She leaned back and reached for the thick systems manual on the bookcase behind her and flipped through the pages. It wasn’t any help at all.

She got up from the desk and stretched, trying to unkink the knots in her cramped, aching back. Hunching over a computer all day just wasn’t as easy as it used to be. She could remember days, not that long ago, when she would do this for eighteen hours a day for weeks on end, without giving it a second thought. She was an eager young kid then. The world was exciting and fresh; the technology had so much potential for good. She relished every challenge.

She was older now, more mature and realistic. Even a bit cynical, she admitted to herself. Things were much more complicated. A whole generation of hackers had grown up out there, and their break-ins and viruses were much more sophisticated than the crude efforts in the early days. The nation’s stock and bond trading forums were always alluring targets, whether it was some kid in a basement somewhere trying to impress his friends or a well-planned plot by clever criminals or terrorists.

She grabbed up the manual and stepped out of the cramped little cubicle and walked down the hall to Carl Andretti’s office. She ignored all the OptiMarx developers in the cubicles along the way, their noses almost touching the monitors as their fingers danced on their ergonomic keyboards. The clatter of their fingertips on the keys rattled drily like the singing of cicadas.

She doubted that the fat chief technology officer would be of any help. Goldman had concluded earlier that he was clueless when it came to the technical details of the system.

Still, he was the one to start with, much as she loathed any contact with him. Maybe he would say something that might give her some inkling, something to go on. It was surprising sometimes where elucidation originated.

She knocked at the door of the large corner office and then cracked it open when there was no response. Andretti looked up quickly from the phone call he was involved in. There was a startled, guilty look on his face. He held up a hand, mumbled something into the receiver she couldn’t quite hear, and hung up.

Only then did Andretti stand, offer her a forced smile, and wave her on into his office. She couldn’t help noticing the jelly stain on the front of his white shirt and the crumbs that clung to his patchy mustache.

“Good morning, Ms. Goldman. I didn’t know you were in the building yet this morning. How is the government coming along in its never-ending task of protecting the poor American investor?”