Becker closed his eyes and huddled lower, wondering how long theservice would last.

Becker, raised Protestant, had always had theimpression Catholics were long-winded.

He prayed it wastrue-as soon as the service ended, he would be forced to standand let the others out. In khaki he was dead.

Becker knew he had no choice at the moment. He simply kneltthere on the cold stone floor of the great cathedral. Eventually,the old man lost interest. The congregation was standing now,singing a hymn. Becker stayed down. His legs were starting tocramp. There was no room to stretch them. Patience, hethought. Patience. He closed his eyes and took a deepbreath.

It felt like only minutes later that Becker felt someone kickinghim. He looked up. The mole-faced man was standing to his right,waiting impatiently to leave the pew.

Becker panicked. He wants to leave already? I'll have tostand up! Becker motioned for the man to step over him. The mancould barely control his anger. He grabbed the tails of his blackblazer, pulled them down in a huff, and leaned back to reveal theentire row of people waiting to leave. Becker looked left and sawthat the woman who had been seated there was gone. The length ofpew to his left was empty all the way to the center aisle. The service can't be over! It's impossible! We justgot here!

But when Becker saw the altar boy at the end of the row and thetwo single-file lines moving up the center aisle toward the altar,he knew what was happening.

Communion. He groaned. The d.a.m.n Spaniards do itfirst!

CHAPTER 92

Susan climbed down the ladder into the sublevels. Thick steamwas now boiling up around TRANSLTR's hull. The catwalks werewet with condensation. She almost fell, her flats providing verylittle traction. She wondered how much longer TRANSLTR wouldsurvive. The sirens continued their intermittent warning. Theemergency lights spun in two-second intervals. Three stories below,the aux generators shook in a taxed whine. Susan knew somewhere atthe bottom in the foggy dimness there was a circuit breaker. Shesensed time was running out.

Upstairs, Strathmore held the Beretta in his hand. He reread hisnote and laid it on the floor of the room where he was standing.What he was about to do was a cowardly act, there was no doubt. I'm a survivor, he thought. He thought of the virus in theNSA databank, he thought of David Becker in Spain, he thought ofhis plans for a back door. He had told so many lies. He was guiltyof so much. He knew this was the only way to avoid accountability .. . the only way to avoid the shame. Carefully he aimed the gun.Then he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

Susan had only descended six flights when she heard the m.u.f.fledshot. It was far off, barely audible over the generators. She hadnever heard a gunshot except on television, but she had no doubtwhat it was.

She stopped short, the sound resounding in her ears. In a waveof horror, she feared the worst. She pictured the commander'sdreams-the back door in Digital Fortress, the incredible coupit would have been. She pictured the virus in the databank, hisfailing marriage, that eerie nod he had given her. Her footingfaltered. She spun on the landing, grappling for the banister. Commander! No!

Susan was momentarily frozen, her mind blank. The echo of thegunshot seemed to drown out the chaos around her. Her mind told herto keep on going, but her legs refused. Commander! Aninstant later she found herself stumbling back up the stairs,entirely forgetting the danger around her.

She ran blindly, slipping on the slick metal. Above her thehumidity fell like rain.

When she reached the ladder and beganclimbing, she felt herself lifted from below by a tremendous surgeof steam that practically jettisoned her through the trapdoor.

Sherolled onto the Crypto floor and felt the cool air wash over her.Her white blouse clung to her body, soaked through.

It was dark. Susan paused, trying to get her bearings. The soundof the gunshot was on endless loop in her head. Hot steam billowedup through the trapdoor like gases from a volcano about toexplode.

Susan cursed herself for leaving the Beretta with Strathmore.She had left it with him, hadn't she? Or was it inNode 3? As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she glanced towardthe gaping hole in the Node 3 wall. The glow from the monitors wasfaint, but in the distance she could see Hale lying motionless onthe floor where she'd left him.

There was no sign ofStrathmore. Terrified of what she'd find, she turned towardthe commander's office.

But as she began to move, something registered as strange. Shebackpedaled a few steps and peered into Node 3 again. In the softlight she could see Hale's arm. It was not at his side. He wasno longer tied like a mummy. His arm was up over his head. He wa.s.sprawled backward on the floor. Had he gotten free? There was nomovement.

Hale was deathly still.

Susan gazed up at Strathmore's workstation perched high onthe wall. "Commander?"

Silence.

Tentatively she moved toward Node 3. There was an object inHale's hand. It glimmered in the light of the monitors. Susanmoved closer ... closer. Suddenly she could see what Hale washolding. It was the Beretta.

Susan gasped. Following the arch of Hale's arm, her eyesmoved to his face. What she saw was grotesque. Half of GregHale's head was soaked in blood. The dark stain had spread outacross the carpet.

Oh my G.o.d! Susan staggered backward. It wasn't thecommander's shot she'd heard, it was Hale's!

As if in a trance, Susan moved toward the body. Apparently, Halehad managed to free himself. The printer cables were piled on thefloor beside him. I must have left the gun on the couch, shethought. The blood flowing through the hole in his skull lookedblack in the bluish light.

On the floor beside Hale was a piece of paper. Susan went overunsteadily, and picked it up. It was a letter.

Dearest friends, I am taking my life today in penance for thefollowing sins ... In utter disbelief, Susan stared at the suicide note in herhand. She read slowly. It was surreal-so unlike Hale-alaundry list of crimes. He was admitting toeverything- figuring out that NDAKOTA was a hoax, hiring amercenary to kill Ensei Tankado and take the ring, pushing PhilChartrukian, planning to sell Digital Fortress.

Susan reached the final line. She was not prepared for what sheread. The letter's final words delivered a numbing blow.

Above all, I'm truly sorry about David Becker. Forgiveme, I was blinded by ambition.

As Susan stood trembling over Hale's body, the sound ofrunning footsteps approached behind her. In slow motion, sheturned.

Strathmore appeared in the broken window, pale and out ofbreath. He stared down at Hale's body in apparent shock.

"Oh my G.o.d!" he said. "What happened?"

CHAPTER 93

Communion.

Hulohot spotted Becker immediately. The khaki blazer wasimpossible to miss, particularly with the small bloodstain on oneside. The jacket was moving up the center aisle in a sea of black.He must not know I'm here. Hulohot smiled. He'sa dead man.

He fanned the tiny metal contacts on his fingertips, eager totell his American contact the good news. Soon, he thought,very soon.

Like a predator moving downwind, Hulohot moved to the back ofthe church. Then he began his approach-straight up the centeraisle. Hulohot was in no mood to track Becker through the crowdsleaving the church. His quarry was trapped, a fortunate turn ofevents. Hulohot just needed a way to eliminate him quietly. Hissilencer, the best money could buy, emitted no more than a tinyspitting cough. That would be fine.

As Hulohot closed on the khaki blazer, he was unaware of thequiet murmurs coming from those he was pa.s.sing. The congregationcould understand this man's excitement to receive the blessingof G.o.d, but nevertheless, there were strict rules ofprotocol- two lines, single file. Hulohot kept moving. He was closing quickly. He thumbed therevolver in his jacket pocket. The moment had arrived. David Beckerhad been exceptionally fortunate so far; there was no need to temptfortune any further.

The khaki blazer was only ten people ahead, facing front, headdown. Hulohot rehea.r.s.ed the kill in his mind. The image wasclear-cutting in behind Becker, keeping the gun low and out ofsight, firing two shots into Becker's back, Becker slumping,Hulohot catching him and helping him into a pew like a concernedfriend.

Then Hulohot would move quickly to the back of the churchas if going for help. In the confusion, he would disappear beforeanyone knew what had happened.

Five people. Four. Three.

Hulohot fingered the gun in his pocket, keeping it low. He wouldfire from hip level upward into Becker's spine. That way thebullet would hit either the spine or a lung before finding theheart. Even if the bullet missed the heart, Becker would die.

Apunctured lung was fatal, maybe not in more medically advancedparts of the world, but in Spain, it was fatal.

Two people ... one. And then Hulohot was there. Like adancer performing a well- rehea.r.s.ed move, he turned to his right. Helaid his hand on the shoulder of the khaki blazer, aimed the gun,and ... fired. Two m.u.f.fled spats.

Instantly the body was rigid. Then it was falling. Hulohotcaught his victim under the armpits. In a single motion, he swungthe body into a pew before any bloodstains spread across his back.Nearby, people turned. Hulohot paid no heed-he would be gonein an instant.

He groped the man's lifeless fingers for the ring. Nothing.He felt again. The fingers were bare. Hulohot spun the man aroundangrily. The horror was instantaneous. The face was not DavidBecker's.

Rafael de la Maza, a banker from the suburbs of Seville, haddied almost instantly. He was still clutching the 50,000 pesetasthe strange American had paid him for a cheap black blazer.

CHAPTER 94

Midge Milken stood fuming at the water cooler near the entranceto the conference room. What the h.e.l.l is Fontaine doing? Shecrumpled her paper cup and threw it forcefully into the trash can.There's something happening in Crypto! I can feel it!Midge knew there was only one way to prove herself right.She'd go check out Crypto herself-track down Jabba ifneed be. She spun on her heel and headed for the door.

Brinkerhoff appeared out of nowhere, blocking her way."Where are you headed?"

"Home!" Midge lied.

Brinkerhoff refused to let her pa.s.s.

Midge glared. "Fontaine told you not to let me out,didn't he?"

Brinkerhoff looked away.

"Chad, I'm telling you, there's somethinghappening in Crypto-something big. I don't know whyFontaine's playing dumb, but TRANSLTR's in trouble.Something is not right down there tonight!"

"Midge," he soothed, walking past her toward thecurtained conference room windows, "let's let thedirector handle it."

Midge's gaze sharpened. "Do you have any idea whathappens to TRANSLTR if the cooling system fails?"

Brinkerhoff shrugged and approached the window."Power's probably back on-line by now anyway." Hepulled apart the curtains and looked.

"Still dark?" Midge asked.

But Brinkerhoff did not reply. He was spellbound. The scenebelow in the Crypto dome was unimaginable. The entire gla.s.s cupolawas filled with spinning lights, flashing strobes, and swirlingsteam. Brinkerhoff stood transfixed, teetering light- headed againstthe gla.s.s. Then, in a frenzy of panic, he raced out."Director! Director!"

CHAPTER 95

The blood of Christ ... the cup of salvation ...

People gathered around the slumped body in the pew. Overhead,the frankincense swung its peaceful arcs. Hulohot wheeled wildly inthe center aisle and scanned the church. He's got to behere! He spun back toward the altar. Thirty rows ahead, holy communion was proceeding uninterrupted.Padre Gustaphes Herrera, the head chalice bearer, glanced curiouslyat the quiet commotion in one of the center pews; he was notconcerned. Sometimes some of the older folks were overcome by theholy spirit and pa.s.sed out. A little air usually did the trick.

Meanwhile, Hulohot was searching frantically. Becker was nowherein sight. A hundred or so people were kneeling at the long altarreceiving communion. Hulohot wondered if Becker was one of them. Hescanned their backs. He was prepared to shoot from fifty yards awayand make a dash for it.

El cuerpo de Jesus, el pan del cielo.

The young priest serving Becker communion gave him adisapproving stare. He could understand the stranger'seagerness to receive communion, but it was no excuse to cut inline.

Becker bowed his head and chewed the wafer as best he could. Hesensed something was happening behind him, some sort ofdisturbance. He thought of the man from whom he'd bought thejacket and hoped he had listened to his warning and not takenBecker's in exchange. He started to turn and look, but hefeared the wire-rim gla.s.ses would be staring back. He crouched inhopes his black jacket was covering the back of his khaki pants. Itwas not.

The chalice was coming quickly from his right. People werealready swallowing their wine, crossing themselves, and standing toleave. Slow down! Becker was in no hurry to leave the altar.But with two thousand people waiting for communion and only eightpriests serving, it was considered bad form to linger over a sip ofwine.

The chalice was just to the right of Becker when Hulohot spottedthe mismatched khaki pants. "Estas ya muerto," hehissed softly. "You're already dead." Hulohot movedup the center aisle. The time for subtlety had pa.s.sed. Two shots inthe back, and he would grab the ring and run. The biggest taxistand in Seville was half a block away on Mateus Gago. He reachedfor his weapon.

Adios, Senor Becker ...

La sangre de Cristo, la copa de la salvacion.

The thick scent of red wine filled Becker's nostrils asPadre Herrera lowered the hand- polished, silver chalice. Littleearly for drinking, Becker thought as he leaned forward.

But asthe silver goblet dropped past eye level, there was a blur ofmovement. A figure, coming fast, his shape warped in the reflectionof the cup. Becker saw a flash of metal, a weapon being drawn. Instantly,unconsciously, like a runner from a starting block at the sound ofa gun, Becker was vaulting forward. The priest fell back in horroras the chalice sailed through the air, and red wine rained down onwhite marble. Priests and altar boys went scattering as Becker doveover the communion rail. A silencer coughed out a single shot.Becker landed hard, and the shot exploded in the marble floorbeside him. An instant later he was tumbling down three granitestairs into the valle, a narrow pa.s.sageway through which the clergyentered, allowing them to rise onto the altar as if by divinegrace.

At the bottom of the steps, he stumbled and dove. Becker felthimself sliding out of control across the slick polished stone. Adagger of pain shot though his gut as he landed on his side. Amoment later he was stumbling through a curtained entryway and downa set of wooden stairs.

Pain. Becker was running, through a dressing room. It was dark.There were screams from the altar. Loud footsteps in pursuit.Becker burst through a set of double doors and stumbled into somesort of study. It was dark, furnished with rich Orientals andpolished mahogany. On the far wall was a life-size crucifix. Beckerstaggered to a stop. Dead end. He was at the tip of the cross. Hecould hear Hulohot closing fast.

Becker stared at the crucifix andcursed his bad luck.