Access denied. Files inaccessible.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
"SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!"
A nerdy young assistant with uncombed hair and ugly spotted tie turns at the sound of his employer's voice, pushing his hideous red frames up the bridge of his nose as he does.
"Yes, miss?"
"Get over here, Sam!" she screeches, pointing at the spot next to her with one manicured finger.
Like a puppy obeying its master, he compliantly steps to her side and waits expectantly for her next orders. She glares up at him from her plush blue chair and points accusingly at the frozen computer screen before her.
"It's not working," she snarls.
He pushes up his glasses again, seemingly unfazed by her menacing tone. "Oh, well, have you tried refreshing the-"
"Yes, YES! I've tried everything! Refreshing, restarting, rebooting – for Pete's sake, why won't it work?" She gives the keyboard a violent shake for a good five seconds before finally submitting and sagging her head against it in defeat. After only moments, however, the infamous "shift" key begins to emit a loud, high-pitched monotonous drone.
"Oh, just shut up!" she yells as she gives the board another shake.
Nervously, as though he is unsure whether or not he should interrupt her dual with the keyboard, he holds up one finger, requesting for her permission to speak.
She gives him a sidelong glance. "Yes?"
He clears his throat. "Well, Ms. Kabra, if I may, have you attempted to turn off the entire system and start again?"
Her eyes narrow into tiny slits. "Of course I have! What do you take me for? A blithering idiot?" She waves her arms in the air agitatedly. "I know how to work computers, Sam. It doesn't take a master's degree from Oxford in Computer Science to figure it out." She gives him another look. "Maybe I haven't made this clear before, but it will not work, and I have tried everything. Absolutely everything!" She waves her hand in the direction of the screen. "And now all it's giving me is 'Files Inaccessible' with idiotic purple unicorns dancing around in the background! PURPLE UNICORNS, Sam." She gives him a steely glare. "Get me back those files. I need those files."
A thin bead of sweat has broken out across his forehead, and he wipes it away apprehensively. "Yes, miss. I'll do my best."
She gives him another cold look. "Your best isn't enough, Sam. I will repeat myself as many times as needed to get it through that thick head of yours: I need those files. Only heaven knows how much I need them."
He emits a weak smile and moves towards the mouse, taking over the controls. With him leaning over her shoulder, she can't see a thing, so reluctantly, as though he does not deserve this, she stands up, relinquishing the chair over to him.
"Thank you, miss," he says gratefully as he takes a seat.
She nods her head solemnly before directing her attention back to the screen. "So tell me," she starts, crossing her arms against her chest, "why on earth does it tell me the files are inaccessible? And why are there purple unicorns floating aimlessly in the background?"
He remains silent, not answering for so long that she bends over slightly and peers at his face to see if anyone is at home.
"Sam?"
He startles, as though suddenly realizing that she is there. "Oh, my apologies, miss."
She raises an eyebrow quizzically. "Well?"
He glances about as though to ensure that no one is within hearing range. Suddenly alarmed by his peculiar behavior, she does the same.
"Well?" she repeats, her voice now a low whisper.
"Well," he begins hesitantly, "it's not good."
Her grip on the head of her chair tightens, her nails digging into its sides unmercifully. "How so?"
He looks about again, only heightening her agitation until she snaps. "Well, just spit it out already!"
Flustered, he blushes slightly. "Um, yes, well." He takes a deep breath. "You've been hacked."
"HACKED!"
Everything falls silent, and the realization of her fatal mistake sinks in. Slowly, she turns to face her now-frozen audience of supreme Lucian techies and analysts, the pinnacle of absolute geekiness. From everywhere – behind rows of plasma screens, peeking over clipboards – they stare in unabated horror at her, the smallest movement threatening to plunge them into full-scale panic mode.
"Did I say hacked?" she asks breezily with a flip of her hair. "I meant packed. The restaurant I was planning on attending this evening is utterly and completely packed, and I won't be able to make reservations until next November! Can you believe it? Next November!" She rolls her eyes dramatically.
A few technicians blink as they begin to come back to life, others share skeptical glances, but none of them make any effort to go about their former business. Only the sound of multiple beeping electronics cuts through the stillness.
Her patience finally wears thin. "All right, peasants. You can go back to whatever insignificant things you were doing before now." She waves her hand, dismissing them like a teacher sending away her pupils at the end of class. One by one, they begin to stir, resuming their previous duties around the incredibly large and computer-packed home base of the Lucian headquarters in London. In Natalie's opinion, the décor has always been rather drab, but when the place is covered in wall-to-wall machinery, there is not much else one can do to liven the place up.
"Um, Miss Kabra?"
"Yes, Sam?" She turns back to face him with a disapproving look plastered across her face.
He bites his lip and swivels to face the screen. "I have good news and bad news."
She groans. "All right, then. Let's hear it. Good news first."
"Good news? Wouldn't yo-"
"Do I pay you to think for me, Sam? Just give me the good news first."
"Actually," he mutters, "you don't pay me at all. But as you wish," he quickly adds, immediately taking note of the murderous look spreading across her face. "Good news first. The good news is that no important Lucian documents were stolen. Everything is intact."
She bites her lip. "And the bad news?"
He flashes her an apologetic smile. "All of your personal documents were stolen." He winces as soon as the words are out, anticipating her instantaneous reaction.
"What!?" she gawks. "All of them?"
He nods an affirmative. "All of them."
She grabs at the mouse desperately. "That-that can't be! There must be at least one or two-"
"They're all gone, Ms. Kabra. Every last one of them."
She whirls on him, her eyes wild. "This is all your fault! If you had done your job and kept up with computer security…" Her voice trails off. "But it doesn't matter anymore. Whoever has them-" She chokes slightly. "If they talk, I'm through!" With a moan, she buries her face in her hands.
"Miss Kabra? Are you all right?"
"Of course I'm not all right," she snaps. "What those files contain could ruin me. Lists of things I – " She shuts her mouth before anything else she'll regret can escape. "Can't you do anything to track the hacker?" she prods, directing the conversation away from herself.
Sam turns back to the screen. "I don't know. I'll try, but the hacker used a method called "phishing," or "spoofing attack," which means that they used a software that impersonated our security system and then was able to access your documents from there."
She takes a deep breath, processing the information. "So, what can you do?"
"Well, I can try to-"
A strange flickering on the screen interrupts Sam's thoughts. Both of their attention immediately wanders to the screen just in time to catch a small, human-like figure parade across the screen. A cheesy cartoonish image, but the figure it is meant to portray is obvious. The repugnant, unmistakable purple tracksuit is a dead giveaway.
"Hello, Na-ta-lie."
The voice is evidently automated – no human could sound that hideous – and it talks with a distinctive robotic sound.
Involuntarily, she shivers, the directness of this cretin's attack all too easily getting under skin, just as intended.
"W-what do you want?" she demands, hating her voice for trembling so.
The creature laughs, a hard, mechanical sound. But instead of replying, a small message box pops up on the screen, directly underneath of him.
It's been too long, Natalie. I'm looking forward to seeing you again.
And with that, the figure disappears, a small poof into oblivion.
They both remain frozen long after it disappears. Natalie stares in unabated horror at the screen, those wretched words echoing in her head. He's planned this, the diabolical fool. He's expecting her to come after him.
Well, as predictable as she may be, she is a Lucian. And Lucians always come out on top.
She shakes herself out of her daze and glances about wildly, ensuring that no one besides her and Sam have witnessed the strange intruder amidst the constant buzz and bustle of the place. And when her fears are calmed, she instantly reaches into her blue Prada handbag, pulling out her cell phone.
"Holt."
The name is like sandpaper on her tongue, conjuring up all sorts of dreadful memories. And scores left unsettled.
She flips open her phone and presses seven. Her least favorite - but most dialed - number.
"Roger," she barks as soon as the other end of the line picks up, "I need you to put all of our available agents on a mission. Scratch that. I need all our agents on a mission."
"Nice to hear from you, too, Natalie," the man on the other end answers wearily.
"Save the chit-chat, Roger. I need Holt. Hamilton Holt."
"Any preferences?"
"No, I don't care. Just get him to me. Dead or alive. Storm down the whole of Milwaukee if you have to."
"But Natalie," the man interjects, "Holt is in London."
"What?"
"It's true. Intelligence traced him here just this morning. Supposedly some sort of national technology convention, I believe."
"All right, then. I'll track him down myself."
"Are you sure about that Nat-"
Click.
"Hello? Wilfred? Bring the limo up to the front immediately. No, I don't care if it needs an oil change! Just bring it now. I have an old score that needs settling."
Her entrance is grand, as always.
The limo races through traffic in record time, coming to an abrupt halt in a "No Parking" zone after cutting off several less-than-pleased drivers, and a flurry of horns and angry voices announce her arrival.
She steps out of the limo with her usual model-like flare, albeit a silent seething look in her eye and cell phone pressed tightly against her ear.
"And you're absolutely positive he is somewhere in this vicinity?"
"Of course, Natalie. We always keep close tabs on high-risk subjects."
"And so, he is where exactly?"
"At this precise moment, he should be stepping out of a small café just a few blocks south of where you are currently presiding."
She gazes out over the masses coming and going as they please down the busy London streets. Glancing at the signs of miscellaneous coffee shops, book stores, and antique shops, she steps onto the sidewalk and begins to force her way through the crowd, elbowing people as she goes and paying little heed to oncoming pedestrians. She ignores the cries of protest as she begins to pick up speed, desperate not to lose her prey. People in atrocious attire begin to step aside as they see her approaching, although the automobile drivers aren't quite as considerate. Cutting across a busy intersection, several horns blow and brakes squeal in her wake.
Under normal circumstances, she would never have come to such a section of town. Exhaustion fumes, gum glued to sidewalks, homey boutiques – it is clearly a place for commoners, so unlike herself. But as this is where her adversary abodes, she must deign herself to this humiliation. Just this once.
A tall figure with sandy-blonde hair catches her eye on the other side of the street, and instantly she rushes onto the blacktop, ignoring the oncoming traffic and profanities of angry drivers as she ducks between screeching vehicles, never once taking her eyes off the retreating figure.
A haze of exhaustion fumes, smoke, and the smell of scorched rubber behind her, she takes her first heeled step onto the other sidewalk, just as a hand grabs her arm. She rips it away automatically and turns to find herself staring face-to-face with a uniformed police officer.
"Excuse me, miss. You do realize that you have just illegally J-walked across one of London's busiest streets, almost producing several large-scale accidents, don't you?"
She sends a small glance over her shoulder at the still-smoldering mess behind her. "My apologies, officer," she replies with as charming a smile as she can manage. "It won't happen again. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
She turns to go but is interrupted as he grabs her arm again. "Not so fast, young lady. I'm afraid I can't let you get off so easily."
Her patience already worn thin, she snaps. "Oh, for crying out loud, get your hands off me, you filthy peasant! I'm Natalie Kabra, you fool, and if you don't let me go this instant, I will personally sue London's entire police force!"
"I beg your pardon?" the man asks, his eyebrows rising slightly in agitation. An older man with salt and pepper hair, he is an experienced civil servant, uneasily deterred by the threats of young hooligans. "Young lady, if I have to, I will bring you down to the station myself and charge you with civil unres-"
"That won't be necessary, sir."
Both pairs of eyes look up at the sound of the voice - Natalie's eyes widening to the size of saucers and the policeman's eyebrows rising quizzically.
"You know her, young man?" the policeman asks.
The man, sporting a purple v-neck t-shirt and Levi's jeans, smiles slightly. "I do. And officer – "
"Jamieson."
"Officer Jamieson, I don't think bringing her down to the station will be necessary. Under normal circumstances, she would never have been so stupid. I'm pretty sure the reason she was charging across the street like a mad dog was because she had something extremely important to tell me, isn't that right, Natalie?"
She nods mutely, never once taking her widened eyes off Hamilton's face.
"Well," the man starts, taking off his police cap and running his fingers through his thinning hair, "if it was an emergency and she's a first-time offender…" He turns to Hamilton. "Tell you what. I'll let her off the hook if you make sure to keep her out of trouble."
"I'll do my best, sir," Hamilton responds solemnly.
Officer Jamieson glances over his shoulder, giving Natalie a disdainful glance. "And next time you meet a policeman, love, remember your manners."
With a curt nod to Hamilton, he places his cap back on his head and dissolves into the crowd, leaving Hamilton to face Natalie alone.
"So. You wanted to talk to me?"
Indignantly, she ignores him, swiping away all traces of smudge off her once pristine baby-blue Channel dress. She works diligently in utter silence, only pausing to give him several livid glances, and the tension is so thick it can be cut with a knife.
"Look, Natalie, if you're just going to stand there acting all – "
"Give it to me."
"Excuse me?"
She gives him a deadly glare. "Give it to me."
"What?"
She narrows her eyes. "Oh, don't play dumb with me, Holt. Although," she adds with a smirk, "I know it does come naturally to you."
A slight frown touches his face. "Well, Natalie, if you want me to give you whatever it is that you want from me-"
She gives him a skeptical glance.
"-then I wouldn't start insulting me, if I was you."
Natalie flips her hair. "Well, I'm just going to pretend that what you just said actually made sense and say, 'I don't care.' You either give me back what's rightfully mine, or you pay the price. It's your choice."
Hamilton emits a defeated sigh. "Okay, sure, Natalie. But first, just tell me what you want!"
"Oh, you know," she says through clenched teeth. "You know very well."
"What do I know?" he exclaims, lifting his hands up in exasperation. "Somebody please enlighten me."
"Enlighten, hmm? That's certainly a big word for you, Dolt. Where'd you get that? From your buddies at the annual anorak convention downtown?" She juts her chin out at him accusingly. "Or did they teach that to you while you were hacking my computer?"
His eyes widen in surprise. "Hacking? You think I hacked your computer?"
"I know you hacked my computer," she shouts, waving her arms irately in the air and attracting the attention of several passersby. She immediately drops her arms and lowers her voice. "Who else wears a purple tracksuit?"
He gives her a confused look, not sure how the two relate to each other. "My dad?"
"But does he know how to hack into my computer?" she insists urgently.
"No?"
"So, by default, that leaves you as the only purple-suited Dolt capable of stealing my most valuable information from right out under my nose!"
"Uh, so what exactly does the purple tracksuit have to do with this again?"
She purses her lips in annoyance and gives an audible sigh. "I don't know why I'm doing this, but allow me to refresh your memory. This morning, at around ten or so, you," she accuses, pointing one finger at his chest, "hacked into my computer, stole all of my files, ones you knew all too well could easily ruin me, and then left me with a frozen computer, idiotic purple unicorns, and a deranged cartoon human in a purple tracksuit telling me that he was 'Looking forward to seeing me again.'" She folds her arms across her chest. "Now do you remember?"
He stares at her in silence for a few moments before finally opening his mouth to reply. "And you think I did all that?"
She frowns. "Did I imply otherwise?"
"No," he responds, giving her a small smile that seems to suggest she's missing something, "but I'm surprised at you Natalie."
She raises an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because I thought you were smarter than that."
"Smarter than what?"
"Smarter than someone who would automatically assume I was responsible for all that stuff."
"So, you're saying you didn't steal my files?"
"Definitely."
"Definitely what?"
"Maybe."
"What?"
"Definitely maybe."
She gives him an infuriated look. "You're as clear as mud, Holt."
"Look, Natalie," he says, resting a hand on her arm, "you're a Lucian – it's simply a matter of being logical. It's definitely possible that I might be able to hack into your computer, but why would I?"
"What do you mean?" she asks quizzically, shrugging away from his grasp.
"I mean," he responds, seemingly unfazed by her cold attitude, "if I was ever going to hack into your computer, why on earth would I do it while being here in London? And why would I put some cheesy cartoon on your screen that looks just like me, if I didn't want you coming after me?" He laughs. "Sure, the Holts are not known for being geniuses, but come on. We're not that stupid."
Her face contorts into a mass of confusion. "So you didn't do it, then?"
He looks her straight in the eye. "I'd be an idiot if I did."
She looks at her hands beseechingly. "But then – who?"
He shrugs. "I don't know."
She lets out a sigh of defeat and rests her head in her hands. "If it's not you, then where can I-"
"Watch it!"
An arm bumps into Natalie, and Hamilton reaches out to steady her.
"We should probably get out of the middle of the sidewalk," he muses as he gently guides her towards a shop's entryway.
"I guess," she mutters, glancing back over her shoulder at the oncoming traffic. She turns back to face him as they come to a halt underneath of an awning. "Look," she starts hesitantly, "I apologize for accusing you. This really hasn't been my best day. And about the cop –"
"Hey, no problem," he replies, waving it off easily. He glances down at his watch. "Man, I think I've gotta go, but it was great seeing you again." He flashes her a grin, and she manages a weak one in response.
He takes a meager step back onto the sidewalk before suddenly freezing again. "Oh, wait – I almost forgot." He reaches into one of his overly-large pant pockets and pulls out a tiny package wrapped in brown paper with an envelope attached. He turns back to face her. "Here – I figured I might run into you at some point during my trip, so I made sure to keep this with me just in case."
She reaches out and tentatively takes it from his hand. "Oh, why, thank you, Hamilton. How very… thoughtful of you."
He smiles again and turns to go as she inspects the parcel. It's extremely small – a square shape – and quite hideously wrapped, if she does say so herself. But seeming as it comes from a Holt, she can't expect anything less. It's the thought that counts, or rather, that's what one should say when someone gives them something they know they won't like. So obviously, in this case, it is the thought that counts.
She glances back up and catches sight of Hamilton's head towering over the rest of the crowd as it disperses across an intersection. He turns, catches her eye, and gives a small wave before he rotates back again.
She looks back down at the parcel, and her curiosity gets the better of her. Usually, she would simply skip the envelope and get to the present, but this time, something holds her back. Normally, she would not take the Holt as someone who would write a letter, and if he did, he must have had something important to say.
She slips the envelope into the palm of her hand and, using the nail of her index finger, tears open the cover before pulling out the piece of paper enclosed within.
She unfolds it, and at first glance, it does not look appealing. Or readable. But nevertheless, she continues.
Natalie,
You haven't changed a bit. (Not that I expected anything less)
It's been too long, I have to say. It was nice seeing you again, although I'm sure you would have preferred to have met in a different place, a different time… a different life.
Anyway, I had something that I knew you'd want, so here it is. I hope you won't hold it against me.
See, I had this plan. Quite a brilliant one, too, I have to say, and for me, that's saying something. It was finally going to put me on top and make the Lucians realize that the Tomas aren't quite the idiots they've always thought them to be, but unfortunately, my stupid conscience got the better of me. So, here I am, being the better person and doing the right thing. Hope that counts for something.
And it if comforts you, I don't know what's on the disks. I never wanted to know. (And I didn't make copies)
Hammer
[PS – Liked the unicorns? I couldn't resist]
Confound him.
She crumples the note and tosses it to the ground as she desperately cranes her neck to catch a glimpse of his disappearing form over the crowd.
Her efforts are fruitless.
She balances her weight on the very tips of her high-heeled shoes, franticly hoping to make out the top of his head as it towers over the rest of the average-height pedestrians, but sees nothing. He is gone – probably tried to disappear as soon as he gave her the package.
The coward.
Every ounce of her one-hundred pound frame desiresyearnsneeds to make him pay. He has played her – her – for a fool and gotten away with it, too. And no one makes a fool of a Kabra. Especially a Holt.
But that was part of his plan, wasn't it? That's what it said in the letter. Or at least…
Her gaze sweeps the ground, coming to a halt as it zeroes in on the crumpled piece of paper. With a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure no one is watching, she bends over and picks it up delicately off the ground. How humiliating.
Deftly smoothing out the creases, she forces herself to scan the almost-illegible chicken scrawl again.
Natalie,
You haven't changed a bit.
Obviously.
a different place, a different time… a different life.
Blah, blah, blah.
make the Lucians realize that the Tomas aren't quite the idiots
Of course not.
unfortunately, my stupid conscience got the better of me.
So that was his – wait, what?
His conscience got the better of him?
So, here I am, being the better person and doing the right thing.
Well.
This is a different take on things.
She frowns, forgetting the potential side effects, as she contemplates what all this means. Without a doubt, he has hacked into her computer, stolen her private documents – the ones no one is ever supposed to see – taunted her with his idiotic cartoon, then performed a 180 and decided to hand everything back to her that easily? Just because of his stupid conscience?
It doesn't make sense.
But then again, when has a Holt ever?
She glances down at the small brown package in her hands, and before she can think twice, begins to rip off the paper. Inside, just as he promised, are the disks, containing information that could send Natalie's life spiraling out of control. If any of those disks or copies of them are ever-
Copies.
He made copies. That's what he did. That two-timing, double-faced-
Wait a moment.
She rearranges the disks and paper in her hand, adjusting their position so that she can take another look at Hamilton's last words.
(And I didn't make copies)
He didn't make copies.
It makes absolutely, positively no sense - whatsoever. He had her - right there, in the palm of his hand – and let her get away. All for his conscience.
Maybe he lied. Maybe he really did make copies and simply planned out this meeting so that he could get away without her hunting him down. And then, when she least expects it, the information will pop up on some British talk show or newspaper and ruin her life forever.
It's plausible, right?
But for some reason, she doesn't believe it. Even he's not that shallow. Maybe she is, but he's never been.
Then why is she so determined to make him a villain?
Because he's wounded her pride. Because he's played her for a fool. Because he's gotten away.
Because she can't hate him.
He just had to play the "better person" card. Of course, he had to go and do the right thing and then make a big speech about how what he did was wrong and how he regrets it and how he never wanted to know her secrets in the first place.
Well, it's too late for that.
If he wanted to take the road less traveled, then he should have done so in the first place. Once he hacked into her computer, it was too late. Did he honestly think that getting her out of that mess with the cop and then trying to "fix" his little mistake was going to make things right? The damage was already done. He'd already made his fatal mistake – messing with Natalie Kabra.
With a sigh, she tucks the parcel under arm and turns around to search for her limo. Whatever he did, it can't be changed. And she can't get revenge. If it so turns out that the discs are phonies and the information isn't really on them, then she can exact payment. But for now…
Well, all she can do is make sure nothing like this ever happens again. She has the discs, she's gotten what she wants, and now all she can do is go home. Her mission is accomplished.
She should be happy about it. After all, this is much, much easier than traversing the globe in a full-scale hunt for the brute. But then, if she had, surely she would have come out victorious. She could have captured him, made him pay, and then come home the conqueror. Instead, however, she is left neither a winner nor a loser.
It is a tie.
And to a Kabra, a tie is as good as losing. Which is impossible, isn't it? She couldn't possibly lose to a Holt.
… Could she?
Definitely maybe.
For Iris Cornelia Jade's Pairings to Die For contest. I got Natalie or Isabel and Hamilton and simply decided that Natalie would be easier to do.
I can't say I'm a Namilton shipper, but I did leave it open to interpretation, so that any fans can see it as an opening for future romance, even though I didn't actually include any in the story itself.
Anyway, I hope it was an enjoyable read. Turned out longer than expected (as usual), although I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. Just took me longer to write. I think the story is mostly self-explanatory, but if you are in any way confused, feel free to PM me or simply leave a review. Thank you for reading. :)