Page 19 of The Mouse and the Maestro

“How old are you?” he blurted. He was used to finding out everything about a person online. But Jane was a black hole, a blank. She had no online presence, and the lack was still driving him crazy. How was he supposed to learn anything about her? Outside of actually asking her, of course, but no one did that anymore.

“Twenty seven, almost twenty eight.”

“How does someone so young already have her doctorate?” he asked.

“Because I was homeschooled. I graduated high school at sixteen, started college at seventeen, graduated at twenty, got my doctorate in four years, and have been at the museum for three. How did you get into computers?” she asked.

“I wasn’t good at sports, and there’s not a lot of space in the world for boys who can’t toss a ball. I turned to video games, realized I had an affinity for all things binary, and the rest is history.”

“How did you go from video games to prison?” she asked and the driver glanced at them in the rearview mirror.

“I got in with the wrong gang, an online gang of hackers who kept challenging me to do more and more things. Eventually I did the really wrong thing and got caught.” He paused. “I still feel a lot of guilt for what I put my parents through. I’m not from a broken, messed up home or anything. I have loving parents. My mom’s a teacher, my little brother is a golden child who has never done wrong. And then there’s me.”

“It would seem you’ve done a lot lately to make up for it. They must be proud of you.”

“I hope so,” he said. As much as he feared The Colonel and sometimes made fun of his over-the-top starched persona, he also owed him a debt of gratitude he could never repay. He had plucked him out of a life carrying the stigma of a convicted felon. Who besides the United States Government would have hired him with such a checkered past?

They made it through the airport check in line in a timely fashion. Blue was conscious of their surroundings, keeping an eye out in case they were being tailed. Jane seemed to have the same sort of mindfulness, and he found it odd. In his experience, not many civilians practiced situational awareness. Either Jane had been the victim of some sort of trauma that made her waryor she had been trained. But if she had been trained, by whom? And if she had been the victim of trauma, what sort? He had questions, but he didn’t yet know her well enough to ask, and the lack of answers was pinging on his radar and making him suspicious. If only he could look into her online. Usually when he met a woman, he knew everything about her before the first date, down to kindergarten teacher and the name of her first pet. People put an immense amount of information online—health history, income, family details, personal anecdotes. Now he was flying blind, and it was making him crazy.

Why, for instance, was she suddenly so tense? She had seemed calm and relaxed for most of the morning, but now her face was drawn, her hands clenched.Ask her, stupid.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine but I’m going to get pulled out of line and searched,” she said.

“Why? You’re the least suspicious looking person I’ve ever seen.” Unless the TSA knew something he didn’t.

“I’ve been to a lot of countries with high terror alerts,” she said. “Happens every time.”

Sure enough, once they made their way forward, she was pulled aside and searched while Blue, with his sleeve tattoos and shockingly cerulean hair, was waved easily through.

“I feel like I just witnessed your honeymoon with that TSA agent,” Blue said when she pulled on her sweater and rejoined him.

“Seriously. I’m going to start hiding small metal objects on my body to make it worth their while,” she said, and he laughed. They boarded the plane.

“My friend is a huge fan of your work,” she said once they were seated.

“My work?” he echoed.

“Your app. His grandma’s neighbor is Martha Stewart’s cousin.”

“Ah, see that’s why I did it, because otherwise the world wouldn’t have that information.”

“It’s incredibly important,” she said.

“Your life is richer for knowing it. You’re welcome.”

“Do you still invent apps?”

“I piddle, but nothing has come of it,” he said.

“I wish there was an app for people with social anxiety. I’d be all over that,” she said.

“Like what, for instance?”

“Like when your mind goes blank it would offer up a suggestion for what to say. Sort of like Google translate for awkward people.”

“That’s actually a really good idea,” he said. “I might work on that, but rest assured I’ll be sure to give you a cut of my royalties. How does ten dollars sound?”

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