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tickets won’t be interpreted as a reckless disregard for American highway law.
    I would hate to have my quest for truth crushed by my own lead foot.

Chapter Seven
    Sarah
    “T hat you, kiddo?”
    As I leave the exercise room, I’m surprised to find Judson waiting in the hallway. “Who else would it be?”
    “Sometimes the guards like to slip up here and work out.”
    “Not when Mama Mewton is prowling around.”
    “You’ve got a point there.” He rolls toward me, his powerful arms propelling his chair over the tiled floor. When my fingertips brush his shoulder, he slows his pace and lowers his voice. “Did you hear the chopper last night?”
    I shorten my step to match the wheelchair’s progress. “I took my speech processor off so I could concentrate on a project. Is the new arrival a patient or a guest?”
    “Neither. Traut came in alone. He’s waiting for us in the conference room.”
    A shiver of anticipation ripples through my limbs as we approach the elevator. Judson doesn’t seem at all nervous about this meeting with the director, but he hasn’t spent the last several weeks writing a program intended to prevent national disaster.
    I hope the man approves of my work.
    I press the call button and cross my arms. “What time did Mr. Traut arrive?”
    Judson shrugs. “I wasn’t listening for the clock. It was late, though.”
    The elevator opens. We nod to the guard and enter, Judson wheeling to the left and spinning to face the door. A moment later we arrive on the second floor, home to our apartments, Dr. Mewton’s office, operations, security, and the conference room. My hopes for a quick shower and a change of clothes are dashed when I see Dr. Mewton waiting in the hallway.
    “I was about to call you on the intercom,” she says, stepping forward to pluck a stray hair from my shoulder. “Holmes, you give your report first. Sarah, Mr. Traut has a copy of your program and wishes to speak to you. He’ll probably want a demonstration, so grab your laptop.”
    I point toward my apartment, only a few feet down the hall. “Do I have time to change?”
    “No.”
    “Breakfast?”
    “There’s coffee, fruit, and doughnuts on the table. Shelba will bring up anything else you want.”
    Of course Dr. M’s thought of everything. She never misses a detail.
    I wait for Judson to roll forward, then I follow, my stomach tightening with every step.
     
    Jack Traut is devouring one of Shelba’s delicious fritters when Judson and I enter the conference room. He nods at us and takes a sip of coffee as we approach the table. “Interesting program,” he says, pointing to the laptop in front of him. “Mind telling me how it works?”
    I glance at Judson, who rolls to his usual place at the table without comment. If he minds being overlooked by our boss’s boss, he gives no sign of it.
    “The concept isn’t complicated,” I say, sinking into my own chair. “The program works in conjunction with others that provide a layered security approach.”
    “Layered?”
    “Like an onion.” Dr. Mewton slides into her seat and gives Mr. Traut a smile. She is, I notice as I open my laptop, wearing lipstick today. “Encryption, plus hidden directories, added to covert channels that hide data in Internet traffic.”
    Our boss wipes his hands on a napkin. “But if the perimeter is secure—”
    “The perimeter dissolved a long time ago,” Judson says. “Virtual private networks, Web mail, e-mail on smartphones, telecommuters…they all make the concept of a secure perimeter archaic. We have to be data-focused, not perimeter-focused. We have to protect the data, wherever it is, wherever it goes.”
    “That’s why we need layers,” I add. “They’re the armor we wrap around our data.”
    Without so much as a peek in my direction, Mr. Traut looks at Dr. Mewton, then glances at Judson. “Are you two on board with this?”
    Dr. Mewton doesn’t answer, but Judson grins. “Just let the girl talk.”
    I