One afternoon, though, he stayed in while the others went out to eat lunch on the grounds, saying he had to finesse some wiring while it was fresh in his mind. When he was alone in the room, he logged on to Hamada’s workstation, and frantically tapped out several dozen lines of code. He’d lain awake for an hour or two the night before, planning it all out in his head, not daring to write it down. He didn’t have time to test the new insertion, and held his breath when Hamada logged on again after lunch. But it worked seamlessly, and Hamada didn’t seem to notice that anything had changed.
The code he’d inserted was a tiny, unobtrusive program that would allow him to remotely access the chip in the shirts and send the signals to a destination of his choice. The problem was that there was no
