Digital Fortress.

by Dan Brown.

PROLOGUE

PLAZA DE ESPAnA SEVILLE, SPAIN 11:00 A.M.

It is said that in death, all things become clear; Ensei Tankadonow knew it was true.

As he clutched his chest and fell to theground in pain, he realized the horror of his mistake.

People appeared, hovering over him, trying to help. But Tankadodid not want help-it was too late for that.

Trembling, he raised his left hand and held his fingers outward.Look at my hand! The faces around him stared, but he couldtell they did not understand.

On his finger was an engraved golden ring. For an instant, themarkings glimmered in the Andalusian sun. Ensei Tankado knew it wasthe last light he would ever see.

CHAPTER 1

They were in the smoky mountains at their favoritebed-and-breakfast. David was smiling down at her. "What do yousay, gorgeous? Marry me?"

Looking up from their canopy bed, she knew he was the one.Forever. As she stared into his deep-green eyes, somewhere in thedistance a deafening bell began to ring. It was pulling him away.She reached for him, but her arms clutched empty air.

It was the sound of the phone that fully awoke Susan Fletcherfrom her dream. She gasped, sat up in bed, and fumbled for thereceiver. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Susan, it's David. Did I wake you?"

She smiled, rolling over in bed. "I was just dreaming ofyou. Come over and play."

He laughed. "It's still dark out."

"Mmm." She moaned sensuously. "Then definitely come over and play. We can sleep in before we headnorth."

David let out a frustrated sigh. "That's why I'mcalling. It's about our trip. I've got topostpone."

Susan was suddenly wide awake. "What!"

"I'm sorry. I've got to leave town. I'll beback by tomorrow. We can head up first thing in the morning.We'll still have two days." "But I made reservations," Susan said, hurt. "Igot our old room at Stone Manor."

"I know, but-"

"Tonight was supposed to be special-tocelebrate six months. You do remember we're engaged,don't you?"

"Susan." He sighed. "I really can't go intoit now, they've got a car waiting. I'll call you from theplane and explain everything."

"Plane?" she repeated. "What's goingon? Why would the university ... ?"

"It's not the university. I'll phone and explainlater. I've really got to go; they're calling for me.I'll be in touch. I promise."

"David!" she cried. "What's-"

But it was too late. David had hung up.

Susan Fletcher lay awake for hours waiting for him to call back.The phone never rang.

Later that afternoon Susan sat dejected in the tub. Shesubmerged herself in the soapy water and tried to forget StoneManor and the Smoky Mountains. Where could he be?

shewondered. Why hasn't he called?

Gradually the water around her went from hot to lukewarm andfinally to cold. She was about to get out when her cordless phonebuzzed to life. Susan bolted upright, sloshing water on the flooras she grappled for the receiver she'd left on the sink.

"David?"

"It's Strathmore," the voice replied.

Susan slumped. "Oh." She was unable to hide herdisappointment. "Good afternoon, Commander."

"Hoping for a younger man?" The voice chuckled.

"No, sir," Susan said, embarra.s.sed. "It'snot how it-"

"Sure it is." He laughed. "David Becker's agood man. Don't ever lose him."

"Thank you, sir."

The commander's voice turned suddenly stern. "Susan,I'm calling because I need you in here. p.r.o.nto." She tried to focus. "It's Sat.u.r.day, sir. we don'tusually-"

"I know," he said calmly. "It's anemergency."

Susan sat up. Emergency? She had never heard the wordcross Commander Strathmore's lips. An emergency? InCrypto? She couldn't imagine. "Y-yes, sir."

Shepaused. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Make it sooner." Strathmore hung up.

Susan Fletcher stood wrapped in a towel and dripped on theneatly folded clothes she'd set out the nightbefore-hiking shorts, a sweater for the cool mountainevenings, and the new lingerie she'd bought for the nights.Depressed, she went to her closet for a clean blouse and skirt. An emergency? In Crypto?

As she went downstairs, Susan wondered how the day could getmuch worse.

She was about to find out.

CHAPTER 2

Thirty thousand feet above a dead-calm ocean, David Beckerstared miserably from the Learjet 60's small, oval window.He'd been told the phone on board was out of order, andhe'd never had a chance to call Susan.

"What am I doing here?" he grumbled to himself. b.u.t.the answer was simple-there were men to whom you justdidn't say no.

"Mr. Becker," the loudspeaker crackled."We'll be arriving in half an hour."

Becker nodded gloomily to the invisible voice. Wonderful.He pulled the shade and tried to sleep. But he could only think ofher.

CHAPTER 3

Susan's volvo sedan rolled to a stop in the shadow of theten-foot-high, barbed Cyclone fence. A young guard placed his handon the roof.

"ID, please."

Susan obliged and settled in for the usual half-minute wait. Theofficer ran her card through a computerized scanner. Finally helooked up. "Thank you, Ms. Fletcher." He gave animperceptible sign, and the gate swung open.

Half a mile ahead Susan repeated the entire procedure at anequally imposing electrified fence. Come on, guys ...I've only been through here a million times.

As she approached the final checkpoint, a stocky sentry with twoattack dogs and a machine gun glanced down at her license plate andwaved her through. She followed Canine Road for another 250 yardsand pulled into Employee Lot C. Unbelievable, she thought.Twenty-six thousand employees and a twelve-billion-dollarbudget; you'd think they could make it through the weekendwithout me. Susan gunned the car into her reserved spot andkilled the engine.

After crossing the landscaped terrace and entering the mainbuilding, she cleared two more internal checkpoints and finallyarrived at the windowless tunnel that led to the new wing. Avoice-scan booth blocked her entry.

NATIONAL SECURITY AGENCY (NSA) CRYPTO FACILITY AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY The armed guard looked up. "Afternoon, Ms.Fletcher."

Susan smiled tiredly. "Hi, John."

"Didn't expect you today."

"Yeah, me neither." She leaned toward the parabolicmicrophone. "Susan Fletcher,"

she stated clearly. Thecomputer instantly confirmed the frequency concentrations in hervoice, and the gate clicked open. She stepped through.

The guard admired Susan as she began her walk down the cementcauseway. He noticed that her strong hazel eyes seemed distanttoday, but her cheeks had a flushed freshness, and hershoulder-length, auburn hair looked newly blown dry. Trailing herwas the faint scent of Johnson's Baby Powder. His eyes fellthe length of her slender torso-to her white blouse with thebra barely visible beneath, to her knee- length khaki skirt, andfinally to her legs ... Susan Fletcher's legs. Hard to imagine they support a 170 IQ, he mused tohimself.

He stared after her a long time. Finally he shook his head a.s.she disappeared in the distance.

As Susan reached the end of the tunnel, a circular, vaultlikedoor blocked her way. The enormous letters read: crypto.

Sighing, she placed her hand inside the recessed cipher box andentered her five-digit PIN. Seconds later the twelve-ton slab ofsteel began to revolve. She tried to focus, but her thoughts reeledback to him.

David Becker. The only man she'd ever loved. The youngestfull professor at Georgetown University and a brilliantforeign-language specialist, he was practically a celebrity in theworld of academia. Born with an eidetic memory and a love oflanguages, he'd mastered six Asian dialects as well a.s.spanish, French, and Italian.

His university lectures on etymologyand linguistics were standing-room only, and he invariably stayedlate to answer a barrage of questions. He spoke with authority andenthusiasm, apparently oblivious to the adoring gazes of hisstar-struck coeds.

Becker was dark-a rugged, youthful thirty-five with sharpgreen eyes and a wit to match. His strong jaw and taut featuresreminded Susan of carved marble. Over six feet tall, Becker movedacross a squash court faster than any of his colleagues couldcomprehend. After soundly beating his opponent, he would cool offby dousing his head in a drinking fountain and soaking his tuft ofthick, black hair. Then, still dripping, he'd treat hisopponent to a fruit shake and a bagel.

As with all young professors, David's university salary wasmodest. From time to time, when he needed to renew his squash clubmembership or restring his old Dunlop with gut, he earned extramoney by doing translating work for government agencies in andaround Washington. It was on one of those jobs that he'd metSusan.

It was a crisp morning during fall break when Becker returnedfrom a morning jog to his three-room faculty apartment to find hisanswering machine blinking. He downed a quart of orange juice as helistened to the playback. The message was like many hereceived-a government agency requesting his translatingservices for a few hours later that morning. The only strange thingwas that Becker had never heard of the organization.

"They're called the National Security Agency,"Becker said, calling a few of his colleagues for background.

The reply was always the same. "You mean the NationalSecurity Council?"

Becker checked the message. "No. They said Agency.The NSA."

"Never heard of 'em." Becker checked the GAO Directory, and it showed no listingeither. Puzzled, Becker called one of his old squash buddies, anex-political a.n.a.lyst turned research clerk at the Library ofCongress. David was shocked by his friend's explanation.

Apparently, not only did the NSA exist, but it was consideredone of the most influential government organizations in the world.It had been gathering global electronic intelligence data andprotecting U.S. cla.s.sified information for over half a century.Only 3 percent of Americans were even aware it existed.

"NSA," his buddy joked, "stands for 'No SuchAgency.' "

With a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, Becker acceptedthe mysterious agency's offer. He drove the thirty-seven milesto their eighty-six-acre headquarters hidden discreetly in thewooded hills of Fort Meade, Maryland. After pa.s.sing through endlesssecurity checks and being issued a six-hour, holographic guestpa.s.s, he was escorted to a plush research facility where he wastold he would spend the afternoon providing "blindsupport" to the Cryptography Division-an elite group ofmathematical brainiacs known as the code-breakers.

For the first hour, the cryptographers seemed unaware Becker waseven there. They hovered around an enormous table and spoke alanguage Becker had never heard.