" Down the back stairs, to the door, where she stood quietly, listening. Not a single sound other than the ticking she was sure was her heart. She pressed numbers for the lock securing the door—the factory-issued numbers that were supposed to have been temporary: one, two, three, four. She turned the handle, flipped on the lights, and studied the cavernous space. She released a sigh of relief. Nothing had changed. She’d worried that records would have all been scanned by then—that what she needed had been committed to a data file somewhere and would be retrievable only by someone with a computer science degree. Maybe a hacker. But not her. She’d never learned those skills. "

― Gregg Olsen , The Hive