"Hola?" he called, pushing the ladies' room dooropen an inch. "Con permiso?"

Silence.

He went in.

The rest room was typical, Spanish inst.i.tutional-perfectlysquare, white tile, one incandescent bulb overhead. As usual, therewas one stall and one urinal. Whether the urinals were ever used inthe women's bathrooms was immaterial-adding them savedthe contractors the expense of having to build the extra stall.

Becker peered into the rest room in disgust. It was filthy. Thesink was clogged with murky brown water. Dirty paper towels werestrewn everywhere. The floor was soaked. The old electrichandblower on the wall was smeared with greenish fingerprints.

Becker stepped in front of the mirror and sighed. The eyes thatusually stared back with fierce clarity were not so clear tonight.How long have I been running around over here? he wondered.The math escaped him. Out of professorial habit, he shimmied hisnecktie's Windsor knot up on his collar. Then he turned to theurinal behind him.

As he stood there, he found himself wondering if Susan was homeyet. Where could she have gone? To Stone Manor withoutme? "Hey!" a female voice behind him said angrily.

Becker jumped. "I-I'm ..." he stammered,hurrying to zip up. "I'm sorry ... I ..."

Becker turned to face the girl who had just entered. She was ayoung sophisticate, right off the pages of SeventeenMagazine. She wore conservative plaid pants and a whitesleeveless blouse. In her hand was a red L.L. Bean duffel. Herblond hair was perfectly blow-dried.

"I'm sorry." Becker fumbled, buckling his belt."The men's room was ... anyway ...

I'mleaving."

"f.u.c.kin' weirdo!"

Becker did a double-take. The profanity seemed inappropriatecoming from her lips- like sewage flowing from a polisheddecanter. But as Becker studied her, he saw that she was not aspolished as he'd first thought. Her eyes were puffy andbloodshot, and her left forearm was swollen. Underneath the reddishirritation on her arm, the flesh was blue.

Jesus, Becker thought. Intravenous drugs. Who wouldhave guessed?

"Get out!" she yelled. "Just get out!"

Becker momentarily forgot all about the ring, the NSA, all ofit. His heart went out to the young girl. Her parents had probablysent her over here with some prep school study program and a VISAcard-and she'd ended up all alone in a bathroom in themiddle of the night doing drugs.

"Are you okay?" he asked, backing toward the door.

"I'm fine." Her voice was haughty. "You canleave now!"

Becker turned to go. He shot her forearm a last sad glance. There's nothing you can do, David. Leave italone.

"Now!" she hollered.

Becker nodded. As he left he gave her a sad smile. "Becareful."

CHAPTER 67 "Susan?" Hale panted, his face in hers.

He was sitting, one leg on either side of her, his full weighton her midsection. His tailbone ground painfully into her pubisthrough the thin fabric of her skirt. His nose was dripping bloodall over her. She tasted vomit in the back of her throat. His handswere at her chest.

She felt nothing. Is he touching me? It took a moment forSusan to realize Hale was b.u.t.toning her top b.u.t.ton and covering herup.

"Susan." Hale gasped, breathless. "You'vegot to get me out of here."

Susan was in a daze. Nothing made sense.

"Susan, you've got to help me! Strathmore killedChartrukian! I saw it!"

It took a moment for the words to register. Strathmore killedChartrukian? Hale obviously had no idea Susan had seen himdownstairs.

"Strathmore knows I saw him!" Hale spat."He'll kill me too!"

Had Susan not been breathless with fear, she would have laughedin his face. She recognized the divide-and-conquer mentality of anex-Marine. Invent lies-pit your enemies against eachother.

"It's true!" he yelled. "We've got tocall for help! I think we're both in danger!"

She did not believe a word he said.

Hale's muscular legs were cramping, and he rolled up on hishaunches to shift his weight slightly. He opened his mouth tospeak, but he never got the chance.

As Hale's body rose, Susan felt the circulation surge backinto her legs. Before she knew what had happened, a reflex instinctjerked her left leg back hard into Hale's crotch. She felt herkneecap crush the soft sac of tissue between his legs.

Hale whimpered in agony and instantly went limp. He rolled ontohis side, clutching himself. Susan twisted out from under his deadweight. She staggered toward the door, knowing she'd never bestrong enough to get out.

Making a split-second decision, Susan positioned herself behindthe long maple meeting table and dug her feet into the carpet.Mercifully the table had casters. She strode with all her mighttoward the arched gla.s.s wall, pushing the table before her.

Thecasters were good, and the table rolled well. Halfway across Node3, she was at a full sprint.

Five feet from the gla.s.s wall, Susan heaved and let go. Sheleapt to one side and covered her eyes. After a sickening crack,the wall exploded in a shower of gla.s.s. The sounds of Crypto rushedinto Node 3 for the first time since its construction. Susan looked up. Through the jagged hole, she could see thetable. It was still rolling.

It spun wide circles out across theCrypto floor and eventually disappeared into the darkness.

Susan rammed her mangled Ferragamo's back on her feet, shota last glance at the still-writhing Greg Hale, and dashed acrossthe sea of broken gla.s.s out onto the Crypto floor.

CHAPTER 68

"Now wasn't that easy?" Midge said with a sneeras Brinkerhoff handed over the key to Fontaine's office.

Brinkerhoff looked beaten.

"I'll erase it before I go," Midge promised."Unless you and your wife want it for your privatecollection."

"Just get the d.a.m.ned printout," he snapped. "Andthen get out!"

"Si, senor," Midge cackled in a thick PuertoRican accent. She winked and headed across the suite toFontaine's double doors.

Leland Fontaine's private office looked nothing like therest of the directorial suite.

There were no paintings, nooverstuffed chairs, no ficus plants, no antique clocks. His s.p.a.cewas streamlined for efficiency. His gla.s.s-topped desk and blackleather chair sat directly in front of his enormous picture window.Three file cabinets stood in the corner next to a small table witha French press coffeepot. The moon had risen high over Fort Meade,and the soft light filtering through the window accentuated thestarkness of the director's furnishings.

What the h.e.l.l am I doing? Brinkerhoff wondered.

Midge strode to the printer and scooped up the queue list. Shesquinted in the darkness. "I can't read the data,"she complained. "Turn on the lights."

"You're reading it outside. Now comeon."

But Midge was apparently having too much fun. She toyed withBrinkerhoff, walking to the window and angling the readout for abetter view. "Midge ..."

She kept reading.

Brinkerhoff shifted anxiously in the doorway. "Midge ...come on. These are the director's private quarters."

"It's here somewhere," she muttered, studying theprintout. "Strathmore bypa.s.sed Gauntlet, I know it." Shemoved closer to the window.

Brinkerhoff began to sweat. Midge kept reading.

After a few moments, she gasped. "I knew it! Strathmore didit! He really did! The idiot!" She held up the paper and shookit. "He bypa.s.sed Gauntlet! Have a look!"

Brinkerhoff stared dumbfounded a moment and then raced acrossthe director's office.

He crowded in next to Midge in front ofthe window. She pointed to the end of the readout.

Brinkerhoff read in disbelief. "What the ... ?"

The printout contained a list of the last thirty-six files thathad entered TRANSLTR.

After each file was a four-digit Gauntletclearance code. However, the last file on the sheet had noclearance code-it simply read: manual bypa.s.s.

Jesus, Brinkerhoff thought. Midge strikesagain.

"The idiot!" Midge sputtered, seething. "Look atthis! Gauntlet rejected the file twice!

Mutation strings! And hestill bypa.s.sed! What the h.e.l.l was he thinking?"

Brinkerhoff felt weak-kneed. He wondered why Midge was alwaysright. Neither of them noticed the reflection that had appeared inthe window beside them. A ma.s.sive figure was standing inFontaine's open doorway.

"Jeez," Brinkerhoff choked. "You think we have avirus?"

Midge sighed. "Nothing else it could be."

"Could be none of your d.a.m.n business!" the deep voiceboomed from behind them.

Midge knocked her head against the window. Brinkerhoff tippedover the director's chair and wheeled toward the voice. Heimmediately knew the silhouette.

"Director!" Brinkerhoff gasped. He strode over andextended his hand. "Welcome home, sir."

The huge man ignored it.

"I-I thought," Brinkerhoff stammered, retracting hishand, "I thought you were in South America." Leland Fontaine glared down at his aide with eyes like bullets."Yes ... and now I'm back."

CHAPTER 69

"Hey, mister!"

Becker had been walking across the concourse toward a bank ofpay phones. He stopped and turned. Coming up behind him was thegirl he'd just surprised in the bathroom. She waved for him towait. "Mister, wait!"

Now what? Becker groaned. She wants to pressinvasion-of-privacy charges?

The girl dragged her duffel toward him. When she arrived, shewas now wearing a huge smile. "Sorry to yell at you backthere. You just kind of startled me."

"No problem," Becker a.s.sured, somewhat puzzled."I was in the wrong place."

"This will sound crazy," she said, batting herbloodshot eyes. "But you wouldn't happen to have somemoney you can lend me, would you?"

Becker stared at her in disbelief. "Money for what?"he demanded. I'm not funding your drug habit if that'swhat you're asking.

"I'm trying to get back home," the blonde said."Can you help?"

"Miss your flight?"

She nodded. "Lost my ticket. They wouldn't let me geton. Airlines can be such a.s.sholes. I don't have the cash tobuy another."

"Where are your parents?" Becker asked.

"States."

"Can you reach them?"

"Nope. Already tried. I think they're weekending onsomebody's yacht."

Becker scanned the girl's expensive clothing. "Youdon't have a credit card?" "Yeah, but my dad canceled it. He thinks I'm ondrugs."