Page 23 of Fate Awakened

I wasn’t exactly sure where we would go, but she couldn’t return to her apartment. We would have to find somewhere to hide out, to let this thing blow over.

Will she forgive me for putting her in danger?

I can’t think about that now. Getting her to safety is my top priority. Or at least it was. That’s until I showed up at her apartment ready to talk her into packing a bag to get away for a few days, and instead, I had a bag thrown over my head and was dragged into a van like some '90s sitcom.

It would be hilarious if I didn’t know the people who took me were professionals who dabble in the dark web and all that entails.

I should’ve done some surveillance. I should’ve taken precautions. I should’ve protected her.

I fucked up. Again.

Now my only stress remained in finding out precisely what they’d done with her and negotiating whatever I had to get her back in one piece.

The sound of a door closing pulls my focus to my right.

“Who’s there?” I ask, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

Footsteps echo off the tile floor, a slow, calculated cadence making me tense as they circle the chair. I tug against the zip ties connecting my ankles and wrists to the metal chair, hoping to find a weakness I could exploit.

I’m not a fighter. I’ve spent my life in front of a computer, attacking people where it hurts them the most: their bank accounts, their credit scores, and their identities. I’ve never had to fight because I’m the behind-the-scenes guy—the black hat. I’m anonymous.

Well, at least I thought I was.

That said, I’m 6’4 and can run a mile in five minutes flat. I just need to get out of this chair, and maybe I can surprise them enough to get out of here. Perhaps the threat of fighting me would hold up.

Wishful thinking.

“Mr. Anderson,” the unfamiliar voice begins, deep and authoritative, “you’ve been quite the thorn in our side these last few weeks.” The metal clanging onto a table echoed in the gaps as he spoke. “Now, I believe in giving everyone a chance to come clean and be honest about their role. So, why don’t you tell me what I want to know, so we can both get on with our day.” The calm, business-like words and the commanding tone make me believe I’m talking to someone in charge. Or at least someone who’s pretending to be.

“I’m at a disadvantage. You seem to know me, but I have no idea who you are, nor what business you’re in, and as such, I can’t begin to know how to answer that or what knowledge you seek. Maybe if you can take off this bag and untie me, we can talk like civilized men.” Unfortunately, the last request is a long shot. Even though I knew 90% of all kidnap victims survived, I also knew what type of people I was dealing with.

He and I both know if he reveals himself to me, he’ll likely kill me before letting me go. Leaving witnesses alive is bad for business. On the other hand, I also know that I have a unique skill set that most of these “businessmen” would see as an asset, and that’s worth the risk for a chance to see my surroundings and find a way out of this.

“I think we can manage just fine without a face-to-face. In our line of work, you, of all people, should know anonymity is such an important facet. Now,” he pauses, leaning into the silence which has me anticipating his next words while holding my breath, “tell me about the software.”

As he awaits my answer, his boots thump in the rhythm of his pacing.

“See, there again… I work in tech. All day. Everyday. You can’t just ask a blanket question about software and expect that to narrow it down for me.” I put a smile into my voice, hoping to make this exchange as friendly as possible to try and keep myself alive.

“Keith, can I call you Keith? You and I both know which program code I’m referring to, that is, unless all of your criminal side projects get stolen out from under you. I’d imagine that would lead to a bad reputation, which I must say from what we know is the opposite of what we’ve heard. So, I’ll ask again. Tell me about the software.”

“Not sure I can. I didn’t have access long enough to grasp its functionality. I assume it was your team that took it from me. You’ve probably ascertained more than I was able to.” I reply honestly, knowing that leaning into the truth will get me farther than outright lies. What I don’t say, however, is that I still have a copy on my cold storage drives. Drives I know the secondary team didn’t get yesterday.

His laugh, deep and low, startles me.

“It’s our code, Mr. Anderson. I know exactly what it does. I want to know how it came into your possession.”

I guess we’re no longer on a first-name basis.

“It’s yours? How were you able to….” I blurt before catching myself. The questions spinning, threatening to jump out unfiltered. Every fiber of my being wants to know who wrote it, how it works, and more, how they were able to parse the overwhelming amount of data necessary in any reasonable amount of time. That is, without a quantum processor. It took me days just to initialize the software, and even the initialization process was exceptionally computationally expensive. That’s when I realized it was impossible. It couldn't be done on even the most advanced GPUs on the market. Commercial or military.

My mind wanders down the list of questions I’d compiled since K gave me the software. His only explanation came when he told me the project scope had grown too large for their engineer. Thus he hired me to dig into it, and see if I could figure out how far the guy had gotten and overcome any final issues before they could take it to market.,

Knowing my captors were the people K worked with allowed my body to relax.

They know my ability. They wouldn’t just kill me.

“You know how I got it. I got it from you. I’m the engineer hired to take over the project whenyourguy couldn’t handle the scope. You brought me on to dig in and fix any errors before making it ready for market.” I explain, relieved that what started as a no-win situation fighting for my life now likely was just a misunderstanding.

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