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always wanted—the thrill and satisfaction of working for the NSA, the opportunity to work with one of the most important intelligence agencies in the world, and the chance to make a difference in millions of people’s lives at a much higher level than he had ever imagined—more than enough to lure him to sign up without hesitation. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
    Trevor had graduated with honors from MIT at nineteen and moved immediately to the NSA—a job requiring the curiosity of a detective and the persistence of a pit bull, both of which Trevor had in spades.
    His work involved the highest technology available in the world and he loved being in the midst of top-secret projects of all kinds. NSA employees were ghosts living in silent obscurity. Someone once joked about what it meant to be an NSA employee: “You do not exist; you do not have a job. Any questions? Don’t ask questions.” It was a comical yet fairly accurate way to describe the life of an NSA employee.
    Trevor merged into morning traffic, mostly composed of NSA employees rushing to work. It was always tricky, but he managed to get to one of the four lanes without being run down by any cars. He waited patiently behind the car ahead of him so he could walk his bike to the gate to get clearance. There was no easy way to access the perimeter of the building. All employees and visitors were required to have IDs in order to access the premises. With time, the act of showing their IDs at checkpoints, sliding cards in readers, and keying pin codes had become second nature.
    Trevor approached the window, pulled the keycard out from his shirt, and smiled amicably at the guard on duty as he flashed his ID. “Hey Mark! Did you finish that round of Medal of Honor online on Saturday?”
    “No Trev, Cathy wanted to watch a chick-flic on TV and I had to give up the big screen, man.” The guard shook his head, his expression indicating he believed that was the biggest sin someone could ever commit.
    Laughing, Trevor climbed back on his bike and rode off. “See you tomorrow, Mark!”
    Later that evening, Mark would be replaced by a new shift of guards. Although the rotation was constant, Trevor’s open attitude and Irish friendliness made him well known and liked by all the guards at the gates and main entrance. Trevor was always the one they came to when they needed help with their computers or gaming consoles, or even to just learn more about programming in general—and he was never one to say no to a friend.
    Trevor followed the road to the front of the larger mirror-faced building. Smoothly maneuvering it into a bicycle parking slot, he left without bothering to lock it. If a thief had the guts and means to steal a bike from the NSA Headquarters parking lot without being noticed or caught, they deserved to keep the damn thing.
    Entering the building, he headed to the stairs he used every morning. He climbed them two at a time until he reached his floor and walked confidently in the direction of the control room he shared with the several men and women of his team, crossing paths and calling good morning to those he knew along the way. Working in the same building for the last eight years, Trevor had made many friends.
    Trevor completed the strict detailed security procedures—fingerprint scan, key generation, and storage of any personal items with security personnel—to gain access to the control room where he spent most of his work days.
    “Hey Trev! How was the ride?” his good friend George Miller asked as he approached his desk.
    Trevor and George had both joined the NSA within a week of graduating from MIT. Although they’d seen each other around campus sporadically, they were never close until both came to hold jobs at the NSA. Working together day in and day out, they realized they had very similar goals and temperaments, even if under completely different personalities. During their years at MIT, Trevor had been the all-star student liked by