Chapter 8 #2
“Sorry …” I waved it off. “I was just analyzing the problem in my head. It sounds like asynchronous operations are creating orphaned records.”
His head snapped toward me. “Wow. Yes. I was thinking the same thing.”
“Thread-safe indexing with mutex locks or semaphores will prevent concurrent access conflicts,” I said.
Sam crossed his arms and stared at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nobody here understands this,” he explained. “When I say mutex, people think I’m talking about an over-the-counter medication that helps loosen mucus in the airways.” He chuckled. “You just diagnosed the problem in ten seconds, without even logging in and diving deeper.”
I shrugged off the comment since it really wasn’t that difficult. “Shall we get started on the fix then?”
“Absolutely,” Sam said. “We can—”
A tremendous crash echoed from the reference section.
Both of our heads whipped toward the sound. I could see someone had knocked over an entire display stand. Books were scattered across the floor in a spectacular cascade of hardcovers and paperbacks.
“What in the—” Sam stood to get a better look.
That was when I caught a glimpse of a person getting up, the one responsible for the chaos. It was Chloe. Right on schedule.
“Oh, no,” Chloe’s voice carried across the library like a damsel in distress, pitched perfectly between embarrassed and worried. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see that there. Oh, my gosh, there are books everywhere.”
“Excuse me, Rose. I’ll be right back,” Sam said.
“Of course,” I said. “Take your time.”
Really, take all the time in the world.
Eleanor rushed toward Chloe, but Sam cut her off.
“I’ve got it,” he told her.
The second Sam stopped in front of Chloe to help her, I moved, my hand already pulling the flash drive from my pocket.
I plopped down in his chair, rolled it closer to the keyboard, then slid the flash drive into the USB port with a click, pulling up the hidden executable on the desktop to begin the process.
INITIALIZING ...
Lines of code scrolled past as the algorithm began its work, probing authentication protocols and testing 500,000 potential credential combinations.
PROGRESS: 5%
With my eyes glued to the screen, I could hear Sam reassuring Chloe that accidents happen and that it was no problem at all. I quickly glanced over and saw that they were gathering books from the floor.
I turned my attention back to the monitor.
“Come on,” I whispered to the screen.
PROGRESS: 20%
The algorithm was moving faster than I’d expected, which either meant Sam’s security had a vulnerability I’d exploited, or I was about to trigger every defensive protocol he’d installed. Given last night’s attempt, I was betting on the latter.
PROGRESS: 35%
I could see Sam straightening up, brushing off his hands. Chloe was still apologizing profusely, but the cleanup was clearly winding down. She needed to stall him longer because I wasn’t even close to finishing.
PROGRESS: 50%
A loud, hacking cough echoed through the library.
Chloe’s signal that I needed to wrap up things.
But I haven’t done anything yet!
I looked over and saw Chloe thanking Sam.
PROGRESS: 51%
“No, no, no,” I breathed, my heart rate spiking. “Why are you slowing down? Keep going.”
I needed at least sixty percent before the program could establish a persistent backdoor and work its magic. Anything less and I’d have to start over—and I wouldn’t get another chance like this.
PROGRESS: 52%
Sam turned back toward his desk.
Toward me!
My hand hovered over the mouse, ready to abort the program and yank out the flash drive, but that would leave evidence of the attempted breach.
Luckily, Sam stopped to talk to Eleanor.
But for how long, who knew?
PROGRESS: 54%
This was how people got ulcers.
And anxiety attacks.
Or both.
At the same time.
Especially since Eleanor and Sam’s conversation was short-lived, and he turned to walk my way.
I had no other choice.
Halt the hack and minimize damage.
Live to fight another day.
I hit the abort button on his screen, and the program disappeared from view.
I quickly reached for the flash drive to pull it from the USB port.
That was when my elbow caught the edge of Sam’s oversized coffee cup.
It tipped, rolled, and crashed to the floor with a ceramic explosion that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet library.
“No!” The word escaped before I could stop it.
I dropped to my knees, frantically gathering the broken pieces, but I also needed to reach over and pull the USB drive from the—
“Rose?” Sam said.
I shot to my feet, spinning to face him, my hands full of broken ceramic and my mind racing through possible explanations.
The sudden movement knocked a stack of papers off his desk—they scattered across the floor in a cascade of white, sticking to the top of the coffee-stained carpet like wet leaves to pavement.
Sam stood three feet away, his expression somewhere between concerned and deeply suspicious. His eyes traveled from my face to the broken cup in my hands to the papers on the floor to—
His computer.
I watched his gaze shift, saw the moment he registered his screensaver was gone, that his login screen was visible, that something was different about his workspace.
Luckily, he still hadn’t seen my flash drive plugged into his computer, but it would only be a matter of time.
“What were you up to?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral in a way that made my stomach drop.
The question hung in the air between us, sharp and dangerous.
What was I up to?
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
Sam took a step closer, his eyes never leaving my face, and I realized with absolute certainty that I was about to blow my entire cover over a spilled cup of coffee and a poorly timed hack attempt.