Digital Fortress

Leland Fontaine's private office looked nothing like the rest of the directorial suite. There were no paintings, no overstuffed chairs, no ficus plants, no antique clocks. His space was streamlined for efficiency. His glass-topped desk and black leather chair sat directly in front of his enormous picture window. Three file cabinets stood in the corner next to a small table with a French press coffeepot. The moon had risen high over Fort Meade, and the soft light filtering through the window accentuated the starkness of the director's furnishings.

What the hell am I doing? Brinkerhoff wondered.

Midge strode to the printer and scooped up the queue list. She squinted in the darkness. "I can't read the data," she complained. "Turn on the lights."

"You're reading it outside. Now come on."

But Midge was apparently having too much fun. She toyed with Brinkerhoff, walking to the window and angling the readout for a better view.

"Midge…"

She kept reading.

Brinkerhoff shifted anxiously in the doorway. "Midge… come on. These are the director's private quarters."

"It's here somewhere," she muttered, studying the printout. "Strathmore bypassed Gauntlet, I know it." She moved closer to the window.

Brinkerhoff began to sweat. Midge kept reading.

After a few moments, she gasped. "I knew it! Strathmore did it! He really did! The idiot!" She held up the paper and shook it. "He bypassed Gauntlet! Have a look!"

Brinkerhoff stared dumbfounded a moment and then raced across the director's office. He crowded in next to Midge in front of the window. She pointed to the end of the readout.

Brinkerhoff read in disbelief. "What the…?"

The printout contained a list of the last thirty-six files that had entered TRANSLTR. After each file was a four-digit Gauntlet clearance code. However, the last file on the sheet had no clearance code-it simply read: manual bypass.

Jesus, Brinkerhoff thought. Midge strikes again.

"The idiot!" Midge sputtered, seething. "Look at this! Gauntlet rejected the file twice! Mutation strings! And he still bypassed! What the hell was he thinking?"

Brinkerhoff felt weak-kneed. He wondered why Midge was always right. Neither of them noticed the reflection that had appeared in the window beside them. A massive figure was standing in Fontaine's open doorway.

"Jeez," Brinkerhoff choked. "You think we have a virus?"

Midge sighed. "Nothing else it could be."

"Could be none of your damn business!" the deep voice boomed from behind them.

Midge knocked her head against the window. Brinkerhoff tipped over the director's chair and wheeled toward the voice. He immediately knew the silhouette.

"Director!" Brinkerhoff gasped. He strode over and extended his hand. "Welcome home, sir."

The huge man ignored it.

"I-I thought," Brinkerhoff stammered, retracting his hand, "I thought you were in South America."

Leland Fontaine glared down at his aide with eyes like bullets. "Yes… and now I'm back."

Chapter 69

"Hey, mister!"

Becker had been walking across the concourse toward a bank of pay phones. He stopped and turned. Coming up behind him was the girl he'd just surprised in the bathroom. She waved for him to wait. "Mister, wait!"

Now what? Becker groaned. She wants to press invasion-of-privacy charges?

The girl dragged her duffel toward him. When she arrived, she was now wearing a huge smile. "Sorry to yell at you back there. You just kind of startled me."

"No problem," Becker assured, somewhat puzzled. "I was in the wrong place."

"This will sound crazy," she said, batting her bloodshot eyes. "But you wouldn't happen to have some money you can lend me, would you?"

Becker stared at her in disbelief. "Money for what?" he demanded. I'm not funding your drug habit if that's what you're asking.

"I'm trying to get back home," the blonde said. "Can you help?"

"Miss your flight?"

She nodded. "Lost my ticket. They wouldn't let me get on. Airlines can be such assholes. I don't have the cash to buy another."

"Where are your parents?" Becker asked.

"States."

"Can you reach them?"

"Nope. Already tried. I think they're weekending on somebody's yacht."

Becker scanned the girl's expensive clothing. "You don't have a credit card?"

"Yeah, but my dad canceled it. He thinks I'm on drugs."

"Are you on drugs?" Becker asked, deadpan, eyeing her swollen forearm.

The girl glared, indignant. "Of course not!" She gave Becker an innocent huff, and he suddenly got the feeling he was being played.

"Come on," she said. "You look like a rich guy. Can't you spot me some cash to get home? I could send it to you later."

Becker figured any cash he gave this girl would end up in the hands of some drug dealer in Triana. "First of all," he said, "I'm not a rich guy-I'm a teacher. But I'll tell you what I'll do…" I'll call your bluff, that's what I'll do. "Why don't I charge the ticket for you?"

The blonde stared at him in utter shock. "You'd do that?" she stammered, eyes wide with hope. "You'd buy me a ticket home? Oh, God, thank you!"

Becker was speechless. He had apparently misjudged the moment.