We walked silently down the hallway, our eyes fixed on the open door.

I reached out and pushed the door wider.

The hinges gave a faint, metallic groan.

Inside, the room was cold, chilled by the massive air conditioning units designed to keep the servers from overheating.

Rows of black metal racks stood in the center of the room, their small green and blue lights blinking in rhythmic patterns.

Near the back rack, a man in a dark gray technician’s jacket was bending over a console.

He had a black canvas bag resting on the floor by his feet.

A thick blue cable ran from the main server rack directly into a silver laptop on his lap.

“Who are you?” I demanded, my voice ringing loud in the small room.

The man jumped, nearly dropping the laptop.

He looked up, his eyes wide behind wire-rimmed glasses.

He was thin, with pale skin and a receding hairline.

“I’m with security audits,” he said quickly, his hands hovering over the keyboard. “Scheduled maintenance.”

“I handle the security schedule,” I said, stepping closer. “And I didn’t authorize this.”