The girl had almost reached the revolving door. Becker staggeredto his feet, gasping for breath. He stumbled after her. The girldashed into the first compartment of the revolving door, draggingher duffel behind her. Twenty yards back, Becker was staggeringblindly toward the door.

"Wait!" He gasped. "Wait!"

The girl pushed furiously on the inside of the door. The doorbegan to rotate, but then it jammed. The blonde wheeled in terrorand saw her duffel snagged in the opening.

She knelt and pulledfuriously to free it.

Becker fixed his bleary vision on the fabric protruding throughthe door. As he dove, the red corner of nylon protruding from thecrack was all he could see. He flew toward it, armsoutstretched.

As David Becker fell toward the door, his hands only inchesaway, the fabric slipped into the crack and disappeared. Hisfingers clutched empty air as the door lurched into motion. Thegirl and the duffel tumbled into the street outside.

"Megan!" Becker wailed as. .h.i.t the floor. White-hotneedles shot through the back of his eye sockets. His visiontunneled to nothing, and a new wave of nausea rolled in.

His ownvoice echoed in the blackness. Megan!

David Becker wasn't sure how long he'd been lyingthere before he became aware of the hum of fluorescent bulbsoverhead. Everything else was still. Through the silence came avoice. Someone was calling. He tried to lift his head off thefloor. The world was c.o.c.keyed, watery. Again the voice. Hesquinted down the concourse and saw a figure twenty yards away.

"Mister?"

Becker recognized the voice. It was the girl. She was standingat another entrance farther down the concourse, clutching herduffel to her chest. She looked more frightened now than she hadbefore.

"Mister?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Inever told you my name. How come you know my name?"

CHAPTER 74

Director Leland Fontaine was a mountain of a man, sixty-threeyears old, with a close- cropped military haircut and a rigiddemeanor. His jet-black eyes were like coal when he was irritated,which was almost always. He'd risen through the ranks of theNSA through hard work, good planning, and the well-earned respectof his predecessors. He was the first African American director ofthe National Security Agency, but n.o.body ever mentioned thedistinction; Fontaine's politics were decidedly color-blind,and his staff wisely followed suit.

Fontaine had kept Midge and Brinkerhoff standing as he wentthrough the silent ritual of making himself a mug of Guatemalanjava. Then he'd settled at his desk, left them standing, andquestioned them like schoolchildren in the princ.i.p.al'soffice.

Midge did the talking-explaining the unusual series ofevents that led them to violate the sanct.i.ty of Fontaine'soffice.

"A virus?" the director asked coldly. "You twothink we've got a virus?"

Brinkerhoff winced.

"Yes, sir," Midge snapped.

"Because Strathmore bypa.s.sed Gauntlet?" Fontaine eyedthe printout in front of him.

"Yes," she said. "And there's a file thathasn't broken in over twenty hours!"

Fontaine frowned. "Or so your data says."

Midge was about to protest, but she held her tongue. Instead shewent for the throat.

"There's a blackout inCrypto."

Fontaine looked up, apparently surprised.

Midge confirmed with a curt nod. "All power's down.Jabba thought maybe-"

"You called Jabba?"

"Yes, sir, I-"

"Jabba?" Fontaine stood up, furious. "Why theh.e.l.l didn't you call Strathmore?"

"We did!" Midge defended. "He said everything wasfine."

Fontaine stood, his chest heaving. "Then we have no reasonto doubt him." There was closure in his voice. He took a sipof coffee. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work todo." Midge's jaw dropped. "I beg your pardon?"

Brinkerhoff was already headed for the door, but Midge wascemented in place.

"I said good night, Ms. Milken," Fontaine repeated."You are excused."

"But-but sir," she stammered, "I ... Ihave to protest. I think-"

"You protest?" the director demanded. He setdown his coffee. "I protest! I protest to your presencein my office. I protest to your insinuations that the deputydirector of this agency is lying. I protest-"

"We have a virus, sir! My instincts tell me-"

"Well, your instincts are wrong, Ms. Milken! For once,they're wrong!"

Midge stood fast. "But, sir! Commander Strathmore bypa.s.sedGauntlet!"

Fontaine strode toward her, barely controlling his anger."That is his prerogative! I pay you to watch a.n.a.lystsand service employees-not spy on the deputy director! If itweren't for him we'd still be breaking codes with penciland paper! Now leave me!"

He turned to Brinkerhoff, who stoodin the doorway colorless and trembling. "Both ofyou."

"With all due respect, sir," Midge said."I'd like to recommend we send a Sys-Sec team to Cryptojust to ensure-"

"We will do no such thing!"

After a tense beat, Midge nodded. "Very well. Goodnight." She turned and left. As she pa.s.sed, Brinkerhoff couldsee in her eyes that she had no intention of letting thisrest-not until her intuition was satisfied.

Brinkerhoff gazed across the room at his boss, ma.s.sive andseething behind his desk.

This was not the director he knew. Thedirector he knew was a stickler for detail, for neatly tiedpackages. He always encouraged his staff to examine and clarify anyinconsistencies in daily procedure, no matter how minute. And yethere he was, asking them to turn their backs on a very bizarreseries of coincidences.

The director was obviously hiding something, but Brinkerhoff waspaid to a.s.sist, not to question. Fontaine had proven over and overthat he had everyone's best interests at heart; if a.s.sistinghim now meant turning a blind eye, then so be it.

Unfortunately,Midge was paid to question, and Brinkerhoff feared she was headedfor Crypto to do just that.

Time to get out the resumes, Brinkerhoffthought as he turned to the door.

"Chad!" Fontaine barked, from behind him. Fontaine hadseen the look in Midge's eyes when she left. "Don'tlet her out of this suite." Brinkerhoff nodded and hustled after Midge.

Fontaine sighed and put his head in his hands. His sable eyeswere heavy. It had been a long, unexpected trip home. The pastmonth had been one of great antic.i.p.ation for Leland Fontaine. Therewere things happening right now at the NSA that would changehistory, and ironically, Director Fontaine had found out about themonly by chance.

Three months ago, Fontaine had gotten news that CommanderStrathmore's wife was leaving him. He'd also heardreports that Strathmore was working absurd hours and seemed aboutto crack under the pressure. Despite differences of opinion withStrathmore on many issues, Fontaine had always held his deputydirector in the highest esteem; Strathmore was a brilliant man,maybe the best the NSA had. At the same time, ever since theSkipjack fiasco, Strathmore had been under tremendous stress. Itmade Fontaine uneasy; the commander held a lot of keys around theNSA- and Fontaine had an agency to protect.

Fontaine needed someone to keep tabs on the wavering Strathmoreand make sure he was 100 percent-but it was not that simple.Strathmore was a proud and powerful man; Fontaine needed a way tocheck up on the commander without undermining his confidence orauthority.

Fontaine decided, out of respect for Strathmore, to do the jobhimself. He had an invisible tap installed on CommanderStrathmore's Crypto account-his E-mail, his interofficecorrespondence, his brainstorms, all of it. If Strathmore was goingto crack, the director would see warning signs in his work. Butinstead of signs of a breakdown, Fontaine uncovered the groundworkfor one of the most incredible intelligence schemes he'd everencountered. It was no wonder Strathmore was busting his a.s.s; if hecould pull this plan off, it would make up for the Skipjack fiascoa hundred times over.

Fontaine had concluded Strathmore was fine, working at 110percent-as sly, smart, and patriotic as ever. The best thingthe director could do would be to stand clear and watch thecommander work his magic. Strathmore had devised a plan ... aplan Fontaine had no intention of interrupting.

CHAPTER 75 Strathmore fingered the Berretta in his lap. Even with the rageboiling in his blood, he was programmed to think clearly. The factthat Greg Hale had dared lay a finger on Susan Fletcher sickenedhim, but the fact that it was his own fault made him even sicker;Susan going into Node 3 had been his idea. Strathmore knew enoughto compartmentalize his emotion-it could in no way affect hishandling of Digital Fortress. He was the deputy director of theNational Security Agency. And today his job was more critical thanit had ever been.

Strathmore slowed his breathing. "Susan." His voicewas efficient and unclouded.

"Did you delete Hale'sE-mail?"

"No," she said, confused.

"Do you have the pa.s.s-key?"

She shook her head.

Strathmore frowned, chewing his lip. His mind was racing. He hada dilemma. He could easily enter his elevator pa.s.sword, and Susanwould be gone. But he needed her there. He needed her help to findHale's pa.s.s-key. Strathmore hadn't told her yet, butfinding that pa.s.s-key was far more than a matter of academicinterest-it was an absolute necessity. Strathmore suspected hecould run Susan's nonconformity search and find the pa.s.s-keyhimself, but he'd already encountered problems running hertracer. He was not about to risk it again.

"Susan." He sighed resolutely. "I'd like youto help me find Hale's pa.s.s-key."

"What!" Susan stood up, her eyes wild.

Strathmore fought off the urge to stand along with her. He knewa lot about negotiating-the position of power was alwaysseated. He hoped she would follow suit. She did not.

"Susan, sit down."

She ignored him.

"Sit down." It was an order.

Susan remained standing. "Commander, if you've stillgot some burning desire to check out Tankado's algorithm, youcan do it alone. I want out."

Strathmore hung his head and took a deep breath. It was clearshe would need an explanation. She deserves one, he thought.Strathmore made his decision-Susan Fletcher would hear it all.He prayed he wasn't making a mistake.

"Susan," he began, "it wasn't supposed tocome to this." He ran his hand across his scalp. "Thereare some things I haven't told you. Sometimes a man in myposition ..."

The commander wavered as if making a painfulconfession. "Sometimes a man in my position is forced to lieto the people he loves. Today was one of those days." He eyedher sadly. "What I'm about to tell you, I never plannedto have to say ... to you . .

. or to anyone."

Susan felt a chill. The commander had a deadly serious look onhis face. There was obviously some aspect of his agenda to whichshe was not privy. Susan sat down.

There was a long pause as Strathmore stared at the ceiling,gathering his thoughts.

"Susan," he finally said, hisvoice frail. "I have no family." He returned his gaze toher.

"I have no marriage to speak of. My life has been my lovefor this country. My life has been my work here at theNSA."

Susan listened in silence.

"As you may have guessed," he continued, "Iplanned to retire soon. But I wanted to retire with pride. I wantedto retire knowing that I'd truly made a difference."

"But you have made a difference," Susan heardherself say. "You built TRANSLTR."

Strathmore didn't seem to hear. "Over the past fewyears, our work here at the NSA has gotten harder and harder.We've faced enemies I never imagined would challenge us.I'm talking about our own citizens. The lawyers, the civilrights fanatics, the EFF- they've all played a part, but.i.t's more than that. It's the people. They'velost faith.

They've become paranoid. They suddenly see us as the enemy. People like you and me, people who truly havethe nation's best interests at heart, we find ourselves havingto fight for our right to serve our country. We're no longerpeacekeepers. We're eavesdroppers, peeping Toms, violators ofpeople's rights." Strathmore heaved a sigh."Unfortunately, there are naive people in the world, peoplewho can't imagine the horrors they'd face if wedidn't intervene. I truly believe it's up to us to savethem from their own ignorance."

Susan waited for his point.

The commander stared wearily at the floor and then looked up."Susan, hear me out,"

he said, smiling tenderly at her."You'll want to stop me, but hear me out. I've beendecrypting Tankado's E-mail for about two months now. As youcan imagine, I was shocked when I first read his messages to NorthDakota about an unbreakable algorithm called Digital Fortress. Ididn't believe it was possible. But every time I intercepted anew message, Tankado sounded more and more convincing. When I readthat he'd used mutation strings to write a rotating key-code,I realized he was light-years ahead of us; it was an approach noone here had never tried."

"Why would we?" Susan asked. "It barelymakes sense."

Strathmore stood up and started pacing, keeping one eye on thedoor. "A few weeks ago, when I heard about the DigitalFortress auction, I finally accepted the fact that Tankado wa.s.serious. I knew if he sold his algorithm to a j.a.panese softwarecompany, we were sunk, so I tried to think of any way I could stophim. I considered having him killed, but with all the publicitysurrounding the algorithm and all his recent claims about TRANSLTR,we would be prime suspects. That's when it dawned on me."He turned to Susan. "I realized that Digital Fortress shouldnot be stopped." Susan stared at him, apparently lost.

Strathmore went on. "I suddenly saw Digital Fortress as theopportunity of a lifetime.

It hit me that with a few changes,Digital Fortress could work for us instead of againstus."

Susan had never heard anything so absurd. Digital Fortress wasan unbreakable algorithm; it would destroy them.

"If," Strathmore continued, "if I could just makea small modification in the algorithm ... before it was released..." He gave her a cunning glint of the eye.

It took only an instant.

Strathmore saw the amazement register in Susan's eyes. Heexcitedly explained his plan. "If I could get the pa.s.s-key, Icould unlock our copy of Digital Fortress and insert amodification."