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“I’ll put Marlene on it. She hasn’t been involved with the project and I know we can trust her. I’ll check her work every night, too.” Marlene is the assistant Jarvis and I share. For an admin, she’s a demon.
I nod and go on. “In the meantime, we need to crack on with trying to repair the damage. Erik should have told us sooner. But I think we should let him assess whether we can fix the upgrade. If it can, great. If not, we need to put together a small team, re-vetted, to rewrite the whole thing. Unfortunately, we can’t continue to use the complete team if this is sabotage—and rewriting will take time.”
Metin chimes in. “Clay, we need to contact the clients about the delay. Something about unforeseen problems, but that still makes the company sound good. And you need a new timeline for the upgrade release. Max and Jarvis need to figure that out ASAP.”
“We’ll give Erik a deadline to assess. If he can’t meet that, I’ll check it out myself. If we need to rewrite, I’ll lead the team.” Jarvis’ lips turn up in a small smile, as if making a plan allows him to hope.
“Elena, contact the clients on my behalf. Once that’s done, have PR do a press release.” Clay is a hands-on owner for a reason. His take-charge personality comes to the fore in clutch situations.
I add my tuppence to the mix. “We need to hire a malware analyst as a consultant. Give Elizabeth Talbot a bell, Jarvis, and find out if she’s available.”
Jarvis winces like I punched him in the face. “Come on, Max. I don’t need her.”
“She’s the best, with no formal connection to the company. We need fresh eyes, and someone we can trust.”
Clay swings his gaze to JL. “Once you’re back, you’ll have to deal with the day-to-day, not with WatchDog, but putting out fires while I cope with the fallout.”
“I can put Case in charge of day-to-day stuff for the next few weeks while I go on to Scotland and Paris with Max and then to Vancouver to visit my mom in two weeks. Dealing with my asshole uncle again. He’s really proven himself and I’m planning to promote him to second in command.” JL holds Clay’s gaze. “None of this software crap is in my purview anyway. WatchDog is ticking along fine.”
“Far be it from me to put the company before your personal lives.” The acid in Clay’s voice could dissolve bones, presumably from our dead bodies.
My heart pounds and heat rises up my neck. “The choice isn’t that simple.”
His teeth clenched, Clay sweeps my comment aside with his hands. “Are we actively monitoring the team’s email and text messaging?”
Jarvis nods. “All employees sign an agreement to allow us to monitor email and text. I’ll pull what we have on the team for the past few months and have a copy of everything in the future routed directly to me. Of course, if they have burner phones or use public access terminals with anonymous email accounts, we can’t monitor those.”
Clay’s eyes bore into me. “Are you still planning to stay in Europe for the month, Max?” His tone is less than friendly.
“Of course we are. I’ll try to stay in contact, but Jarvis is the point person. He’ll deal with the day-to-day issues. And, if it turns out to be sabotage, Metin has the contacts to help us out.”
Jarvis’ face melts like ice cream on a warm day. “Are you kidding?”
“You designed the software and helped build it. You are the perfect person to see it through.”
“I don’t know how to deal with saboteurs.”
“That’s why you need Elizabeth for the malware consulting,” I tell him. “Depending on how long the process takes you, I may be back before you get everything resolved.”
Clay leans toward focuses on the trio sitting around him. “Jarvis, make sure you have your team together in two hours to meet with Max. Elena, we need a follow-up meeting for Wednesday afternoon at three p.m. Chicago time for Jarvis, Erik, and me to follow up with Max.” He shuts down the connection.
Picking up my now cold mug, I decamp to the small office I use when I’m in London.
JL follows me. “Where do we go from here?”
“Damned if I know.”
ChapterTwelve
Max
As I settle in front of my computer, my mobile goes off. A glance at the screen shows me that Allan Mason is calling. Arrogant prick. My response swings from “fuck you, Allan” to my eventual “about time, mate.”
“Hullo to you too, Max.” The dry tone of Allan’s greeting grates, even though it’s not unexpected. “Meet me at the National Gallery. I’ll be in Room 51.“ A royal command, not a request. I’m tempted to blow him off. Of course, I don’t.
“Ten minutes.” I don’t ask why. Faez, of course. The Wilton Diptych as the meet site seems random, but maybe he wants to pretend he’s Richard II and I’m a lowly vassal. Be careful what you wish for, Allan. Remember Shakespeare’s line—“For God’s sake let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.” Oh, right. Maybe he seesmeas Richard II.
The National Gallery is only a two-minute walk from our office. And I can’t afford to snub him. Too bad Cress can’t be with us. She would probably have some great insights into the late fourteenth-century painting. I chuckle, thinking about how my perfect girl would irritate the hell out of him.
