Code

CHAPTER 4

DR. MICHAEL IGLEHART strode the hall, ignoring his companion.

Dr. Sundberg prattled on about login issues and allocating server space, but Iglehart had checked out.

The Brennan girl rankled him. Now he had an errand to complete.

“I can only offer runtime after hours,” Sundberg continued. “The backup is temporary—we’ll have expansion packs in place by early next month. Dr. Howard has signed orders doubling our computing capacity.”

“Wonderful.” Choking back the bile in his throat.

Having to ask Anders Sundberg for permission was insult enough. Needing Kit Howard’s authority was almost intolerable.

Life is never fair. Ever.

Iglehart had joined LIRI before either of these imbeciles. The three of them had nearly identical CVs. Now one ran his department, and the other headed the entire freaking institute!

And why? Because Kit Howard found a treasure in some sinkhole.

And what, pray, for Dr. Iglehart? Nothing. Zilch. Nada. The two frauds assumed he’d be grateful just to retain his position.

On that count, they’d miscalculated. Badly.

“Mike?”

Iglehart’s attention snapped back to the present. He’d walked right past the conference room.

“Staff meetings still take place in here.” Sundberg grinned, holding the door. “And don’t worry about Triton, we’ll get you squared away.”

Iglehart forced a smile. “Sorry. I’ve forgotten a file I’ll need. Won’t be a moment.”

“Sure.” Sundberg waved a hand. “I can hold off for five. Take your time.”

“Thanks.” Such graciousness from his lordship. “Back in two shakes.”

Iglehart hurried to his phone booth–sized office and pressed the space bar on his computer.

How he hated the cramped, windowless dungeon. Metal desk. Straight back chair. Soulless institutional bookshelves. Never enough space. To do any real research, he was forced to hunt for open conference rooms.

Which meant endless interruptions by the idiots working around him. Idiots with bigger offices. Galling.

So he’d taken steps. Howard and Sundberg thought him content to eat whatever scraps fell from their tables? Think again.

Howard had been director for two months, yet here Iglehart remained. Stuck in a broom closet with a second-rate Dell.

Not for long.

Agitated, he tapped the keyboard again. The institute’s logo finally appeared on-screen. Entering the backdoor code he’d been given in secret, Iglehart accessed LIRI’s mail server and deactivated the security protocols. Safely off the grid, he began to type.

The email was short and to the point. He knew what his contact wanted, even if the reasoning escaped him.

Iglehart pressed send, reset the protocols, and slapped his laptop shut.

You shouldn’t have ignored me, Kit.

Wearing a satisfied smirk, Iglehart hurried to meet the coworkers he despised.