But I could alter the contents of the zip file while it was being packaged.

If I could inject a corruption script into the buffer, the receiver would get nothing but junk data.

The encrypted packet would look complete from the outside.

It would register as a successful hundred-percent transfer on their end.

But when they tried to decrypt it, the data would be useless noise.

“How do I access the compression buffer?” I muttered to myself.

I looked at the system clock.

The transfer rate was holding steady at four megabytes per second.

The progress bar was at ninety-four percent.

I needed to write a quick loop to overwrite the active sector of the virtual drive.

My fingers moved across the keyboard, typing the commands from memory.

*dd if=/dev/urandom of=/tmp/buffer.bin bs=1M count=50*

I needed to redirect the output pointer.

“They’re coming,” Hayes said suddenly.

He was looking out the small glass window in the radio shack door.

“Who?” I asked, not looking up from the screen.

“Turner’s men,” Hayes said.

“I see flashlights in the ladderwell.”

“How long?” I asked.

“Thirty seconds,” Hayes said.