Free Internal Threat by Ben Sussman

customers that his company provided a unique level of extra security. Since his firm usually provided all maintenance, the owners had never before used the system.
    Now, however, it became clear why the killer required Matt. In addition to the unique access his passcards and codes would get him, it was only his thumbprint that would give access to the multitude of cages and boxes that his company controlled.
    “Okay, let me just take a look here,” Matt stalled, intimately familiar with the design of what he was now staring at. Luke stood behind him, leaning on one of the other cages. Seconds before, Matt had toggled a small red knob that lay on the side of the server cage. It was an emergency switch which he knew would signal Tom, probably already on alert by his and Luke’s trip up the side stairwell, that something was truly wrong.
    “You know what to do,” the killer snapped, the first time Matt could recall him showing any hint of emotion.
    “Right, right, I just-”
    “Weatherly, I know you are a very bright individual. But so am I. I know that you do not need time to figure out how to disable a system that you created.”
    “Listen, uh, what do I call you anyway?” Matt asked. “If we’re going to spend the night together, my practice is to usually get someone’s name.”
    Whispered static of silence in the earbud. At last, the voice rematerialized:
    “You can call me John.”
    “Right, John. Last name Smith, I assume.”
    “You have three minutes to disable the server or you are forcing my hand to do more damage. Do you understand me now?”
    “Yeah, I do.” Matt pressed his thumb against the smooth black pad and waited for a beat. Behind its surface, he knew that a small laser was scanning every square millimeter of his digit and instantly matching it to the image buried in its memory. As the three seconds the scan typically took passed, Matt’s heart hammered in his chest.
    Nothing happened.
    Suddenly, a range of unfortunate possibilities raced through his head.
    The pad was broken.
    The ID had been changed without his knowledge.
    The small cut he got on his thumb after the bike crash the previous week was throwing the system off.
    As panic crept in, there was a small click. Matt breathed a sigh of relief. He reached forward and pulled the cage open, revealing the stack of blinking servers behind it. He stretched his hand to the back of the rectangular box in the center. This was the heart of the connected servers and, once disabled, would permanently disrupt the data that was coursing through its metal veins.
    “Find something to cut the power cord and then break the box. I need it to be damaged enough not to fix in the next twelve hours.”
    And what happens during that time?
Matt wondered to himself. His eyes scanned the room and landed on a small toolbox that lay in the corner of the room, most likely used by the facilities personnel to repair breaks in the cable or the cages themselves.
    “Luke,” Matt directed his son by nodding at the toolbox, “go find a pair of pliers for me.” While Luke crossed the room, Matt swept his eyes towards the far end of the room where the elevator doors were located.
    He noticed the illuminated numbers indicating both of the cars’ ascent and prayed that one of them contained Tom and a coterie of policemen. Remembering that the killer could see everything that he did, he quickly turned his eyes back in the other direction and found Luke holding out a screwdriver. Matt took it and squeezed his arm into the narrow space between the servers. Finding the main power cord, he opened the needle nose pliers and clamped down. There was a buzzing sound as the cord separated into two pieces. The green light on the front of the box flickered to black.
    Angling his arm again, he surmised where the motherboard to the server would be located. Putting the nose of the tool back together to create a point, he jabbed it through the aerated top of the box. It plunged into the