It was absurd to think the privacy code could have beenmisinterpreted as an abort command.

Knowing it was a waste of time, Susan pulled up her ScreenLocklog and double- checked that her privacy code had been enteredproperly. Sure enough, it had.

"Then where," she demanded angrily, "wheredid it get a manual abort?"

Susan scowled and closed the ScreenLock window. Unexpectedly,however, in the split second as the window blipped away, somethingcaught her eye. She reopened the window and studied the data. Itmade no sense. There was a proper "locking" entry whenshe'd left Node 3, but the timing of the subsequent"unlock" entry seemed strange. The two entries were lessthan one minute apart. Susan was certain she'd been outsidewith the commander for more than one minute.

Susan scrolled down the page. What she saw left her aghast.Registering three minutes later, a second set of lock-unlockentries appeared. According to the log, someone had unlocked herterminal while she was gone.

"Not possible!" she choked. The only candidate wasGreg Hale, and Susan was quite certain she'd never given Haleher privacy code. Following good cryptographic procedure, Susan hadchosen her code at random and never written it down; Hale'sguessing the correct five-character alphanumeric was out of thequestion-it was thirty-six to the fifth power, over sixtymillion possibilities.

But the ScreenLock entries were as clear as day. Susan stared atthem in wonder. Hale had somehow been on her terminal while she wasgone. He had sent her tracer a manual abort command.

The questions of how quickly gave way to questions of why? Hale had no motive to break into her terminal. Hedidn't even know Susan was running a tracer. Even if he didknow, Susan thought, why would he object to her tracking some guynamed North Dakota?

The unanswered questions seemed to be multiplying in her head."First things first,"

she said aloud. She would deal withHale in a moment. Focusing on the matter at hand, Susan reloadedher tracer and hit the enter key. Her terminal beeped once.

TRACER SENT Susan knew the tracer would take hours to return. She cursedHale, wondering how in the world he'd gotten her privacy code,wondering what interest he had in her tracer.

Susan stood up and strode immediately for Hale's terminal.The screen was black, but she could tell it was not locked-themonitor was glowing faintly around the edges.

Cryptographers seldomlocked their terminals except when they left Node 3 for the night.Instead, they simply dimmed the brightness on their monitors-auniversal, honor-code indication that no one should disturb theterminal.

Susan reached for Hale's terminal. "Screw the honorcode," she said. "What the h.e.l.l are you up to?"

Throwing a quick glance out at the deserted Crypto floor, Susanturned up Hale's brightness controls. The monitor came intofocus, but the screen was entirely empty.

Susan frowned at theblank screen. Uncertain how to proceed, she called up a searchengine and typed: SEARCH FOR: "TRACER" It was a long shot, but if there were any references toSusan's tracer in Hale's computer, this search would findthem. It might shed some light on why Hale had manually aborted herprogram. Seconds later the screen refreshed.

NO MATCHES FOUND Susan sat a moment, unsure what she was even looking for. Shetried again.

SEARCH FOR: "SCREENLOCK"

The monitor refreshed and provided a handful of innocuousreferences-no hint that Hale had any copies of Susan'sprivacy code on his computer.

Susan sighed loudly. So what programs has he been usingtoday? She went to Hale's "recent applications"menu to find the last program he had used. It was his E- mailserver. Susan searched his hard drive and eventually found hisE-mail folder hidden discreetly inside some other directories. Sheopened the folder, and additional folders appeared; it seemed Halehad numerous E-mail ident.i.ties and accounts. One of them, Susannoticed with little surprise, was an anonymous account. She openedthe folder, clicked one of the old, inbound messages, and readit.

She instantly stopped breathing. The message read: TO: [email protected] FROM: [email protected] GREAT PROGRESS! DIGITAL FORTRESS IS ALMOST DONE.

THIS THING WILL SET THE NSA BACK DECADES!

As if in a dream, Susan read the message over and over. Then,trembling, she opened another.

TO: [email protected] FROM: ROTATING CLEARTEXT WORKS! MUTATION STRINGS ARE THE TRICK!

It was unthinkable, and yet there it was. E-mail from EnseiTankado. He had been writing to Greg Hale. They were workingtogether. Susan went numb as the impossible truth stared up at herfrom the terminal.

Greg Hale is NDAKOTA?

Susan's eyes locked on the screen. Her mind searcheddesperately for some other explanation, but there was none. It wasproof-sudden and inescapable: Tankado had used mutationstrings to create a rotating cleartext function, and Hale hadconspired with him to bring down the NSA. "It's ..." Susan stammered. "It's . .. not possible."

As if to disagree, Hale's voice echoed from the past: Tankado wrote me a few times . .

. Strathmore took a gamble hiringme ... I'm getting out of here someday.

Still, Susan could not accept what she was seeing. True, GregHale was obnoxious and arrogant-but he wasn't a traitor.He knew what Digital Fortress would do to the NSA; there was no wayhe was involved in a plot to release it!

And yet, Susan realized, there was nothing to stophim-nothing except honor and decency. She thought of theSkipjack algorithm. Greg Hale had ruined the NSA's plans oncebefore. What would prevent him from trying again?

"But Tankado ..." Susan puzzled. Why wouldsomeone as paranoid as Tankado trust someone as unreliable asHale?

She knew that none of it mattered now. All that mattered wasgetting to Strathmore.

By some ironic stroke of fate,Tankado's partner was right there under their noses.

Shewondered if Hale knew yet that Ensei Tankado was dead.

She quickly began closing Hale's E-mail files in order toleave the terminal exactly as she had found it. Hale could suspectnothing-not yet. The Digital Fortress pa.s.s-key, she realizedin amazement, was probably hidden somewhere inside that verycomputer.

But as Susan closed the last of the files, a shadow pa.s.sedoutside the Node 3 window.

Her gaze shot up, and she saw Greg Haleapproaching. Her adrenaline surged. He was almost to the doors.

"d.a.m.n!" she cursed, eyeing the distance back to herseat. She knew she'd never make it. Hale was almost there.

She wheeled desperately, searching Node 3 for options. The doorsbehind her clicked.

Then they engaged. Susan felt instinct takeover. Digging her shoes into the carpet, she accelerated in long,reaching strides toward the pantry. As the doors hissed open, Susanslid to a stop in front of the refrigerator and yanked open thedoor. A gla.s.s pitcher on top tipped precariously and then rocked toa stop.

"Hungry?" Hale asked, entering Node 3 and walkingtoward her. His voice was calm and flirtatious. "Want to sharesome tofu?"

Susan exhaled and turned to face him. "No thanks," sheoffered. "I think I'll just-"

But the words gotcaught in her throat. She went white.

Hale eyed her oddly. "What's wrong?"

Susan bit her lip and locked eyes with him. "Nothing,"she managed. But it was a lie.

Across the room, Hale'sterminal glowed brightly. She'd forgotten to dim it.

CHAPTER 37

Downstairs at the Alfonso XIII, Becker wandered tiredly over tothe bar. A dwarf-like bartender lay a napkin in front of him."Que bebe Usted? What are you drinking?"

"Nothing, thanks," Becker replied. "I need toknow if there are any clubs in town for punk rockers?"

The bartender eyed him strangely. "Clubs? Forpunks?"

"Yeah. Is there anyplace in town where they all hangout?"

"No lo se, senor. I don't now. But certainlynot here!" He smiled. "How about a drink?"

Becker felt like shaking the guy. Nothing was going quite theway he'd planned.

"Quiere Vd. algo?" The bartender repeated."Fino? Jerez?"

Faint strains of cla.s.sical music were being piped in overhead.Brandenburg Concertos, Becker thought. Number four.He and Susan had seen the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields playthe Brandenburgs at the university last year. He suddenly wishedshe were with him now. The breeze from an overhead air-conditioningvent reminded Becker what it was like outside. He pictured himselfwalking the sweaty, drugged-out streets of Triana looking for somepunk in a British flag T-shirt. He thought of Susan again."Zumo de arandano," he heard himself say."Cranberry juice."

The bartender looked baffled. "Solo?" Cranberry juicewas a popular drink in Spain, but drinking it alone was unheardof.

"Si." Becker said. "Solo."

"Echo un poco de Smirnoff?" The bartenderpressed. "A splash of vodka?"

"No, gracias."

"Gratis?" he coaxed. "On thehouse?"

Through the pounding in his head, Becker pictured the filthystreets of Triana, the stifling heat, and the long night ahead ofhim. What the h.e.l.l. He nodded. "Si, echame unpoco de vodka."

The bartender seemed much relieved and hustled off to make thedrink. Becker glanced around the ornate bar and wondered if he wasdreaming. Anything would make more sense than the truth. I'm a university teacher, he thought, on a secretmission.

The bartender returned with a flourish and presentedBecker's beverage. "A su gusto, senor. Cranberrywith a splash of vodka."

Becker thanked him. He took a sip and gagged. That's asplash?

CHAPTER 38

Hale stopped halfway to the Node 3 pantry and stared at Susan."What's wrong, Sue?

You look terrible."

Susan fought her rising fear. Ten feet away, Hale's monitorglowed brightly. "I'm ...

I'm okay," shemanaged, her heart pounding.

Hale eyed her with a puzzled look on his face. "You wantsome water?"

Susan could not answer. She cursed herself. How could Iforget to dim his d.a.m.n monitor? Susan knew the moment Halesuspected her of searching his terminal, he'd suspect she knewhis real ident.i.ty, North Dakota. She feared Hale would do anythingto keep that information inside Node 3.

Susan wondered if she should make a dash for the door. But shenever got the chance.

Suddenly there was a pounding at the gla.s.swall. Both Hale and Susan jumped. It was Chartrukian. He wasbanging his sweaty fists against the gla.s.s again. He looked likehe'd seen Armageddon.

Hale scowled at the crazed Sys-Sec outside the window, thenturned back to Susan.

"I'll be right back. Get yourself adrink. You look pale." Hale turned and went outside.

Susan steadied herself and moved quickly to Hale'sterminal. She reached down and adjusted the brightness controls.The monitor went black.

Her head was pounding. She turned and eyed the conversation nowtaking place on the Crypto floor. Apparently, Chartrukian had notgone home, after all. The young Sys- Sec was now in a panic,spilling his guts to Greg Hale. Susan knew it didn'tmatter- Hale knew everything there was to know.

I've got to get to Strathmore, she thought. Andfast.

CHAPTER 39

Room 301. Rocio Eva Granada stood naked in front of thebathroom mirror. This was the moment she'd been dreading allday. The German was on the bed waiting for her.

He was the biggestman she'd ever been with.

Reluctantly, she took an ice cube from the water bucket andrubbed it across her nipples. They quickly hardened. This was hergift-to make men feel wanted. It's what kept them comingback. She ran her hands across her supple, well-tanned body andhoped it would survive another four or five more years until shehad enough to retire. Senor Roldan took most of her pay,but without him she knew she'd be with the rest of the hookerspicking up drunks in Triana. These men at least had money.

Theynever beat her, and they were easy to satisfy. She slipped into herlingerie, took a deep breath, and opened the bathroom door.

As Rocio stepped into the room, the German's eyesbulged. She was wearing a black negligee. Her chestnut skinradiated in the soft light, and her nipples stood at attentionbeneath the lacy fabric.

"Komm doch hierher," he said eagerly, shedding hisrobe and rolling onto his back.

Rocio forced a smile and approached the bed. She gazed downat the enormous German. She chuckled in relief. The organ betweenhis legs was tiny.

He grabbed at her and impatiently ripped off her negligee. Hisfat fingers groped at every inch of her body. She fell on top ofhim and moaned and writhed in false ecstasy. As he rolled her overand climbed on top of her, she thought she would be crushed. Shegasped and choked against his puttylike neck. She prayed he wouldbe quick.

"Si! Si!" she gasped in between thrusts. Shedug her fingernails into his backside to encourage him.

Random thoughts cascaded through her mind-faces of thecountless men she'd satisfied, ceilings she'd stared atfor hours in the dark, dreams of having children ...