Free The Cipher by John C. Ford

the body of a software analyst on the front lawn of his employer in yesterday’s predawn hours.
    The man, identified as Andrei Tarasov, 36, was declared dead on the scene in this genteel enclave. According to a police spokesman, he was the victim of a gunshot wound to the head. A semiautomatic pistol was found in his hand at the scene, suggesting a potential suicide. A coroner’s ruling is expected within the week.
    Mr. Tarasov had been working at a start-up software firm, Alyce Systems, for less than a year. The founder, Robert Smylie, is the owner of the property on which Mr. Tarasov’s death occurred. Police say Mr. Smylie has been in Silicon Valley on business for the last week and is not suspected of having any role in the death.
    Mr. Smylie released a statement praising Mr. Tarasov’s work and expressing regret over the loss to Mr. Tarasov’s colleagues and friends.
    The deceased left no survivors.
    A man kills himself on Mr. Smylie’s front lawn . . . and her dad doesn’t remember him?
    This didn’t make sense.
    This did not make sense at all.

31
    JUST HIS LUCK.
    Smiles had raced up to the room, tossed their luggage inside, and gotten back to the CRYPTCON registration in world-record time, but Erin had made it through the line already. He planted his hands on his thighs, catching his breath while Ben emerged from the hive of nerds at the registration tables.
    Ben fit an orange lanyard over his head as he walked over. His eyes narrowed as he got closer. “Are you, like, sweating?”
    Smiles ignored him, fruitlessly scanning the crowd for Erin. He could only hope she was as jazzed about this opening session as Ben. “So where do we go?”
    â€œYou really want to come?” Ben said, in a voice that did not qualify as enthusiastic.
    Smiles saw a teachable moment here. He squared Ben’s shoulders. “Lesson one, okay? When it comes to meeting girls, you’ve got to seize every little opportunity you get. Especially you, no offense. A girl smiles at you on the subway? Chat her up. Asks you for directions? Chat her up. You accidentally spill your beer on her? Chat her up. You never know where it’ll lead. Seize the day, man. They put that crap on T-shirts for a reason.”
    â€œSo that’s a ‘yes’?”
    â€œNow you’re gettin’ it,” Smiles said. “I don’t need, like, top-secret clearance to get into this thing, do I?”
    â€œNo, the conference is public. You just need to be registered.”
    â€œDon’t worry about that. Just lead the way,” Smiles said, and followed Ben down the hall to a set of double doors. The room inside was surprisingly large—twice the size of a movie theater—with wide rows of seats descending to an empty stage. A trickle of conferencegoers flowed down the aisles at the sides of the room, picking seats at leisure.
    Smiles stuck close behind a larger man as they entered. The woman handing out programs at the door missed him—and his lack of a registration badge—entirely. He picked his way forward to Ben, who was already a quarter of the way down to the stage. “I’m more of a back-of-the-class kinda guy,” Smiles said, but Ben didn’t hear and/or care. Smiles sighed and trailed him to his chosen spot all the way down in the second row, precisely in the middle.
    â€œYou sure you don’t want to just sit up on the stage?” Smiles said, craning his neck for a glimpse of Erin.
    Ben opened his notebook and readied a pen. “I know you want to find that girl, but just do me a favor, okay? Don’t make a scene in here.”
    Smiles turned forward, annoyed with himself as much as Ben. He should have just gotten her number at the registration desk. This had been one of his more half-baked ideas, and now it was too late to leave—the trickle of people coming down the aisles had become a stream. They had nearly filled the unbroken