Borderless Deceit Read Online Free PDF Page A

replied dismissively. “Draw ‘em to the button, every one. I need your best guys.” With his feet up high and leaning back, the Czar had interlaced his fingers over the hill that was his midriff.
    Claude squirmed. “It’s a mixed four, Irv. You want me to stand the ladies up? It’s for a spot in the play-offs. For chrissake!”
    The Czar was resolute. He formulated his requirements. Emergency response memo before breakfast; new design specs for a better version of the network in first draft to accompany said memo; a procurement plan for new hardware; a list of renowned experts to constitute a peer review –
A what review, Irv
?
Oh for chrissake!
– a detailed outline of the logistics necessary for fresh hardware to be shipped to a hundred and sixty diplomatic outposts.
    â€œAnd then, something more, something special,” Heywood added conspiratorially. “I’m on the hook. An explanation. I mean, a real one. Fast too. Before the Yanks get us one.” He shook his head. “That
Madame Desmarais
…from the planet of reptiles I tell you. So I want your best programmer, Claude. A fresh young mind. A hot shot. A whiz-bang kid. Someone who’ll work closely with me. Someone withwhom I can share my insight into evil brains. Someone who isn’t afraid to hack his way into the hell of cyberspace, wherever that takes him, whatever that is.”
    Claude thought a while, then recited names: Ernest Cousineau, reliable for responding to emergencies; Ranjit Singh, perfect for network design specs; Eric Berntsen, brilliant at procurement; Paul Liu, a genius at logistics.
    Heywood nodded. He knew them, bureaucratic lion-tamers, every one. “And the whiz-bang kid?”
    â€œJaime,” Claude replied. “If you want someone who thinks hacking is heaven, that’s the one.”
    â€œJaime who? Don’t think I know him,” the Czar said gruffly.
    â€œ
Jaime
. A
she
.”
    Heywood pondered this. “She’s good?”
    â€œOh, she is. A piece of work, I tell you. When she’s on the keyboard, it’s a sight. Fingers too fast for the eye. Gotta warn you though. She’s a metal type. Know what I mean? Here and there the steel sticks out. Got one like that in the curling club. Rings everywhere. Ears, brows, lower lip, you name it. Maybe even one near the private parts. Throws a mean rock though.”
    The Czar shrugged. “A walking antenna, huh. I see ‘em in the mall. But if metal helps her pick up waves, why not?”
    Ten minutes later the task force – Jaime included – had assembled around the Czar’s table. Some computer notebooks stood open; paper note pads rested in between. The bulky men hunched forward like scribes, ready to record edicts, chronicle history, or draft new laws. Reverentially they eyed their Czar.
    To all of this Jaime was the exception. She was slight. Nor did she hunch. And mostly she ignored the Czar. Black hair – a strand of platinum down one side – hung back behind her ears. Her dark eyes mocked both the docile entourage around Heywood and the office stacked too full of paper.
    Heywood, his throne back up to sitting, pushed off and rolled over to the table. He initiated small talk about the weather (the city being in the grip of a truly horrendous arctic blast) and made a curling joke atClaude’s expense.
Couple more nights like last night and you’ll be chucking rocks on the river, sweeping them all the way to Montreal
. “Good to have you with us,” he then said curtly to Jaime.
    â€œHello Mr. Heywood,” Jaime answered.
    â€œIrving,” he replied. “Irv’s fine too.”
    â€œHey Irv,” she responded brightly. “Cool.”
    The Czar watched her lift a small personal digital device from a bag. “Tiny little thing,” he remarked. He could as easily have been referring to the silver ring through her right nostril. It was as Claude