Digital Fortress

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

"You'll notice," Smith added, "his eyes are focused downward, at himself. Not once does he look around."

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

"Very," Smith said. "If Tankado suspected foul 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.

"It's odd," Smith said, puzzled. "Trauma pods usually won't kill this quickly. Sometimes, if the target's big enough, they don't kill at all."

"Bad heart," Fontaine said flatly.

Smith arched 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 upward, grabbing at his chest. Suddenly the camera wheeled away from him back toward the grove 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.

"He's 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 obese man and a red-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 back into the trees, apparently to wait.

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

Susan gazed up at the sickening image on the screen. Tankado was gasping for breath, apparently trying 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 man's eyes. The camera tightened on Tankado's 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 last 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 fat man's face. The fat man reached out and held the dying man's wrist, supporting it. Tankado seemed to gaze upward at his own fingers, at his own ring, and then to the man's 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 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.

Chapter 118

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

"But, Director," Susan argued, "it doesn't make 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 to TRANSLTR is one thing; revealing our classified databank is another."

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

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