"It could be nothing," Jabba hedged,"but-"

"Stop saying that! It's not nothing!Whatever's going on down there, take it seriously, veryseriously. My data isn't fried-never has been, neverwill." She started to hang up and then added, "Oh, andJabba? Just so there aren't any surprises ...

Strathmorebypa.s.sed Gauntlet."

CHAPTER 100 Hulohot took the Giralda stairs three at a time. The only lightin the spiral pa.s.sage was from small open-air windows every 180degrees. He's trapped! David Becker will die!

Hulohotcircled upward, gun drawn. He kept to the outside wall in caseBecker decided to attack from above. The iron candle poles on eachlanding would make good weapons if Becker decided to use one. Butby staying wide, Hulohot would be able to spot him in time.Hulohot's gun had a range significantly longer than afive-foot candle pole.

Hulohot moved quickly but carefully. The stairs were steep;tourists had died here.

This was not America-no safety signs,no handrails, no insurance disclaimers. This was Spain. If you werestupid enough to fall, it was your own d.a.m.n fault, regardless ofwho built the stairs.

Hulohot paused at one of the shoulder-high openings and glancedout. He was on the north face and, from the looks of things, abouthalfway up.

The opening to the viewing platform was visible around thecorner. The staircase to the top was empty. David Becker had notchallenged him. Hulohot realized maybe Becker had not seen himenter the tower. That meant the element of surprise was onHulohot's side as well-not that he'd need it.Hulohot held all the cards. Even the layout of the tower was in hisfavor; the staircase met the viewing platform in the southwestcorner-Hulohot would have a clear line of fire to every pointof the cell with no possibility that Becker could get behind him.And to top things off, Hulohot would be moving out of the dark intothe light. A killing box, he mused.

Hulohot measured the distance to the doorway. Seven steps. Hepracticed the kill in his mind. If he stayed right as he approachedthe opening, he would be able to see the leftmost corner of theplatform before he reached it. If Becker was there, Hulohot wouldfire. If not, he would shift inside and enter moving east, facingthe right corner, the only place remaining that Becker could be. Hesmiled.

SUBJECT: DAVID BECKER-TERMINATED The time had come. He checked his weapon.

With a violent surge, Hulohot dashed up. The platform swung intoview. The left corner was empty. As rehea.r.s.ed, Hulohot shiftedinside and burst through the opening facing right. He fired intothe corner. The bullet ricocheted back off the bare wall and barelymissed him. Hulohot wheeled wildly and let out a muted scream.There was no one there. David Becker had vanished.

Three flights below, suspended 325 feet over the Jardin de losNaranjos, David Becker hung on the outside of the Giralda like aman doing chin-ups on a window ledge. As Hulohot had been racing upthe staircase, Becker had descended three flights and loweredhimself out one of the openings. He'd dropped out of sightjust in time. The killer had run right by him. He'd been intoo much of a hurry to notice the white knuckles grasping thewindow ledge. Hanging outside the window, Becker thanked G.o.d that his dailysquash routine involved twenty minutes on the Nautilus machine todevelop his biceps for a harder overhead serve. Unfortunately,despite his strong arms, Becker was now having trouble pullinghimself back in. His shoulders burned. His side felt as if it weretearing open. The rough-cut stone ledge provided little grip,grating into his fingertips like broken gla.s.s.

Becker knew it was only a matter of seconds before his a.s.sailantwould come running down from above. From the higher ground, thekiller would undoubtedly see Becker's fingers on theledge.

Becker closed his eyes and pulled. He knew he would need amiracle to escape death.

His fingers were losing their leverage. Heglanced down, past his dangling legs. The drop was the length of afootball field to the orange trees below. Unsurvivable. The pain inhis side was getting worse. Footsteps now thundered above him, loudleaping footsteps rushing down the stairs. Becker closed his eyes.It was now or never. He gritted his teeth and pulled.

The stone tore against the skin on his wrists as he yankedhimself upward. The footsteps were coming fast. Becker grappled atthe inside of the opening, trying to secure his hold. He kicked hisfeet. His body felt like lead, as if someone had a rope tied to hislegs and were pulling him down. He fought it. He surged up onto hiselbows.

He was in plain view now, his head half through the windowlike a man in a guillotine.

He wriggled his legs, kicking himselfinto the opening. He was halfway through. His torso now hung intothe stairwell. The footsteps were close. Becker grabbed the sidesof the opening and in a single motion launched his body through. Hehit the staircase hard.

Hulohot sensed Becker's body hit the floor just below him.He leapt forward, gun leveled. A window spun into view. This isit! Hulohot moved to the outside wall and aimed down thestaircase. Becker's legs dashed out of sight just around thecurve.

Hulohot fired in frustration. The bullet ricocheted down thestairwell.

As Hulohot dashed down the stairs after his prey, he kept to theoutside wall for the widest angle view. As the staircase revolvedinto view before him, it seemed Becker was always 180 degrees aheadof him, just out of sight. Becker had taken the inside track,cutting off the angle and leaping four or five stairs at a time.Hulohot stayed with him. It would take only a single shot. Hulohotwas gaining. He knew that even if Becker made the bottom, there wasnowhere to run; Hulohot could shoot him in the back as he crossedthe open patio. The desperate race spiraled downward.

Hulohot moved inside to the faster track. He sensed he wasgaining. He could see Becker's shadow every time they pa.s.sedan opening. Down. Down. Spiraling. It seemed that Becker was alwaysjust around the corner. Hulohot kept one eye on his shadow and oneeye on the stairs. Suddenly it appeared to Hulohot that Becker's shadow hadstumbled. It made an erratic lurch left and then seemed to spin inmidair and sail back toward the center of the stairwell. Hulohotleapt forward. I've got him!

On the stairs in front of Hulohot, there was a flash of steel.It jabbed into the air from around the corner. It thrust forwardlike a fencer's foil at ankle level. Hulohot tried to shiftleft, but it was too late. The object was between his ankles. Hisback foot came forward, caught it hard, and the post slammed acrosshis shin. Hulohot's arms went out for support but found onlyempty air. He was abruptly airborne, turning on his side.

AsHulohot sailed downward, he pa.s.sed over David Becker, p.r.o.ne on hisstomach, arms outstretched. The candle pole in his hands was nowcaught up in Hulohot's legs as he spun downward.

Hulohot crashed into the outside wall before he hit thestaircase. When he finally found the floor, he was tumbling. Hisgun clattered to the floor. Hulohot's body kept going, headover heels. He spiraled five complete 360-degree rotations beforehe rolled to a stop. Twelve more steps, and he would have tumbledout onto the patio.

CHAPTER 101

David Becker had never held a gun, but he was holding one now.Hulohot's body was twisted and mangled in the darkness of theGiralda staircase. Becker pressed the barrel of the gun against hisa.s.sailant's temple and carefully knelt down. One twitch andBecker would fire. But there was no twitch. Hulohot was dead.

Becker dropped the gun and collapsed on the stairs. For thefirst time in ages he felt tears well up. He fought them. He knewthere would be time for emotion later; now it was time to go home.Becker tried to stand, but he was too tired to move. He sat a longwhile, exhausted, on the stone staircase.

Absently, he studied the twisted body before him. Thekiller's eyes began to glaze over, gazing out at nothing inparticular. Somehow, his gla.s.ses were still intact. They were oddgla.s.ses, Becker thought, with a wire protruding from behind theearpiece and leading to a pack of some sort on his belt. Becker wastoo exhausted to be curious.

As he sat alone in the staircase and collected his thoughts,Becker shifted his gaze to the ring on his finger. His vision hadcleared somewhat, and he could finally read the inscription. As hehad suspected, it was not English. He stared at the engraving along moment and then frowned. This is worth killing for?

* * * The morning sun was blinding when Becker finally stepped out ofthe Giralda onto the patio. The pain in his side had subsided, andhis vision was returning to normal. He stood a moment, in a daze,enjoying the fragrance of the orange blossoms. Then he began movingslowly across the patio.

As Becker strode away from the tower, a van skidded to a stopnearby. Two men jumped out. They were young and dressed in militaryfatigues. They advanced on Becker with the stiff precision ofwell-tuned machines.

"David Becker?" one demanded.

Becker stopped short, amazed they knew his name. "Who ...who are you?"

"Come with us, please. Right away."

There was something unreal about the encounter-somethingthat made Becker's nerve endings start to tingle again. Hefound himself backing away from them.

The shorter man gave Becker an icy stare. "This way, Mr.Becker. Right now."

Becker turned to run. But he only took one step. One of the mendrew a weapon. There was a shot.

A searing lance of pain erupted in Becker's chest. Itrocketed to his skull. His fingers went stiff, and Becker fell. Aninstant later, there was nothing but blackness.

CHAPTER 102

Strathmore reached the TRANSLTR floor and stepped off thecatwalk into an inch of water. The giant computer shuddered besidehim. Huge droplets of water fell like rain through the swirlingmist. The warning horns sounded like thunder.

The commander looked across at the failed main generators. PhilChartrukian was there, his charred remains splayed across a set ofcoolant fins. The scene looked like some sort of perverse Halloweendisplay.

Although Strathmore regretted the man's death, there was nodoubt it had been "a warranted casualty." PhilChartrukian had left Strathmore no choice. When the Sys- Sec cameracing up from the depths, screaming about a virus, Strathmore methim on the landing and tried to talk sense to him. But Chartrukianwas beyond reason. We've got a virus! I'm callingJabba! When he tried to push past, the commander blocked hisway. The landing was narrow. They struggled. The railing was low.It was ironic, Strathmore thought, that Chartrukian had been rightabout the virus all along.

The man's plunge had been chilling-a momentary howl ofterror and then silence.

But it was not half as chilling as thenext thing Commander Strathmore saw. Greg Hale was staring up athim from the shadows below, a look of utter horror on his face.

Itwas then that Strathmore knew Greg Hale would die.

TRANSLTR crackled, and Strathmore turned his attention back tothe task at hand.

Kill power. The circuit breaker was on the otherside of the freon pumps to the left of the body. Strathmore couldsee it clearly. All he had to do was pull a lever and the remainingpower in Crypto would die. Then, after a few seconds, he couldrestart the main generators; all doorways and functions would comeback on-line; the freon would start flowing again, and TRANSLTRwould be safe.

But as Strathmore slogged toward the breaker, he realized therewas one final obstacle: Chartrukian's body was still on themain generator's cooling fins. Killing and then restarting themain generator would only cause another power failure. The body hadto be moved.

Strathmore eyed the grotesque remains and made his way over.Reaching up, he grabbed a wrist. The flesh was like Styrofoam. Thetissue had been fried. The whole body was devoid of moisture. Thecommander closed his eyes, tightened his grip around the wrist, andpulled. The body slid an inch or two. Strathmore pulled harder.

Thebody slid again. The commander braced himself and pulled with allhis might.

Suddenly he was tumbling backward. He landed hard on hisbackside up against a power cas.e.m.e.nt. Struggling to sit up in therising water, Strathmore stared down in horror at the object in hisfist. It was Chartrukian's forearm. It had broken off at theelbow.

Upstairs, Susan continued her wait. She sat on the Node 3 couchfeeling paralyzed.

Hale lay at her feet. She couldn't imaginewhat was taking the commander so long.

Minutes pa.s.sed. She tried topush David from her thoughts, but it was no use. With every blastof the horns, Hale's words echoed inside her head: I'mtruly sorry about David Becker. Susan thought she would loseher mind.

She was about to jump up and race onto the Crypto floor whenfinally it happened.

Strathmore had thrown the switch and killedall power.

The silence that engulfed Crypto was instantaneous. The hornschoked off midblare, and the Node 3 monitors flickered to black.Greg Hale's corpse disappeared into the darkness, and Susaninstinctively yanked her legs up onto the couch. She wrappedStrathmore's suitcoat around her.

Darkness.

Silence. She had never heard such quiet in Crypto. There'd alwaysbeen the low hum of the generators. But now there was nothing, onlythe great beast heaving and sighing in relief. Crackling, hissing,slowly cooling down.

Susan closed her eyes and prayed for David. Her prayer was asimple one-that G.o.d protect the man she loved.

Not being a religious woman, Susan had never expected to hear aresponse to her prayer. But when there was a sudden shudderingagainst her chest, she jolted upright.

She clutched her chest. Amoment later she understood. The vibrations she felt were not thehand of G.o.d at all-they were coming from the commander'sjacket pocket. He had set the vibrating silent-ring feature on hisSkyPager. Someone was sending Commander Strathmore a message.

Six stories below, Strathmore stood at the circuit breaker. Thesublevels of Crypto were now as dark as the deepest night. He stooda moment enjoying the blackness. The water poured down from above.It was a midnight storm. Strathmore tilted his head back and letthe warm droplets wash away his guilt. I'm a survivor.He knelt and washed the last of Chartrukian's flesh from hishands.

His dreams for Digital Fortress had failed. He could acceptthat. Susan was all that mattered now. For the first time indecades, he truly understood that there was more to life thancountry and honor. I sacrificed the best years of my life forcountry and honor.

But what about love? He had deprivedhimself for far too long. And for what? To watch some youngprofessor steal away his dreams? Strathmore had nurtured Susan.

Hehad protected her. He had earned her. And now, at last, hewould have her. Susan would seek shelter in his arms when there wasnowhere else to turn. She would come to him helpless, wounded byloss, and in time, he would show her that love heals all.

Honor. Country. Love. David Becker was about to die forall three.

CHAPTER 103

The Commander rose through the trapdoor like Lazarus back fromthe dead. Despite his soggy clothes, his step was light. He strodetoward Node 3-toward Susan. Toward his future.

The Crypto floor was again bathed in light. Freon was flowingdownward through the smoldering TRANSLTR like oxygenated blood.Strathmore knew it would take a few minutes for the coolant toreach the bottom of the hull and prevent the lowest processors fromigniting, but he was certain he'd acted in time. He exhaled invictory, never suspecting the truth-that it was already toolate.

I'm a survivor, he thought. Ignoring the gaping holein the Node 3 wall, he strode to the electronic doors. They hissedopen. He stepped inside.

Susan was standing before him, damp and tousled in his blazer.She looked like a freshman coed who'd been caught in the rain.He felt like the senior who'd lent her his varsity sweater.For the first time in years, he felt young. His dream was comingtrue.

But as Strathmore moved closer, he felt he was staring into theeyes of a woman he did not recognize. Her gaze was like ice. Thesoftness was gone. Susan Fletcher stood rigid, like an immovablestatue. The only perceptible motion were the tears welling in hereyes.

"Susan?"

A single tear rolled down her quivering cheek.

"What is it?" the commander pleaded.

The puddle of blood beneath Hale's body had spread acrossthe carpet like an oil spill.

Strathmore glanced uneasily at thecorpse, then back at Susan. Could she possibly know? Therewas no way. Strathmore knew he had covered every base.

"Susan?" he said, stepping closer. "What isit?"