Digital Fortress

Susan dug the toe of her Ferragamo’s into the floor and pushed harder. The door started to move. Strathmore moved to get a better angle. Centering his palms on the left slider, he pushed straight back. Susan pushed the right slider in the opposite direction. Slowly, arduously, the doors began to separate. They were now almost a foot apart.

"Don’t let go," Strathmore said, panting as they pushed harder. "Just a little farther."

Susan repositioned herself with her shoulder in the crack. She pushed again, this time with a better angle. The doors fought back against her.

Before Strathmore could stop her, Susan squeezed her slender body into the opening. Strathmore protested, but she was intent. She wanted out of Crypto, and she knew Strathmore well enough to know she wasn’t going anywhere until Hale’s pass-key was found.

She centered herself in the opening and pushed with all her strength. The doors seemed to push back. Suddenly Susan lost her grip. The doors sprang toward her. Strathmore fought to hold them off, but it was too much. Just as the doors slammed shut, Susan squeezed through and collapsed on the other side.

The commander fought to reopen the door a tiny sliver. He put his face to the narrow crack. "Jesus, Susan-are you okay?"

Susan stood up and brushed herself off. "Fine."

She looked around. Node 3 was deserted, lit only by the computer monitors. The bluish shadows gave the place a ghostly ambiance. She turned to Strathmore in the crack of the door. His face looked pallid and sickly in the blue light.

"Susan," he said. "Give me twenty minutes to delete the files in Sys-Sec. When all traces are gone, I’ll go up to my terminal and abort TRANSLTR."

"You better," Susan said, eyeing the heavy glass doors. She knew that until TRANSLTR stopped hoarding aux power, she was a prisoner in Node 3.

Strathmore let go of the doors, and they snapped shut. Susan watched through the glass as the commander disappeared into the Crypto darkness.

Chapter 63

Becker’s newly purchased Vespa motorcycle struggled up the entry road to Aeropuerto de Sevilla. His knuckles had been white the whole way. His watch read just after 2:00 a.m. local time.

As he approached the main terminal, he rode up on the sidewalk and jumped off the bike while it was still moving. It clattered to the pavement and sputtered to a stop. Becker dashed on rubbery legs through the revolving door. Never again, he swore to himself.

The terminal was sterile and starkly lit. Except for a janitor buffing the floor, the place was deserted. Across the concourse, a ticket agent was closing down the Iberia Airlines counter. Becker took it as a bad sign.

He ran over. "El vuelo a los Estados Unidos?"

The attractive Andalusian woman behind the counter looked up and smiled apologetically. "Acaba de salir. You just missed it." Her words hung in the air for a long moment.

I missed it. Becker’s shoulders slumped. "Was there standby room on the flight?"

"Plenty," the woman smiled. "Almost empty. But tomorrow’s eight a.m. also has-"

"I need to know if a friend of mine made that flight. She was flying standby."

The woman frowned. "I’m sorry, sir. There were several standby passengers tonight, but our privacy clause states-"

"It’s very important," Becker urged. "I just need to know if she made the flight. That’s all."

The woman gave a sympathetic nod. "Lovers’ quarrel?"

Becker thought a moment. Then he gave her a sheepish grin. "It’s that obvious?"

She gave him a wink. "What’s her name?"

"Megan," he replied sadly.

The agent smiled. "Does your lady friend have a last name?"

Becker exhaled slowly. Yes, but I don’t know it!" Actually, it’s kind of a complicated situation. You said the plane was almost empty. Maybe you could-"

"Without a last name I really can’t…"

"Actually," Becker interrupted, having another idea. "Have you been on all night?"

The woman nodded. "Seven to seven."

"Then maybe you saw her. She’s a young girl. Maybe fifteen or sixteen? Her hair was-" Before the words left his mouth, Becker realized his mistake.

The agent’s eyes narrowed. "Your lover is fifteen years old?"

"No!" Becker gasped. "I mean…" Shit. "If you could just help me, it’s very important."

"I’m sorry," the woman said coldly.

"It’s not the way it sounds. If you could just-"

"Good night, sir." The woman yanked the metal grate down over the counter and disappeared into a back room.

Becker groaned and stared skyward. Smooth, David. Very smooth. He scanned the open concourse. Nothing. She must have sold the ring and made the flight. He headed for the custodian. "Has visto a una nina?" he called over the sound of the tile buffer. "Have you seen a girl?"

The old man reached down and killed the machine. "Eh?"

"Una nina?" Becker repeated. "Pelo rojo, azul, y blanco. Red white and blue hair."

The custodian laughed. "Que fea. Sounds ugly." He shook his head and went back to work.

David Becker stood in the middle of the deserted airport concourse and wondered what to do next. The evening had been a comedy of errors. Strathmore’s words pounded in his head: Don’t call until you have the ring. A profound exhaustion settled over him. If Megan sold the ring and made the flight, there was no telling who had the ring now.

Becker closed his eyes and tried to focus. What’s my next move? He decided to consider it in a moment. First, he needed to make a long-overdue trip to a rest room.

Chapter 64

Susan stood alone in the dimly lit silence of Node 3. The task at hand was simple: Access Hale’s terminal, locate his key, and then delete all of his communication with Tankado. There could be no hint of Digital Fortress anywhere.

Susan’s initial fears of saving the key and unlocking Digital Fortress were nagging at her again. She felt uneasy tempting fate; they’d been lucky so far. North Dakota had miraculously appeared right under their noses and been trapped. The only remaining question was David; he had to find the other pass-key. Susan hoped he was making progress.

As she made her way deeper into Node 3, Susan tried to clear her mind. It was odd that she felt uneasy in such a familiar space. Everything in Node 3 seemed foreign in the dark. But there was something else. Susan felt a momentary hesitation and glanced back at the inoperable doors. There was no escape. Twenty minutes, she thought.

As she turned toward Hale’s terminal, she noticed a strange, musky odor-it was definitely not a Node 3 smell. She wondered if maybe the deionizer was malfunctioning. The smell was vaguely familiar, and with it came an unsettling chill. She pictured Hale locked below in his enormous steaming cell. Did he set something on fire? She looked up at the vents and sniffed. But the odor seemed to be coming from nearby.

Susan glanced toward the latticed doors of the kitchenette. And in an instant she recognized the smell. It was cologne… and sweat.

She recoiled instinctively, not prepared for what she saw. From behind the lattice slats of the kitchenette, two eyes stared out at her. It only took an instant for the horrifying truth to hit her. Greg Hale was not locked on the sublevels-he was in Node 3! He’d slipped upstairs before Strathmore closed the trapdoor. He’d been strong enough to open the doors all by himself.

Susan had once heard that raw terror was paralyzing-she now knew that was a myth. In the same instant her brain grasped what was happening, she was in motion-stumbling backward through the dark with a single thought in mind: escape.