Free Internal Threat by Ben Sussman Page A

heart of the server and Matt felt and heard a crack which would render the machine inoperable.
    “Alright, it’s done,” Matt said, pulling his arm free.
    “Good,” John said in his ear. “Time to get moving.”
    Matt was about to respond but before he had a chance, there was a small ding across the space of the room.
    The elevator had arrived.

Twelve
    “R epeat that?” the voice said through garbled static.
    “I said, there’s an emergency at the Hobson Building. The server room,” Tom repeated into his two-way radio receiver.
    “The server room?” the person asked again, confusion coloring the question.
    “Yes, the server room, on the top floor. Do you need me to spell it for you? Just call the police and have them send a car. It’s called standard procedure.”
Moron
, Tom added silently. His eyes looked to the green digital screen on the elevator wall which informed him he was about to reach the top level. At the same time, his hand floated down to his waist where his issued Glock 9mm rested in a holster. He flipped open the button that kept it secured to the belt.
    “Just a precaution,” the guard whispered to no one but himself. In eight years on the job, he never had to fire the gun. Truth be told, this was only the third time he had ever felt the need to unclip that. His reflexes and aim, however, were honed by the required eight hours a month he put in at the firing range.
    There was a soft chime and the elevator doors slithered open.
    Upon first glance, everything looked and sounded normal to Tom. The lights were dim, as they always were, to avoid any overheating. To further keep things cool, the air conditioning system was humming strongly. Tom moved forward, hand on his holster, and entered into the broad tiled area that Matt usually referred to as the “meet-me room.” A large picture window looked out on to the office buildings across the way. This was where prospective clients were brought and shown the large gates that blocked any further entry, the first layer of security.
    Tom pulled out his master key from a chain on his belt and unlocked the main gate. “Mr. Weatherly?” he called out.
    His voice echoed out across the cavernous space and failed to get a response.
    Tom made his way towards the back of the room where the signal switch had been tripped.
    “Mr. Weatherly, are you here?” the guard asked aloud.
    Again, no answer.
    Something was definitely wrong.
    As Tom rounded a corner and at last spotted Matt, he knew what it was.
    “Mr. Weatherly!”
    Damn!
Matt cursed to himself. He had hoped desperately that Tom would come with reinforcements. When he realized that the guard had come alone, he only wished that he would not enter loudly to alert the killer to his presence. His hopes now dashed, Matt frantically tried to think of a solution.
    Now, Matt found himself standing ten feet apart from Tom, staring down the barrel of his gun.
    “Tom, I can explain,” Matt started, knowing how that ridiculous that sounded. He pictured himself, standing over a short-circuited ultra-secure server with a pair of needle nose pliers, and imagined Tom’s well-deserved disbelief.
    “Step away from there,” the guard ordered.
    John was suddenly hissing in Matt’s ear. “Big mistake, Weatherly. I told you not to alert anyone.”
    “I know, I just-” Matt replied, but was cut off by Tom’s booming voice.
    “Step back,
now
,” he commanded.
    Matt followed the order, lowering the pliers to his waist to appear less threatening. “I was up here doing some checking on a faulty box and accidentally hit that alarm switch. You can put the gun down.”
    Tom eyed him suspiciously, then motioned with the barrel of his Glock. “Put those down on the floor and then let’s talk about it downstairs.”
    “Dad?” Luke’s urgent whisper came from behind. Matt looked back and saw the fear etched on the boy’s face.
    “It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ll be fine.” He dropped the pliers to the