doubleZero | Page 9

be here, Felix. And I'm kinda surprised that you let him in, Julie."
"It's my fault," Fix said, looking over his shoulder, still half-working. "There's a bit of a hitch in our date solution. I wanted to come in and see if I could work it out, 'cause I felt responsible. If you just give me a few more minutes."
"I was the lead programmer on that project, so I should implement any fixes to the system, particularly now that it's live!"
"Shit!" said Fix, looking at his screen, "I can't find it. Okay, Lloyd, remember that bubble experiment I told you about when we were in trials with the project? Well," he pointed at the screen, "it's in there. Much as I don't want to, I think we have to tell Carol."
"You can't do that," Lloyd said, visibly nervous.
"She already hates me, and it is my fault. What's she going to do, fire me?"
Lloyd picked up the phone on Fix's desk, dialled a short number, and spoke into the receiver, "Hello, security?"
"What are you doing?!" Fix screamed.
"...you'd better come up to Programming."
Fix jumped up from his chair. "Why the fuck'd'ya do that?"
"'Cause I can't have Carol looking around at my code."
"Why shouldn't she look at it?" asked Julie. Lloyd's expression was too complicated an answer to such a simple question. He refused to look her in the eyes. "Is there something wrong with the code? What's wrong with your code?" Lloyd's eyes darted around as if they wanted to hide in the back of his head. Julie scowled. "You messed with it, too, didn't you?" she hissed at him, "Can't you guys just do what you're supposed to without adding your own special touches? Fuck!" She stomped her engineer boot. Then she threw herself at Lloyd, grabbing him and pushing him against the wall, her forearm across his neck. "What did you do to it? And why haven't we seen it yet?"
"Leap year," said Lloyd, shaken, just as the security guards appeared down the hall.
Julie let go of Lloyd and grabbed Fix. "C'mon." Fix started to go with her down the opposite hallway, then turned back, grabbed his picture, and ran.
4
Julie squatted beside Fix. Their bikes lay on the ground next to them, hidden behind a station wagon. She popped her head up and looked through the car's windows. "The light's on in my apartment," she reported to Fix.
"God knows what Lloyd told the police," Fix wondered aloud.
"Nothing. He knows better than that. Whatever he told the bank, it won't implicate him. And the bank won't want any announcements about security breaches in their computer equipment. No, I don't think the police know exactly why they're after us."
"It seems pretty serious if they're at my place, and here, too. Whatever they think it was, they think we did something, and they seem pretty determined to find us."
"We've gotta get out of here," Julie said. "If only we could get to my car." She looked over at her little black Golf, glistening in the light of the streetlamps. She longed to be in it, shifting gears away from here, only it was directly below her lit windows, parked in front of the old red brick warehouse. Police cruisers were parked at angles on either side of the front door.
"There's no way. They're not going anywhere soon, and we can't stay around. C'mon," Fix said, righting his bike.
Julie lifted her sleek blue mountain bike. She found herself trusting him, needing him in this moment, and she was willing to follow wherever he was cycling off to in the dark.
Julie's hands were stiff from the cold by the time they reached the train station. Her face was numb, and she had trouble mouthing her words to him. "A train?"
"Sure. We'd never get through at an airport, but how much security is there on a train? And there are trains out of here all the time." Fix's face was pale, except for two bloody streaks of colour through his cheeks. His postal jacket looked warm, but his hands showed red through the holes in his beige wool gloves. Julie could see from his flat expression and searching glances that he was scared. It looked like he was trying to see some way that this wasn't true, some way out. She wasn't there yet. She couldn't feel the gravity of the situation. 'Cause it wasn't my fault, she thought, instantly feeling guilty for it. No, she would make this right for Fix. He dropped his bike against a railing. That was his custom, not caring if the rusty pretzel of white pipe and bald tires got stolen. On some level, potential thieves must have sensed and shared the owner's lack of concern for it. She looked down at her sporty ride. She never liked to leave it