“The deletion process is at forty percent,” Colonel Ward said, checking his tablet.

My father walked over to the main terminal, his fingers moving across the keyboard with practiced speed.

The screen reflected green light onto his weathered face.

“It’s being routed through an off-shore relay,” he said.

“Can you trace the source?” Ward asked.

“I’m trying,” my father replied.

I stood near the door, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The silence in the basement was thick, punctuated only by the hum of the servers and the clicking of the keys.

Suddenly, the main monitor flickered.

The green terminal screen went black, and a single white cursor began to blink in the center.

A message began to type itself across the screen, letter by letter.

“Hello, Arthur,” the message read.

My father stopped typing, his hands freezing over the keyboard.

The phone in his pocket chimed once more, its blue light flashing in perfect sync with the blinking cursor on the screen.

My father did not flinch.

He reached down and pressed the speakerphone button on his mobile device.

A low, raspy laugh came through the speaker.