Page 34 of Taming Tesla

“A long time,” Logan says, submitting to my questioning like he’s used to being interrogated.

Vague. “Where’d you meet?”

He looks like he’s choosing his words carefully. “College.”

I keep forgetting that for Conner, college was a long time ago. “MIT?”

Now he smirks. “Sure.”

Vague and cryptic. “If you’re friends, why haven’t I ever met you before?”

“Because Con likes everyone to stay in their own lane.” Logan laughs. “He’s the only one who gets to weave in and out of traffic. Get me?”

I did.

He sighs. “Can I come in now?”

“Oh—” I look over my shoulder. Miranda’s guy is still in my bedroom, packing, probably glad I’m not hovering over his shoulder anymore. “Sure.” I move out of the doorway, and he passes through, making a beeline for the couch.

“Alright,” he says, reaching into his backpack to pull out a laptop. Sitting down, he sits the laptop on the coffee table and opens it. “The program’s only been running for a few hours, but—”

“Program?”

“Right. Sorry,” he says, fingers clicking across the keyboard. “It’ll be easier to explain if you come take a look.”

Skirting the coffee table, I perch myself on the edge of the couch. In the top, right-hand corner of the computer, there’s a post-it note stuck to the screen, hiding whatever’s underneath. I reach out to lift it, but he stops me.

“Don’t do that,” he says, shaking his head, moving my hand away from the screen.

I drop my hand. It’s not what he said, it’s how he said it that stops me. Whatever’s under that post-it, I don’t want to see it, and neither does he.

“Okay.” Along the bottom is a constantly revolving set of images, moving so fast it’s hard to get a handle on what I’m seeing. The rest of the screen is eaten up by what I’m pretty sure is computer code. Long strings of it, scrolling across the screen. “What is this?”

“A scrubber program,” Logan says. “Basically, this—” He points at the strings of code, streaming across the screen. “Is scouring this—” His finger moves to the row of images flashing across the bottom of the screen. Thumb-nail icons for internet sites. “To find and eat this.” His finger moves again, touching the post-it. “The video. Once the code finds it posted on a site, it scrubs it, and the video disappears.”

The video. My video. My heart is hammering in my chest. “For good?”

Logan grins, shoving his glasses up onto the top of his head. “Yup. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

“You did this for me?” I’m on the verge of tears which is stupid. “You don’t even know me.”

“Well, not me,” he says, giving me a perplexed smile. “Con wrote the program. I just ran the install.”

“Con did this?” Last night was Ladies Night. Conner never misses a Ladies Night. “When?”

“Who knows?” Logan says with a wide-eyed shrug. “He could’ve done it this morning while he was waiting for his toaster strudel to pop.” He laughs. “You do know Con, right?”

Do I know Conner Gilroy? Apparently not. Matter of fact I’m beginning to wonder if anyone really does. “Where is he?”

“He was wearing a suit when he dropped off the code this morning so…” Logan shrugs, perplexed. “Wanna see the rest of it?”

There’s more?

Logan splits the screen to show me another program that looks almost identical to the first. “So, getting the video off the net is fairly straightforward,” he says, scrolling his finger across the mouse pad, clicking here and there. “The real issue is getting it off personal devices.”

I hadn’t thought about that. All the people who downloaded the video to watch and share privately. James and his friends. Nameless, faceless pervs. “Conner figured out a way to do that?”

“Fuck yeah, he did.” Logan grins. “Some of the sweetest code I’ve ever seen.” He taps his finger on the screen again. “It’s a virus… triggered by the video.” I can tell he’s struggling to explain it to me in terms I’ll understand. “As soon as the video is viewed or shared—and as long as the device is connected to the internet—it attacks. Wipes the video and kills the device.”

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