Strathmore shook his head. "Not at all."

"But ... but what about Security? They'll be hereany minute. We won't have time to-"

"Security's not coming, Susan. We've got all thetime in the world."

Susan was lost. Not coming? "But you phoned . .."

Strathmore chuckled. "Oldest trick in the book. I faked thecall."

CHAPTER 83

Becker's Vespa was no doubt the smallest vehicle ever totear down the Seville runway. Its top speed, a whining 50 mph,sounded more like a chainsaw than a motorcycle and wasunfortunately well below the necessary power to becomeairborne.

In his side mirror, Becker saw the taxi swing out onto thedarkened runway about four hundred yards back. It immediatelystarted gaining. Becker faced front. In the distance, the contourof the airplane hangars stood framed against the night sky about ahalf mile out. Becker wondered if the taxi would overtake him inthat distance. He knew Susan could do the math in two seconds andcalculate his odds. Becker suddenly felt fear like he had neverknown.

He lowered his head and twisted the throttle as far as it wouldgo. The Vespa was definitely topped out. Becker guessed the taxibehind him was doing almost ninety, twice his speed. He set hissights on the three structures looming in the distance.

Themiddle one. That's where the Learjet is. A shot rangout.

The bullet buried itself in the runway yards behind him. Beckerlooked back. The a.s.sa.s.sin was hanging out the window taking aim.Becker swerved and his side mirror exploded in a shower of gla.s.s.He could feel the impact of the bullet all the way up thehandlebars. He lay his body flat on the bike. G.o.d help me,I'm not going to make it!

The tarmac in front of Becker's Vespa was growing brighternow. The taxi was closing, the headlights throwing ghostly shadowsdown the runway. A shot fired. The bullet ricocheted off the hullof the bike. Becker struggled to keep from going into a swerve. I'vegot to make the hangar! He wondered if the Learjet pilot couldsee them coming. Does he have a weapon? Will he open the cabindoors in time? But as Becker approached the lit expanse of theopen hangars, he realized the question was moot. The Learjet wasnowhere to be seen. He squinted through blurred vision and prayedhe was hallucinating. He was not. The hangar was bare. Oh myG.o.d! Where's the plane!

As the two vehicles rocketed into the empty hangar, Beckerdesperately searched for an escape. There was none. Thebuilding's rear wall, an expansive sheet of corrugated metal,had no doors or windows. The taxi roared up beside him, and Beckerlooked left to see Hulohot raising his gun.

Reflex took over. Becker slammed down on his brakes. He barelyslowed. The hangar floor was slick with oil. The Vespa went into aheadlong skid.

Beside him there was a deafening squeal as the taxi'sbrakes locked and the balding tires hydroplaned on the slipperysurface. The car spun around in a cloud of smoke and burning rubberonly inches to the left of Becker's skidding Vespa.

Now side by side, the two vehicles skimmed out of control on acollision course with the rear of the hangar. Becker desperatelypumped his brakes, but there was no traction; it was like drivingon ice. In front of him, the metal wall loomed. It was coming fast.As the taxi spiraled wildly beside him, Becker faced the wall andbraced for the impact.

There was an earsplitting crash of steel and corrugated metal.But there was no pain.

Becker found himself suddenly in the openair, still on his Vespa, bouncing across a gra.s.sy field. It was asif the hangar's back wall had vanished before him. The taxiwas still beside him, careening across the field. An enormous sheetof corrugated metal from the hangar's back wall billowed offthe taxi's hood and sailed over Becker's head.

Heart racing, Becker gunned the Vespa and took off into thenight.

CHAPTER 84

Jabba let out a contented sigh as he finished the last of hissolder points. He switched off the iron, put down his penlight, andlay a moment in the darkness of the mainframe computer. He wasbeat. His neck hurt. Internal work was always cramped, especiallyfor a man of his size. And they just keep building them smaller, he mused.

As he closed his eyes for a well-deserved moment of relaxation,someone outside began pulling on his boots.

"Jabba! Get out here!" a woman's voiceyelled.

Midge found me. He groaned.

"Jabba! Get out here!"

Reluctantly he slithered out. "For the love of G.o.d, Midge!I told you-" But it was not Midge. Jabba looked up,surprised. "Soshi?"

Soshi Kuta was a ninety-pound live wire. She was Jabba'srighthand a.s.sistant, a razor- sharp Sys-Sec techie from MIT. Sheoften worked late with Jabba and was the one member of his staffwho seemed unintimidated by him. She glared at him and demanded,"Why the h.e.l.l didn't you answer your phone? Or mypage?"

"Your page," Jabba repeated. "I thought itwas-"

"Never mind. There's something strange going on in themain databank."

Jabba checked his watch. "Strange?" Now he was growingconcerned. "Can you be any more specific?"

Two minutes later Jabba was dashing down the hall toward thedatabank.

CHAPTER 85

Greg Hale lay curled on the Node 3 floor. Strathmore and Susanhad just dragged him across Crypto and bound his hands and feetwith twelve-gauge printer cable from the Node 3 laser-printers.

Susan couldn't get over the artful maneuver the commanderhad just executed. He faked the call! Somehow Strathmore hadcaptured Hale, saved Susan, and bought himself the time needed torewrite Digital Fortress.

Susan eyed the bound cryptographer uneasily. Hale was breathingheavily. Strathmore sat on the couch with the Berretta proppedawkwardly in his lap. Susan returned her attention to Hale'sterminal and continued her random-string search. Her fourth string search ran its course and came up empty."Still no luck." She sighed.

"We may need to waitfor David to find Tankado's copy."

Strathmore gave her a disapproving look. "If David fails,and Tankado's key falls into the wrong hands ..."

Strathmore didn't need to finish. Susan understood. Untilthe Digital Fortress file on the Internet had been replaced withStrathmore's modified version, Tankado's pa.s.s- key wasdangerous.

"After we make the switch," Strathmore added, "Idon't care how many pa.s.s-keys are floating around; the morethe merrier." He motioned for her to continue searching."But until then, we're playing beat-the-clock."

Susan opened her mouth to acknowledge, but her words weredrowned out by a sudden deafening blare. The silence of Crypto wa.s.shattered by a warning horn from the sublevels. Susan andStrathmore exchanged startled looks.

"What's that?" Susan yelled, timing herquestion between the intermittent bursts.

"TRANSLTR!" Strathmore called back, looking troubled."It's too hot! Maybe Hale was right about the aux powernot pulling enough freon."

"What about the auto-abort?"

Strathmore thought a moment, then yelled, "Something musthave shorted." A yellow siren light spun above the Cryptofloor and swept a pulsating glare across his face.

"You better abort!" Susan called.

Strathmore nodded. There was no telling what would happen ifthree million silicon processors overheated and decided to ignite.Strathmore needed to get upstairs to his terminal and abort theDigital Fortress run-particularly before anyone outside ofCrypto noticed the trouble and decided to send in the cavalry.

Strathmore shot a glance at the still-unconscious Hale. He laidthe Berretta on a table near Susan and yelled over the sirens,"Be right back!" As he disappeared through the hole inthe Node 3 wall, Strathmore called over his shoulder, "Andfind me that pa.s.s- key!"

Susan eyed the results of her unproductive pa.s.s-key search andhoped Strathmore would hurry up and abort. The noise and lights inCrypto felt like a missile launch.

On the floor, Hale began to stir. With each blast of the horn,he winced. Susan surprised herself by grabbing the Berretta. Haleopened his eyes to Susan Fletcher standing over him with the gunleveled at his crotch.

"Where's the pa.s.s-key?" Susan demanded.

Hale was having trouble getting his bearings. "Wh-whathappened?" "You blew it, that's what happened. Now, where'sthe pa.s.skey?"

Hale tried to move his arms but realized he was tied. His facebecame taut with panic.

"Let me go!"

"I need the pa.s.s-key," Susan repeated.

"I don't have it! Let me go!" Hale tried to getup. He could barely roll over.

Susan yelled between blasts of the horn. "You're NorthDakota, and Ensei Tankado gave you a copy of his key. I need itnow!"

"You're crazy!" Hale gasped. "I'm notNorth Dakota!" He struggled unsuccessfully to freehimself.

Susan charged angrily. "Don't lie to me. Why the h.e.l.lis all of North Dakota's mail in youraccount?"

"I told you before!" Hale pleaded as the horns blaredon. "I snooped Strathmore! That E-mail in my account was mailI copied out of Strathmore's account-E-mail COMINTstole from Tankado!"

"Bull! You could never snoop the commander'saccount!"

"You don't understand!" Hale yelled. "Therewas already a tap on Strathmore's account!" Haledelivered his words in short bursts between the sirens."Someone else put the tap there. I think it was DirectorFontaine! I just piggybacked! You've got to believe me!That's how I found out about his plan to rewrite DigitalFortress! I've been reading Strathmore'sbrainstorms!"

BrainStorms? Susan paused. Strathmore had undoubtedlyoutlined his plans for Digital Fortress using his BrainStormsoftware. If anyone had snooped the commander's account, allthe information would have been available ...

"Rewriting Digital Fortress is sick!" Halecried. "You know d.a.m.n well what it implies-totalNSA access!" The sirens blasted, drowning him out, but Halewas possessed. "You think we're ready for thatresponsibility? You think anyone is? It's f.u.c.kingshortsighted! You say our government has the people's bestinterests at heart?

Great! But what happens when some futuregovernment doesn't have our best interests at heart!This technology is forever!"

Susan could barely hear him; the noise in Crypto wasdeafening.

Hale struggled to get free. He looked Susan in the eye and keptyelling. "How the h.e.l.l do civilians defend themselves againsta police state when the guy at the top has access to alltheir lines of communication? How do they plan a revolt?"

Susan had heard this argument many times. The future-governmentsargument was a stock EFF complaint. "Strathmore had to be stopped!" Hale screamedas the sirens blasted. "I swore I'd do it.That's what I've been doing here all day-watchinghis account, waiting for him to make his move so I could record theswitch in progress. I needed proof-evidence that he'dwritten in a back door. That's why I copied all his E-mailinto my account. It was evidence that he'd been watchingDigital Fortress. I planned to go to the press with theinformation."

Susan's heart skipped. Had she heard correctly? Suddenlythis did sound like Greg Hale. Was it possible? If Hale hadknown about Strathmore's plan to release a tainted version ofDigital Fortress, he could wait until the whole world was using itand then drop his bombsh.e.l.l-complete with proof!

Susan imagined the headlines: cryptographer greg hale unveilssecret u.s. plan to control global information!

Was it Skipjack all over? Uncovering an NSA back door againwould make Greg Hale famous beyond his wildest dreams. It wouldalso sink the NSA. She suddenly found herself wondering if maybeHale was telling the truth. No! she decided. Of coursenot!

Hale continued to plead. "I aborted your tracer because Ithought you were looking for me! I thought you suspectedStrathmore was being snooped! I didn't want you to find theleak and trace it back to me!"

It was plausible but unlikely. "Then why'd youkill Chartrukian?" Susan snapped.

"I didn't!" Hale screamed over the noise."Strathmore was the one who pushed him! I saw the whole thingfrom downstairs! Chartrukian was about to call the Sys-Secs andruin Strathmore's plans for the back door!"

Hale's good, Susan thought. He's got anangle for everything.

"Let me go!" Hale begged. "I didn't doanything!"

"Didn't do anything?" Susan shouted,wondering what was taking Strathmore so long.

"You and Tankadowere holding the NSA hostage. At least until you double- crossedhim. Tell me," she pressed, "did Tankado really die of aheart attack, or did you have one of your buddies take himout?"

"You're so blind!" Hale yelled. "Can'tyou see I'm not involved? Untie me! Before Security getshere!"

"Security's not coming," she snapped flatly.

Hale turned white. "What?"

"Strathmore faked the phone call."

Hale's eyes went wide. He seemed momentarily paralyzed.Then he began writhing fiercely. "Strathmore'll kill me!I know he will! I know too much!" "Easy, Greg."

The sirens blared as Hale yelled out, "But I'minnocent!"

"You're lying! And I have proof!" Susan strodearound the ring of terminals.

"Remember that tracer youaborted?" she asked, arriving at her own terminal. "Isent it again! Shall we see if it's back yet?"

Sure enough, on Susan's screen, a blinking icon alerted herthat her tracer had returned. She palmed her mouse and opened themessage. This data will seal Hale's fate, she thought.Hale is North Dakota. The databox opened. Haleis- Susan stopped. The tracer materialized, and Susan stood instunned silence. There had to be some mistake; the tracer hadfingered someone else-a most unlikely person.

Susan steadied herself on the terminal and reread the databoxbefore her. It was the same information Strathmore said he'd received when he ran the tracer! Susan hadfigured Strathmore had made a mistake, but she knew she'dconfigured the tracer perfectly.

And yet the information on the screen was unthinkable: NDAKOTA = "ET?" Susan demanded, her head swimming. "EnseiTankado is North Dakota?"