Read Online The Boss by Monica Belle - Free Book Online

already out of the van, looking down the path that led into the woods.
    â€˜This should be ideal. We’ll go a little way in to avoidtraffic noise and I’ll fix the camera at about five metres.’
    The path was certainly pretty. No timber had been taken out of that part of the wood for years so the sides of the track had grown in, leaving just a single grassy path running between banks of ferns and long grass, then well-grown bushes with big oaks rising beyond them. We walked in, the foliage quickly closing until I needed to push the taller ferns aside to stop them tickling my face.
    We stopped where the oaks gave way to a pine plantation, now mature, so that thick trees rose in ranks with open space below them, while the path was considerably more open. One of the younger oaks looked ideal, and Paul had quickly pulled himself up into the branches. Stephen passed him the camera and set up the power source while it was fixed in place. Just as they’d predicted, it was hardly noticeable from ground level unless you knew it was there. Stephen thought the same.
    â€˜We could leave it for a while, Paul. A field test would be useful.’
    â€˜Who’s going to come past?’
    â€˜A few people use the track, dog walkers I suppose.’
    â€˜I’d rather stay close in case anyone notices it and decides they’d like a camera.’
    â€˜Fair enough. Once we’ve done the take of Felicity we’ll wait nearby for a while. OK, Felicity, we need you to start out of range so the camera can track you.’
    I walked further down the track. Here was my chance to test the camera and see just how little of my face it needed to see to recognise me. Just walking away from Stephen restored something of my determination, and when Paul called out for me to stop Ipulled the hood around my face and slouched forward, deliberately looking at the ground. Ahead of me, Stephen was crouched at the base of the oak tree, peering at the laptop they’d rigged up to the camera, and he didn’t speak until I’d almost passed him.
    â€˜I don’t think you have to look quite that suspicious, Felicity.’
    â€˜Sorry.’
    I’d looked around as he spoke, dislodging my hood, and at that instant the laptop pinged. It had recognised me, with maybe half my face showing and from above and behind, which was far too good for my liking. Not for theirs, as Stephen confirmed.
    â€˜Positive ID. Excellent. Right, if you could just run through that again, Felicity, and don’t overplay it.’
    I went back, this time with my hoodie open. The laptop signalled its triumphant ping when I was only halfway there. It was far too good and almost hoodie-proof. Both of them were well impressed, Paul speaking down from the tree as I went out of camera shot.
    â€˜Excellent, and that last take is easily good enough to use. That should impress them.’
    Stephen agreed, at least in part.
    â€˜Yes, but we need a bullet point, something to really catch their attention. Felicity, you brought your office clothes with you, I believe? Would you mind changing into them and perhaps putting your hair up, to make you look as different as possible? That way we can demonstrate how the system uses facial indexing and can ignore minor changes.’
    â€˜OK, but how does that work?’
    â€˜A lot of systems simply take an image and compare it with others to get a match, in which case a new haircut or even putting on glasses will fool them. Withthe ZX it establishes a series of readings based on the bone structure of your head, which as you can imagine is far harder to fool.’
    I gave what I hoped was an understanding nod. We were finished, done and dusted, or to use Steve’s favourite phrase, buttered and buggered. Nor was I particularly happy about changing my clothes. It was a simple enough thing; I’ve always rather liked showing off, and they’d didn’t have to see anything anyway, but