Sweet Fortune

Attwood.
    “Don't give her any idea of who you are or where you are,” Hatch told Alex. “Just let her think that you're a concerned environmentalist who's also a hacker. Maybe someone who's involved in climate-projection programs and who's heard about Bright's calculations and wants to review them. And for Christ's sake, don't give her anything that can be traced back here. Understand?”
    “Sure, Hatch.” Alex eagerly started punching keys on the board. “I'll start by questioning the data she's trying to input. She won't be alarmed, just confused at first. She'll think it's the computer querying the information she's feeding it. When she starts responding, I'll ease into letting her know there's a real person asking.”
    Alex's initial query trickled out across the bottom of the screen. Jessie read it over his shoulder:
    New temperature ranges for arctic quadrant do not match projections. Please explain source .
    “What if the query pops up on someone else's screen?” Jessie asked.
    “There's no one else on-line right now. It's the middle of the night, don't forget. She's working the late shift alone.” Alex studied the response he had gotten from Susan.
    Source is Bright calculation . The words appeared above Alex's on the top half of the screen.
    Calculation not correct , Alex typed.
    Please explain.
    “She's confused, and no wonder,” Alex said. “The program she's working with is not written to be interactive on this level. Up until now it's just accepted whatever numbers it gets and crunched them.”
    “Okay,” Hatch said slowly. “Let her know you're here.”
    Am concerned about projections produced by this program. They don't match my own , Alex typed.
    Who are you ?
    Alex hesitated and then typed, Green .
    Are you with DEL ?
    No. Concerned about same subject. Wrong data extremely dangerous , Alex typed.
    Show me the differences between your calculations and ours .
    “We're in luck,” Alex said confidently. “She's the naturally curious type, like most computer junkies. She wants to solve the puzzle before she does anything else. Attagirl, Susan. I'd do exactly the same thing, especially in the middle of the night when there's nothing better to do. I think you and I are two of a kind.” He hunched over the keyboard and started typing furiously.
    Jessie glanced at Hatch and smiled wryly. Hatch shrugged and reached for the bag of potato chips that was lying on the desk next to the computer. They both sat there munching while Alex lured Susan Attwood into an extended conversation about data errors and bad projections.
    Have recently been concerned about this myself , Susan finally admitted several minutes later.
    Hatch put down the bag of potato chips. “Bingo,” he said softly.
    “Told you she was bright.” Alex looked proud, as if Susan were his protégée. “Smart enough to know something was wrong.”
    “Ask her if she's ever worked with the financial program,” Hatch ordered.
    “If I do that, she'll know we're interested in the money as well as the climate stuff,” Alex warned.
    Jessie finally took a hand. “Tell her you stumbled over the other program while looking for this one and that you were curious about the projects the foundation is financing.”
    “And tell her,” Hatch added swiftly, “that the money doesn't look like it's going into normal research-and-development costs. See if she's had any concerns about those transactions.”
    Jessie whipped around in her chair to stare at Hatch in astonishment. “You never said anything about the R-and-D stuff looking strange.”
    He shrugged again. “I'm not sure what is happening. I just know it isn't a normal R-and-D spread sheet.”
    “You could have said something.”
    “I'd already told you the whole thing was probably some sort of scam. This is nothing new. I'm just fine-tuning my theories now.”
    Alex broke in quickly. “If you two would stop squabbling, we might get some more answers from Susan. Okay, Hatch, you want me to ask directly about offshore accounts?”
    “Something tells me we should be a little more subtle than that,” Jessie muttered, still annoyed.
    “Jessie's right. Just ask her why the financial-management program doesn't look right and see what she says.”
    Alex obediently typed in the question. There was a long pause before the answer came back on the top half of the screen:
    Who are you, Green? Please tell me .
    “She's getting nervous,” Jessie said. “I think it's time to tell her