[ yes, the servers are certainly the thing, aren't they.
the truth of the matter is, when you go up against the MI6, you don't do it with a battery-powered laptop and a handful of clip-art scripts. silva's programs are many; they are diverse, complicated, layered, unique. he's got the island; he needs a database, and he'll get one, whether or not his contacts are willing to share.
it's a non-issue, really. or it could have been, if silva had taken the path of least resistance—to him, anyway. he could have easily had the servers stolen, or "lost" in transit. it's phenomenally simple to divert shipping and handling from point a to point... s, give or take an m, or perhaps even a b. but in this business—the business of the physical world—forging relationships is absolutely key. you never know whose hand you'll have to hold when one of yours has been cut off.
silva slides his mobile back into the pocket of his trousers. his smile, which had slipped momentarily when he'd read sévérine's message, returns again with a hint of tooth; he apologises magnanimously to his esteemed táiwānese associates for the interruption, who don't outwardly recoil, but silva can see... ah, there. it's in the twitch of an eye or brow, a thick swallow. he's making them uncomfortable, and that means his job here is already half done. sometimes it pays to be forward.
he assures them all, quite candidly, that in case of any—well, shall we say, accidents in the acquisition process—he can first rip their reputations through their throats, and then their hearts. (they're used to that kind of talk, but they also know their systems had been hacked only hours prior, when silva had deftly unearthed all of the pesky discrepancies hidden within the company's accounting division. they know he's not lying.)
in the end, his deal is struck. the handshakes last a little too long, but then he's out of the towering office building and into the hot night air. he hails a cab and slides in, creaking against the fine leather. this time, he is free to return sévérine's little note with one of his own. ]
WE ARE ON A SCHEDULE.
[ because despite what he had just secured, it's not the only part he needs. he had hoped she could do it on her own, but... clearly not. ]
☲ text
the truth of the matter is, when you go up against the MI6, you don't do it with a battery-powered laptop and a handful of clip-art scripts. silva's programs are many; they are diverse, complicated, layered, unique. he's got the island; he needs a database, and he'll get one, whether or not his contacts are willing to share.
it's a non-issue, really. or it could have been, if silva had taken the path of least resistance—to him, anyway. he could have easily had the servers stolen, or "lost" in transit. it's phenomenally simple to divert shipping and handling from point a to point... s, give or take an m, or perhaps even a b. but in this business—the business of the physical world—forging relationships is absolutely key. you never know whose hand you'll have to hold when one of yours has been cut off.
silva slides his mobile back into the pocket of his trousers. his smile, which had slipped momentarily when he'd read sévérine's message, returns again with a hint of tooth; he apologises magnanimously to his esteemed táiwānese associates for the interruption, who don't outwardly recoil, but silva can see... ah, there. it's in the twitch of an eye or brow, a thick swallow. he's making them uncomfortable, and that means his job here is already half done. sometimes it pays to be forward.
he assures them all, quite candidly, that in case of any—well, shall we say, accidents in the acquisition process—he can first rip their reputations through their throats, and then their hearts. (they're used to that kind of talk, but they also know their systems had been hacked only hours prior, when silva had deftly unearthed all of the pesky discrepancies hidden within the company's accounting division. they know he's not lying.)
in the end, his deal is struck. the handshakes last a little too long, but then he's out of the towering office building and into the hot night air. he hails a cab and slides in, creaking against the fine leather. this time, he is free to return sévérine's little note with one of his own. ]
WE ARE ON A SCHEDULE.
[ because despite what he had just secured, it's not the only part he needs. he had hoped she could do it on her own, but... clearly not. ]