CHAPTER 113

"Absolutely not!" The man with the buzz cut yelledinto the camera. "We have orders!

We report to Director LelandFontaine and Leland Fontaine only!"

Fontaine looked mildly amused. "You don't know who Iam, do you?"

"Doesn't matter, does it?" the blond firedhotly.

"Let me explain," Fontaine interjected. "Let meexplain something right now."

Seconds later, the two men were red-faced, spilling their gutsto the director of the National Security Agency."D-director," the blond stammered, "I'm AgentColiander.

This is Agent Smith."

"Fine," Fontaine said. "Just brief us."

At the back of the room, Susan Fletcher sat and fought thesuffocating loneliness that pressed down around her. Eyes closed,and ears ringing, she wept. Her body had gone numb. The mayhem inthe control room faded to a dull murmur.

The gathering on the podium listened, restless, as Agent Smithbegan his briefing.

"On your orders, Director," Smith began,"we've been here in Seville for two days, trailing Mr.Ensei Tankado."

"Tell me about the kill," Fontaine saidimpatiently.

Smith nodded. "We observed from inside the van at aboutfifty meters. The kill was smooth. Hulohot was obviously a pro. Butafterward his directive went awry.

Company arrived. Hulohot nevergot the item."

Fontaine nodded. The agents had contacted him in South Americawith news that something had gone wrong, so Fontaine had cut histrip short.

Coliander took over. "We stayed with Hulohot as youordered. But he never made a move for the morgue. Instead, hepicked up the trail of some other guy. Looked private. Coat andtie."

"Private?" Fontaine mused. It sounded like aStrathmore play-wisely keeping the NSA out of it.

"FTP filters failing!" a technician called out. "We need the item," Fontaine pressed. "Where isHulohot now?"

Smith looked over his shoulder. "Well ... he's withus, sir."

Fontaine exhaled. "Where?" It was the best newshe'd heard all day.

Smith reached toward the lens to make an adjustment. The cameraswept across the inside of the van to reveal two limp bodiespropped against the back wall. Both were motionless. One was alarge man with twisted wire-rim gla.s.ses. The other was young with ashock of dark hair and a b.l.o.o.d.y shirt.

"Hulohot's the one on the left," Smithoffered.

"Hulohot's dead?" the director demanded.

"Yes, sir."

Fontaine knew there would be time for explanations later. Heglanced up at the thinning shields. "Agent Smith," hesaid slowly and clearly. "The item. I need it."

Smith looked sheepish. "Sir, we still have no idea what the item is. We're on a need- to-know."

CHAPTER 114

"Then look again!" Fontaine declared.

The director watched in dismay as the stilted image of theagents searched the two limp bodies in the van for a list of randomnumbers and letters.

Jabba was pale. "Oh my G.o.d, they can't find it.We're dead!"

"Losing FTP filters!" a voice yelled. "Thirdshield's exposed!" There was a new flurry ofactivity.

On the front screen, the agent with the buzz cut held out hisarms in defeat. "Sir, the pa.s.s-key isn't here. We'vesearched both men. Pockets. Clothing. Wallets. No sign at all.Hulohot was wearing a Monocle computer, and we've checked thattoo. It doesn't look like he ever transmitted anythingremotely resembling random characters-only a list ofkills." "Dammit!" Fontaine seethed, suddenly losing hiscool. "It's got to be there! Keep looking!"

Jabba had apparently seen enough-Fontaine had gambled andlost. Jabba took over.

The huge Sys-Sec descended from his pulpitlike a storm off a mountain. He swept through his army ofprogrammers calling out commands. "Access auxiliary kills!Start shutting it down! Do it now!"

"We'll never make it!" Soshi yelled. "Weneed a half hour! By the time we shut down, it will be toolate!"

Jabba opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut short by ascream of agony from the back of the room.

Everyone turned. Like an apparition, Susan Fletcher rose fromher crouched position in the rear of the chamber. Her face waswhite, her eyes transfixed on the freeze-frame of David Becker,motionless and b.l.o.o.d.y, propped up on the floor of the van.

"You killed him!" she screamed. "You killedhim!" She stumbled toward the image and reached out."David ..."

Everyone looked up in confusion. Susan advanced, still calling,her eyes never leaving the projection of David's body."David." She gasped, staggering forward. "Oh, David.

. . how could they-"

Fontaine seemed lost. "You know this man?"

Susan swayed unsteadily as she pa.s.sed the podium. She stopped afew feet in front of the enormous projection and stared up,bewildered and numb, calling over and over to the man sheloved.

CHAPTER 115

The emptiness in David Becker's mind was absolute. I amdead. And yet there was a sound. A distant voice ...

"David."

There was a dizzying burning beneath his arm. His blood wasfilled with fire. My body is not my own. And yet there was avoice, calling to him. It was thin, distant. But it was part ofhim. There were other voices too-unfamiliar, unimportant.Calling out. He fought to block them out. There was only one voicethat mattered. It faded in and out.

"David ... I'm sorry ..."

There was a mottled light. Faint at first, a single slit ofgrayness. Growing. Becker tried to move. Pain. He tried to speak.Silence. The voice kept calling.

Someone was near him, lifting him. Becker moved toward thevoice. Or was he being moved? It was calling. He gazed absently atthe illuminated image. He could see her on a small screen. It was awoman, staring up at him from another world. Is she watching medie?

"David ..."

The voice was familiar. She was an angel. She had come for him.The angel spoke.

"David, I love you."

Suddenly he knew.

Susan reached out toward the screen, crying, laughing, lost in atorrent of emotions.

She wiped fiercely at her tears. "David,I-I thought ..."

Field Agent Smith eased David Becker into the seat facing themonitor. "He's a little woozy, ma'am. Give him asecond."

"B-but," Susan was stammering, "I saw atransmission. It said ..."

Smith nodded. "We saw it too. Hulohot counted his chickensa little early."

"But the blood ..."

"Flesh wound," Smith replied. "We slapped a gauzeon it."

Susan couldn't speak.

Agent Coliander piped in from off camera. "We hit him withthe new J23-long- acting stun gun. Probably hurt like h.e.l.l, butwe got him off the street."

"Don't worry, ma'am," Smith a.s.sured."He'll be fine."

David Becker stared at the TV monitor in front of him. He wasdisoriented, light- headed. The image on the screen was of aroom-a room filled with chaos. Susan was there. She wa.s.standing on an open patch of floor, gazing up at him.

She was crying and laughing. "David. Thank G.o.d! I thought Ihad lost you!" He rubbed his temple. He moved in front of the screen and pulledthe gooseneck microphone toward his mouth. "Susan?"

Susan gazed up in wonder. David's rugged features nowfilled the entire wall before her. His voice boomed.

"Susan, I need to ask you something." The resonanceand volume of Becker's voice seemed to momentarily suspend theaction in the databank. Everyone stopped midstride and turned.

"Susan Fletcher," the voice resonated, "will youmarry me?"

A hush spread across the room. A clipboard clattered to thefloor along with a mug of pencils. No one bent to pick them up.There was only the faint hum of the terminal fans and the sound ofDavid Becker's steady breathing in his microphone.

"D-David ..." Susan stammered, unaware thatthirty-seven people stood riveted behind her. "You alreadyasked me, remember? Five months ago. I said yes."

"I know." He smiled. "But this time"-heextended his left hand into the camera and displayed a golden bandon his fourth finger-"this time I have a ring."

CHAPTER 116

"Read it, Mr. Becker!" Fontaine ordered.

Jabba sat sweating, hands poised over his keyboard."Yes," he said, "read the blessedinscription!"

Susan Fletcher stood with them, weak-kneed and aglow. Everyonein the room had stopped what they were doing and stared up at theenormous projection of David Becker. The professor twisted the ringin his fingers and studied the engraving.

"And read carefully!" Jabba commanded."One typo, and we're screwed!"

Fontaine gave Jabba a harsh look. If there was one thing thedirector of the NSA knew about, it was pressure situations;creating additional tension was never wise. "Relax, Mr.Becker. If we make a mistake, we'll reenter the code till weget it right."

"Bad advice, Mr. Becker," Jabba snapped. "Get itright the first time. Kill-codes usually have a penaltyclause-to prevent trial-and-error guessing. Make an incorrectentry, and the cycle will probably accelerate. Make twoincorrect entries, and it will lock us out permanently. Gameover."

The director frowned and turned back to the screen. "Mr.Becker? My mistake. Read carefully-read extremelycarefully."

Becker nodded and studied the ring for a moment. Then he calmlybegan reciting the inscription. "Q ... U ... I ... S . .. s.p.a.ce... C..."

Jabba and Susan interrupted in unison. "s.p.a.ce?"Jabba stopped typing. "There's a s.p.a.ce?"

Becker shrugged, checking the ring. "Yeah. There's abunch of them."

"Am I missing something?" Fontaine demanded."What are we waiting for?"

"Sir," Susan said, apparently puzzled. "It's... it's just ..."