I blink, mind flying in a half-dozen directions. She's as far away from the door as she can get, rocking on the back legs of her chair, eyeing me from underneath an uncombed mop of pink-streaked black hair. I recognize that expression, the mix of curiosity and defiance that's a hallmark of a brilliant mind. Her bright green eyes, overly lined with black, snap as she scans me. I flex as I meet her gaze, and a jolt of electricity arcs between us. A mutual awareness, here and gone so fast I'm sure I imagined it, except my palms are tingling.

She's wearing a black Ramones t-shirt and a half-dozen braided cords around her left wrist where the tail end of a tattoo peeks out. A pink gem glimmers on her nose and a small hoop encases the right corner of her plump lower lip. She's slender, scrawny, even, with pinched cheeks - like she's survived on Funions and too many Red Bulls, and not nearly enough real food.

Everything about her screams "piece of work." And if I were smart, I'd turn right back around and leave her to the military brass. Let them straighten her ass out with eight weeks of bootcamp. But I can't seem to look away. And if Harrison had me drop everything for this fool's errand, then she's flying back with me to Kansas City, come hell or high water. Still holding her gaze, I step fully into the room, placing my briefcase on the table and snapping it open.

Behind me, Agent Locke clears his throat. "I'll leave you two alone. Will twenty minutes be enough?"

Not even close. Normally these debriefings last two or three hours, sometimes longer, depending on the depth of testing a potential acquisition undergoes. But I hear his warning. I have twenty minutes to convince her to take a job offer with us. When the door clicks shut, I pull out a portable router and two laptops. I push one across the table. "Did Agent Locke tell you who I am?"

She shakes her head once. "No." Her voice is smoky, and rough. The kind of voice you hear after a night of hard fucking. Jesus. She's got me off my game and we haven't even started.

I give myself a hard mental shake. There's no way I'm letting a girl, especially one who looks like she could still be in high school, get the best of me. "I'm Stockton Forde. CTO of Steele Conglomerate." I don't expect her to know who we are. We're not a pop-culture icon like Apple or Google. We work on the fringe - experimental technology, communications, military contracts, banking, space... you get the idea. But her eyes widen a fraction when I drop the name. She's heard of us. Curious. "I assume you know why I'm here?"

Her eyes shutter and her mouth thins. She lifts a slender shoulder and makes a face, as if she's disgusted with herself for getting caught.

I press on. I don't have time to fuck around and I don't have Steele's knack for sweet talk. Her eyes dart from the laptop to me then back again. Her fingers drum the table. She's itching to open it. I open mine, pull up the timer screen and set it for ten minutes. "Our laptops are connected. As soon as you open yours, it will trigger the timer in mine. You'll have ten minutes to get to level six. If you don't reach it in the allotted time, the motherboard will melt. If you do, the computer's yours."

Her eyes dart to mine, skeptical. "What if I refuse?"

I work hard to cover my surprise. And then my anger. No one the FBI has brought to us has refused. Our offers are simply too good. Again, it occurs to me that she's dangerous and Steele doesn't know what he's doing, asking me to bring her on. I should walk out the door and leave her to the wolves. But I'm a sucker for a challenge and while it annoys me, I grudgingly admire her balls. I lean in and drop my voice. "Here are your options, sweetheart. You can go to jail where you'll likely get raped within your first week. Or you can go with the military top dogs who'll be here in..." I check my watch. "Seventeen minutes. They'll put you through eight weeks of basic, then dump you in a basement with a bunch of other plebe coders. And given the severity of your offenses, they won't let you out of their sight. For the rest of your life. And if you decide to break up with them you'll be looking at prison or life inside a foreign embassy in whatever country will take you. Also for the rest of your life." I spread my hands, only feeling a tiny bit guilty at laying out her options in such a stark manner.

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