met and spoken with every person scheduled to work in this room, down to the museum security guards posted discreetly at intervals throughout the gallery and museum at large. Before she could fully relax, her phone vibrated against her palm. The incoming text message had her smothering a wince, arriving too late for her to clear the room.
Suddenly the lighting flickered inside the display case of the white jade cup and the lock buzzed and clicked. With everyone so close, there was no chance for the problem to go unnoticed. The hacker had grown bored with Carli and Devon and was obviously exerting his control on the system. Across the room, Madison saw the museum director bring the guards to attention as Spalding issued orders for his team.
Xi Liu, the highest ranking official on station at the Chinese consulate, aimed straight for Madison. They had worked closely with the museum staff in preparing for this exhibit. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
Mr. Wong joined her immediately. An older gentleman and first-generation American born to Chinese parents, he remained fluent in both the language and the behavioral expectations. “This is a standard test,” he explained calmly to Mr. Liu. “My apologies for the incorrect timing. This is a routine we typically employ after closing. The schedule change must have reverted. I assure you all is well and your generous exhibit is secure.” Mr. Wong’s serene expression was tested when the lock whirred and buzzed again. “There are no weaknesses in the system that prevent us from displaying the piece publicly.”
Mr. Liu didn’t appear entirely convinced as he turned to Madison. “You assured me all was in place. What is happening?”
“As you are aware, sir,” she began, “cutting edge technology is often finicky.” Madison felt a bead of sweat slide down her back. Where was the backup she’d called in? “Despite the mistiming of the normal security routine, your exhibit is quite safe.” She extended an arm to indicate the room. “The collection, in fact, the entire museum, is guarded by the finest technology systems as well as by the finest personnel. Your guests and friends remain unconcerned. In fact, they appear quite eager to continue with the festivities.”
Barely appeased, Mr. Liu motioned a man forward and murmured at his ear. To Madison and the director he said, “My man will stand guard with yours.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed. The director nodded with her. “If you would feel more comfortable, we can adjust the access of reception attendees.” It wouldn’t be too difficult to keep traffic out of this room and there had been no trouble at all in any other gallery. She didn’t believe for a moment that theft of the cup or any other object was on the hacker’s mind. Whoever had launched this attack was interested in dealing chaos and fostering mistrust. She sensed the true goal was to create a rift that would set back relations indefinitely.
Although Mr. Liu politely declined the offer to restrict access, Madison understood the nuances in his statement that emphasized his displeasure. She escorted the dignitaries from both countries to the receiving line to greet guests and checked her phone for any new messages.
Still nothing. Carli and Devon would have to find a way to end this game. Madison struggled to stay calm on her return to the security suite. The man might be out of town. If so, she’d excuse this lack of response. However, if she found out he was simply ignoring her calls and emails, she’d find Sam Bellemere and put a hammer through his most precious hard drive.
Sam Bellemere sank into the plush seat of the limousine and tugged at his bow tie, letting the ends hang loose. He popped the button at the collar of his tuxedo shirt and pushed his hands through his hair. Able to breathe at last, he felt a thousand times better than he had just ten minutes ago surrounded by a ballroom full of wealthy people eager to support the Gray Box youth programs. The June fund-raiser was the one event his business partner, Rush Grayson, refused to let him dodge. The codevelopers’ proprietary encryption technology had led to their founding of the cloud storage service giant, Gray Box. For the former smart-ass teenage hackers, mentoring the next generation of responsible computer geeks was a cause near and dear to both of them.
Knowing how shy Sam was, Rush had willingly assumed the role as the front man of the company, handling most of the public events and meetings. It had become an ideal partnership over the years. Rush’s extroverted nature thrived on time spent in the limelight and Sam happily kept himself behind the scenes. Without Rush and the company, Sam knew he’d be labeled an eccentric hermit—or worse—by now. The label held a certain appeal for Sam, but his friend insisted that kind of notoriety set a bad example for the kids they were trying to help.
“Back to the office, sir?” asked Jake, one of the drivers Gray Box kept on staff.
“Please,” Sam replied. The privacy screen rolled up between them and he withdrew his phone from the inner pocket of his jacket and turned it on. Within a minute, the device buzzed and chimed as if he’d been offline for weeks rather than hours.
He shook his head, skimming the alerts he’d missed while rubbing elbows with San Francisco’s elite. No phone was another rule for social events that Sam wasn’t allowed to argue with. He and Rush both knew if he’d had his phone on, he would have hidden behind the device rather than mingle face-to-face with the guests. Per their agreement, that behavior would have meant Sam was required to attend another event later in the year to make up for the gaffe.
Once a year in the monkey suit, smiling until his face ached, was more than enough time in the spotlight for Sam. Didn’t matter that by the sole measure of net worth he was technically one of the elite he struggled to connect with.
Terminally shy, he felt like a fish out of water in social situations. Anything more than dinner out with his closest friends left him wound tighter than a high wire. After several awkward failures, he’d met with counselors and psychiatrists to help him, without much success. He tried chemistry as well, in the form of medication to erase his anxiety. The unpleasant side effects hadn’t been worth it. He’d since resigned himself to limiting his social exposure and created a recovery plan that involved a double shot of whiskey and an online warfare game as a reward for making the attempt.
Several missed calls were from the same number, one he didn’t recognize. Half a dozen emails with a similar time stamp caught his full attention. With luck, this would be a security crisis at Gray Box that only he could resolve. Then Rush would have to let him keep his phone on during future events.
To Sam’s astonishment, all of the messages were from Madison Goode, an old friend from high school. Well, he’d known her for the two years he was allowed to attend public high school after his stint in juvenile detention. The government hadn’t appreciated the skill or restraint when Sam and Rush hacked into sites just to prove it could be done.
Sam had tutored Madison through a couple of classes, helping her pump up her GPA as well as her comprehension on some required course work. To this day, she sent him an email Christmas card every year. As much as he resisted those conventional traditions, because she respected his preference for digital correspondence, he always sent one back.
He put the voice mail on speaker and listened, then quickly read and reread the emails, each more desperate than the last, which was only two sentences: “Come on, Sam. You owe me.”
Sam shifted to the seat closer to the driver and lowered the privacy screen. “Change of plans. I need to get to the Artistry of the Far East Museum.” He buttoned up his collar and started on his tie. “Fast as you can get there.”
He hit Reply on the last
