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was willing to swear – bulletproof glass. Of course. Hidden in plain sight.
    The Datacentre had never been the target. This was.
    Oh God, how to get inside there? Only Mike Summers and the five programmers who worked there – the elite programmers of the Platform Division – had the necessary clearance.
    There was no way to do it without arousing suspicion. Even if she cosied up to one of the five programmers there was no need, no excuse for Cathy-the-go-fer to be in that secure room.
    She couldn’t get in that way. But what if . . .
    What if she got in there on her own merits?
    Sure, with only her fake identity she had no apparent qualifications, nothing to recommend her. But if she’d learnt one thing about DigiCom it was that the company didn’t stand on ceremony. If she could outperform the other programmers to a high enough level, that might be her ticket into that locked room and thus out of here for good.
    She wouldn’t go out there with all guns blazing, challenging the others on their own turf. That would draw too much attention. No, she’d work out of sight of everyone else and simply send in her answers. Then she’d have a quiet word to Mike Summers afterwards to reveal herself as the secret genius. Awkward and a bit of a strange way of doing things, but this was a man who managed a company full of treehouses and other playground equipment. He was well used to weirdness. She thought he would probably take the whole thing in his stride.
    She had to be the best , though, or near the best. It was all speculation until she placed in the competition. She could do it, must do it; was used to cleaning up at competitions like this, held at university and independent programming events.
    Back at the atrium she found the competitors starting challenge number two. This one was a much more subtle puzzle. It would take some real skill. She watched Alex win first place with a raised eyebrow. Shouldn’t that have been one of the programmers from the Platform Division? Weren’t they the top in the company? But then they were sitting together talking casually and she wasn’t sure if they were even competing yet. Damn DigiCom and its informal way of doing things. What were the rules?
    Should she begin now or linger to watch h er competition? The winning scripts for the first two challenges were displayed on giant projection screens suspended from near the ceiling and to her eyes each was obviously hasty. Thrown together chaotically without the discipline of an underlying scheme. There was no artistry to it, only speed. Her lip curled into a quiet sneer. She could do better than that in her sleep.
    She decided to wait, not to join in until the Platform Division started to take part. If it was good enough for them, it was good enough for her too. In the meantime she mentally rewrote the code of the winners until it was perfect, frowning upwards through her unnecessary glasses, her hands shoved deep into her pockets.
    A fter the third challenge there was a quick break to eat and then they were back into it, swapping battery packs on laptops and cracking knuckles. Again Cathy wanted to try. Eventually she left again. She must have some envelopes to stuff somewhere.
    By mid afternoon the remaining competitors were flagging. The original numbers had been whittled down, and spectators had fallen away too, though with the end of each round the winner’s name circulated. Mike gave a revving pep talk to the final dozen about their evident skills, and his pride in their prowess. He was good. His enthusiasm was infectious. She could almost see his employees perk up, like thirsty plants that had just been watered.
    It was a different style of management than she was used to. She had always worked in the family business. Her father drove his employees, rather than leading them. And family came in for harsher treatment. He expected more of them, given they would one day take over the whole operation. There was no time for