would not see anyone she knew.
She was wound up tight like a guitar string, ready to snap. She was afraid for her father more than herself. If they were caught it would be deeply humiliating for her, but that was all; the courts did not send you to jail for breaking into your own office and stealing one floppy disk. But Daddy, with his record, would go down for years. He would be an old man when he came out.
The street lamps and exterior building lights were beginning to come on. Jeannie and her father walked past the tennis court, where two women were playing under floodlights. Jeannie remembered Steve speaking to her after the game last Sunday. She had given him the brush-off automatically, he had looked so confident and pleased with himself. How wrong she had been in her first judgment of him.
She nodded toward the Ruth W. Acorn Psychology Building. “That’s the place,” she said. “Everyone calls it Nut House.”
“Keep walking at the same speed,” he said. “How do you get in that front door?”
“A plastic card, same as my office door. But my card doesn’t work anymore. I might be able to borrow one.”
“No need. I hate accomplices. How do we get around the back?”
“I’ll show you.” A footpath across a lawn led past the far side of Nut House toward the visitors’ parking lot. Jeannie followed it, then turned off to a paved yard at the back of the building. Her father ran a professional eye over the rear elevation. “What’s that door?” he said, pointing. “I think it’s a fire door.”
He nodded. “It probably has a crossbar at waist level, the kind that opens the door if you push against it.”
“I believe it does. Is that where we’re going to get in?”
“Yes.”
Jeannie remembered a sign on the inside of it that read THIS DOOR Is ALARMED. “You’ll set off an alarm,” she said.
“No, I won’t,” he replied. He looked around. “Do many people come around the back here?”
“No. Especially at night.”
“Okay. Let’s go to work.” He put his briefcase on the ground, opened it, and took out a small black plastic box with a dial. Pressing a button, he ran the box all around the door frame, watching the dial. The needle jumped in the top right-hand corner. He gave a grunt of satisfaction.
He returned the box to the briefcase and took out another similar instrument, plus a roll of electrician’s tape. He taped the instrument to the top right-hand corner of the door and threw a switch. There was a low hum. “That should confuse the burglar alarm,” he said.
He took out a long piece of wire that had once been a laundry shirt hanger. He bent it carefully into a twisted shape, then inserted the hooked end into the crack of the door. He wiggled it for a few seconds, then pulled.
The door came open.
The alarm did not sound.
He picked up his briefcase and stepped inside.
“Wait,” Jeannie said. “This isn’t right. Close the door and let’s go home.”
“Hey, come on, don’t be scared.”
“I can’t do this to you. If you’re caught, you’ll be in jail until you’re seventy years old.”
“Jeannie, I
Jeannie stepped inside.
He closed the door. “Lead the way.”
She ran up the fire stairs to the second floor and hurried along the corridor to her office. He was right behind her. She pointed to the door.
He took yet another electronic instrument out of his briefcase. This one had a metal plate the size of a charge card attached to it by wires. He inserted the plate into the card reader and switched on the instrument. “It tries every possible combination,” he said.
She was amazed by how easily he had entered a building that had such up-to-date security.
“You know something?” he said. “I ain’t scared!”
“Jesus, I am,” Jeannie said.
“No, seriously, I got my nerve back, maybe because you’re with me.” He grinned, “Hey, we could be a team.”
She shook her head. “Forget it. I couldn’t stand the tension.”
It occurred to her that Berrington might have come in here and carried away her computer and all her disks. It would be dreadful if she had taken this awful risk for nothing. “How long will this take?” she said impatiently.
“Any second now.”
A moment later the door gently swung open.
“Won’t you step inside?” he said proudly.
She went in and turned on the light. Her computer was still on the desk. Jeannie opened the drawer. There was her box of backup disks. She flipped through them frenziedly. SHOPPING.LST was there. She picked it up. “Thank God,” she said.
Now that she had the disk in her hand she could not wait to read the information on it. Desperate though she was to get out of Nut House, she was tempted to look at the file right here and now. She did not have a computer at home; Daddy had sold it. To read the disk she would have to borrow a PC. That would take time and explanations.
She decided to take a chance.
She switched on the computer on her desk and waited for it to boot up.
“What are you doing?” Daddy said.
“I want to read the file.”
“Can’t you do that at home?”
“I don’t have a computer at home, Daddy. It was stolen.”
He missed the irony. “Hurry up, then.” He went to the window and looked out.
The screen flickered and she clicked on WP. She slid the floppy into the disk drive and switched on her printer.
The alarms went off all at once.
Jeannie thought her heart had stopped. The noise was deafening. “What happened?” she yelled.
Her father was white with fear. “That damn emitter must have failed, or maybe someone took it off the door,” he yelled. “We’re finished, Jeannie, run!”
She wanted to snatch the disk out of the computer and bolt, but she forced herself to think coolly. If she were caught now and the disk taken from her, she would have lost everything. She had to look at the list while she could. She grabbed her father’s arm. “Just a few more seconds!”
He glanced out of the window. “Damn, that looks like a security man!”
“I just have to print this! Wait for me!”
He was shaking. “I can’t, Jeannie, I can’t! I’m sorry!” He snatched up his briefcase and ran.
Jeannie felt pity for him, but she could not stop now. She retrieved the A-drive directory, highlighted the FBI file, and clicked on Print.
Nothing happened. Her printer was still warming up. She cursed.
She went to the window. Two security guards were entering the front of the building.
She closed her office door.
She stared at her inkjet printer. “Come on, come
At last it ticked and whirred and sucked up a sheet from the paper tray.
She sprung the floppy out of the disk drive and slipped it into the pocket of her electric blue jacket.
The printer regurgitated four sheets of paper then stopped.
Heart pounding, Jeannie snatched up the pages and scanned the lines of print.
There were thirty or forty pairs of names. Most were male, but this was not surprising: almost all crimes were committed by men. In some cases the address was a prison. The list was exactly what she had hoped for. But
