Digital Fortress Chapter 115-117

Chapter 115The emptiness in David Beckers attend was absolute. I am dead. And yet there was a sound. A yon voiceDavid. on that point was a dizzying burning beneath his arm. His furrow was change with fire. My body is not my own. And yet there was a voice, calling to him. It was thin, distant. however it was part of him. in that location were other voices too-unfamiliar, un consequential. Calling out. He fought to block them out. There was only unrivalled voice that mattered. It faded in and out.David Im sorryThere was a mottled light. Faint at get-go, a single pussy of grayness. Growing. Becker tried to move. Pain. He tried to speak. Silence. The voice kept calling.Someone was come along him, lifting him. Becker moved toward the voice. Or was he being moved? It was calling. He gazed inattentively at the illuminated discoer. He could see her on a petty(a) riddle. It was a wo populace, perfect(a) up at him from another foundation. Is she watching me oerhaul?DavidThe vo ice was familiar. She was an angel. She had come for him. The angel spoke. David, I love you. utterly he knew.Susan reached out toward the screen, crying, laughing, lost in a torrent of emotions. She wiped fiercely at her tears. David, I-I idealField means metalworker eased David Becker into the seat lining the observe. Hes a little woozy, maam. Give him a second.B-but, Susan was stamme circumvent, I saw a transmission. It said smith 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.Agent Coliander piped in from off television camera. We hit him with the new J23-long-acting stun gun. Probably hurt homogeneous hell, but we got him off the street.Dont worry, maam, smith assured. Hell be fine.David Becker stargond at the TV monitor in front of him. He was disoriented, light-headed. The image on the screen was of a style-a room filled with chaos. Susan was there. She was standing on an open patch 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 now filled the undefiled wall before her. His voice boomed.Susan, I need to ask you something. The resonance and volume of Beckers voice seemed to momentarily suspend the action in the databank. Everyone stop midstride and rancid.Susan Fletcher, the voice resonated, depart you marry me?A hush spread crossways the room. A clipboard clattered to the floor along with a mug of pencils. noone bent to pick them up. There was only the faint hum of the magnetic pole fans and the sound of David Beckers steady breathing in his microphone.D-David Susan stammered, unaware that thirty-seven pack stood riveted in arrears her. You already asked me, remember? Five months ago. I said yes.I endure. He smiled. But this cartridge holder-he extended his left reach into the camera and displayed a golden band on his fourth finger-this time I view as a ring.Chapter 116Read it, Mr. Becker Fontaine ordered.Jabba sat sweating, hands poised over his keyboard. Yes, he said, read the blessed inscriptionSusan Fletcher stood with them, weak-kneed and aglow. Everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing and stared up at the enormous projection of David Becker. The professor worm the ring in his fingers and studied the engraving.And read carefully Jabba commanded. One typo, and were screwedFontaine gave Jabba a harsh look. If there was one thing the director of the NSA knew or so, it was pressure situations creating extra tension was neer wise. Relax, Mr. Becker. If we fabricate a mistake, well reenter the code till we start up it right.Bad advice, Mr. Becker, Jabba snapped. Get it right the first time. Kill-codes usually have a penalty clause-to prevent trial-and-error guessing. Make a n incorrect entry, and the cycle will probably accelerate. Make devil incorrect entries, and it will lock us out permanently. Game over.The director frowned and rancid back to the screen. Mr. Becker? My mistake. Read carefully-read extremely carefully.Becker nodded and studied the ring for a moment. consequently he calmly began reciting the inscription. Q U I S space CJabba and Susan interrupted in unison. topographic point? 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, plainly puzzled. Its its justI agree, Jabba said. Its strange. Passwords never have spaces.Brinkerhoff swallowed hard. So, what are you saying?Hes saying, Susan interjected, that this may not be a eat up-code.Brinkerhoff cried out, Of course its the kill-code What else could it be? Why else would Tankado give it away? Who the hell inscribes a bunch of random garner on a r ing?Fontaine shut up Brinkerhoff with a sharp glare.Ah folks? Becker interjected, appearing hesitant to get involved. You take hold mentioning random letters. I figure 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 nigh together at first glance it appears random, but if you look close youll see the inscription is actually sound its Latin.Jabba gaped. Youre shitting 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 dull, apparently processing the information.I dont know if its the key, Jabba said. It seems unlikely to me that Tankado would use a purposive construction. Just omit the spaces, Brinkerhoff cried, and type the dump codeFontaine turned to Susan. Whats your take, Ms. Fletcher?She thought a moment. She couldnt quite put her finger on it, but something didnt purport right. Susan knew Tankado well enough to know he thrived on simplicity. His proofs and programming were eer crystalline and absolute. The fact that the spaces needed to be removed seemed odd. It was a small(a) detail, but it was a flaw, definitely not clean-not what Susan would have expected as Ensei Tankados crowning blow.It doesnt feel right, Susan finally said. I dont think its the key.Fontaine sucked in a long breath, his dark eye probing hers. Ms. Fletcher, in your mind, if this is not the key, wherefore would Ensei Tankado have given it away? If he knew wed murdered him-dont you assume hed lack to punish us by making the ring disappear?A new voice interrupted the dialogue. Ah Director?All eyes turned to the screen. It was Agent Coliander in Seville. He was leaning over Beckers shoulder and communicate into the mic. For whatever its worth, Im not so sure Mr. Tankado knew he was being murdered.I beg your pardon? Fontaine demanded.Hulohot was a pro, sir. We saw the kill-only fifty meters away. All enjoin suggests Tankado was unaware.Evidence? Brinkerhoff demanded. What evidence? Tankado gave away this ring. Thats proof enoughAgent Smith, 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 injury bullet. Its a rubber pod that strikes the chest and spreads out. Silent. Very clean. Mr. Tankado would only have felt a sharp thump before 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 assailant. A victim incessantly 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 pack if youd like-X-eleven filters going a technician yelled. The worms halfway thereForget the film, Brinkerhoff declared. Type in the damn kill-code and finish thisJabba sighed, suddenly the cool one. Director, if we enter the wrong codeYes, Susan interrupted, if Tankado didnt funny we killed him, weve got some questions to answer.Whats our time disgorge, 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. Run the film.Chapter 117Transmitting video in ten seconds, Agent Smiths voice crackled. Were dropping every other roll as well as audio-well run as close t o real time as possible.Everyone on the podium stood silent, watching, waiting. Jabba typed a few keys and rearranged the video wall. Tankados message appeared on the far leftONLY THE TRUTH WILL SAVE YOU promptlyOn the right of the wall was the static interior shot of the train with Becker and the two agents huddled well-nigh the camera. In the center, a fuzzy frame appeared. It dissolved into static and indeed into a black and white image of a park.Transmitting, Agent Smith announced.The shot looked like an old movie. It was drippy and jerky-a by-product of frame-dropping, a process that halved the amount of information sent and enabled quicker transmission.The shot panned out across an enormous concourse enclosed on one end by a semicircular 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 hungrySmith began to narrate. His commentary had the detachment of a seasoned agent. This is s hot 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 dally 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 reason associate, Ensei Tankado, came into the frame. The accelerated video made the whole image seem comic. Tankado shuffled jerkily 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 trees on the left of the screen. An instant later Tankado clutched his 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 his narration. As you can see, Tankado is insta ntly in cardiac arrest.Susan felt ill watching the images. Tankado clutched at his chest with crippled hands, a confused look of terror 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 foul play of either 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 big enough, they dont kill at all.Bad heart, Fontaine said flatly.Smith arced his eyebrows, impressed. Fine choice of weapon, then.Susan watched as Tankado toppled from his knees to his side and finally onto his back. He lay, staring upwardly, grabbing at his chest. Suddenly the camera revolve a way from him back toward the orchard of trees. A man appeared. He was wearing 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 working 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 nearby courtyard, ran over to Tankado, and knelt beside him. Hulohot slowed his approach. A moment later two more people appeared from the courtyard-an grave man and a red-haired woman. They also came to Tankados 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 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 sickening image on the screen. Tankado was gasping for breath, apparently severe communicate something to the Samaritans kneeling beside him. Then, in desperation, he thrust his left hand above him, almost hitting the old man in the face. He held the crippled appendage 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 three 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, unable to make a sound, turned to the obese man and tried one prevail time.The elderly man suddenly stood and dashed off, presumably to get help. Tankado seemed to be weakening, but he was still holding the ring in the expound 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 bravo was gone. A police 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 began pulling at her obese companion, begging him to leave. The two hurried off.The camera tightened on Tankado, his hands folded on his lifeless chest. The ring on his finger was gone.