“The model for the mutated ARS-B virus. What’s bugging me is that I’m pretty sure there was a mutation between this one and the model I’ve got. Isn’t that when Cerisa concocted the Moro-1 drugs?”

“Mmm, yeah, I think you’re right. Two … three years ago. Well, she must have that model on her computer somewhere. Get it from her.”

“She won’t be back till next week, Pakt said. I don’t know that I can wait that long. I basically can’t do a thing till I have the intermediate model.”

“So go into her computer and get it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Like I could do that,” he said with heavy sarcasm. He had not been joking the other night with Pakt; Cerisa’s office was considered sacrosanct. No one went in there uninvited—and even then, they rarely went willingly.

Melina was laughing. “You could. No one else is here and I’m not going to tell.”

“Even if I was willing to do that, you know she’s got a password on her system.”

Melina came a few steps closer. “Yes, but I know her password,” she whispered.

Nolan sat back in his chair. “You do not! Why would she give it to you?”

Melina was grinning like a manic child let loose from the dungeon for the day. “Because once she needed something from her computer when she was away for the day. She called in from—I can’t even remember where she was—and had me go to her office while I was on the linkline. Told me the password, what screen to call up next, exactly what information she needed. I didn’t have a chance to sneak around in her other files—not that I would have, of course—because we were linked the whole time. But somehow I never forgot the password.”

“I bet she’s changed it.”

“I bet not. She’s careless about things like that. Besides, she trusts me.”

“With good reason, obviously,” Nolan said, sarcastic again.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. What are you going to do, steal her precious medical secrets? All you want is one dumb model.”

He still couldn’t believe he was considering illegally opening Cerisa’s files. “Come with me,” he said.

Melina was scrawling something on a piece of paper. “Can’t. I’m late as it is. Here. This’ll get you in, this’ll get you past the second security checkpoint. Then, it’s just a matter of scanning files until you find the ARS-B virus. Couldn’t be easier.”

“Maybe you could stay late with me tomorrow night,” he suggested, but she was already halfway out the door.

“Nolan. I told you. It’ll be fine,” she said in an irritable singsong. “You’ll be in and out in ten minutes. See you tomorrow.”

And she was gone.