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“Mister?” she asked, her voice trembling. “I never told you my name. How come you know my name?”

CHAPTER 74

Director Leland Fontaine was a mountain of a man, sixty‑three years old, with a close‑cropped military haircut and a rigid demeanor. His jet‑black eyes were like coal when he was irritated, which was almost always. He’d risen through the ranks of the NSA through hard work, good planning, and the well‑earned respect of his predecessors. He was the first African American director of the National Security Agency, but nobody ever mentioned the distinction; Fontaine’s politics were decidedly color‑blind, and his staff wisely followed suit.

Fontaine had kept Midge and Brinkerhoff standing as he went through the silent ritual of making himself a mug of Guatemalan java. Then he’d settled at his desk, left them standing, and questioned them like schoolchildren in the principal’s office.

Midge did the talking‑explaining the unusual series of events that led them to violate the sanctity of Fontaine’s office.

“A virus?” the director asked coldly. “You two think we’ve got a virus?”

Brinkerhoff winced.

“Yes, sir,” Midge snapped.

“Because Strathmore bypassed Gauntlet?” Fontaine eyed the printout in front of him.

“Yes,” she said. “And there’s a file that hasn’t broken in over twenty hours!”

Fontaine frowned. “Or so your data says.”

Midge was about to protest, but she held her tongue. Instead she went for the throat. “There’s a blackout in Crypto.”

Fontaine looked up, apparently surprised.

Midge confirmed with a curt nod. “All power’s down. Jabba thought maybe—”

“You called Jabba?”

“Yes, sir, I—”

“Jabba?” Fontaine stood up, furious. “Why the hell didn’t you call Strathmore?”

“We did!” Midge defended. “He said everything was fine.”

Fontaine stood, his chest heaving. “Then we have no reason to doubt him.” There was closure in his voice. He took a sip of coffee. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Midge’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon?”

Brinkerhoff was already headed for the door, but Midge was cemented in place.

“I said good night, Ms. Milken,” Fontaine repeated. “You are excused.”

“But‑but sir,” she stammered, “I . . . I have to protest. I think—”

“You protest?” the director demanded. He set down his coffee. “I protest! I protest to your presence in my office. I protest to your insinuations that the deputy director of this agency is lying. I protest—”

“We have a virus, sir! My instincts tell me—”

“Well, your instincts are wrong, Ms. Milken! For once, they’re wrong!”

Midge stood fast. “But, sir! Commander Strathmore bypassed Gauntlet!”

Fontaine strode toward her, barely controlling his anger. “That is his prerogative! I pay you to watch analysts and service employees‑not spy on the deputy director! If it weren’t for him we’d still be breaking codes with pencil and paper! Now leave me!” He turned to Brinkerhoff, who stood in the doorway colorless and trembling. “Both of you.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Midge said. “I’d like to recommend we send a Sys‑Sec team to Crypto just to ensure—”

“We will do no such thing!”

After a tense beat, Midge nodded. “Very well. Goodnight.” She turned and left. As she passed, Brinkerhoff could see in her eyes that she had no intention of letting this rest‑not until her intuition was satisfied.

Brinkerhoff gazed across the room at his boss, massive and seething behind his desk. This was not the director he knew. The director he knew was a stickler for detail, for neatly tied packages. He always encouraged his staff to examine and clarify any inconsistencies in daily procedure, no matter how minute. And yet here he was, asking them to turn their backs on a very bizarre series of coincidences.

The director was obviously hiding something, but Brinkerhoff was paid to assist, not to question. Fontaine had proven over and over that he had everyone’s best interests at heart; if assisting him now meant turning a blind eye, then so be it. Unfortunately, Midge was paid to question, and Brinkerhoff feared she was headed for Crypto to do just that.

Time to get out the resumes, Brinkerhoff thought as he turned to the door.

“Chad!” Fontaine barked, from behind him. Fontaine had seen the look in Midge’s eyes when she left. “Don’t let her out of this suite.”

Brinkerhoff nodded and hustled after Midge.

* * *

Fontaine sighed and put his head in his hands. His sable eyes were heavy. It had been a long, unexpected trip home. The past month had been one of great anticipation for Leland Fontaine. There were things happening right now at the NSA that would change history, and ironically, Director Fontaine had found out about them only by chance.

Three months ago, Fontaine had gotten news that Commander Strathmore’s wife was leaving him. He’d also heard reports that Strathmore was working absurd hours and seemed about to crack under the pressure. Despite differences of opinion with Strathmore on many issues, Fontaine had always held his deputy director in the highest esteem; Strathmore was a brilliant man, maybe the best the NSA had. At the same time, ever since the Skipjack fiasco, Strathmore had been under tremendous stress. It made Fontaine uneasy; the commander held a lot of keys around the NSA‑and Fontaine had an agency to protect.

Fontaine needed someone to keep tabs on the wavering Strathmore and make sure he was 100 percent‑but it was not that simple. Strathmore was a proud and powerful man; Fontaine needed a way to check up on the commander without undermining his confidence or authority.

Fontaine decided, out of respect for Strathmore, to do the job himself. He had an invisible tap installed on Commander Strathmore’s Crypto account‑his E‑mail, his interoffice correspondence, his brainstorms, all of it. If Strathmore was going to crack, the director would see warning signs in his work. But instead of signs of a breakdown, Fontaine uncovered the ground work for one of the most incredible intelligence schemes he’d ever encountered. It was no wonder Strathmore was busting his ass; if he could pull this plan off, it would make up for the Skipjack fiasco a hundred times over.

Fontaine had concluded Strathmore was fine, working at 110 percent‑as sly, smart, and patriotic as ever. The best thing the director could do would be to stand clear and watch the commander work his magic. Strathmore had devised a plan . . . a plan Fontaine had no intention of interrupting.

CHAPTER 75

Strathmore fingered the Berretta in his lap. Even with the rage boiling in his blood, he was programmed to think clearly. The fact that Greg Hale had dared lay a finger on Susan Fletcher sickened him, but the fact that it was his own fault made him even sicker; Susan going into Node 3 had been his idea. Strathmore knew enough to compartmentalize his emotion‑it could in no way affect his handling of Digital Fortress. He was the deputy director of the National Security Agency. And today his job was more critical than it had ever been.

Strathmore slowed his breathing. “Susan.” His voice was efficient and unclouded. “Did you delete Hale’s E‑mail?”

“No,” she said, confused.

“Do you have the pass‑key?”

She shook her head.

Strathmore frowned, chewing his lip. His mind was racing. He had a dilemma. He could easily enter his elevator password, and Susan would be gone. But he needed her there. He needed her help to find Hale’s pass‑key. Strathmore hadn’t told her yet, but finding that pass‑key was far more than a matter of academic interest‑it was an absolute necessity. Strathmore suspected he could run Susan’s nonconformity search and find the pass‑key himself, but he’d already encountered problems running her tracer. He was not about to risk it again.

“Susan.” He sighed resolutely. “I’d like you to help me find Hale’s pass‑key.”

“What!” Susan stood up, her eyes wild.

Strathmore fought off the urge to stand along with her. He knew a lot about negotiating‑the position of power was always seated. He hoped she would follow suit. She did not.

“Susan, sit down.”

She ignored him.

“Sit down.” It was an order.

Susan remained standing. “Commander, if you’ve still got some burning desire to check out Tankado’s algorithm, you can do it alone. I want out.”

Strathmore hung his head and took a deep breath. It was clear she would need an explanation. She deserves one, he thought. Strathmore made his decision‑Susan Fletcher would hear it all. He prayed he wasn’t making a mistake.

“Susan,” he began, “it wasn’t supposed to come to this.” He ran his hand across his scalp. “There are some things I haven’t told you. Sometimes a man in my position . . .” The commander wavered as if making a painful confession. “Sometimes a man in my position is forced to lie to the people he loves. Today was one of those days.” He eyed her sadly. “What I’m about to tell you, I never planned to have to say . . . to you . . . or to anyone.”

Susan felt a chill. The commander had a deadly serious look on his face. There was obviously some aspect of his agenda to which she was not privy. Susan sat down.

There was a long pause as Strathmore stared at the ceiling, gathering his thoughts. “Susan,” he finally said, his voice frail. “I have no family.” He returned his gaze to her. “I have no marriage to speak of. My life has been my love for this country. My life has been my work here at the NSA.”

Susan listened in silence.

“As you may have guessed,” he continued, “I planned to retire soon. But I wanted to retire with pride. I wanted to retire knowing that I’d truly made a difference.”

“But you have made a difference,” Susan heard herself say. “You built TRANSLTR.”

Strathmore didn’t seem to hear. “Over the past few years, our work here at the NSA has gotten harder and harder. We’ve faced enemies I never imagined would challenge us. I’m talking about our own citizens. The lawyers, the civil rights fanatics, the EFF‑they’ve all played a part, but it’s more than that. It’s the people. They’ve lost faith. They’ve become paranoid. They suddenly see us as the enemy. People like you and me, people who truly have the nation’s best interests at heart, we find ourselves having to fight for our right to serve our country. We’re no longer peacekeepers. We’re eavesdroppers, peeping Toms, violators of people’s rights.” Strathmore heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately, there are naive people in the world, people who can’t imagine the horrors they’d face if we didn’t intervene. I truly believe it’s up to us to save them from their own ignorance.”

Susan waited for his point.

The commander stared wearily at the floor and then looked up. “Susan, hear me out,” he said, smiling tenderly at her. “You’ll want to stop me, but hear me out. I’ve been decrypting Tankado’s E‑mail for about two months now. As you can imagine, I was shocked when I first read his messages to North Dakota about an unbreakable algorithm called Digital Fortress. I didn’t believe it was possible. But every time I intercepted anew message, Tankado sounded more and more convincing. When I read that he’d used mutation strings to write a rotating key‑code, I realized he was light‑years ahead of us; it was an approach no one here had never tried.”

“Why would we?” Susan asked. “It barely makes sense.”

Strathmore stood up and started pacing, keeping one eye on the door. “A few weeks ago, when I heard about the Digital Fortress auction, I finally accepted the fact that Tankado was serious. I knew if he sold his algorithm to a Japanese software company, we were sunk, so I tried to think of any way I could stop him. I considered having him killed, but with all the publicity surrounding the algorithm and all his recent claims about TRANSLTR, we would be prime suspects. That’s when it dawned on me.” He turned to Susan. “I realized that Digital Fortress should not be stopped.”

Susan stared at him, apparently lost.

Strathmore went on. “I suddenly saw Digital Fortress as the opportunity of a lifetime. It hit me that with a few changes, Digital Fortress could work for us instead of against us.”

Susan had never heard anything so absurd. Digital Fortress was an unbreakable algorithm; it would destroy them.

“If,” Strathmore continued, “if I could just make a small modification in the algorithm . . . before it was released . . .” He gave her a cunning glint of the eye.

It took only an instant.

Strathmore saw the amazement register in Susan’s eyes. He excitedly explained his plan. “If I could get the pass‑key, I could unlock our copy of Digital Fortress and insert a modification.”

“A back door,” Susan said, forgetting the Commander had ever lied to her. She felt a surge of anticipation. “Just like Skipjack.”

Strathmore nodded. “Then we could replace Tankado’s give‑away file on the Internet with our altered version. Because Digital Fortress is a Japanese algorithm, no one will ever suspect the NSA had any part in it. All we have to do is make the switch.”

Susan realized the plan was beyond ingenious. It was pure . . . Strathmore. He planned to facilitate the release of an algorithm the NSA could break!

“Full access,” Strathmore said. “Digital Fortress will become the encryption standard overnight.”

“Overnight?” Susan said. “How do you figure that? Even if Digital Fortress becomes available everywhere for free, most computer users will stick with their old algorithms for convenience. Why would they switch to Digital Fortress?”

Strathmore smiled. “Simple. We have a security leak. The whole world finds out about TRANSLTR.”

Susan’s jaw dropped.

“Quite simply, Susan, we let the truth hit the street. We tell the world that the NSA has a computer that can break every algorithm except Digital Fortress.”

Susan was amazed. “So everyone jumps ship to Digital Fortress . . . not knowing we can break it!”

Strathmore nodded. “Exactly.” There was a long silence. “I’m sorry I lied to you. Trying to rewrite Digital Fortress is a pretty big play, I didn’t want you involved.”

“I . . . understand,” she replied slowly, still reeling from the brilliance of it all. “You’re not a bad liar.”

Strathmore chuckled. “Years of practice. Lying was the only way to keep you out of the loop.”

Susan nodded. “And how big a loop is it?”

“You’re looking at it.”

Susan smiled for the first time in an hour. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

He shrugged. “Once Digital Fortress is in place, I’ll brief the director.”

Susan was impressed. Strathmore’s plan was a global intelligence coup the magnitude of which had never before been imagined. And he’d attempted it single‑handedly. It looked like he might pull it off too. The pass‑key was downstairs. Tankado was dead. Tankado’s partner had been located.

Susan paused.

Tankado is dead. That seemed very convenient. She thought of all the lies that Strathmore had told her and felt a sudden chill. She looked uneasily at the commander. “Did you kill Ensei Tankado?”

Strathmore looked surprised. He shook his head. “Of course not. There was no need to kill Tankado. In fact, I’d prefer he were alive. His death could cast suspicion on Digital Fortress. I wanted this switch to go as smoothly and inconspicuously as possible. The original plan was to make the switch and let Tankado sell his key.”

Susan had to admit it made sense. Tankado would have no reason to suspect the algorithm on the Internet was not the original. Nobody had access to it except himself and North Dakota. Unless Tankado went back and studied the programming after it was released, he’d never know about the back door. He’d slaved over Digital Fortress for long enough that he’d probably never want to see the programming again.

Susan let it all soak in. She suddenly understood the commander’s need for privacy in Crypto. The task at hand was time‑consuming and delicate‑writing a concealed back door in a complex algorithm and making an undetected Internet switch. Concealment was of paramount importance. The simple suggestion that Digital Fortress was tainted could ruin the commander’s plan.

Only now did she fully grasp why he had decided to let TRANSLTR keep running. If Digital Fortress is going to be the NSA’s new baby, Strathmore wanted to be sure it was unbreakable!

“Still want out?” he asked.

Susan looked up. Somehow sitting there in the dark with the great Trevor Strathmore, her fears were swept away. Rewriting Digital Fortress was a chance to make history‑a chance to do incredible good‑and Strathmore could use her help. Susan forced a reluctant smile. “What’s our next move?”

Strathmore beamed. He reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Thanks.” He smiled and then got down to business. “We’ll go downstairs together.” He held up his Berretta. “You’ll search Hale’s terminal. I’ll cover you.”

Susan bristled at the thought of going downstairs. “Can’t we wait for David to call with Tankado’s copy?”

Strathmore shook his head. “The sooner we make the switch, the better. We have no guarantees that David will even find the other copy. If by some fluke the ring falls into the wrong hands over there, I’d prefer we’d already made the algorithm switch. That way, whoever ends up with the key will download our version of the algorithm.” Strathmore fingered his gun and stood. “We need to go for Hale’s key.”

Susan fell silent. The commander had a point. They needed Hale’s pass‑key. And they needed it now.

When Susan stood, her legs were jittery. She wished she’d hit Hale harder. She eyed Strathmore’s weapon and suddenly felt queasy. “You’d actually shoot Greg Hale?”

“No.” Strathmore frowned, striding to the door. “But let’s hope he doesn’t know that.”

CHAPTER 76

Outside the Seville airport terminal, a taxi sat idle, the meter running. The passenger in the wire‑rim glasses gazed through the plate‑glass windows of the well‑lit terminal. He knew he’d arrived in time.

He could see a blond girl. She was helping David Becker to a chair. Becker was apparently in pain. He does not yet know pain, the passenger thought. The girl pulled a small object from her pocket and held it out. Becker held it up and studied it in the light. Then he slipped it on his finger. He pulled a stack of bills from his pocket and paid the girl. They talked a few minutes longer, and then the girl hugged him. She waved, shouldered her duffel, and headed off across the concourse.

At last, the man in the taxi thought. At last.

CHAPTER 77

Strathmore stepped out of his office onto the landing with his gun leveled. Susan trailed close behind, wondering if Hale was still in Node 3.

The light from Strathmore’s monitor behind them threw eerie shadows of their bodies out across the grated platform. Susan inched closer to the commander.

As they moved away from the door, the light faded, and they were plunged into darkness. The only light on the Crypto floor came from the stars above and the faint haze from behind the shattered Node 3 window.

Strathmore inched forward, looking for the place where the narrow staircase began. Switching the Berretta to his left hand, he groped for the banister with his right. He figured he was probably just as bad a shot with his left, and he needed his right for support. Falling down this particular set of stairs could cripple someone for life, and Strathmore’s dreams for his retirement did not involve a wheelchair.

Susan, blinded by the blackness of the Crypto dome, descended with a hand on Strathmore’s shoulder. Even at the distance of two feet, she could not see the commander’s outline. As she stepped onto each metal tread, she shuffled her toes forward looking for the edge.

Susan began having second thoughts about risking a visit to Node 3 to get Hale’s pass‑key. The commander insisted Hale wouldn’t have the guts to touch them, but Susan wasn’t so sure. Hale was desperate. He had two options: Escape Crypto or go to jail.

A voice kept telling Susan they should wait for David’s call and use his pass‑key, but she knew there was no guarantee he would even find it. She wondered what was taking David so long. Susan swallowed her apprehension and kept going.

Strathmore descended silently. There was no need to alert Hale they were coming. As they neared the bottom, Strathmore slowed, feeling for the final step. When he found it, the heel of his loafer clicked on hard black tile. Susan felt his shoulder tense. They’d entered the danger zone. Hale could be anywhere.

In the distance, now hidden behind TRANSLTR, was their destination‑Node 3. Susan prayed Hale was still there, lying on the floor, whimpering in pain like the dog he was.

Strathmore let go of the railing and switched the gun back to his right hand. Without a word, he moved out into the darkness. Susan held tight to his shoulder. If she lost him, the only way she’d find him again was to speak. Hale might hear them. As they moved away from the safety of the stairs, Susan recalled late‑night games of tag as a kid‑she’d left home base, she was in the open. She was vulnerable.

TRANSLTR was the only island in the vast black sea. Every few steps Strathmore stopped, gun poised, and listened. The only sound was the faint hum from below. Susan wanted to pull him back, back to safety, back to home base. There seemed to be faces in the dark all around her.

Halfway to TRANSLTR, the silence of Crypto was broken. Somewhere in the darkness, seemingly right on top of them, a high‑pitched beeping pierced the night. Strathmore spun, and Susan lost him. Fearful, Susan shot her arm out, groping for him. But the commander was gone. The space where his shoulder had been was now just empty air. She staggered forward into the emptiness.

The beeping noise continued. It was nearby. Susan wheeled in the darkness. There was a rustle of clothing, and suddenly the beeping stopped. Susan froze. An instant later, as if from one of her worst childhood nightmares, a vision appeared. A face materialized directly in front of her. It was ghostly and green. It was the face of a demon, sharp shadows jutting upward across deformed features. She jumped back. She turned to run, but it grabbed her arm.

“Don’t move!” it commanded.

For an instant, she thought she saw Hale in those two burning eyes. But the voice was not Hale’s. And the touch was too soft. It was Strathmore. He was lit from beneath by a glowing object that he’d just pulled from his pocket. Her body sagged with relief. She felt herself start breathing again. The object in Strathmore’s hand had some sort of electronic LED that was giving off a greenish glow.

“Damn,” Strathmore cursed under his breath. “My new pager.” He stared in disgust at the SkyPager in his palm. He’d forgotten to engage the silent‑ring feature. Ironically, he’d gone to a local electronics store to buy the device. He’d paid cash to keep it anonymous; nobody knew better than Strathmore how closely the NSA watched their own‑and the digital messages sent and received from this pager were something Strathmore definitely needed to keep private.

Susan looked around uneasily. If Hale hadn’t known they were coming, he knew now.

Strathmore pressed a few buttons and read the incoming message. He groaned quietly. It was more bad news from Spain‑not from David Becker, but from the other party Strathmore had sent to Seville.

* * *

Three thousand miles away, a mobile surveillance van sped along the darkened Seville streets. It had been commissioned by the NSA under “Umbra” secrecy from a military base in Rota. The two men inside were tense. It was not the first time they’d received emergency orders from Fort Meade, but the orders didn’t usually come from so high up.

The agent at the wheel called over his shoulder. “Any sign of our man?”

The eyes of his partner never left the feed from the wide‑angle video monitor on the roof. “No. Keep driving.”

CHAPTER 78

Underneath the twisting mass of cables, Jabba was sweating. He was still on his back with a penlight clenched in his teeth. He’d gotten used to working late on weekends; the less hectic NSA hours were often the only times he could perform hardware maintenance. As he maneuvered the red‑hot soldering iron through the maze of wires above him, he moved with exceptional care; singeing any of the dangling sheathes would be disaster.

Just another few inches, he thought. The job was taking far longer than he’d imagined.

Just as he brought the tip of the iron against the final thread of raw solder, his cellular phone rang sharply. Jabba startled, his arm twitched, and a large glob of sizzling, liquefied lead fell on his arm.

“Shit!” He dropped the iron and practically swallowed his penlight. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

He scrubbed furiously at the drop of cooling solder. It rolled off, leaving an impressive welt. The chip he was trying to solder in place fell out and hit him in the head.

“Goddamn it!”

Jabba’s phone summoned him again. He ignored it.

“Midge,” he cursed under his breath. Damn you! Crypto’s fine! The phone rang on. Jabba went back to work reseating the new chip. A minute later the chip was in place, but his phone was still ringing. For Christ’s sake, Midge! Give it up!

The phone rang another fifteen seconds and finally stopped. Jabba breathed a sigh of relief.

Sixty seconds later the intercom overhead crackled. “Would the chief Sys‑Sec please contact the main switchboard for a message.”

Jabba rolled his eyes in disbelief. She just doesn’t give up, does she? He ignored the page.

CHAPTER 79

Strathmore replaced his Skypager in his pocket and peered through the darkness toward Node 3.

He reached for Susan’s hand. “Come on.”

But their fingers never touched.

There was a long guttural cry from out of the darkness. A thundering figure loomed‑a Mack truck bearing down with no headlights. An instant later, there was a collision and Strathmore was skidding across the floor.

It was Hale. The pager had given them away.

Susan heard the Berretta fall. For a moment she was planted in place, unsure where to run, what to do. Her instincts told her to escape, but she didn’t have the elevator code. Her heart told her to help Strathmore, but how? As she spun in desperation, she expected to hear the sounds of a life‑and‑death struggle on the floor, but there was nothing. Everything was suddenly silent‑as if Hale had hit the commander and then disappeared back into the night.

Susan waited, straining her eyes into the darkness, hoping Strathmore wasn’t hurt. After what seemed like an eternity, she whispered, “Commander?”

Even as she said it, she realized her mistake. An instant later Hale’s odor welled up behind her. She turned too late. Without warning, she was twisting, gasping for air. She found herself crushed in a familiar headlock, her face against Hale’s chest.

“My balls are killing me.” Hale panted in her ear.

Susan’s knees buckled. The stars in the dome began to spin above her.

CHAPTER 80

Hale clamped down on Susan’s neck and yelled into the darkness. “Commander, I’ve got your sweetheart. I want out!”

His demands were met with silence.

Hale’s grip tightened. “I’ll break her neck!”

A gun cocked directly behind them. Strathmore’s voice was calm and even. “Let her go.”

Susan winced in pain. “Commander!”

Hale spun Susan’s body toward the sound. “You shoot and you’ll hit your precious Susan. You ready to take that chance?”

Strathmore’s voice moved closer. “Let her go.”

“No way. You’ll kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill anyone.”

“Oh, yeah? Tell that to Chartrukian!”

Strathmore moved closer. “Chartrukian’s dead.”

“No shit. You killed him. I saw it!”

“Give it up, Greg,” Strathmore said calmly.

Hale clutched at Susan and whispered in her ear, “Strathmore pushed Chartrukian‑I swear it!”

“She’s not going to fall for your divide‑and‑conquer technique,” Strathmore said, moving closer. “Let her go.”

Hale hissed into the darkness, “Chartrukian was just a kid, for Christ’s sake! Why’d you do it? To protect your little secret?”

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 521