[Steven Lyle Jordan]

5: Preparing the Trojan

Once I had my Trojan Horse idea, right on time first thing in the morning, I had to actually create it. Writing code had a lot in common with what they say about invention… you know, ten percent inspiration, ninety percent perspiration. Only with code, you could amend that to ten percent inspiration, forty percent perspiration, and fifty percent searching the web for bits of code you could use yourself. You actually did that before the perspiration part, because the perspiration came from putting all those bits of code together, which meant your forty percent perspiration was more like forty percent debugging.

This took me most of the day. Pete got up, and promptly went off to hang at the beach. Gail called me in the morning, but she said she had meetings all day, so we couldn’t have spent any time together during the day at any rate. It was just as well, because I needed to concentrate, and that was hard to do when she was pushing herself at me (she was a good pusher… and she had great junk).

When Pete came back, it was after seven, and the first thing he did was to mention a great Chinese delivery place he knew. So we ordered out. I was putting the finishing touches on my Trojan at about nine, so I called Gail.

“Hi, lover.”

“You sound out of breath—”

“Exercising,” she said. “How’s it going?”

“We’re good to go,” I told her. “Do you want to tell Lou I’ll see her in the morning? And remember, tell her she’s supposed to be surprised to see me.”

“I’ll tell her,” Gail said. “I’m losing my rhythm… can I talk to you tomorrow, after your visit?”

“No problem,” I said. “Talk to you later.”

When I hung up, Pete said, “Did you say Lou? Guy or Girl?”

“Girl,” I replied, giving him that “You know her?” look.

“Lou Chow,” he said, and nodded. “Sure, I’ve met her. She’s a cool chick.”

“You know a lot of Gail’s friends, I guess,” I commented. “You know her squeeze, Phil, too?”

“Yeah, I know him.” He drained his beer and left-handed it over his shoulder, without looking. It dropped into the trashcan, all net. “Straight-up guy. Want another?”

“Naw,” I said. “Gotta get some sleep, I’ve been at it all day.” I got up and headed for the bedroom, already feeling like I was going to be asleep before I crossed the threshold. “I’ll be out early tomorrow, to see Lou, so if I don’t see you—”

“Yeah, good luck with it,” Pete shot back amiably. “G’night.”

As I expected, I slept like a log. Programmers who are deeply entrenched in a project don’t always sleep well during… their subconscious minds continue to write and rewrite code in their dreams. It’s one of the reasons IT guys look so tired all the time. But once you’ve finished a project, and all the subconscious code is finished, you can sleep like the dead. In fact, when I woke up, it was half an hour past when my alarm had gone off… I never even heard it. Fortunately, I wasn’t pushing a time-clock, so I got up, got myself cleaned up and dressed, and went out to get my stuff.

Pete was still asleep, no surprise for him, so I found some orange juice in the fridge, then went to my borg alcove to finish off the last details of my elaborate Trojan Horse scam. Part of it involved my own website, which was convenient because, well, I had one. I had to make sure certain files were accessible from a hidden folder I’d set up, which was crucial to the plan. I also massaged the folder’s date info to make it look like the data had been around for awhile… some people got suspicious when they uncovered material that was clearly brand new, and I couldn’t assume my bad guys were idiots, like the loan sharks from Californian Hills. Software criminals and hackers were usually damned sharp, and they knew all the tricks. You had to get up pretty early in the morning to pull a fast one on them. And I was up half an hour late, so I was being extra careful.

Once I was ready, I made my travelling copies of my files, and dropped them into the pocket of my cargo pants. IT guys love cargo pants: They’re one of the only kinds of popular clothing that allows us to bring all of our gear, and not look like geeks. I’d even managed to pick up a mini-notebook off the proceeds I’d scored from the Californian caper, something that looked hip and not as geeky as the Toughbook, and it fit into one of those cargo pockets, besides. If I had to do any running, I’d probably turn my thighs black and blue… but cool guys didn’t run, anyway.

Thus infested with my strategically-ensconced gear, it was time to go. I had considered taking a taxi, but it occurred to me that Pete was still in bed, and his Fit would be a perfect “fit” for my story. So I went to his room and knocked. I heard a vague mumble, so I opened the door. Pete was under a sheet, not moving… he might not have actually awoken when he heard me knock.

“Pete,” I said, “can I borrow your car for a couple hours?”

From under the cover, I heard, “Mmmnmsshhhuummmunnummm.” I wouldn’t have sworn that was the answer I was hoping for… but then, his arm slid out from under the cover, and waved in the general direction of his nightstand. I could see his keys there.

“Shiny! Thanks,” I said, walking over and scooping the keys off the nightstand. “See you later, bro.”

“Mmmunmmhhhuummmummm.”

I inserted myself into the Honda, and immediately used my cellphone to call 4-1-1 and get an address for Coyote Chow, then enter that back into my phone so the built-in GPS could take me there. Once done, I started the car (a minute’s less idling is a minute’s less pollution, enviro-homeys), and took off for Chow’s office. Actually, “took off” was a very poor choice of words. Contrary to what the commercials would have you believe, “the Fit is SLOW.”

It did give me plenty of quality time, however, to just enjoy the scenery a bit, and consider my situation. I already felt like being the IT freelance guy was working out… I could get used to this. Yes, being in exile in San Diego had its upsides… not the least of which was Gail, even with whatever weirdness was going on between her and my brother. But was it the life for me?

Funny thing about that question: Whenever I found myself asking that lately, I almost immediately pictured Gail’s naked body draped on me in one of a dozen interesting positions, and underneath me in a few dozen others; and immediately I answered the question with, “Well, maybe for a little while longer…”

Finally I reached Coyote Chow, and pulled into the lot. I extricated myself from the driver’s side, smoothed down my polo shirt and smoothed back my hair, and started for the door. Showtime.