“Oh my god,” said Keiko, sounding both horrified and delighted by this revelation.
“We don’t care about that,” said Centurion. He leaned over Steve. It was an impressive lean, I had to admit. “But selling confidential information is a whole different story.”
“What?” Steve squeaked out the word. “I—I would never. If you think I had anything to do with the lockdown—”
“Someone activated the Wi-Fi on that espresso machine,” said Centurion. “Someone could be in our systems right now. If they’re stealing confidential files, you will be charged as an accomplice.”
“Why me?” said Steve. He looked at me. “She’s a hacker! And a wraith!”
“He has a point,” I said.
Prefect didn’t so much as look at me. “Augusta did not have an espresso maker delivered to the office so she could activate the Wi-Fi when she returned.”
“That actually does sound like a decent plan,” I said. “I’ve even got you to alibi me.”
“Stop encouraging him,” said Prefect. “There’s one other very good reason I know it wasn’t you.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you’re the one who’s been keeping the old coffee maker alive,” said Prefect grimly.
If my life had been a film, there would have beena record scratch. I found myself looking at four very appalled faces. Even Steve was horrified.
“No,” said Keiko. “You’rethe reason we’ve spent years drinking the worst coffee in the world?”
“You didn’t,” said Centurion, sounding disappointed in me.
“What?” said Leo, utterly confused.
“She’s been repairing the old coffee machine,” said Prefect, with the air of a detective unveiling the murderer. “Every time someone sabotaged it, she’d fix it. So we could never requisition a new one.”
“Why?” said Keiko, as appalled as if I’d been accused of tossing puppies off a cliff.
Because it had been fun. Because I both enjoyed and resented ISD. Because watching everyone repeatedly try to kill the old machine so we could get a new one had been entertaining. Because it had become a game to see if I could keep the machine alive, despite all efforts to the contrary. And because I didn’t need caffeine the way most of these people did.
“I plead the Fifth,” I said.
“We’ll deal with you later,” said Centurion. He turned his attention back to Steve. “Is the countdown a distraction? Or is it actually a bomb to destroy evidence?”
“I don’t know,” wailed Steve. “I don’t know anything, I swear! It wasn’t me!”
“Well,” began Keiko, but then a voice emanated from her phone.
“Yes?” said a raspy woman’s voice. The director of ISD sounded highly irritated. “You better have a damn good reason for dragging me away from my granddaughter’s birthday party.”
Centurion all but lunged for the phone. He took it from Keiko and pressed it to his ear. “Ma’am,” he said, “we have a situation.” He walked away.
“Well, at least we can undo the lockdown before we all blow up,” said Prefect, watching him go. “The director will release the codes, and we’ll be safe.”
A horrible thought went through me. “Wait—what if that’s the goal?”
Prefect looked at me sharply.
“Think of what a hacker could do with the lockdown codes,” I said. “Maybe whoever it is wants us to lift the lockdown while he’s in the system. That way he could get those codes.”
The color retreated from Prefect’s face. He turned and rushed after Centurion.
Which left me, Keiko, Leo, and Steve.
