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Clay, who has just appeared on-screen from Chicago, picks up the conversational ball. “Software security systems have very complicated structures and because of the massive increase in attacks, we’ve been adding some extra features to protect our clients from the newest hacking threats. That has meant some changes to the architecture of the system, which means modifications to the coding. We hope to roll out the upgrade soon. But don’t worry, our current version is safe and stable.”
Finally, after hours of presentation and negotiation, the bankers decamp with assurances contracts will follow.
What a horrible day. I stretch my neck and rub my fingers through my hair. The effort to present our cybersecurity services to the heads of three private London banks takes my mind off the sabotage issues and the terrorist threat. I roll my shoulders to loosen tense muscles. Then I drop my head into my hands and rub my temples to stave off an incipient headache.
JL groans and rubs his back. “Calisse. Glad that’s over. Three pretentious jerks. Thank God the on-the-ground security they’re contracting for will be minimal.”
Clay and I share a look. These bankers were what we expected.
“Max.” Clay’s bark rolls out of the speakers. “I told Jarvis if he doesn’t contact Elizabeth Talbot, I would.”
“And…?” Jarvis can be one stubborn SOB.
“He was on the phone by the time I got out the door.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Jarvis is going to be a whiny asshole once Elizabeth shows up. But we need her if we are going to fix this mess. Fingers crossed she’s willing to take on the project. “What about the investigation? Are you calling in anyone?”
“Not yet. I’m still trying to keep it internal. With the latest hack attempt, we have some traces to follow. I’m convinced one of your team is working with Russian hackers. Jarvis has suggested a honeypot.”
“Good idea. I can’t wait to collar our traitor.”
I watch as he pushes back from his desk. “Time for lunch here. I’m meeting Kath at Al’s. She can eat their Italian beef every day.” He disappears from our screen.
JL turns to me. “We’re going to Rules Restaurant for dinner?”
I tear my thoughts away from visions of lines of code, twisting like models I’ve seen of damaged genomes. “Yes. Then Cress, Ian, and I will meet my parents at King’s Cross.”
“Should I come along?”
“No need. You can just go back to the Athenaeum and work off the huge meal.”
He groans.
My face is deadpan as I tell him, “You can always order a salad.”
He laughs and the mood lighten.
Rules, one of the oldest restaurants in London, is one of my favorites. With effort, I turn my mind’s eye to visions of potted shrimps, braised shoulder of lamb, and sticky toffee pudding suddenly intertwine with scrolling zeroes and ones. At least terrorist bombs aren’t exploding as well.
“The clientele has included famous writers from Charles Dickens to Evelyn Waugh and actors like Charlie Chaplin and Laurence Olivier,” I tell him. “When King Edward VII was Prince of Wales, he had a private room upstairs where he could entertain Lillie Langtry. You can reserve to eat there now on certain days of the week.”
JL raises an eyebrow. “So, you chose it because of it’s reputation as a high-class bordello?”
“I don’t think they would appreciate that description.”
“Fortunately, we have a couple of hours before dinner to digest lunch.” Then he punches me in arm, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Ah, a pub. Let’s get a drink.”
“I’m meeting someone.”
He puts his hand on my arm and we come to a stop. “Who?” he demands.
“Yavuz Arslan, Zehra’s brother. I told you that he contacted me about meeting in London.”
A voice calls out. “Max?”
I take a deep breath. “Yavuz, I thought we were meeting at the Lamb & Flag.”
“I was just on my way there when I saw you. We can walk there together.” Yavuz gives me a critical once-over. “Ten years and you haven’t changed, Max. Still an elegant bastard. A little gray, but otherwise the same.”
