Digital Fortress Chapter 115-117

Chapter 115The emptiness in David Beckers mind was absolute. I am dead. And just there was a sound. A re locomote contri entirelyionDavid.thither was a dizzying burning at the stake beneath his arm. His blood was make full with fire. My frame is non my own. And yet there was a enunciate, calling to him. It was thin, distant. But it was part of him. in that location were other voices too-unfamiliar, unimportant. Calling turn out. He fought to handicap them out. There was only wholeness voice that mattered. It faded in and out.David Im sorryThere was a mottled let down. Faint at first gear, a single slit of grayness. Growing. Becker try to move. Pain. He tried to speak. Silence. The voice unbroken calling.Some iodin was near him, lifting him. Becker moved toward the voice. Or was he being moved? It was calling. He watchd absently at the recove recollectuminated image. He could check out her on a niggling screen. It was a wo homophile, sta cliqueing up at him from a nonher hu musical composition beings. Is she watching me die?DavidThe voice was familiar. She was an angel. She had come for him. The angel spoke. David, I cut you.Suddenly he k novel.Susan reached out toward the screen, crying, laughing, doomed in a torrent of emotions. She wiped fiercely at her tears. David, I-I apprehensionField means metalworker eased David Becker into the seat approach the monitor. Hes a light woozy, maam. Give him a second.B- plainly, Susan was stammering, I saw a transmission. It expressmetalworker nodded. We saw it too. Hulohot counted his chickens a little early.But the bloodFlesh wound, metalworker replied. We slapped a gauze on it.Susan couldnt speak. means Coliander piped in from off photographic television photographic camera. We hit him with the new J23-long-acting stun gun. Probably hurt handle infernal region, but we got him off the street.Dont worry, maam, metalworker assured. Hell be fine.David Becker st bed at the TV monitor in fron t of him. He was disoriented, light-headed. The image on the screen was of a room-a room filled with chaos. Susan was there. She was standing on an open opus of floor, gazing up at him.She was crying and laughing. David. thank God I thought I had lost youHe rubbed his temple. He moved in front of the screen and pulled the gooseneck microphone toward his mouth. Susan?Susan gazed up in wonder. Davids rugged features directly filled the entire palisade earlier her. His voice boomed.Susan, I need to deal you something. The resonance and volume of Beckers voice seemed to momently suspend the action in the databank. Everyone halt midstride and glum.Susan F allowcher, the voice resonated, ordain you marry me?A hush spread across the room. A clipboard clattered to the floor along with a phiz of pencils. No one bent to split up them up. There was only the faint bombilate of the terminal fans and the sound of David Beckers steady ventilating system in his microphone.D-David Susan stammered, unaw be that thirty-seven great deal stood riveted behind her. You already asked me, remember? quintet months ago. I express yes.I know. He smiled. But this while-he exdecadeded his remaining hand into the camera and displayed a rosy band on his fourth digit-this time I construct a ring.Chapter 116 exact it, Mr. Becker Fontaine ordered.Jabba sat sweating, hands poised oer his keyboard. Yes, he said, read the blessed documentSusan Fletcher stood with them, weak-kneed and aglow. Everyone in the room had halt what they were doing and stared up at the marvelous labor of David Becker. The professor twisted the ring in his fingers and study the engraving.And read carefully Jabba com hu bitkindded. peerless typo, and were screwedFontaine gave Jabba a harsh look. If there was one thing the director of the NSA knew rough, it was pressure situations creating superfluous tension was neer wise. Relax, Mr. Becker. If we make a mistake, well reenter the code till we s poil it right. harmful advice, Mr. Becker, Jabba snapped. Get it right the first time. Kill-codes usually constitute a penalty cla mathematical function-to stay trial-and-error guessing. Make an incorrect entry, and the cps lead probably accelerate. Make cardinal incorrect entries, and it will lock us out per art objectently. Game over.The director frowned and sour back to the screen. Mr. Becker? My mistake. Read carefully-read extremely carefully.Becker nodded and studied the ring for a moment. Then he calmly began reciting the inscription. Q U I S quadruplet CJabba and Susan stop in unison. Space? Jabba stopped typing. Theres a space?Becker shrugged, checking the ring. Yeah. Theres a bunch of them.Am I missing something? Fontaine demanded. What are we waiting for?Sir, Susan said, ostensibly puzzled. Its its justI agree, Jabba said. Its strange. Pass run-in never have spaces.Brinkerhoff swallowed hard. So, what are you declareing?Hes saying, Susan interjected, that this may not be a kill-code.Brinkerhoff cried out, Of course its the kill-code What else could it be? Why else would Tankado give it out-of-door? Who the hell inscribes a bunch of stochastic letter on a ring?Fontaine suppress Brinkerhoff with a sharp glare.Ah folks? Becker interjected, appear hesitant to get involved. You keep mentioning random letters. I signify I should let you know the letters on this ring arent random.Everyone on the podium blurted in unison. WhatBecker looked uneasy. Sorry, but there are definitely words here. Ill admit theyre inscribed pretty fill up together at first beh senescent it appears random, but if you look tightfittingly youll see the inscription is actually easy its Latin.Jabba gaped. Youre denounce meBecker shook his head. No. It reads, Quis custodiet ipsos custodes. It translates roughly to-Who will guard the guards Susan interrupted, finishing Davids sentence.Becker did a double-take. Susan, I didnt know you could-Its from Satires of Juvenal , she exclaimed. Who will guard the guards? Who will guard the NSA while we guard the world? It was Tankados favorite sayingSo, Midge demanded, is it the pass-key, or not?It must be the pass-key, Brinkerhoff declared.Fontaine stood silent, apparently affect the information.I dont know if its the key, Jabba said. It seems unlikely to me that Tankado would use a nonrandom construction. Just dismiss the spaces, Brinkerhoff cried, and type the damn codeFontaine behindcelled to Susan. Whats your take, Ms. Fletcher?She thought a moment. She couldnt quite mould her finger on it, but something didnt nip right. Susan knew Tankado well enough to know he thrived on simplicity. His proofs and programming were always cobwebby and absolute. The fact that the spaces needed to be take seemed odd. It was a minor detail, but it was a flaw, definitely not clean-not what Susan would have judge as Ensei Tankados crowning blow.It doesnt feel right, Susan cash in ones chipsly said. I dont think its the key.Fontaine sucked in a long breath, his dark eyes searching hers. Ms. Fletcher, in your mind, if this is not the key, why would Ensei Tankado have given it away? If he knew wed kill him-dont you assume hed want to punish us by making the ring vaporise?A new voice interrupted the dialogue. Ah Director? altogether eyes turned to the screen. It was means Coliander in Seville. He was argument over Beckers shoulder and speaking into the mic. For any(prenominal) its worth, Im not so sure Mr. Tankado knew he was being murdered.I beg your acquit? Fontaine demanded.Hulohot was a pro, sir. We saw the kill-only fifty meters away. All evidence stirs Tankado was unaware.Evidence? Brinkerhoff demanded. What evidence? Tankado gave away this ring. Thats proof enoughAgent metalworker, Fontaine interrupted. What makes you think Ensei Tankado was unaware he was being killed?Smith cleared his throat. Hulohot killed him with an NTB-a noninvasive trauma bullet. Its a rubber pod that stri kes the chest and spreads out. Silent. rattling clean. Mr. Tankado would only have felt a sharp thump originally spill into cardiac arrest.A trauma bullet, Becker mused to himself. That explains the bruising.Its doubtful, Smith added, that Tankado associated the sensation with a gunman.And yet he gave away his ring, Fontaine stated.True, sir. But he never looked for his assaulter. A victim always looks for his assailant when hes been shot. Its instinct.Fontaine puzzled. And youre saying Tankado didnt look for Hulohot?No, sir. We have it on film if youd like-X-eleven filters going a technician yelled. The worms one-halfway thereForget the film, Brinkerhoff declared. Type in the damn kill-code and finish thisJabba sighed, suddenly the smooth one. Director, if we enter the wrong codeYes, Susan interrupted, if Tankado didnt fly-by-night we killed him, weve got some questions to answer.Whats our time frame, Jabba? Fontaine demanded.Jabba looked up at the VR. About twenty minutes. I suggest we use the time wisely.Fontaine was silent a long moment. Then sighed heavily. All right. last the film.Chapter 117Transmitting ikon in ten seconds, Agent Smiths voice crackled. Were dropping all other frame as well as audio-well run as close to real time as possible.Everyone on the podium stood silent, watching, waiting. Jabba typed a few keys and rearranged the video wall. Tankados essence appeared on the far leftONLY THE TRUTH WILL present YOU NOWOn the right of the wall was the static interior shot of the wagon train with Becker and the two agents huddled about the camera. In the center, a fuzzy frame appeared. It change state into static and then into a grisly and white image of a park.Transmitting, Agent Smith announced.The shot looked like an old movie. It was stilted and jerky-a by-product of frame-dropping, a answer that halved the amount of information sent and enabled winged transmission.The shot panned out across an enormous concourse enclosed on on e end by a curving facade-the Seville Ayuntamiento. There were trees in the foreground. The park was empty.X-elevens are down a technician called out. This bad boys esurientSmith began to narrate. His commentary had the detachment of a seasoned agent. This is shot from the van, he said, about fifty meters from the kill zone. Tankado is approaching from the right. Hulohots in the trees to the left.Weve got a time crunch here, Fontaine pressed. Lets get to the meat of it.Agent Coliander touched a few buttons, and the frame speed increased.Everyone on the podium watched in anticipation as their former associate, Ensei Tankado, came into the frame. The accelerated video do the whole image seem comic. Tankado shuffled spasmodically out onto the concourse, apparently taking in the scenery. He shielded his eyes and gazed up at the spires of the huge facade.This is it, Smith warned. Hulohots a pro. He took his first open shot.Smith was right. There was a flash of light from behind the t rees on the left of the screen. An wink later(prenominal) Tankado clutched his chest. He staggered momentarily. The camera zoomed in on him, unstable-in and out of focus.As the footage roll in high speed, Smith coldly continued his narration. As you can see, Tankado is at in one case in cardiac arrest.Susan felt ill watching the images. Tankado clutched at his chest with gritty hands, a confused look of curse on his face.Youll notice, Smith added, his eyes are focused downward, at himself. Not once does he look around.And thats important? Jabba half stated, half inquired.Very, Smith said. If Tankado suspected repelling play of any kind, he would instinctively search the area. But as you can see, he does not.On the screen, Tankado dropped to his knees, still clutching his chest. He never once looked up. Ensei Tankado was a man alone, dying a private, natural death.Its odd, Smith said, puzzled. Trauma pods usually wont kill this quickly. Sometimes, if the targets freehand enou gh, they dont kill at all.Bad heart, Fontaine said flatly.Smith arched his eyebrows, impressed. Fine plectron of weapon, then.Susan watched as Tankado toppled from his knees to his side and finally onto his back. He lay, staring upward, grabbing at his chest. Suddenly the camera wheeled away from him back toward the plantation of trees. A man appeared. He was eroding wire-rim glasses and carrying an oversize briefcase. As he approached the concourse and the writhing Tankado, his fingers began tapping in a strange silent dance on a mechanism attached to his hand.Hes on the job(p) his Monocle, Smith announced. Sending a message that Tankado is terminated. Smith turned to Becker and chuckled. Looks like Hulohot had a bad habit of transmitting kills before his victim actually expired.Coliander sped the film up some more, and the camera followed Hulohot as he began moving toward his victim. Suddenly an elderly man rushed out of a close courtyard, ran over to Tankado, and knelt besid e him. Hulohot slowed his approach. A moment later two more people appeared from the courtyard-an heavy man and a red-haired woman. They also came to Tankados side. inauspicious choice of kill zone, Smith said. Hulohot thought he had the victim isolated.On the screen, Hulohot watched for a moment and then shrank back into the trees, apparently to wait.Here comes the handoff, Smith prompted. We didnt notice it the first time around.Susan gazed up at the repellent image on the screen. Tankado was gasping for breath, apparently hard communicate something to the Samaritans rest beside him. Then, in desperation, he thrust his left hand above him, almost hitting the old man in the face. He held the crippled mental process outward before the old mans eyes. The camera tightened on Tankados three deformed fingers, and on one of them, clearly glistening in the Spanish sun, was the golden ring. Tankado thrust it out again. The old man recoiled. Tankado turned to the woman. He held his th ree deformed fingers directly in front of her face, as if begging her to understand. The ring glinted in the sun. The woman looked away. Tankado, now choking, otiose to make a sound, turned to the fat man and tried one last time.The elderly man suddenly stood and dash off, presumably to get help. Tankado seemed to be weakening, but he was still holding the ring in the fat mans face. The fat man reached out and held the dying mans wrist, supporting it. Tankado seemed to gaze upward at his own fingers, at his own ring, and then to the mans eyes. As a final plea before death, Ensei Tankado gave the 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. The assassin was gone. A law motorcycle appeared, tearing up Avenida Firelli. The camera wheeled back to where Tankado was lying. The woman kneeling beside him apparently heard the police sirens she glanced around nervously and then bega n pulling at her obese companion, begging him to leave. The two speed off.The camera tightened on Tankado, his hands folded on his lifeless chest. The ring on his finger was gone.