?Find out how much their researchers are paid,? I beg.
Nigel shakes his head.
?Not relevant,? he says firmly. ?What I want to know is what happened to employees from companies that HG has merged with in the past.?
?Ooh, yes, find out about that, too,? I gush. I never knew work could be so exciting. ?So how did you find this information anyway??
?We have our ways.? Nigel?s eyes are glinting.
?We? Who?s we? Nigel, isn?t that like really illegal or something??
?Only if you get caught.?
?Nigel, you?re scaring me now. Tell me how you did this!?
Nigel?s hands are trembling. ?It?s something I learned from one of the people at the Security Convention,? he tells me. ?All networks have weaknesses. You just figure out what they are, and wham, you?re in.?
?And in this case??
?A chink in their firewall. This information is on their network, and I got in through the Boston office. You just send an e-mail to the right person, they respond, and bingo, you?re in.?
?And will they find out??
?Not if I?m quick enough. Go to the printer.?
My heart is beating faster as I race over. Reams of names and figures are coming out of the printer. I?m just picking the first lot up when suddenly Guy appears out of nowhere and I jump.
?So, how did you think it went this morning?? He?s standing right in front of me. I can?t let him see what Nigel and I are doing.
?Oh, great, you know, um, really interesting.? I turn round quickly, clutching the papers to my chest. I?m standing in front of the printer, but pages and pages are coming out, straight onto the floor.
I need to create a diversion. If Guy sees what we?re printing out, or what Nigel is downloading, we won?t be waiting for the merger before we lose our jobs.
?Your, um, hair looks nice today,? I say.
Guy looks at me uncertainly. He has a receding hairline and has cut his hair to within an inch of its life to make it less obvious that he?s going bald. Why couldn?t I have complimented him on his suit?
?It?s a bit like the Mitchell brothers in ?EastEnders,? ? I say. Why? Why? Say something nice, I beg myself.
?Although, you know, a lot more professional. In that suit, I mean. That suit is more godfather than East End gangster, isn?t it? I mean Italians always dress better than the English and??
Nigel intervenes just in time. ?The presentation this morning was most enlightening,? he says, getting up and herding Guy toward the coffee machine. ?The strategic alignment does seem to be exceptionally favorable, and . . .?
As soon as they have turned their backs on me, I grab all the printouts and take them back to my desk, hiding them under myMarie Claire .
Denise comes back from lunch. ?Bloody Nigel,? she mutters to me. ?We could all be about to lose our jobs, and all he can do is smarm up to Guy and talk about business process reengineering or what have you. They?re standing by the coffee machine now, talking about downsizing like it?s not human beings who?ll be affected. He?s got no emotion, that man.?
I nod sympathetically and put a few more files on top of myMarie Claire , just for good measure.
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Nigel doesn?t come back as expected five minutes later. I try to get on with some work, but keep wondering if Guy saw what I was printing out. Maybe he?s issuing my termination notice right now. Maybe he?s keeping Nigel busy while he calls the police and we?re both going to prison and . . .
The phone rings. It?ll be them! Oh God! The police are calling me and I haven?t thought up any excuse!
I pick up the phone tentatively.
?Hello??
?Hello??
?Hello, who is this please??
My voice is faltering and my palms are sweating.
?Georgie??
Oh, thank God, I recognize the voice.
?Mike,? I say with relief.
?I knew you?d be pleased to hear from me.?
?No, it?s not that . . . I thought you were someone else.?
