“You’ve done enough.” I pull her into a tight hug. “Take care of him for me, and call me if anything happens?” Honey jumps off the bed andcomes over to press her head against my leg. “You, too,” I tell her, and she looks up at me and yawns.
Annie laughs. “We will.”
Every step toward the door is like trying to force magnets apart, but with a final look at him over my shoulder, I whisper, “Bye, sweetie,” and head out.
Get in. Wipe the data. Get out.
This is my mantra as I park and walk toward the SurgOptix building. It’s extremely rare for me to be here this early on a Monday, or any day, really. On a normal day, I’d be in bed at least a few more hours, or at the very least, wired on copious levels of caffeine. I was too anxious for coffee before I left—something I have never once said. Then again, I’ve never brought my husband back from the dead only to have him not remember a thing about his life, either. As my nana always said, “An interesting life is never stress-free.” No shit, Nana.
It takes five pairs of facial muscles to create a smile, and I’m forcing each one of them into action as I wave at the morning security guard, Felix, and make my way to the elevator.
“You’re early today, Dr. Martín,” he says.
“Yeah, trying something new,” I say with a forced laugh. He gives me a thumbs-up as I try to not aggressively jab at the elevator button.
Get in. Wipe the data. Get out, I think on repeat, waiting for the lift to open, and then open again on the other side.Get in. Wipe the data. Get out.
The secret doors slide apart, and I step into the empty hallway. I swipe my card and move through security on autopilot. In the lab, I’m greeted by the machine of the hour with a steady “Good morning, Dr. Martín. Would you like your schedule for the day?”
“No thank you, Rob,” I say, heading directly to my office. “But would you log into the admin system on my desktop?”
“Yes, Dr. Martín. Please authenticate your credentials and verify voiceprint.”
Closing my door behind me, I round my desk and type in my password—a mash-up of Luca’s height in centimeters, the name of my favorite biochemistry professor from undergrad, and the date I lost my virginity—before speaking my vocal authentication aloud: “Parrot breadstick cheek lucid.”
“Admin access granted.”
Exhaling in relief, I say, “Rob, please delete video and vital-sign data for badges L-313 and L-210 between July 17 at 21:00 and July 18 at 04:00 on all cameras and systems. Run secure-erase and do not log an audit entry.”
“Searching. Found seven video clips and three biometric sessions. Proceed with deletion of video and biometric data? This action cannot be undone. Please confirm action by saying ‘Execute,’ or say ‘Cancel’ to abort.”
“Execute,” I say, chewing my thumbnail.
“Deletion complete. Video and vital-sign logs for badges L-313 and L-210 between July 17 21:00 and July 18 04:00 were securely erased. No audit entry was logged. Backup copies scheduled for expiry deletion per thirty-day retention policy.”
I look up. “Backup copies?”
Shit.
“Yes, Dr. Martín. Backup copies are retained in the Delta operating system and can be individually accessed by specific event and timestamp.”
So someone would have to actively search for the time and date? I can live with that.
“Okay, good. Thank you, Rob.” I huff out a laugh at my habit of always thanking RPattz for everything. I’ve lost my patience with him on more than one occasion—like when I asked him to “unpause” and he replied, “I am unable to find the command ‘big balls,’?” twice, prompting me to yell, “UN-PAUSE, Robert, for fuck’s sake”… after which I apologized. He’s not going to spare me during the eventual robot uprising just because I saythank youorI’m sorry.
Standing, I log out, reach for a handful of nonclassified BioSCAN subject files I want to review at home, and leave my office. I’m nearly to the exit when I hear voices.
Adrenaline dumps into my veins, and I quietly turn, walking toward the labs, trying to make out who’s here this early.
“Let’s be clear about one thing, Dr. Barker. There is nothing subtle about your actions. Everyone can see what you’re doing.”
Is thatClaire? Lecturing Vince? I bite my fist, celebrating internally.
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
“Did you think swapping the labels on the samples would get the project shut down?” At this I gape. So itwasVince messing with our samples? It wasn’t just a lab tech mistake? Holy shit. That set our timelines back at least a week. “Everyone knows it was you.”
“I don’t think—”
