Cloak Games: Thief Trap by Jonathan Moeller Page B

even in the air-conditioned chill he had a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looked harmless at best and ridiculous at worst, but he had been involved in various computer crimes since before I had been born, and he had never been caught. I was also pretty sure he had a variety of weapons hidden under the desk. 
    Niles looked up from his monitors as I approached, and a smile spread over his face. 
    “Ah,” he said. “Mr. Tesserman. My favorite customer. You always have such unusual requests.”
    “That’s me,” I said in my Masked voice. “What about my last request? Can it…”
    His phone rang. Niles lifted one thick finger and picked up his phone. I sighed with annoyance, folded my arms over my chest, and waited. 
    “Yes?” said Niles. “Why, yes, I am? What? No, no. I’m just pretending to talk on my phone.” I blinked. “I’m testing my new app.” He beamed and rotated his phone’s screen to face me. “You see?”
    “I don’t,” I said. 
    “Well,” said Niles, “you know how sometimes you’re stuck in an annoying conversation and can’t get out of it? With my app, you can set a timer, and it fakes a phone call so you can get out of the conversation.” 
    “Charming.” I wondered what Morvilind would do if I tried that with him, and tried not to shudder at the thought. “So I can assume you don’t want my business?” 
    “Of course I want your business,” said Niles. “You always pay in cash, and there are never any…complications.”
    “Complications are like hemorrhoids,” I said. “They’re bad.” 
    “And I’m familiar with both,” said Niles, shifting a bit in his seat. 
    “That,” I said, “was too much information. And not what I paid for.” 
    “You haven’t paid me yet,” said Niles.
    I reached into a pocket of my sweatshirt and drew out an envelope, concentrating on my Mask to make sure it looked like Ernie had reached into the inner pocket of his sport coat. I tossed the envelope on the desk, and Niles drew out the neat little bundle of hundred-dollar bills inside. The High Queen’s face gazed out from the bills with aloof serenity. 
    “You don’t have to count it in front of me,” I said.
    “Trust and openness make for a solid business relationship,” said Niles, counting the money. He nodded in satisfaction and then tucked the envelope away in a drawer. He then rummaged within the drawer for a moment, and drew out a small brown envelope. 
    “You were able to answer my questions?” I said. 
    “I was,” said Niles. “Took a bit of work, but I was able to track down the architectural firm that designed and constructed Paul McCade’s mansion. You know, I’m quite fond of McCade’s canned meat product. It’s really good on a toasted bun with some cheese and mayo.”
    “That sounds like a heart attack,” I said. “And the second thing?” 
    “A copy of the invitation to his Conquest Day gala?” said Niles. “Got that, too. Or the file template and the holographic watermark, anyway. You’ll have to find a high-end printer and print out the invitation yourself. I’m not having any physical evidence here. Speaking of which…”
    He gestured with the brown envelope, and I took the envelope and opened it, part of my concentration focused on my Mask. Within the envelope was a small black thumb drive, and a slip of paper with a long string of letters and numbers. 
    “That’s the encryption key to access the drive,” said Niles. “Don’t lose that paper. It’s the only copy of the key. I didn’t even keep one.” 
    “No physical evidence,” I said, returning the drive and the paper to the envelope. “And no files left on your servers.” 
    “Precisely,” said Niles. “Though of course I do not operate any unlicensed server-class computer systems, and have never once considered breaking the law for any reason whatsoever.” 
    “Nor have I,” I said, lying just as much as he was.
    Niles waved a thick hand at me. “But