Then, in a moment of chilling clarity, she knew.

Trembling weakly, she reached up to the keypad and typed thepa.s.sword.

S ... U ... S ... A ... N An instant later, the doors slid open.

CHAPTER 108

Strathmore's elevator dropped fast. Inside the carriage,Susan sucked deep breaths of fresh air into her lungs. Dazed, shesteadied herself against the wall as the car slowed to a stop. Amoment later some gears clicked, and the conveyor began movingagain, this time horizontally. Susan felt the carriage accelerateas it began rumbling toward the main NSA complex. Finally itwhirred to a stop, and the doors opened.

Coughing, Susan Fletcher stumbled into a darkened cementcorridor. She found herself in a tunnel-low-ceilinged andnarrow. A double yellow line stretched out before her.

The linedisappeared into an empty, dark hollow.

The Underground Highway ...

She staggered toward the tunnel, holding the wall for guidance.Behind her, the elevator door slid shut. Once again Susan Fletcherwas plunged into darkness.

Silence.

Nothing except a faint humming in the walls.

A humming that grew louder.

Suddenly it was as if dawn were breaking. The blackness thinnedto a hazy gray. The walls of the tunnel began to take shape. All atonce, a small vehicle whipped around the corner, its headlightblinding her. Susan stumbled back against the wall and shielded hereyes. There was a gust of air, and the transport whipped past.

An instant later there was a deafening squeal of rubber oncement. The hum approached once again, this time in reverse.Seconds later the vehicle came to a stop beside her.

"Ms. Fletcher!" an astonished voice exclaimed.

Susan gazed at a vaguely familiar shape in the driver'sseat of an electric golf cart.

"Jesus." The man gasped. "Are you okay? Wethought you were dead!"

Susan stared blankly.

"Chad Brinkerhoff," he sputtered, studying thesh.e.l.lshocked cryptographer.

"Directorial PA."

Susan could only manage a dazed whimper. "TRANSLTR . .."

Brinkerhoff nodded. "Forget it. Get on!" * * *

The beam of the golf cart's headlights whipped across thecement walls.

"There's a virus in the main databank,"Brinkerhoff blurted.

"I know," Susan heard herself whisper.

"We need you to help us."

Susan was fighting back the tears. "Strathmore ... he . .."

"We know," Brinkerhoff said. "He bypa.s.sedGauntlet."

"Yes ... and ..." The words got stuck in herthroat. He killed David!

Brinkerhoff put a hand on her shoulder. "Almost there, Ms.Fletcher. Just hold on."

The high-speed Kensington golf cart rounded a corner and skiddedto a stop. Beside them, branching off perpendicular to the tunnel,was a hallway, dimly lit by red floor lighting.

"Come on," Brinkerhoff said, helping her out.

He guided her into the corridor. Susan drifted behind him in afog. The tiled pa.s.sageway sloped downward at a steep incline. Susangrabbed the handrail and followed Brinkerhoff down. The air beganto grow cooler. They continued their descent.

As they dropped deeper into the earth, the tunnel narrowed. Fromsomewhere behind them came the echo of footsteps-a strong,purposeful gait. The footsteps grew louder.

Both Brinkerhoff andSusan stopped and turned.

Striding toward them was an enormous black man. Susan had neverseen him before.

As he approached, he fixed her with a penetratingstare.

"Who's this?" he demanded.

"Susan Fletcher," Brinkerhoff replied.

The enormous man arched his eyebrows. Even sooty and soaked,Susan Fletcher was more striking than he had imagined. "Andthe commander?" he demanded.

Brinkerhoff shook his head.

The man said nothing. He stared off a moment. Then he turnedback to Susan. "Leland Fontaine," he said, offering herhis hand. "Glad you're okay." Susan stared. She'd always known she'd meet thedirector someday, but this was not the introduction she'denvisioned.

"Come along, Ms. Fletcher," Fontaine said, leading theway. "We'll need all the help we can get."

Looming in the reddish haze at the bottom of the tunnel, a steelwall blocked their way. Fontaine approached and typed an entry codeinto a recessed cipher box. He then placed his right hand against asmall gla.s.s panel. A strobe flashed. A moment later the ma.s.sivewall thundered left.

There was only one NSA chamber more sacred than Crypto, andSusan Fletcher sensed she was about to enter it.

CHAPTER 109

The command center for the NSA's main databank looked likea scaled-down NASA mission control. A dozen computer workstationsfaced the thirty-foot by forty-foot video wall at the far end ofthe room. On the screen, numbers and diagrams flashed in rapidsuccession, appearing and disappearing as if someone were channelsurfing. A handful of technicians raced wildly from station tostation trailing long sheets of printout paper and yellingcommands. It was chaos.

Susan stared at the dazzling facility. She vaguely rememberedthat 250 metric tons of earth had been excavated to create it. Thechamber was located 214 feet below ground, where it would betotally impervious to flux bombs and nuclear blasts.

On a raised workstation in the center of the room stood Jabba.He bellowed orders from his platform like a king to his subjects.Illuminated on the screen directly behind him was a message. Themessage was all too familiar to Susan. The billboard-size text hungominously over Jabba's head: ONLY THE TRUTH WILL SAVE YOU NOW ENTER Pa.s.s-KEY ______ As if trapped in some surreal nightmare, Susan followed Fontainetoward the podium.

Her world was a slow-motion blur. Jabba saw them coming and wheeled like an enraged bull. "Ibuilt Gauntlet for a reason!"

"Gauntlet's gone," Fontaine replied evenly.

"Old news, Director," Jabba spat. "The shock waveknocked me on my a.s.s! Where's Strathmore?"

"Commander Strathmore is dead."

"Poetic f.u.c.king justice."

"Cool it, Jabba," the director ordered. "Bring usup to speed. How bad is this virus?"

Jabba stared at the director a long moment, and then withoutwarning, he burst out laughing. "A virus?" Hisharsh guffaw resonated through the underground chamber.

"Isthat what you think this is?"

Fontaine kept his cool. Jabba's insolence was way out ofline, but Fontaine knew this was not the time or place to handleit. Down here, Jabba outranked G.o.d himself.

Computer problems had away of ignoring the normal chain of command.

"It's not a virus?" Brinkerhoff exclaimedhopefully.

Jabba snorted in disgust. "Viruses have replicationstrings, pretty boy! This doesn't!"

Susan hovered nearby, unable to focus.

"Then what's going on?" Fontaine demanded."I thought we had a virus."

Jabba sucked in a long breath and lowered his voice."Viruses ..." he said, wiping sweat from his face."Viruses reproduce. They create clones. They're vain andstupid- binary egomaniacs. They pump out babies faster thanrabbits. That's their weakness- you can cross-breed theminto oblivion if you know what you're doing.

Unfortunately,this program has no ego, no need to reproduce. It'sclear-headed and focused. In fact, when it's accomplished itsobjective here, it will probably commit digital suicide."Jabba held out his arms reverently to the projected havoc on theenormous screen. "Ladies and gentlemen." He sighed."Meet the kamikaze of computer invaders ... the worm."

"Worm?" Brinkerhoff groaned. It seemed like amundane term to describe the insidious intruder.

"Worm." Jabba smoldered. "No complex structures,just instinct-eat, s.h.i.t, crawl.

That's it. Simplicity.Deadly simplicity. It does what it's programmed to do and thenchecks out."

Fontaine eyed Jabba sternly. "And what is this wormprogrammed to do?" "No clue," Jabba replied. "Right now, it'sspreading out and attaching itself to all our cla.s.sified data.After that, it could do anything. It might decide to delete all thefiles, or it might just decide to print smiley faces on certainWhite House transcripts."

Fontaine's voice remained cool and collected. "Can youstop it?"

Jabba let out a long sigh and faced the screen. "I have noidea. It all depends on how p.i.s.sed off the author is." Hepointed to the message on the wall. "Anybody want to tell mewhat the h.e.l.l that means?"

ONLY THE TRUTH WILL SAVE YOU NOW ENTER Pa.s.s-KEY ______ Jabba waited for a response and got none. "Looks likesomeone's messing with us, Director. Blackmail. This is aransom note if I ever saw one."

Susan's voice was a whisper, empty and hollow."It's ... Ensei Tankado."

Jabba turned to her. He stared a moment, wide-eyed. "Tankado?"

Susan nodded weakly. "He wanted our confession ... aboutTRANSLTR ... but it cost him his-"

"Confession?" Brinkerhoff interrupted, lookingstunned. "Tankado wants us to confess we have TRANSLTR?I'd say it's a bit late for that!"

Susan opened her mouth to speak, but Jabba took over."Looks like Tankado's got a kill-code," he said,gazing up at the message on the screen.

Everyone turned.

"Kill code?" Brinkerhoff demanded.

Jabba nodded. "Yeah. A pa.s.s-key that stops the worm. Simplyput, if we admit we have TRANSLTR, Tankado gives us a kill-code. Wetype it in and save the databank.

Welcome to digitalextortion."

Fontaine stood like rock, unwavering. "How long have wegot?"

"About an hour," Jabba said. "Just time enough tocall a press conference and spill our guts.

"Recommendation," Fontaine demanded. "What do youpropose we do?"

"A recommendation?" Jabba blurted in disbelief."You want a recommendation? I'll give you arecommendation! You quit f.u.c.king around, that's whatyou do!"

"Easy," the director warned. "Director," Jabba sputtered. "Right now, EnseiTankado owns this databank! Give him whatever hewants. If he wants the world to know about TRANSLTR, call CNN, anddrop your shorts. TRANSLTR's a hole in the ground nowanyway-what the h.e.l.l do you care?"

There was a silence. Fontaine seemed to be considering hisoptions. Susan began to speak, but Jabba beat her to it.

"What are you waiting for, Director! Get Tankado on thephone! Tell him you'll play ball! We need that kill-code, orthis whole place is going down!"

n.o.body moved.

"Are you all insane?" Jabba screamed. "CallTankado! Tell him we fold! Get me that kill-code! NOW!" Jabbawhipped out his cellular phone and switched it on.

"Nevermind! Get me his number! I'll call the little p.r.i.c.k myself!"