Rogue Code

1

Vincenzia Piscopia, known as Vince to his American colleagues, sat on the cool gray boulder, feeling more than a little strange. He’d never done this before and was now having second thoughts. He glanced about the small clearing. He was alone. Maybe I should just go back home, he thought, pretend this never happened.

Vince was thirty-four years old and had spent his entire life in the digital age. Though he hiked as often as possible, he was a trifle overweight and soft. Computers and the Internet had always formed an integral part of his life. He even made his comfortable living as an IT operations manager for the New York Stock Exchange, working out of the Chicago IT office. Originally from Milan, Italy, where he’d been employed by Siemens, he found he enjoyed America more than he’d expected. His only real complaint was of his own doing — he just didn’t get out very often.

Vince had always been a nerd, and social media formed the greatest part of what passed for his social life. He tweeted, maintained two blogs — one on life in Chicago for an Italian expat, the other about computer security, a particular obsession of his — and he’d been one of the first 100,000 to have a Facebook account. He’d seen the value of Facebook from the beginning and had opened his account almost from the day the company launched. Between his iPad, iPhone, and home computer, it seemed to him that when he wasn’t sleeping or working, he was social networking.

Even on his long solitary hikes, he brought along his iPhone and had a connection nearly everywhere. He wasn’t alone in that regard. Just the week before, he’d hiked some six miles on this very trail, found a lovely spot to take a meal, and while sitting there had checked for messages. Just then, he’d heard a chirp. Not twenty feet away, he spotted a woman of middle years answering her cell phone. He’d just shook his head at the incongruity of it all — then texted a few replies of his own.

But today was different. Vince was here to meet someone. It was all very twenty-first century, he’d told a colleague at work. And while for others this sort of thing happened from time to time, for Vince it was a first. As a result, he found himself fretting about his appearance. He’d been honest with the photographs he posted on Facebook, and Sheila had assured him that she was as well.

He wasn’t concerned, though he knew that Facebook friends were often disingenuous in that regard. He’d know soon enough if Sheila was the stunner her photos showed, or a fake. If the latter, they’d hike a bit, and then, once he returned to his apartment he’d unfriend her. That would be that.

And he’d never do this again.

It was a bit cool for September, but Vince liked the typically brisk Illinois autumn. He found it invigorating and at moments like this, on a remote trail far from the popular routes, he could imagine himself back home. He was getting cold and zipped his Windbreaker up higher. From nearby came the gentle murmur of a stream.

It was Sheila who’d suggested they meet on a Monday when there’d be few hikers and that they take this moderate hike in the DuPage County forest preserve. He’d been pleased that it was one she knew about, since it was already his favorite. The nine-mile trail snaked around the Argonne National Laboratory, the loop passing through rolling woodlands and savannas, the contrasting scenery adding to the charm. Though all but within the Chicago suburbs, the preserve had a very rural feel.

The main trail was layered with crushed gravel, and it crested a few difficult hills. There were usually hikers such as himself, joggers, and those training for marathons. The only negative was that horses were permitted on the wide pathway, and they brought with them their unique problems; which was why Vince preferred the smaller side trails where the horses didn’t go.

He heard movement and turned with anticipation. But instead of Sheila, there was a man, another hiker. Vince smiled and nodded a distant greeting. The man nodded back and continued toward him.

Their exchanges had started just the week before. Sheila was the friend of a friend on Facebook. She lived in Chicago and also worked in IT. A few messages established how much they had in common, so they’d switched to e-mail. Sheila had spent a summer in Europe after university, backpacking locally in some of the same places Vince knew. She took her work in software security seriously, and from the first complimented his blog. She’d never been married and had no children. In fact, she’d never even lived with a man, she told him. Like Vince, she worked long hours, and at twenty-nine had decided it was time to get out more.

The other hiker stopped where the trail widened. He was tall, physically fit, with fair hair. He placed his foot on one of the smaller boulders and slowly retied his shoelace. When finished, he lifted the other foot and repeated the process.

Vince thought about the man’s presence for a moment, wondering if it was good or bad. Sheila had suggested this quiet location off the main trail for their first meeting, hinting for the first time at the possibility of romance by mentioning how she often came here alone, wishing someone special were with her.

He chuckled at his thoughts getting ahead of reality. He was about to see a woman he’d first met on Facebook, that’s all. The other hiker meant nothing. You don’t have a private romantic rendezvous on a public hiking trail, he told himself.

Vince scanned back along the trail and saw no one new. He frowned, pulled out his iPhone, and checked for messages. Nothing.

He glanced up. The hiker was finished. He smiled as he approached the Italian, looking as if he were about to say something. That’s when Vince spotted the heavy branch held loosely in his hand.

“Have you seen this?” the hiker asked just as he reached Vince.

Vince looked up into the man’s face, then quickly at the upraised branch and only in that final second of his life did he realize what the branch meant.

2

In the dimly lit room, the frosty glow of flat-screen monitors bathed their faces in a silver light. One of the men licked his lips in anticipation. The other stared keenly at his screen as his fingers raced across the keyboard.

They’d been at this for three intense weeks. Neither had said as much to the other, but both believed that today they’d succeed in penetrating the New York Stock Exchange trading system — at last. First they’d speculated over whether it was even possible. For the last few days, they’d been certain it was.

Once they infiltrated the system, they’d be free to do anything they desired. They’d be able to change whatever they wanted at will, free to bring trading to a halt, free to let it run amok, free to alter billions of dollars in transactions — free to loot any account, anywhere, with impunity and in secret.

Theirs would be digital financial power of nearly unimaginable dimensions. And their electronic trail would be hidden within tens of millions of lines of code and terabytes of monitoring and audit logs.

For all the time they’d worked on this assault, it was not so long as each of them had spent in previous similar operations. Though access and speed were vital components of the Exchange, so too was security. It was essential that its digital walls be perceived as impenetrable, and so the Exchange presented itself to the trading public as a model of security. It could afford the best and brightest and claimed to employ only the most up-to-date and finest security technology.

Which, of course, was nonsense. The so-called walls resembled those of a fortress castle of the Middle Ages, designed and constructed to withstand any siege. Until the invention of the cannon, such fortresses had rarely succumbed to so direct an attack. Instead, when they fell, it was most often because of a vulnerability to an assault team, often no more than two or three men, who found their way beneath, over, or around the outer wall, then through the subsequent protective labyrinth until they’d identified a weak point and exploited it. With that access, they’d leverage the security open and admit the besieging army.

So it was for them as well — except that they were both the assault team and besieging army folded into one.

For these last weeks, the two had probed, managing to approach the core of the NYSE Euronext network from every angle their skill and knowledge allowed. When their efforts had proved a dead end, they retreated and tried again.

But the time had not been wasted, for they’d established which servers they could reasonably expect to compromise. They then spent hours scouring internal Web sites and file servers, scanning documents, spreadsheets, and group user directories. Using bits of information — some from a file here, others from a report posted on a team collaboration site there — they’d determined who in the company had access to these same servers, how they accessed them, and what systems they used.

The work had been tedious, but they were well suited to it, and the time passed quickly. And despite all the setbacks, days of them at a stretch, there’d been steady progress. A fragmented view of the internal organization of the Exchange and its IT infrastructure emerged, like a jigsaw puzzle only partially complete. Systematically they gathered, analyzed, and cataloged every piece of information and document they encountered, as they couldn’t know what detail might prove helpful to them in time.

Once they’d mapped promising paths through the system to their goal, they attempted to inject themselves into points on those paths. In that, they’d had help. Vulnerabilities in software the Exchange used were publicly reported, so instead of crafting a hole on their own, they explored to discover a zero day opening or if the Exchange had failed to patch any bugs. They’d found no zero day opportunities but did find vulnerabilities in at least one application used internally by the Exchange. Their continued efforts led them to code written by FirstReact, a cybersecurity research company that discovered and reported bugs to the Exchange for a substantial fee.

Even then, their attempt at penetration failed with the first three servers they’d targeted. But they persisted and at last hit upon what they’d sought, what they’d been certain would exist if only they persevered. One of those well-educated, highly paid, bright minds on the NYSE Euronext IT team had yet to seal a vulnerability. That was all they’d needed to ooze through the inner workings of the Exchange’s network, and from there it hadn’t taken long to locate a path to the doorway of the trading engine systems. Today, as anticipated, they’d managed to plant their code on that doorway known as a jump server.

Neither had said a word when they realized what they’d done. It was in many ways a sublime moment, best savored privately. After a short pause, one of them began to determine the extent of their penetration, as there was much yet to be done, more barriers to surmount, a complex of security measures to bypass. It would all be demanding, but they had the lever bar in place. When they pressed, it would create a yawning hole they’d exploit relentlessly. Finally, with a sigh of satisfaction, one of the men pushed himself back in his chair and said, “We’ve got them.”

“That was too easy,” the other answered, reaching for a fresh Red Bull.

“You know, we shouldn’t be able to do this.”

“That’s their problem.” He leaned forward. “We still have a long way to go yet.”

Their next step was to establish access known only to them, a simple means to gain entry even after the portal they’d just opened was closed. Known as a backdoor, it would allow them ready access up to the jump server. After the backdoor was installed, they spent several hours setting up a command and control system for their personal use. It would be the external platform from which they could conduct their operations.

In the past, attackers had been compelled to compromise legitimate servers or establish business accounts with hosting companies that rented out servers. Both options were problematic because traffic to outside servers could be suspicious and because renting a server usually required a legitimate credit card. Now, with the advent of public cloud computing, they could instantly establish a trial account using nothing more than a burner cell phone number and set up a free command and control server anonymously.

Next, the pair planted within the system their own carefully crafted code, software that would allow them to remotely send program commands. Those commands, taken as genuine by the system, would enable them to do anything — absolutely anything — once they had full access.

“So,” the taller one said to the other, “just how rich do you want to be?”

3

“I’m going to see Ryan now!” Connor Stern all but shouted at the shocked woman as he barged by her desk, storming up to the closed door of his broker’s office and pushing it open.

Ryan Kramer looked up, startled. “Connor, I’m—”

Stern slammed the door shut behind him. “You know why I’m here! Don’t pretend you don’t!” He raised his fist above his head. In it he clutched several sheets of paper.

“Connor, sit down. There’s no need for a scene. I can explain it all.”

“That’s what you said over the phone. Well, that isn’t going to work! I’m entitled to answers. More importantly, I’m entitled to my money and I don’t intend to leave without it!”

The telephone rang. Kramer hesitated a moment, then picked it up, gesturing at the chair in front of his desk. Stern appeared to compose himself before taking the seat, and he leaned forward in agitation.

“No,” Kramer said. “Just bring us some water.” He replaced the telephone, then sat back in his chair. “That was Vivian. You scared the hell out of her. She’s afraid to come into the office.” He looked at the man evenly. “Connor, you need to get control of yourself or I’m going to have to call security.”

“Security? I was with your dad for eight years and never had a complaint. When you took over he asked me to stay on, so I did out of respect for him. When my wife and I came to you thirteen years ago and told you our retirement plans, you wrote up this very impressive proposal, with an investment arc that got us where we needed to be. Well, I’m sixty-eight years old now. I had a mild heart attack last month. It’s time to cash out while I still can. We talked about this last week when I gave you the sell order. You of all people know how tough it’s been since the crash, that I’ve had to work three years longer than I wanted. I should be on the beach in Florida right now, planning my next fishing trip.”

Just then, there was a light rap at the door. Kramer’s secretary entered, glancing nervously at Stern. She carried two glasses of water, which she set on coasters on the desk before quietly retreating. Stern licked his lips, then reached forward to take a glass. He was a big man, perhaps thirty pounds overweight, with thinning gray hair and a ruddy complexion. He took a sip, then a long drink before placing his glass back on its coaster.

“You know it’s been hard for me,” he continued. “I’ve run up over a million dollars in debt to keep the company going. I laid off everybody I could. I’ve got a daughter who won’t talk to me, because I had to let her husband go, and he can’t find work. I’ve even had to use my own assets as collateral. I’m upside down in a house I owned free and clear eight years ago. I’ve worked seven days a week to dig myself out of this hole I’m in, one I never caused.” He looked at Kramer, no longer visibly angry.

“We talked, Ryan,” he continued. “We talked a long time before I decided to pull the plug. I needed two million. According to the workup you did, we were supposed to have more than five by now. Okay, I understand that you can’t guarantee a rate of return, that you don’t control the stock market. I get that. Nothing’s certain in this world. We were way down, but when we crawled back up to two million, the missus and I talked. Sell now and we still had some time to retire before old age did us in. I could pay off the debt, give Uncle Sam what I had to give, and we’d have half a million left. That’s not much, not nearly enough for the life we wanted, but it would do. With that money we can buy a cheap condo near Miami, draw on the rest when we had to, living mostly off Social Security. That was the plan. Not much, but we could live with it. Ryan, I told you all this.” Stern raised his fist. “Then you send me this!”

Kramer spread his hands before him defensively. In a measured voice he said, “I didn’t do this to you, Connor.”

“You told me two million! That’s what we were going to get when you executed the order. That’s what you promised!”

“I make it a practice never to promise, Connor. I gave you the prices of the stock in your 401(k) and told you the figure if we executed the order at those prices.”

“That’s right! And I said do it! It wasn’t easy settling for so little. Every dollar over a million four was money in our pocket, money to retire on.”

“I understand.” Kramer glanced at his wristwatch.

“Do you? I don’t think you do. You sit in this fancy downtown office, punching numbers, running spreadsheets, taking your cut. A business your father gave you. You never worked a day in your life to build it up! Tell me, Ryan. You’re not making any less now than if I’d got the full two million, are you?”

“I … I’m getting less. I’d much rather see you get the figure we talked about.”

“‘Figure we talked about’? What’s that? It was two million dollars! Not some figure. It’s my life here. My life!”

“Connor, I executed the order,” Kramer said testily. “I sent you the statement.”

“One million five hundred twenty thousand. That’s what I’ve got here.” Connor shook the papers in his fist. “That leaves just over a hundred thousand after I pay my debts. Then there’s your fee, odds and ends. I ran the numbers, Ryan. Fifty-two thousand dollars. That’s it. No half million. What the hell happened?”

“The sells were supposed to go at specific price points, but the record shows they were executed later than that and at a much lower price. This happens from time to time,” Kramer added archly. “The stock market is volatile. It’s in the paperwork we gave you. It’s just the way the stock market works.”

“I’ll bet the big boys never have it happen to them. No, they get theirs. My order was at the back of the line and got the scraps. You promised me!”

“I never promise.”

“You know what fifty K means to me? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Maybe we can buy some crummy one-bedroom condo with it. Then we get to scrape by on Social Security, eating dog meat. Medicare’s not free, you know. I’ve still got to pay, and pay through the nose.”

“You can always file for relief.”

“You mean bankruptcy? You’re a moron, that’s what you are. I wish I’d seen it sooner. If I file for bankruptcy, I’ll be tied up in court for two years at least. Two more years of snow and ice. I don’t even know if I’ll be alive in two years! And the lawyers will take every penny I’ve got.” Stern slumped back in his seat. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t.”

Kramer stared at his watch pointedly.

“Hell,” Stern said in sudden surrender. “Why am I all worked up? With my ticker in the shape it’s in, I haven’t got much time anyway.”

4

Jeff Aiken’s shoes slapped the track as he picked up his pace for the final mile. It was good to be running again, good to breathe fresher air, good to be away from the busy Manhattan streets, even if only within the illusion of Central Park.

He followed the old Bridle Path of the Lower Loop because he enjoyed its beauty and because his feet and knees liked the forgiving dirt. He ran steadily, passing a few slower runners, yielding to others. Though hugging the reservoir, from time to time he caught a striking view of the park.

He closed his mind to all thought, focused on his body, the rhythm of the run, the sensations of pain and pleasure that coursed through him. Seeing the end within sight, he kicked into his final sprint, his side aching and his lungs a bit ragged from his recent inactivity. He pressed himself hard.

More than ten years before, Jeff lost his fiancée at the World Trade Center. Working then for the CIA, he and his team had uncovered clear indicators of the pending 9/11 disaster. But when he met with his superior, he was unable to persuade him or anyone else to act. He even failed to save Cindy’s life, though he’d known she’d be in Manhattan on the probable day of the attack.

They’d spoken just moments before her death.

The experience was devastating. Afterwards he’d left the CIA to start his own cybersecurity company as he struggled to deal with the tragedy.

Jeff was born the youngest of two sons. When he was six years old, his parents and brother were killed in a two-car accident. He’d been with his grandparents at the time and remained with them thereafter. They were loving surrogate parents. Jeff’s elderly grandfather died when he was a sophomore in high school, and his grandmother passed when he was in college. Until Cindy came along, he’d remained largely a loner.

He’d gone on to obtain his doctorate and then taught at Carnegie Mellon before joining the Cyber Security Division of the CIA’s Information Operations Center. Though he spent most of his time before a computer, he’d played rugby at the University of Michigan and worked to stay fit.

When he’d next been in Manhattan, he went to Ground Zero at the start of the new construction, drawn there by deep emotional currents. But seeing the gaping hole, the busy construction, had offered nothing except painful recollections. Over the long decade following her death, his memories had slowly dimmed, though there were moments when some reminder would bring back the sharp pain of loss.

Now his work had drawn him to Manhattan once again.

He’d loved Cindy deeply and was sure he’d never experience such a relationship again. But later, during the frantic chase to stop a planned al-Qaeda cyberattack on the West, he formed an unexpected bond with Daryl Haugen. He’d known her as a colleague for several years, and both of them were surprised by this development, as neither had been looking for a companion.

He and Daryl had entered into a passionate affair that blossomed into what each believed was a lasting relationship. She’d left the United States Computer Emergency Readiness Team, known as US-CERT, where she’d headed a team and served as assistant executive director of the Computer Infrastructure Security Unit at the Department of Homeland Security, or CISU/DHS, before joining him. He’d formally organized his cybersecurity company, calling it Red Zoya, the name coming from the zero day applications used in the al-Qaeda attack. They’d set up their lives and business in a Georgetown town house.

Following the climactic events in Turkey the following year, Daryl was briefly hospitalized. It had seemed to him then that the chronic separations that previously marred their life together had come to an end. During the time of their recovery from their injuries and wounds, Jeff came to believe that a full and lasting love had blossomed within both of them. Working together, they were a unique and highly regarded team. It seemed to him an ideal life, joined as lovers and professionals.

But they were each often consumed by their work. One or both of them was frequently absent on assignment, and even when they were together at the town house, they were heavily involved with the business. Daryl had assured Jeff that she would make their relationship a greater priority, and for a few short golden days it seemed she would. But their intended monthlong vacation in Italy after her release from the hospital in Turkey was cut short within a week when an old colleague had called Daryl, desperate for her help. Unable to do the job on the road, she flew back to the States and that had been that.

Afterwards, nothing changed. They rarely saw each other, and when they were together it was as if they weren’t. Jeff raised the subject of their relationship again and Daryl reassured him — again — but finally he decided they had no future, not like this. His had been a rational decision, though not an easy one. Continuing as they were wasn’t healthy for either of them. He’d seen other working couples go on as they were for years, never remaining connected at the most important level, interacting with each other superficially, as colleagues at work, their sex life little different from a coupling with a stranger. They both deserved better.

This wasn’t what he wanted. He’d hoped that presenting her with what was in effect an ultimatum would jar Daryl into reality, cause her to carefully examine her priorities. But when he finally managed to get her attention and a bit of her time, the conversation had not gone well. Initially, Daryl had given another assurance, and then, realizing how serious he was, she turned angry. Finally, when the inevitability of his position became obvious, she became stoic.

Jeff was disappointed and unhappy that she’d chosen to disconnect rather than put their relationship first. It seemed to him that Daryl thought the relationship was going okay and had been offended that Jeff would accuse her of not being committed. From his perspective, she should have been able to see what was taking place. It could not have been more obvious to him. He was deeply frustrated that he couldn’t get her to acknowledge it. All he really wanted was for her to understand that she needed to make a decision, needed to make the right decision for them. But that wasn’t how she’d taken it.

In the end, before he felt they’d really discussed things, she abruptly moved out while he was on assignment, taking her possessions. She’d given him the benefit of the doubt with those acquisitions that could reasonably be considered jointly theirs, her fairness just one of the many things about her he loved. Her move was impulsive, he thought, something else about her he loved, though not when he was on this end of her actions.

The tragedy, if that wasn’t too strong a word for it, was that it had been obvious to Jeff that she cared about him as much as he still cared for her, but regardless, their life choices drove them relentlessly apart. And though it was his hope they’d remain friends, he couldn’t see them ever getting together again as a couple. Someone would come along in either of their lives, and in time the other would receive a wedding invitation. He’d seen it with former couples he knew and now accepted that fate as his own. In seeming confirmation, Jeff and Daryl had not talked in the year since the breakup.

Ironically, Jeff’s reaction to that life change had been to throw himself into work with even greater zeal. During those hours he wasn’t working or asleep, he was most often at the gym. He’d taken up tae kwon do, finding he enjoyed the physical contact and flexibility it gave him. One of the unintended consequences of Daryl’s departure was that he was in the best shape of his life.

But despite the efforts of attractive women to start something new with him, Jeff had so far declined. He simply couldn’t take that next step. He’d given it considerable thought but didn’t understand why he was stuck. He found himself wondering about Daryl. Was she dating? Living with someone already? He didn’t know and felt he shouldn’t try to find out.

5

Daryl Haugen stared at her computer screen. She heard the clang of the cable car on California Street and looked out her bay window. The route was a block over, but she never grew weary of the sound. It was like a siren call.

Fog blanketed her street. She peered into it for a moment, trying to make out the row of apartments across the street, taken once again with how thick the stuff could become in so short a time. Moisture collected on the outside of her window, forming heavy tear-shaped drops that began to creep downward as she watched.

In her first months in the city, she’d found herself often taking the cable car for no reason other than the experience. Though the line was popular with tourists, she soon learned that half the riders were locals. She got to know them by sight, though no one much talked to each other — except the tourists. They just never seemed to shut up.

She’d not changed everything about how she lived. She still carried pepper spray, and three mornings a week, she found time to continue personal workouts with an emphasis on defense training. It didn’t matter where you lived, you still had to be responsible for yourself.

She turned back to her screen. She’d brought work home as usual. This was a contract job for a Midwest insurance company. She was designing an update to its cybersecurity systems that would include antivirus, host-intrusion detection, network monitoring, anomaly alerts, and operational lockdown. She had employed some of the new techniques she learned in her time with Jeff. In fact, she often realized, her time with Red Zoya had been helpful, which was only one more reason for her anger at the change imposed on her.

She’d been on this project for some weeks and expected to be at it another two months. She’d just returned from an on-site week at the corporate headquarters, where she worked closely with the company’s IT and cybersecurity teams, designing the architecture for the solutions she’d devised. It was best to keep things as similar in design and appearance as the system the company was now using. That consistency was often the most difficult part of a project like this. While on-site, she’d assisted the IT squads in picking vendors for the new cyberproducts her revised system required. As she neared completion, she’d perform the final, and key, function of guiding the new system’s deployment and making it operational. She wasn’t exactly saving the world, but the work was challenging and occasionally satisfying.

Daryl had been required to deal with the usual problems she encountered as an attractive single woman in her field. Software engineers were typically men, and their female counterparts often tended toward the plain. Daryl was an exception and had come to view her looks as an inconvenience. Her mother was a beauty as well, and they’d talked about the challenge more than once over the years.

Slender and just over average height, with a fair complexion and blond shoulder-length hair, Daryl stood out. She was a natural athlete and skied at every opportunity. Encouraged by attentive parents, she’d early discovered a natural affinity for language, and by the time Daryl was a teenager, she spoke Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian fluently. Her parents were convinced she’d become a linguist, but Daryl also enjoyed mathematics and computers.

She’d been admitted to MIT at seventeen, then completed her Ph.D. at Stanford while living at home. With a world of career choices before her Daryl had given serious thought to what she should do. She’d briefly considered applying to the FBI as the idea of chasing bad guys held a strong appeal, but instead she’d gone to work for the National Security Agency, which had a greater use for her particular skills. The NSA intercepted communication of all types in order to develop intelligence information. To accomplish all that, they relied extensively on computers. Her background, including her command of languages, made her a natural. After several years she moved to the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), where she could be more proactive developing and coordinating defenses for the country’s rapidly expanding cyber-infrastructure.

Daryl checked the time on her screen. She’d have to stop soon. She’d agreed to meet someone for coffee. God, she hated these meet-ups friends were constantly arranging for her. During the first months after moving to San Francisco, she’d refused them all, then reluctantly acquiesced. Yet still she wasn’t ready. No, she’d come to realize that the last thing she wanted right now was a man in her life. She was still trying to get over the last one.

That’s what comes from thinking it was true love, she’d told her mother one day. She’d thought just being herself and living the life she wanted would have been enough for Jeff. He’d certainly seemed to say that to her. They got along well; the sex was wonderful. Later she’d decided that compatibility had blinded her to specific realities. Core issues existed in every relationship, and in ignoring them, she’d also disregarded the most basic rules.

As far as she was concerned, Jeff could go to hell. He might be handsome, charming on occasion, faithful — which was a rare enough quality in any man these days — a hard worker, but in the end, she’d found him cold-blooded. That was the hardest part for her, the way he’d thought it all through without a word of warning to her and then just sat her down one Sunday night when she’d been exhausted from three grueling weeks in Vancouver. It was clear that they weren’t going anywhere, he’d said in that steady voice of his, that continuing as they were wasn’t good for either of them. It was time to recognize the reality of the situation.

Then he said he hoped they’d stay friends.

That had almost been too much. But she held back her anger, told him that if that was what he wanted, it was just fine with her. She had other options. He was leaving the next day to work in Dallas, and in anger, she told him she’d be gone when he came back.

They’d spent that night in separate bedrooms, and tired as she was, she found it difficult to sleep. Finally, well after midnight, she drifted off into a fitful slumber. She’d found it hard to discriminate between her restless dreams and those long moments when she drifted, not awake but not asleep either. Once it seemed to her that a form had stood in her doorway — Jeff, she thought. He’d said nothing, stood there unmoving, a comforting presence; then she drifted off. When she next came out of sleep, he was gone, and when she awoke in the morning, she found he’d quietly left on his trip without another word.

She’d called Clive Lifton that same day. He was a longtime friend to both of them as well as a colleague. Though it had just fifty employees, his San Francisco company, CyberSys, Inc., was highly regarded in cybersecurity, providing both training and consulting. Clive was a diffident man of middle years, a bit scholarly in his manner. He also was the creator and perennial sponsor of CyberCon, a modestly sized but popular event for those specializing in cybersecurity. Clive ran the conference as an indirect way to advertise his company and its services to the security community.

Both Jeff and Daryl frequently traded information with him concerning attack techniques as well as swapped cyber community gossip. He’d tried to hire them more than once. Now she called to take him up on his standing offer. San Francisco was just about far enough away from Washington, D.C., as she could get, and Daryl thought the profound change in culture would do her good.

To her surprise, Clive tried to talk her out of making the move. “You and Jeff are special,” he said. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret. You aren’t going to do any better, Daryl, neither of you is. Stay put, give this some time, rethink your priorities. Work is always there, but what you two have, at least from my perspective, is wonderful and worth a bit of sacrifice.”

But his recommendation had been shared to no avail. She’d told Clive this was Jeff’s decision and that he was talking to the wrong person. Finally, they agreed to terms and Clive had offered to help find her an apartment. Daryl carefully packed her few things, surprised she’d accumulated so little during her time in Georgetown, and then driven cross-country in three exhausting days, her anger toward Jeff hardening with each passing mile.

What most pissed her off, what really made her mad, was how much she still cared about him.

Clive was true to his word and located two apartments for her, either of which would have been just fine. She’d taken this second-floor one on Pine Street in Lower Pacific Heights because of its 1913 architecture and lovely bay window. On clear days, light bathed her small living room, turning it aglow. She’d placed her workstation there, and when she worked at home, she let the sun wash over her as she listened to the clanging of the cable car bell and the moan of the foghorn in the bay.

That was one of the many things she had to adjust to, the way one part of San Francisco could be holiday sunny, while another was shrouded in gray fog. When she went for her frequent walks, she always took a light jacket with her since she managed to pass through at least three microclimates every few minutes. She loved it.

The offices for CyberSys, Inc., were located in a remodeled Victorian home off Sutter Street, between Nob Hill and Chinatown. A brass plaque beside the entrance placed there by a local historical society authenticated that the address had once served as a brothel. Its various rooms were divided into no more than three cubicles each. Still, spending time there was like working in her aunt’s turn-of-the-century house. The hardwood floors glistened and the woodwork never failed to catch her eye. She loved the high ceilings, and Clive, she learned for the first time, was something of a horticulturist. At least he filled the place with plants and managed to keep them thriving when he wasn’t staring at a computer screen.

The city itself was different from Georgetown, with its own history and culture, and that, along with the new working environment, had been just what Daryl needed. She was already acquainted with two of the employees and soon found that she knew several others by sight. Clive ran a pleasant operation free of drama and even managed to have a fair share of extroverts among his employees. They had all taken an immediate liking to Daryl and were the ones now setting her up for romance.

She supposed she could bring those efforts to an end if she really wanted to, but some part of her thought that meeting new men was the way to drive Jeff from her memory. Not that there’d been so many. She put in long hours and traveled at least once a month. It was the nature of the work. She’d asked Clive to keep her on the coast and in the West, and he agreed without comment. Distance was another key, she’d told her mother, who she came to realize disapproved of her breakup as well.

Daryl checked the clock again and reluctantly closed her laptop. She sighed. Maybe tonight over coffee, she’d stop wishing the man across the table were Jeff.