The Passionate Mistake (3 page)

It chafed.
She hated looking like this; ordinarily plain and not worthy of attention. After years painstakingly learning to make the most of every single advantage life had given her, fighting her way to the top with every tool and weapon at hand, this enforced mediocrity felt like some sort of surrender. Like defeat.

Let alone the pretense she was
meek and ignorant. Though truth be told, perhaps she couldn’t lay claim to achieving meekness. She’d bitten off a few heads over the past two weeks; from those who expected the go-fer girl to be all willing and eager to be a doormat in order to make friends and win her way up the ladder.

Not Cathy. Cathy was going nowhere, and she didn’t care a scrap. Let them stare at her in consternation when she sneered right back, contradicted or outwitted them . . .

No, she couldn’t say meekness was something she had managed. As it was, even
trying
to adopt a subservient attitude while she tidied up after people and ran menial errands had her feeling like a thunderstorm all day; massed on the horizon and ready to strike.

Two weeks was far too long. It was doing her head in. She had to find the
ideal piece of software soon. Find it and steal it.

Chapter
Two

She thought the room was empty when she stormed in
and started to gather up papers, cups, mislaid pens and other paraphernalia. Stupid geeks. You’d think they were helpless babies, the way they couldn’t manage to pick up after themselves. And this bloody place only encouraged them to be everlasting children; a whole coven of pampered, feted Peter Pans.

Of course
she’d be a programmer too, eventually, when she had finished her degree. But at least she knew how to really get things done without all the hand-holding and helplessness. Which was good, because for certain no one held anyone’s hand at the family company – Techdos – where she would work.

And she would
work
. In a way this lazy lot never dreamed of working. You didn’t learn to do that in this lap of luxury. You sure as hell didn’t learn it by having people pick up after you. No, you learnt it by independence; Standing on your own two feet; and sometimes being driven mercilessly until you learnt to drive yourself, to be at least one step ahead of the whip. That was the way to do it. Stupid is what all this gentle nurturing was! Just plain-

“You’re going to break those if you keep stacking them like that,”
came the mild observation from the corner of the room.

She jumped and whirled, almost sending the precarious tower of glasses crashing to the floor. Mike Summers was sitting in a corner in one of the beanbags, folded up like a concertina. He’d picked a dim spot – probably so he could see his screen better.

She stood warily stiff, trying to assess the danger of this conversation to her ultimate plans. Should she scuttle off, as if intimidated away? Or the glasses could be the reason of course; taking them to the kitchen. But even while she tried to pick, her mouth was running away of its own accord, intimidated by nothing. “You startled me. I didn’t see you lurking there in the dark.”

“No. No I can see you’re not sight-seeing.
”

“Wouldn’t want to waste
time. That’s your dollar I’m spending.”

“Thoughtful of you,” he said,
and she could hear the suppressed laughter, the evidence of it there in the quirk at the corner of his mouth. He was leaning back, totally at ease in the relaxed pose. Not one to stand on ceremony, this man. He looked approachable. It would be easy to forget he was the boss.

“Yeah, I’m good like that.
All about the thoughtful gestures.” The flippancy was a reflex. Years of managing dad’s bullying by turning it aside lightly had made her a conversational lightweight when it came to meetings with authority.

“A real company asset then.”
She saw the flash of brilliance behind those friendly eyes and thought she recognized a brain to equal her own; the tantalizing hint of intellect that lured her more than any other feature a person might possess.

“You
betcha. Pure gold. You’re lucky to have me.”

“Duly noted.
” He shifted a little, the beans in the beanbag rustling softly. “Do you think you could get me a glass of water, please?”

She looked at him, thought it over and eventually said
: “Yes.”

“Don’t strain yourself, there.”

“I’ll try not to. Are we talking tap water, or do you want me to run out and get you something fancy?”

“Tap water’s fine.”

“Because I can go if you want. There’s a little shop on the corner, or those cafes across the road. I could bring you back something nice.”

She wondered why her heart was beating so hard, wondered also at this profound wash of pleasure that suffused her. How was it that every other conversation she had had in the past two weeks had left her feeling angrier and more hostile than when she’d started, but a little chat with him could relax her so much as to actually enjoy herself when she should be feeling the exact opposite? What special power did Mike Summers have over her
? She could feel her cheeks grow warm at the thought, particularly when her mind answered without hesitation: ‘raging sex appeal’.

And it was true. Men who looked like him were few and far between, and those with the intellect and drive to run a business and do it well – albeit unconventionally – just as rare. Her mind admired one
set of characteristics, and apparently her body was slavering over the other. An inconvenient infatuation.

“Don’t spoil me now. I was just getting to like your blasé attitude. Or hey, wait. Is this just a
ploy to get out of the building?”

“Who me, your loyal employee, try to escape?
Not a chance. I enjoy my bondage. Servitude is totally my thing.” She stared him down saucily, curious to know how he’d treat the innuendo when offered by a female member of his staff.

He left it completely a
lone. “Good to know, thank you,” he said in a tone as dry as bone. “Tap water is fine.”

“Coming right up.”
She swung about smartly, took the stack of glasses by the top and bottom ones, trusting the rest to cooperate, and headed for the kitchen. Leaving them stacked on the bench she found a fresh one, and stole a lemon from the employees’ fruit bowl so she could cut a slice and make a pretty curl of it on the edge of his glass. Then she filled the glass with water and took it back to him, anticipating another exchange all the way there.

She swung into the room, pigtails flying with the motion, and strode to his dim corner, where she held it out to him almost as a challenge.

“Nice,” he said with raised eyebrows, taking the glass from her one-handed and nudging the lemon meaningfully with the side of his index finger.

“See. A real asset,” she bragged,
propping one hand on her hip and raising her chin with a smugly prideful air, full of self-mockery.

“Pure gold, didn’t you say
?”

“Worth my weight.”
She went back to her task of clearing the room without the indignant stamping and clashing of objects, feeling the better for her snippy little dialogue. More human, though also acutely conscious of him, of his presence, the thought he might still be watching her. There was silence from him for a long moment, then he set the emptied glass on the carpet and the gentle tapping of keys resumed.

But after a few m
oments of mental review she pursed her lips then sighed at her own impulsivity. There was no helping her, there really wasn’t. She knew her ultimate goal here, so what was she doing risking it?

Head down, mouth closed, do your job and stay out of sight. Was that so hard?
Apparently so. She sneaked a look at Mike, but he was completely absorbed in his work again. With any luck she hadn’t made any lasting impression. After all, the man had dozens of subordinates. It’s not like a single cog in the machine was worth noticing, however prone to backchat.

At the end of her workday she walked to the Central Library, only eight city blocks away. On the first level up there was a table she liked, with a power plug underneath
it, which left her sitting almost in the corner with her back to the wall. Perfect. No one could look over her shoulder that way or sneak up on her.

She set up her gear quickly and logged on to the internet using the free Wi-Fi. It was the work of moments to
obscure her location even further by tunneling through multiple hosts scattered around the globe. When that was in place she called into the server she’d set up online, to see if she’d managed to subvert any more of the developer’s computers with the root kit on her USB.

Yes!
Tui’s and Jay’s had both called in, and
double yes
, Jay was on a different network, giving her access to . . . eight more computers. Feverishly she scanned through their drives, praying one of them was in the Datacentre and would unlock the way to the others.

But no.
More of the same. More code that was all about the appearance, the surface functions of the program, like the layer of gift-wrap on a present. No sign of library of source code that existed under it all, that great treasure trove of command that lay behind each finished product. She could see the connections, the fragments of it strictly necessary to the developers’ work.

This was killing her! It really was. As far as she knew all the developers’ computers were now
friendlies, and still she had nothing. None shut her out or refused her instructions, but what did it matter when the real and pure source code was elsewhere, hidden behind multiple firewalls and impenetrably secure?

There was still the chance she could break through
that security. Yet it had resisted all her efforts so far, to the point she was beginning to doubt it was possible. If all else failed there remained the option of a physical hack – stealing a swipe card and getting into the locked Information Technology area. Yet that area and the Datacentre within were sheathed in glass and anyone around or in the IT area would clearly see her in a locked section where she had no clearance. She’d have to empty the building with a false fire alarm or something of the sort, and that carried its own dangers if the Datacentre had a fire protection such as flooding the room with nitrogen.

She’d persist with the firewalls. Surely they couldn’t be impenetrable? No system was. She just needed to keep at it and be patient; if that was at all possible.

Chapter Three

“Have you located the files for the data mining software?”

Cathy made a moue of distaste, glad her father couldn’t see her down the phone. “No, I haven’t. And I’m not looking for it, either. I already told you I don’t want our company to be associated with that sort of thing.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers. That’s the most lucrative option.”

She shifted on the park bench, hot in the glare of the sun, tilting her tablet to a better angle to combat the light. “Give me more time to look around. I’ll find something useful.”

“Do you have a good level of clearance?”

“Enough.” She doodled absently on the screen, painting watercolour-effect swirls across the pseudo journal page. “I can probably hack through the rest of the way. Most of the firewalls are external.”

“Most of them?
How many are there?”

“Enough. Not just the
Hammel Protection package. They’ve developed some variants they haven’t released to the public. It’s taking longer than I thought.” She switched virtual pens and started to draw segments on the swirls, turning them into worms, like the mental image she got when she sent one of her own worms burrowing into a system.

“You’ll get it, there’s a good girl. Staying under the radar?”

“I’ve been careful. It’s hard not to draw attention. The boss is pretty sharp.”

“Don’t get caught. I don’t want you to get into any trouble.”

She felt a small glow of pleasure at his ‘good girl’ and his concern for her. “I’ll be fine. No one ever catches me. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t get cocky. This isn’t some game or competition. This is the real world. We’re depending on you.”

Her mouth tightened, the glow gone as the almost habitual note of scornful reproach crept back into his voice. She doubted he even heard it in himself. He had such a way of making her feel like an inept child. “I know. Like I said, I’m being careful.”

“And stay away from your boss. I know you. You’re not used to keeping secrets. You’ll get his attention, talking back, acting smart.
You’ll give yourself away.”

“I said don’t worry. I’ve totally got this.”

He sighed heavily. “You’re making me real proud of you, my girl. You’re a smart one.” She knew he was impressed by the way she had stepped up to do this task for Techdos. He had said it more than once now: that he was proud of her cleverness. Rare words, from him; rare as hens’ teeth. It made her hesitant to sound like she was reneging, but . . .

“Dad, can’t we have a go with me designing what you want? I can do it. We don’t have to go through this whole rigmarole.”
The more she lived these lies, the more the deceit grated on her. By nature she was truthful, uncompromisingly so. How could you be the absolute best if you couldn’t face the truth of your own actions, your own flaws? She had mercilessly written off liars in the past. Being one herself was like wearing a set of clothes that itched and bound her all over.

“I thought you said you liked a challenge?”
His tone was impatience verging on anger, a challenge in itself.

“I did. I do. But
. . . I’d far prefer the challenge of developing and selling my own work. Not someone else’s.”

“Kate, I don’t want to go through this again. This is
pure selfishness. The future of the company is at stake. That means your
family’s
future. Does that mean nothing to you? We can’t risk that future on some half-baked piece of software from a half-baked programmer.”

“Dad, I’m good. I’m really, really good. It wouldn’t be half-baked.”

“No. You just do things my way.” He spoke with finality, the subject closed. She pinched up her mouth at the dismissal, though she didn’t argue further. For there was also the familiar feeling of guilt rising along with his accusation of selfishness. It
was
selfish, that she couldn’t willingly make this sacrifice when he had made so many to raise her and her siblings, alone. How could she ever equal that? She couldn’t. So she suppressed the anger, shunted it aside, listened to him say: “Find us something almost finished. Something we can use. Time is critical. We need it yesterday.”

“I still think they’ll reco
gnize it,” came out on a defeated mumble that sounded like a teenager speaking, even to her ears. But that didn’t seem to raise dad’s ire the way confrontation did. He slotted back into wheedling.

“Dozens of different companies work on similar projects at the same time. That’s the name of the game. It’s a race. They know that. If they can’t get thei
r product to market fast enough they miss out. You just choose something well designed and generic, and keep your head down so no one thinks of you when our one pops up.”

“Someone could recognize me once I’m back with our company.”

“I doubt it. You’ll be back at uni finishing your degree for the next two years. By the time you’re done everyone will have moved on. Forgotten all about it.”

She hesitated,
then uncharacteristically decided to try for a second time to get him to reconsider. “Dad, doesn’t this feel kind of . . . crooked to you? I’m not sure I like-”

“For God’s
sake!” he barked. “When the backs of your family are to the wall, there’s no room to be precious. This is about survival. It’s us against the world. We need you to do this for us. For all of us. You think you’re going to hurt that big company? Of course not. This is a fleabite to them. It’s nothing. They’ll shrug it off. A big company like that has pockets so deep you can’t even imagine it. So you make a tiny dent in the profit margins and some multi-national CEO somewhere can’t afford to upgrade his super-yacht this month. No one will care. But to us, to your family, this means everything, Kate. Everything.”

She squirmed
on the park bench, feeling the tension in her spine rise up into her head and tighten like a vice around her temples. The throbbing headache made her nauseous.

“Kate?”

“Yeah, dad. I hear you.”

“
Now you do as you’re told. That’s a good girl. Good girl. We’re counting on you. All of us. Don’t let us down.”

“No dad. I won’t.”

“That’s my good girl. Bye now.”

“Bye, dad.”
She pushed the button to disconnect, then tried massaging the back of her neck, trying to relieve the tightness. The muscles were fiercely knotted under her fingers and the pain made her wince.

Putting aside phone, satchel and sunhat she
stood and ran ferociously on the spot for a minute, lifting her knees high, then moved through a sequence of powerful lunges and stretches, well used to dealing with this kind of muscle stress. She was often tied up in knots. Dad said it was the sign of a fighter, a scrapper, just like him. Her whole body was ready for action.

Honestly she’d been having this sort of tension a lot lately. And it didn’t feel like readiness. It just felt painful and wearying. Everything winding up tighter and tighter until there was nowhere left to move.

She ignored the curious stares of passersby, finishing her routine in her own time. Let them stare. She didn’t care.

When she was done she sat again, unwrapping her chicken filled roll and biting into it ferociously. Not that she was hungry. But her lunch break was nearly over. Better to get it over with. Better to get it
all
over with, and then maybe there’d be a bit more space in her life for . . . well, for something that didn’t leave her quite this strung out.