Digital Fortress

The girl threw her arms around him. "It's been a shitty summer," she choked, almost bursting into tears. "Oh, thank you! I've got to get out of here!"

Becker returned her embrace halfheartedly. The girl let go of him, and he eyed her forearm again.

She followed his gaze to the bluish rash. "Gross, huh?"

Becker nodded. "I thought you said you weren't on drugs."

The girl laughed. "It's Magic Marker! I took off half my skin trying to scrub it off. The ink smeared."

Becker looked closer. In the fluorescent light, he could see, blurred beneath the reddish swelling on her arm, the faint outline of writing-words scrawled on flesh.

"But… but your eyes," Becker said, feeling dumb. "They're all red."

She laughed. "I was crying. I told you, I missed my flight."

Becker looked back at the words on her arm.

She frowned, embarrassed. "Oops, you can still kind of read it, can't you?"

Becker leaned closer. He could read it all right. The message was crystal clear. As he read the four faint words, the last twelve hours flashed before his eyes.

David Becker found himself back in the Alfonso XIII hotel room. The obese German was touching his own forearm and speaking broken English: Fock off und die.

"You okay?" the girl asked, eyeing the dazed Becker.

Becker did not look up from her arm. He was dizzy. The four words smeared across the girl's flesh carried a very simple message: FUCK OFF AND DIE.

The blonde looked down at it, embarrassed. "This friend of mine wrote it… pretty stupid, huh?"

Becker couldn't speak. Fock off und die. He couldn't believe it. The German hadn't been insulting him, he'd been trying to help. Becker lifted his gaze to the girl's face. In the fluorescent light of the concourse, he could see faint traces of red and blue in the girl's blond hair.

"Y-you…" Becker stammered, staring at her unpierced ears. "You wouldn't happen to wear earrings, would you?"

The girl eyed him strangely. She fished a tiny object from her pocket and held it out. Becker gazed at the skull pendant dangling in her hand.

"A clip-on?" he stammered.

"Hell, yes," the girl replied. "I'm scared shitless of needles."

Chapter 70

David Becker stood in the deserted concourse and felt his legs go weak. He eyed the girl before him and knew his search was over. She had washed her hair and changed clothes-maybe in hopes of having better luck selling the ring-but she'd never boarded for New York.

Becker fought to keep his cool. His wild journey was about to end. He scanned her fingers. They were bare. He gazed down at her duffel. It's in there, he thought. It's got to be!

He smiled, barely containing his excitement. "This is going to sound crazy," he said, "but I think you've got something I need."

"Oh?" Megan seemed suddenly uncertain.

Becker reached for his wallet. "Of course I'd be happy to pay you." He looked down and started sorting through the cash in his billfold.

As Megan watched him count out his money, she drew a startled gasp, apparently misunderstanding his intentions. She shot a frightened glance toward the revolving door… measuring the distance. It was fifty yards.

"I can give you enough to buy your ticket home if-"

"Don't say it," Megan blurted, offering a forced smile. "I think I know exactly what you need." She bent down and started rifling through her duffel.

Becker felt a surge of hope. She's got it! he told himself. She's got the ring! He didn't know how the hell she knew what it was he wanted, but he was too tired to care. Every muscle in his body relaxed. He pictured himself handing the ring to the beaming deputy director of the NSA. Then he and Susan would lie in the big canopy bed at Stone Manor and make up for lost time.

The girl finally found what she was looking for-her PepperGuard-the environmentally safe alternative to mace, made from a potent blend of cayenne and chili peppers. In one swift motion, she swung around and fired a direct stream into Becker's eyes. She grabbed her duffel and dashed for the door. When she looked back, David Becker was on the floor, holding his face, writhing in agony.

Chapter 71

Tokugen Numataka lit his fourth cigar and kept pacing. He snatched up his phone and buzzed the main switchboard.

"Any word yet on that phone number?" he demanded before the operator could speak.

"Nothing yet, sir. It's taking a bit longer than expected-it came from a cellular."

A cellular, Numataka mused. Figures. Fortunately for the Japanese economy, the Americans had an insatiable appetite for electronic gadgets.

"The boosting station," the operator added, "is in the 202 area code. But we have no number yet."

"202? Where's that?" Where in the vast American expanse is this mysterious North Dakota hiding?

"Somewhere near Washington, D. C., sir."

Numataka arched his eyebrows. "Call me as soon as you have a number."

Chapter 72

Susan Fletcher stumbled across the darkened Crypto floor toward Strathmore's catwalk. The commander's office was as far from Hale as Susan could get inside the locked complex.