Becker's patience ran out. Wasn't he supposed to be inthe Smokys with Susan? What was he doing in Spain arguing with apsychotic adolescent?

Without warning, Becker caught the kid under the armpits, liftedhim up, and slammed his rear end down on the table. "Look, yourunny-nosed little runt. You're going to back off right now,or I'm going to rip that safety pin out of your nose and pinyour mouth shut."

The kid's face went pale.

Becker held him a moment, then he released his grip. Withouttaking his eyes off the frightened kid, Becker stooped down, pickedup the bottles, and returned them to the table. "What do yousay?" he asked.

The kid was speechless.

"You're welcome," Becker snapped. Thiskid's a walking billboard for birth control.

"Go to h.e.l.l!" the kid yelled, now aware of his peerslaughing at him. "a.s.s-wipe!" Becker didn't move. Something the kid had said suddenlyregistered. I come here every night. Becker wondered ifmaybe the kid could help him. "I'm sorry,"

Beckersaid, "I didn't catch your name."

"Two-Tone," he hissed, as if he were giving a deathsentence.

"Two-Tone?" Becker mused. "Let me guess ...because of your hair?"

"No s.h.i.t, Sherlock."

"Catchy name. Make that up yourself?"

"d.a.m.n straight," he said proudly. "I'm gonnapatent it."

Becker scowled. "You mean trademark it?"

The kid looked confused.

"You'd need a trademark for a name," Becker said."Not a patent."

"Whatever!" the punk screamed in frustration.

The motley a.s.sortment of drunken and drugged-out kids at thenearby tables were now in hysterics. Two-Tone stood up and sneeredat Becker. "What the f.u.c.k do you want from me?"

Becker thought a moment. I want you to wash your hair, cleanup your language, and get a job. Becker figured it was too muchto ask on a first meeting. "I need some information," hesaid.

"f.u.c.k you."

"I'm looking for someone."

"I ain't seen him."

"Haven't seen him," Becker corrected as heflagged a pa.s.sing waitress. He bought two aguila beers andhanded one to Two-Tone. The boy looked shocked. He took a swig ofbeer and eyed Becker warily.

"You hitting on me, mister?"

Becker smiled. "I'm looking for a girl."

Two-Tone let out a shrill laugh. "You sure as h.e.l.lain't gonna get any action dressed like that!"

Becker frowned. "I'm not looking for action. I justneed to talk to her. Maybe you could help me find her." Two-Tone set down his beer. "You a cop?"

Becker shook his head.

The kid's eyes narrowed. "You look like acop."

"Kid, I'm from Maryland. If I were a cop, I'd bea little out of my jurisdiction, don't you think?"

The question seemed to stump him.

"My name's David Becker." Becker smiled andoffered his hand across the table.

The punk recoiled in disgust. "Back off, f.a.g boy."

Becker retracted the hand.

The kid sneered. "I'll help you, but it'll costyou."

Becker played along. "How much?"

"A hundred bucks."

Becker frowned. "I've only got pesetas."

"Whatever! Make it a hundred pesetas."

Foreign currency exchange was obviously not one ofTwo-Tone's fortes; a hundred pesetas was about eighty-sevencents. "Deal," Becker said, rapping his bottle on thetable.

The kid smiled for the first time. "Deal."

"Okay," Becker continued in his hushed tone. "Ifigure the girl I'm looking for might hang out here.She's got red, white, and blue hair."

Two-Tone snorted. "It's Judas Taboo'sanniversary. Everybody's got-"

"She's also wearing a British flag T-shirt and has askull pendant in one ear."

A faint look of recognition crossed Two-Tone's face. Beckersaw it and felt a surge of hope. But a moment later Two-Tone's.e.xpression turned stern. He slammed his bottle down and grabbedBecker's shirt.

"She's Eduardo's, you a.s.shole! I'd watch it!You touch her, and he'll kill you!"

CHAPTER 56

Midge Milken prowled angrily into the conference room acrossfrom her office. In addition to the thirty-two foot mahogany tablewith the NSA seal inlaid in black cherry and walnut, the conferenceroom contained three Marion Pike watercolors, a Boston fern, amarble wet bar, and of course, the requisite Sparklett's watercooler. Midge helped herself to a gla.s.s of water, hoping it mightcalm her nerves.

As she sipped at the liquid, she gazed across at the window. Themoonlight was filtering through the open venetian blind and playingon the grain of the table. She'd always thought this wouldmake a nicer director's office than Fontaine's currentlocation on the front of the building. Rather than looking out overthe NSA parking lot, the conference room looked out over animpressive array of NSA outbuildings-including the Cryptodome, a high-tech island floating separate from the main buildingon three wooded acres. Purposefully situated behind the naturalcover of a grove of maples, Crypto was difficult to see from mostwindows in the NSA complex, but the view from the directorial suitewas perfect. To Midge the conference room seemed the perfectvantage point for a king to survey his domain.

She had suggestedonce that Fontaine move his office, but the director had simplyreplied, "Not on the rear." Fontaine was not a man to befound on the back end of anything.

Midge pulled apart the blinds. She stared out at the hills.Sighing ruefully, she let her eyes fall toward the spot whereCrypto stood. Midge had always felt comforted by the sight of theCrypto dome-a glowing beacon regardless of the hour. b.u.t.tonight, as she gazed out, there was no comfort. Instead she foundherself staring into a void. As she pressed her face to the gla.s.s,she was gripped by a wild, girlish panic. Below her there wasnothing but blackness. Crypto had disappeared!

CHAPTER 57

The Crypto bathrooms had no windows, and the darknesssurrounding Susan Fletcher was absolute. She stood dead still for amoment trying to get her bearings, acutely aware of the growingsense of panic gripping her body. The horrible cry from theventilation shaft seemed to hang all around her. Despite her effortto fight off a rising sense of dread, fear swept across her fleshand took control. In a flurry of involuntary motion, Susan found herself gropingwildly across stall doors and sinks. Disoriented, she spun throughthe blackness with her hands out in front of her and tried topicture the room. She knocked over a garbage can and found herself.a.gainst a tiled wall. Following the wall with her hand, shescrambled toward the exit and fumbled for the door handle. Shepulled it open and stumbled out onto the Crypto floor.

There she froze for a second time.

The Crypto floor looked nothing like it had just moments ago.TRANSLTR was a gray silhouette against the faint twilight coming inthrough the dome. All of the overhead lighting was dead. Not eventhe electronic keypads on the doors were glowing.

As Susan's eyes became accustomed to the dark, she saw thatthe only light in Crypto was coming through the opentrapdoor-a faint red glow from the utility lighting below. Shemoved toward it. There was the faint smell of ozone in the air.

When she made it to the trapdoor, she peered into the hole. Thefreon vents were still belching swirling mist through the redness,and from the higher-pitched drone of the generators, Susan knewCrypto was running on backup power. Through the mist she could makeout Strathmore standing on the platform below. He was leaning overthe railing and staring into the depths of TRANSLTR's rumblingshaft.

"Commander!"

There was no response.

Susan eased onto the ladder. The hot air from below rushed inunder her skirt. The rungs were slippery with condensation. She setherself down on the grated landing.

"Commander?"

Strathmore did not turn. He continued staring down with a blanklook of shock, as if in a trance. Susan followed his gaze over thebanister. For a moment she could see nothing except wisps of steam.Then suddenly she saw it. A figure. Six stories below.

It appearedbriefly in the billows of steam. There it was again. A tangled ma.s.sof twisted limbs. Lying ninety feet below them, Phil Chartrukianwas sprawled across the sharp iron fins of the main generator. Hisbody was darkened and burned. His fall had shorted outCrypto's main power supply.

But the most chilling image of all was not of Chartrukian but ofsomeone else, another body, halfway down the long staircase,crouched, hiding in the shadows. The muscular frame wasunmistakable. It was Greg Hale.

CHAPTER 58

The punk screamed at Becker, "Megan belongs to my friendEduardo! You stay away from her!"

"Where is she?" Becker's heart was racing out ofcontrol.

"f.u.c.k you!"

"It's an emergency!" Becker snapped. He grabbedthe kid's sleeve. "She's got a ring that belongs tome. I'll pay her for it! A lot!"

Two-Tone stopped dead and burst into hysterics. "You meanthat ugly, gold piece of s.h.i.t is yours?"

Becker's eyes widened. "You've seen it?"

Two-Tone nodded coyly.

"Where is it?" Becker demanded.

"No clue." Two-Tone chuckled. "Megan was up heretrying to hock it."

"She was trying to sell it?"

"Don't worry, man, she didn't have any luck.You've got s.h.i.tty taste in jewelry."

"Are you sure n.o.body bought it?"

"Are you s.h.i.tting me? For four hundred bucks? I told herI'd give her fifty, but she wanted more. She was trying to buya plane ticket-standby."

Becker felt the blood drain from his face. "Whereto?"

"f.u.c.kin' Connecticut," Two-tone snapped."Eddie's b.u.mmin'."

"Connecticut?"

"s.h.i.t, yeah. Going back to Mommy and Daddy's mansionin the burbs. Hated her Spanish homestay family. Three Spicbrothers always. .h.i.tting on her. No f.u.c.king hot water."

Becker felt a knot rise in his throat. "When is sheleaving?"

Two-Tone looked up. "When?" He laughed."She's long gone by now. Went to the airport hours ago.Best spot to hock the ring-rich tourists and s.h.i.t. Once shegot the cash, she was flying out." A dull nausea swept through Becker's gut. This is somekind of sick joke, isn't it? He stood a long moment."What's her last name?"

Two-Tone pondered the question and shrugged.

"What flight was she taking?"

"She said something about the Roach Coach."

"Roach Coach?"

"Yeah. Weekend red-eye-Seville, Madrid, La Guardia.That's what they call it.

College kids take it 'causeit's cheap. Guess they sit in back and smokeroaches."