"I agree," Jabba said. "It's strange.Pa.s.swords never have s.p.a.ces."

Brinkerhoff swallowed hard. "So, what are yousaying?"

"He's saying," Susan interjected, "that thismay not be a kill-code."

Brinkerhoff cried out, "Of course it's the kill-code!What else could it be? Why else would Tankado give it away? Who theh.e.l.l inscribes a bunch of random letters on a ring?"

Fontaine silenced Brinkerhoff with a sharp glare.

"Ah ... folks?" Becker interjected, appearinghesitant to get involved. "You keep mentioning randomletters. I think I should let you know ... the letters on thisring aren't random."

Everyone on the podium blurted in unison. "What!"

Becker looked uneasy. "Sorry, but there are definitelywords here. I'll admit they're inscribed pretty closetogether; at first glance it appears random, but if you lookclosely you'll see the inscription is actually ... well . .. it's Latin."

Jabba gaped. "You're s.h.i.tting me!"

Becker shook his head. "No. It reads, 'Quiscustodiet ipsos custodes.' It translates roughlyto-"

"Who will guard the guards!" Susan interrupted,finishing David's sentence.

Becker did a double-take. "Susan, I didn't know youcould-" "It's from Satires of Juvenal," sheexclaimed. "Who will guard the guards? Who will guard the NSAwhile we guard the world? It was Tankado's favoritesaying!"

"So," Midge demanded, "is it the pa.s.s-key, ornot?"

"It must be the pa.s.s-key," Brinkerhoffdeclared.

Fontaine stood silent, apparently processing theinformation.

"I don't know if it's the key," Jabba said."It seems unlikely to me that Tankado would use a nonrandomconstruction."

"Just omit the s.p.a.ces," Brinkerhoff cried, "andtype the d.a.m.n code!"

Fontaine turned to Susan. "What's your take,Ms. Fletcher?"

She thought a moment. She couldn't quite put her finger onit, but something didn't feel right. Susan knew Tankado wellenough to know he thrived on simplicity. His proofs and programmingwere always crystalline and absolute. The fact that the s.p.a.cesneeded to be removed seemed odd. It was a minor detail, but it wasa flaw, definitely not clean-not what Susan would haveexpected as Ensei Tankado's crowning blow.

"It doesn't feel right," Susan finally said."I don't think it's the key."

Fontaine sucked in a long breath, his dark eyes probing hers."Ms. Fletcher, in your mind, if this is not the key, why wouldEnsei Tankado have given it away? If he knew we'd murderedhim-don't you a.s.sume he'd want to punish us bymaking the ring disappear?"

A new voice interrupted the dialogue. "Ah ...Director?"

All eyes turned to the screen. It was Agent Coliander inSeville. He was leaning over Becker's shoulder and speakinginto the mic. "For whatever it's worth, I'm not sosure Mr. Tankado knew he was being murdered."

"I beg your pardon?" Fontaine demanded.

"Hulohot was a pro, sir. We saw the kill-only fiftymeters away. All evidence suggests Tankado was unaware."

"Evidence?" Brinkerhoff demanded. "Whatevidence? Tankado gave away this ring.

That's proofenough!"

"Agent Smith," Fontaine interrupted. "What makesyou think Ensei Tankado was unaware he was being killed?"

Smith cleared his throat. "Hulohot killed him with anNTB-a noninvasive trauma bullet. It's a rubber pod thatstrikes the chest and spreads out. Silent. Very clean. Mr.

Tankadowould only have felt a sharp thump before going into cardiacarrest." "A trauma bullet," Becker mused to himself. "Thatexplains the bruising."

"It's doubtful," Smith added, "that Tankadoa.s.sociated the sensation with a gunman."

"And yet he gave away his ring," Fontaine stated.

"True, sir. But he never looked for his a.s.sailant. A victimalways looks for his a.s.sailant when he's been shot.It's instinct."

Fontaine puzzled. "And you're saying Tankadodidn't look for Hulohot?"

"No, sir. We have it on film if you'dlike-"

"X-eleven filter's going!" a technician yelled."The worm's halfway there!"

"Forget the film," Brinkerhoff declared. "Type inthe d.a.m.n kill-code and finish this!"

Jabba sighed, suddenly the cool one. "Director, if we enterthe wrong code ..."

"Yes," Susan interrupted, "if Tankado didn'tsuspect we killed him, we've got some questions toanswer."

"What's our time frame, Jabba?" Fontainedemanded.

Jabba looked up at the VR. "About twenty minutes. I suggestwe use the time wisely."

Fontaine was silent a long moment. Then sighed heavily."All right. Run the film."

CHAPTER 117

"Transmitting video in ten seconds," AgentSmith's voice crackled. "We're dropping every otherframe as well as audio-we'll run as close to real time aspossible."

Everyone on the podium stood silent, watching, waiting. Jabbatyped a few keys and rearranged the video wall. Tankado'smessage appeared on the far left: ONLY THE TRUTH WILL SAVE YOU NOW On the right of the wall was the static interior shot of the vanwith Becker and the two agents huddled around the camera. In thecenter, a fuzzy frame appeared. It dissolved into static and theninto a black and white image of a park. "Transmitting," Agent Smith announced.

The shot looked like an old movie. It was stilted andjerky-a by-product of frame- dropping, a process that halvedthe amount of information sent and enabled faster transmission.

The shot panned out across an enormous concourse enclosed on oneend by a semicircular facade-the Seville Ayuntamiento. Therewere trees in the foreground.

The park was empty.

"X-eleven's are down!" a technician called out."This bad boy's hungry!"

Smith began to narrate. His commentary had the detachment of aseasoned agent.

"This is shot from the van," he said,"about fifty meters from the kill zone. Tankado is approachingfrom the right. Hulohot's in the trees to the left."

"We've got a time crunch here," Fontaine pressed."Let's get to the meat of it."

Agent Coliander touched a few b.u.t.tons, and the frame speedincreased.

Everyone on the podium watched in antic.i.p.ation as their formera.s.sociate, Ensei Tankado, came into the frame. The acceleratedvideo made the whole image seem comic. Tankado shuffled jerkily outonto the concourse, apparently taking in the scenery. He shieldedhis eyes and gazed up at the spires of the huge facade.

"This is it," Smith warned. "Hulohot's apro. He took his first open shot."

Smith was right. There was a flash of light from behind thetrees on the left of the screen. An instant later Tankado clutchedhis chest. He staggered momentarily. The camera zoomed in on him,unstable-in and out of focus.

As the footage rolled in high speed, Smith coldly continued hisnarration. "As you can see, Tankado is instantly in cardiacarrest."

Susan felt ill watching the images. Tankado clutched at hischest with crippled hands, a confused look of terror on hisface.

"You'll notice," Smith added, "his eyes arefocused downward, at himself. Not once does he lookaround."

"And that's important?" Jabba half stated, halfinquired.

"Very," Smith said. "If Tankado suspected foulplay of any kind, he would instinctively search the area. But asyou can see, he does not."

On the screen, Tankado dropped to his knees, still clutching hischest. He never once looked up. Ensei Tankado was a man alone,dying a private, natural death.

"It's odd," Smith said, puzzled. "Traumapods usually won't kill this quickly.

Sometimes, if thetarget's big enough, they don't kill at all." "Bad heart," Fontaine said flatly.

Smith arched his eyebrows, impressed. "Fine choice ofweapon, then."

Susan watched as Tankado toppled from his knees to his side andfinally onto his back.

He lay, staring upward, grabbing at hischest. Suddenly the camera wheeled away from him back toward thegrove of trees. A man appeared. He was wearing wire-rim gla.s.ses andcarrying an oversize briefcase. As he approached the concourse andthe writhing Tankado, his fingers began tapping in a strange silentdance on a mechanism attached to his hand.

"He's working his Monocle," Smith announced."Sending a message that Tankado is terminated." Smithturned to Becker and chuckled. "Looks like Hulohot had a badhabit of transmitting kills before his victim actuallyexpired."

Coliander sped the film up some more, and the camera followedHulohot as he began moving toward his victim. Suddenly an elderlyman rushed out of a nearby courtyard, ran over to Tankado, andknelt beside him. Hulohot slowed his approach. A moment later twomore people appeared from the courtyard-an obese man and ared-haired woman. They also came to Tankado's side.

"Unfortunate choice of kill zone," Smith said."Hulohot thought he had the victim isolated."

On the screen, Hulohot watched for a moment and then shrank backinto the trees, apparently to wait.

"Here comes the handoff," Smith prompted. "Wedidn't notice it the first time around."

Susan gazed up at the sickening image on the screen. Tankado wasgasping for breath, apparently trying communicate something to theSamaritans kneeling beside him.

Then, in desperation, he thrust hisleft hand above him, almost hitting the old man in the face. Heheld the crippled appendage outward before the old man's eyes.The camera tightened on Tankado's three deformed fingers, andon one of them, clearly glistening in the Spanish sun, was thegolden ring. Tankado thrust it out again. The old man recoiled.Tankado turned to the woman. He held his three deformed fingersdirectly in front of her face, as if begging her to understand. Thering glinted in the sun. The woman looked away. Tankado, nowchoking, unable to make a sound, turned to the obese man and triedone last time.

The elderly man suddenly stood and dashed off, presumably to gethelp. Tankado seemed to be weakening, but he was still holding thering in the fat man's face. The fat man reached out and heldthe dying man's wrist, supporting it. Tankado seemed to gazeupward at his own fingers, at his own ring, and then to theman's eyes. As a final plea before death, Ensei Tankado gavethe man an almost imperceptible nod, as if to say yes.

Then Tankado fell limp. "Jesus." Jabba moaned.

Suddenly the camera swept to where Hulohot had been hiding. Thea.s.sa.s.sin was gone.

A police motorcycle appeared, tearing up AvenidaFirelli. The camera wheeled back to where Tankado was lying. Thewoman kneeling beside him apparently heard the police sirens; sheglanced around nervously and then began pulling at her obesecompanion, begging him to leave. The two hurried off.

The camera tightened on Tankado, his hands folded on hislifeless chest. The ring on his finger was gone.

CHAPTER 118

"It's proof," Fontaine said decidedly."Tankado dumped the ring. He wanted it as far from himself aspossible-so we'd never find it."

"But, Director," Susan argued, "it doesn'tmake sense. If Tankado was unaware he'd been murdered, why would he give away the kill code?"

"I agree," Jabba said. "The kid's a rebel,but he's a rebel with a conscience. Getting us to admit toTRANSLTR is one thing; revealing our cla.s.sified databank isanother."

Fontaine stared, disbelieving. "You think Tankado wanted to stop this worm? You think his dying thoughts were forthe poor NSA?"

"Tunnel-block corroding!" a technician yelled."Full vulnerability in fifteen minutes, maximum!"

"I'll tell you what," the director declared,taking control. "In fifteen minutes, every Third World countryon the planet will learn how to build an intercontinental ballisticmissile. If someone in this room thinks he's got a bettercandidate for a kill code than this ring, I'm all ears."The director waited. No one spoke. He returned his gaze to Jabbaand locked eyes. "Tankado dumped that ring for a reason,Jabba.

Whether he was trying to bury it, or whether he thought thefat guy would run to a pay phone and call us with the information,I really don't care. But I've made the decision.We're entering that quote. Now."

Jabba took a long breath. He knew Fontaine was right-therewas no better option.

They were running out of time. Jabba sat."Okay ... let's do it." He pulled himself to thekeyboard. "Mr. Becker? The inscription, please. Nice andeasy." David Becker read the inscription, and Jabba typed. When theywere done, they double-checked the spelling and omitted all thes.p.a.ces. On the center panel of the view wall, near the top, werethe letters: QUISCUSTODIETIPSOSCUSTODES "I don't like it," Susan muttered softly."It's not clean."

Jabba hesitated, hovering over the ENTER key.

"Do it," Fontaine commanded.

Jabba hit the key. Seconds later the whole room knew it was amistake.