Page 33 of Undercover Infidel
For hours,the three of us worked side by side, breaking down the ciphered communications and forming hypotheses.
“I’d really like to have Dr. McLaren take a look at this.”
My first reaction was to say no. However, recalling what she’d said earlier, I kept quiet.
“I’ll ring her in the morning,” she said, stifling a yawn.
“Time for me to go,” said Gus, standing and stretching. “I’m famished.”
“Apologies. I could have Mrs. Thorne make something.”
“And have my mum get wind of it? No thanks,” he joked.
We walked him upstairs, and after we’d said good night, I asked Lex if she was hungry too.
“Not really. I could go for a brandy, though.”
We went into the library, falling into an easy conversation about what our parents’ hopes and dreams were for us when we were young.
“The expectation was always that I’d take over Blackmoor, which I did do after my father passed. Just not in the way he imagined, I’m sure.”
“What about your mum?” she asked.
“They divorced when I was at university. She remarried a bloke from the States. I don’t see her often. What about you?”
“My father wanted me to study literature,” she confessed with a soft laugh. “He was horrified when I chose computer science. ‘Machineshave no soul,’ he told me. I’ve spent my career trying to prove him both right and wrong.”
“How so?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“While he was right about the machines themselves, they reflect the souls of their creators,” she said, her expression thoughtful. “That’s why ethics in AI development matters so much. We’re creating mirrors of ourselves, for better or worse.”
“That’s why Labyrinth terrifies me.”
When the clock chimed twelve, I was stunned at how late it was. “We should get some rest,” I said reluctantly.
“We should.”
We made our way up the stairs and I was about to open her door when Lex’s mobile chimed with an incoming message. Her face paled as she read it.
“What is it?” I asked, instantly alert.
She handed me the phone. The message was short but chilling.
Your room isn’t as private as you think. They’re watching. Listening. Trust no one at Blackmoor.
A cold fury rose in me, compounded by fatigue and frustration. Someone was deliberately trying to make her feel unsafe in my home. I removed my mobile andscanned the corridor for listening devices, then took her arm gently.
“Let me check your room,” I said, my voice low but firm.
I entered and conducted a thorough sweep, checking for any type of intrusion. The search revealed nothing, which almost worried me more than finding something would have.
“It appears clean,” I said, pocketing my mobile.
“That doesn’t make the message any less disturbing,” she replied, arms crossed protectively over her chest. For the first time since I’d met her, Lex looked genuinely rattled. The confident, challenging woman had momentarily given way to someone vulnerable.
“I don’t think you should stay here tonight,” I began, then immediately clarified when her eyebrows rose. “I mean in this room. There are other guest suites, or?—”
“Or?”
