The Resistance

programmer, who was sweating profusely, nodded. He’d had his entire team scanning every interface, every programme, every connection, and still he’d found nothing. ‘We’re doing everything we can,’ he said, his voice tight with stress. ‘We can’t find the problem, that’s the thing. Everything’s as it should be.’
    ‘Everything is evidently not as it should be, otherwise it would be working,’ Mr Samuels snarled. ‘I don’t have time for this. Get this thing working now.’
    The programmer was sweating. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. ‘Yes, sir, I’ll just . . .’ He was interrupted by a flash of light, a sound of whirring, of machines coming back to life. He had no idea why – it wasn’t anything he’d done – but it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He stared at his screen for a few moments, not daring to believe energy was restored, then, slowly, a smile crept its way across his face. ‘There we are,’ he said tentatively. ‘I think you’ll find it’s fixed.’
    Derek Samuels opened the door, saw that the lights were indeed on along the corridor, that the electronic locks were once again working. ‘What did you do?’ he demanded. ‘What was the problem? Was it sabotage? Was it interference or a system failure?’
    The programmer smiled uncertainly. ‘It was . . . a system failure,’ he said, after a brief pause in which he’d worked out that a terrorist attack would require him to point out what the attackers did, something that he knew he was unable to do.
    ‘I see,’ Samuels said darkly. ‘And it took you this long to work out the problem?’
    ‘I’ve only been here an hour,’ the programmer pointed out, his confidence returning. ‘And it’s fixed, isn’t it?’
    ‘For all I know, you could have caused the problem in the first place. For all I know, you could be an Underground supporter.’
    ‘An Underground supporter?’ The programmer’s eyes widened. ‘Why would I support them? I’m just doing my job. I’m just . . .’
    ‘Never mind,’ Samuels said curtly. ‘You’ll stay here until we know exactly what happened.’ He looked over to the guard. ‘Bring the Fitz-Patrick boy here.’
    Minutes later, Jude appeared, pushed into the room by the guard. His clothes were stained and torn, his face streaked with black dust.
    Derek Samuels looked him up and down. ‘You’ve been busy,’ he said evenly.
    ‘I’ve been trying to get out,’ Jude said sullenly. ‘You left me in a cupboard and I’m claustrophobic. The lights went out. I didn’t know what to do.’
    ‘You were trying to get out? Of Pincent Pharma? That’s interesting. I heard that someone has been clambering about above our ceilings. That wouldn’t be you, I suppose?’
    Jude raised an eyebrow. ‘Not that I know of,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Anyway, I didn’t manage to get out, did I? So can I go now?’
    ‘Go?’ Mr Samuels smiled thinly. ‘Oh, I don’t think you are going anywhere, Jude. You see, we take breaches of our security very seriously, as do the Authorities. We take the lives of our guards very seriously. We take attacks on our energy supply very seriously, too. So I want you to sit down here and have a little think, because if you know anything about what’s happened here today, you are going to tell me, do you understand? Guard, take the programmer away and . . . look after him, will you?’
    The guard nodded, immediately, and pulled the programmer from his chair, who shot a terrified look in Jude’s direction before stumbling out of the room.

    Richard Pincent slammed down the phone and looked over at Hillary who was sitting primly on a sofa near his desk.
    ‘You see?’ he said, relief surging through him and a look of triumph spread all over his face. ‘Energy has been restored.’
    ‘And the culprit?’
    ‘Information will be passed to the Authorities at the relevant time,’ Richard said. ‘Investigations are still underway.’
    ‘Good. Because we will want to see a comprehensive report. Security breaches at Pincent Pharma reflect badly on the Authorities, Richard. They raise all sorts of questions about competence. And there’s the issue of your grandson, Richard. How can you be sure he will follow the script? It’s very important that he does – for confidence in you, in the Pincent Pharma brand. You know that, don’t you?’
    ‘Of course I do,’ Richard said. ‘Trust me, Peter knows what he has to do.’ He