Authors: Little,Bentley
Dylan looked up at him. “Can we read until then?” he asked, holding a
Secrets of Droon
book in his hand. “Karen’s two chapters ahead of me, and I need to catch up.”
Craig smiled, squeezing the boy’s shoulder affectionately. “Sure,” he said. “But let’s get a snack first. I’m starving.”
****
The employee parking lot was empty, and for a moment Angie thought that she’d arrived too late for the meeting. But she glanced down at the clock in the dashboard and saw that she was right on time.
That was strange.
There were no cars in the rear lot, and she turned around and drove back out to the front. The Urgent Care shared its parking lot with a travel agency and a beauty supply distributor, and she wasn’t sure at first if the smattering of cars was connected to one of those businesses. But then she recognized Pam’s Altima and pulled next to it. The sky was dimming but not yet dark, and she made sure her car was locked before going in, knowing it would be night before she came out. She hoped the meeting would be short, but knew that was wishful thinking. She should have defrosted something for Craig and Dylan to eat in case things ran long.
The front door was unlocked, and she walked into the Urgent Care, surprised to find that the waiting room was empty and dark, although lights were on in the area behind the admittance desk.
“Hello?” she called.
It was not only dark, it was silent, and Angie frowned. Staff meetings were usually held before or after hours in the waiting room, and although occasionally Pam convened them all in the central corridor, particularly if she wanted to lord things over them and make them stand the entire time, Angie should have been able to hear voices.
“Hello?” she called again. “Anybody here?”
Nothing.
She wasn’t a person who was easily spooked, but her Spidey-sense was telling her something was wrong. Half-tempted to leave, she decided instead to call Pam’s cell phone. Her mind ran through possible scenarios as she pressed the preset number—the meeting had been cancelled and not only had Pam forgotten to call and tell her, she’d forgotten to lock up; everyone mistakenly thought it was her birthday, and they were throwing her a surprise party, lying in wait to jump out at her. She stopped right there. That was already too outlandish to be true.
The number dialed, and she heard a ringing in her ear.
And heard the office manager’s distinctive Neil Diamond ring-tone from somewhere in the back.
She closed her phone. “Hello?” she called, walking through the admittance area. “Pam?”
She saw no doctors and none of the other nurses, but Pam was in her office, working on the computer.
“Pam?” she said, but the office manager didn’t respond, and Angie suddenly noticed that, although the computer was on, the monitor displayed not a work page but a kitten-and-puppy screen-saver, which meant there’d been no keystrokes for a while.
The woman’s hand, on the armrest of the chair, had not moved.
At all.
Angie sucked in her breath. “Pam?” she said cautiously.
Forcing herself to move forward, she reached out and touched the office manager’s shoulder. “Pam?”
No movement. No response.
She stepped to the side, nervously craning her head around to see the figure in the chair and finding what she expected to find. The office manager was dead. What she did
not
expect was the look of horror on the woman’s face, a wide-eyed, gaping mouthed expression that made it appear as though she had seen a monster and died of fright in mid-scream.
Angie ran back the way she’d come in, down the corridor, past the admittance desk, through the waiting room and outside. She had time to wonder where everyone else was, why she was the only one who had shown up for the meeting, but overriding all of her thoughts was the necessity of calling the police, and she was punching in 911 even while she sprinted toward the parking lot, telling the dispatcher what she’d found as she was getting into her car and locking the door.
“Send! Someone! Now!” she yelled, cutting through the dispatcher’s questions.
It was thirteen minutes later before the police finally arrived.
FOURTEEN
Monday morning, Craig was summoned to work early by the programmers sending a torrent of surreptitiously sent text messages. There weren’t many details, but the tone was frantic, and though he’d planned to call in sick today after last night’s excitement, Angie assured him that she was fine and told him to go. Skipping breakfast, and with messages still coming in, he sped over to the office before Dylan was even awake.
Craig was not prepared for the fury that Scott Cho was unleashing upon the programmers when he arrived on the fifth floor. He could hear the department head yelling as soon as the elevator opened, and he hurried down the corridor to try and diffuse the situation.
Scott was standing before the gathered programmers, pacing, his face red, pointing finger jabbing the air as he shouted accusingly. “Again, which one of you was it?”
“What’s going on?” Craig said, trying to keep his voice calm.
Scott whirled to face him. “I’ll tell you what’s going on! Someone here released a working demo of
Zombie Navy
and now it’s all over the internet!”
Craig felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. None of the texts had mentioned the reason for Scott’s tirade, and he scanned the blanched faces of the programmers.
This couldn’t be possible. The game was under tighter security than any other CompWare product in history. It was their summer blockbuster, their one sure thing, and the prime directive had been to keep everything about it, from the graphics to the through-line, under wraps. How could it have gotten out?
“Not only that, but it’s getting trashed on all the gamer rating sites!”
Craig found it suddenly hard to breathe.
“I told him, none of us did it,” Huell said.
“And I told you to shut the hell up!” Scott bellowed.
Craig didn’t know what to do or where to start. Since none of the frantic texts he’d been sent had mentioned the reason for Scott’s blowup, it made him wonder if one of the programmers
had
uploaded the demo. None of them looked guilty, however, and as he observed each of them and thought about those who were not yet here, he realized that he believed Huell’s denial. He knew these men and women. They were all good people, good workers, loyal and honest. None of them would jeopardize their jobs with such a stupid move.
He thought he’d known Tyler, too, though.
“What do you think happened?” Craig asked the programmers.
Scott whirled to face him, angered by the interference, but before he could voice his displeasure, Rusty spoke up. “You know those consultants have access to everything.”
Craig looked at Rusty, the situation suddenly sharpening in his mind.
“We’ve kept this under wraps for nearly a year. No one outside the loop even knew it was in development. Now, a couple of days after they get access to our passwords, it’s out in the world? Seems a little suspicious to me.”
“More than a little suspicious,” Craig agreed.
“Stop right there,” Scott ordered. “I don’t want to hear any of this talk—”
“You don’t want to find out the truth?” Craig stared him down. There was a weird dynamic between them after the weekend retreat. It was almost as though they were equals instead of boss and subordinate, and he wondered if that had been the consultant’s intention or if it was merely a coincidental side effect.
Scott backed off.
Maybe the weekend
hadn’t
been a complete waste of time.
“We need to find out how this happened,” Craig said. “Now. Whoever did it needs to be fired, and we have to make sure it never happens again. This is major.” He scanned the faces before him. “We’ll need to work with someone from Operations on this. Who’s good at—”
“I can track the leak,” Benjy Goldfarb offered. “If Operations can get me access to everyone’s computer, I can scan the internal records and find where and when it went out. It may take me awhile, but I’ll catch the consultant who did it.”
“What did you say?” Scott demanded.
Benjy tried to hide a smile. “Guy,” he said. “I’ll catch the
guy
who did it.”
“Do it,” Craig told him. “This is our top priority. I’ll tell Fistler in Operations and get someone to work with you. In the meantime, I’m going to talk to Legal and get this thing pulled from any site it’s on. What I want the rest of you to do is find out who has
Zombie Navy
, who’s commenting on
Zombie Navy
, who’s seen
Zombie Navy
, who’s even
thinking
about
Zombie Navy
. Email me everything you find and don’t wait until you have a list. The second you find a site, let me know. We have to stop this in its tracks.
“Everyone get to work. I’ll be talking to each of you individually, so be thinking also about ideas on how the game might’ve been leaked. No theory’s a dumb theory until we find out what went down. Got it?”
Nodding, they hurried back to their work stations, and he caught the looks of gratitude on the faces of those who’d texted him. Surprising even himself, he’d neutralized Scott, protecting his people, though he knew that was something the department head would
not
forget. Instead of mindlessly blaming the programmers, he’d shifted the focus to finding out who had done it using all logical means at their disposal.
He turned to the department head. “You’d better tell Mr. Matthews what happened. He’s going to want to know.”
Scott shot him a look of supreme irritation. “I’m well aware of that,
Horne
.”
Knowing when to back off had always been one of his strengths, and Craig did so now. Certain that Scott would follow proper channels, dotting I’s and crossing T’s all the way, Craig took his leave. It was going to be one hell of a busy day, but he was pretty sure he could cover this
Zombie Navy
situation from home through telephone and email. Angie needed him. She
couldn’t
be all right after finding Pam’s body, and he wanted to be there for her. He’d stop off and see Lupe first, tell her what was going on, and let her know that he’d be gone for the day.
On his way to the elevator, he called Angie to tell her that he would be coming home, but she didn’t answer the phone, and when he called her cell, he discovered that she was on the way to
the Urgent Care for a meeting.
“I’ll be there when you get back,” he told her.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “You’re already there. Might as well stay. Save those hours for some other time.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Sounds good,” she admitted.
“It’s a date. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. Call you later.”
“Love you,” he said.
“Love you, too. Bye.”
In front of his office, Craig found a clean-cut young man sitting in a swivel chair to the right of Lupe’s desk. Dressed impeccably in black pants, white shirt and tie, the man had the look of a Mormon missionary. In his lap was some sort of electronic tablet. He smiled at Craig and nodded.
Before he could ask who the man was and what he was doing here, Lupe came hurrying down the corridor from the direction of the elevators. “I’m not late!” she announced. “I’m not late!”
She was clearly addressing the young man in the chair, and when Craig shot her a quizzical look, she plopped down in her own chair and explained, “The work management study. It started Friday afternoon, right after you left.” Dropping her purse on the floor and pushing it under her desk with her feet, she turned on her computer. “I’m working,” she told the man. “I’m already at work. I’m answering my boss’ questions, which is part of a secretary’s duties.”
This was getting ridiculous. “Time out,” Craig said. “Everyone hold up a minute. No one informed me about this at all. Walk me through it, step-by-step.” He turned to the man in the chair. “Now who, exactly, are you? And what is it you’re doing here?”
“My name’s Todd.” Standing and smiling, the young man held out his hand to shake.
He wanted to ignore the outstretched hand, but he knew it would be better for both Lupe and himself if he acted like a team player, so Craig shook.
“My job is to account for every minute of every hour of Ms. Ferrera’s work day. I am to make note of how long it takes her to perform each task listed in her job description, and to note how much time she spends each day on non-work-related items. BFG will eventually analyze this information to determine what can be done to improve efficiency.” It was a prepared speech, and it sounded like a prepared speech, and it reminded Craig not to be too hard on this kid. He was only doing what he’d been told to do. He was following orders, not giving them.
“How long is this going to last?” Craig asked.
“I’m here for the week, at least. Beyond that, I don’t know. I haven’t been told.”
Lupe was already on her computer, trying to show how hard she worked, and Todd was watching her, typing into his laptop even as he spoke to Craig.
“Well, have fun,” Craig said. He half-expected to see someone waiting for him in his office, but there was not, and he understood that the study would be conducted in stages, apparently from the bottom up. A consultant would be coming in to monitor him soon, though, and he was almost sorry that it wasn’t starting today. With this
Zombie Navy
disaster, he had a lot to do.
The morning flew by quickly. He talked to Legal about going after the sites that were offering the game, got Fistler in Operations to grant Benjy access to computer records, waded through a seemingly unending stream of emails, and had a chance to meet with about half of the programmers. He was pretty sure before he talked to them that they hadn’t sabotaged the program, and nothing he heard made him change his mind. After lunch, he’d meet one-on-one with the rest of them, but as far as he was concerned, it was only a formality. He did not think any of his people had released the game.