TOTAL CONTROL By: David Baldacci

engaged in an animated conversation with his dinner companion, a man in

his early twenties dressed in an expensively tailored suit. The two

young men were sitting side by side, their eyes firmly set on one

another. They spoke in low tones, and Rowe’s hand briefly flickered on

top of his companion’s.

Sawyer arched an eyebrow at Hardy. “They make a nice couple.”

“Watch it. You’re starting to sound politically incorrect.”

“Hey, live and let live. That’s my motto. Guy can date whoever he

wants.”

Hardy continued to observe the pair. “Well, Quentin Rowe is worth about

three hundred million dollars, and the way things are going he’ll be a

billionaire well before he’s forty. I’d say that makes him a very

eligible bachelor.”

“I’m sure there’s an army of young ladies just kicking themselves over

that one.”

“You better believe it. But the guy’s flat-out brilliant. He deserves

the success.”

“Yeah, he gave me a little tour of the company. I didn’t understand

half of what he was talking about, but it was still interesting stuff.

Can’t say I like where all this technology crap is going, though.”

“Can’t stop progress, Lee.”

“I don’t want to stop it, Frank, I’d just like to choose how much I have

to participate in it. According to Rowe, it doesn’t look like I’m going

to get that opportunity.”

“It is a little scary. But it sure as hell is lucrative.”

Sawyer glanced again in Rowe’s direction. “Speaking of couples, Rowe

and Gamble sure make an odd one.”

“Really, what makes you say that?” Hardy grinned. “Seriously, they just

happened to run into each other at an opportune time. The rest is

history.”

“So I understand. Gamble had the money bags and Rowe brought along the

brains?”

Hardy shook his head. “Don’t sell Nathan Gamble short. It’s not easy

making the bucks he did on Wall Street. He is one bright guy and a hell

of a businessman.”

Sawyer wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Good thing, because the man

ain’t going to get by on his charm.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

It was eight o’clock when Sidney reached Jeff Fisher’s home, a restored

row house on the outskirts of Old Town Alexandria’s elite residential

area. Dressed in MIT sweats and battered tennis shoes, a Red Sox cap

perched on his nearly bald head, the short, pudgy Fisher welcomed her

and led her to a large room crammed top to bottom with computer

equipment of all descriptions, cables running all over the hardwood

floors, and multiple electrical outlets jammed to capacity.

Sidney thought the space looked as though it belonged more in the

Pentagon War Room than in this quiet suburban area.

Fisher proudly watched her obvious astonishment. “Actually, I’ve cut

back some. I thought I might be getting out of control a little bit.”

He grinned broadly.

Sidney pulled the disk out of her pocket. “Jeff, could you put this in

your computer and read what’s on it?”

Fisher took the disk, a disappointed look on his face. “Is that all you

need? Your computer at work can read this floppy, Sidney.”

“I know, but I was afraid I might screw it up somehow. It came in the

mail and it might be damaged. I’m not in your league when it comes to

computers, Jeff. I wanted to come to the best.”

Fisher beamed at this ego-stroking. “Okay. It’ll just take a second.”

He started to pop the disk into the computer.

Sidney put a hand over his, halting him. “Jeff, is that computer

on-line?”

He looked at the computer and then back at her. “Yeah. I’ve got three

different services I use, plus my own gateway onto the Inter-net I got

through using MIT as a host. Why?”

“Could you use a computer that isn’t on-line? I mean, can’t other

people get to things on your database if you’re on-line?”

“Yeah, it’s a two-way street. You send stuff out. Others can hack it.

That’s the trade-off. But it’s a big trade-off. Although you don’t

have to be on-line to get hacked.”

“What do you mean?” Sidney asked.

“Ever heard of Van Eck radiation?” Fisher asked. Sidney shook her head.

“It’s really electromagnetic eavesdropping.”

Sidney’s face held a blank look. “What’s that?”

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