Digital Fortress Chapter 50-54

Chapter 50Only yards from TRANSLTRs hull, Phil Chartrukian stood over a patch of white lettering on the Crypto floor.CRYPTO SUBLEVELSAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLYHe knew he was definitely not authorized personnel. He shot a quick glance up at Strathmores office. The curtains were still pulled. Chartrukian had seen Susan Fletcher go into the bathrooms, so he knew she wasnt a line. The lone(prenominal) other question was Hale. He glanced toward Node 3, wondering if the cryptographer were watching.Fuck it, he grumbled.Below his feet the outline of a recessed trapdoor was tho visible in the floor. Chartrukian palmed the key hed just taken from the Sys-Sec lab.He knelt down, inserted the key in the floor, and turned. The bolt beneath clicked. whence he unscrewed the large external flirt latch and freed the door. Checking once again over his shoulder, he squatted down and pulled. The panel was small, only three feet by three feet, but it was heavy. When it finally opened, the Sys-Sec stum bled rearward.A fervency of hot air hit him in the face. It carried with it the sharp bite of freon gas. Billows of steam swirled out of the opening, illuminated by the red utility lighting below. The distant strum of the generators became a rumble. Chartrukian stood up and peered into the opening. It looked more like the gateway to hell than a service entrance for a computer. A narrow ladder led to a platform under the floor. Beyond that, there were stairs, but all he could see was swirling red mist.Greg Hale stood behind the one-way glass of Node 3. He watched as Phil Chartrukian eased himself down the ladder toward the sublevels. From where Hale was standing, the Sys-Secs head appeared to stick out been severed from his body and leftover out on the Crypto floor. Then, slowly, it sank into the swirling mist.Gutsy move, Hale muttered. He knew where Chartrukian was headed. An emergency manual abort of TRANSLTR was a logical action if he thought the computer had a virus. Unfortu nately, it was also a sure way to energize Crypto crawling with Sys-Secs in about ten minutes. Emergency actions raised alert flags at the main switchboard. A Sys-Sec investigation of Crypto was something Hale could not afford. Hale left Node 3 and headed for the trapdoor. Chartrukian had to be stopped.Chapter 51Jabba resembled a giant tadpole. Like the cinematic creature for whom he was nicknamed, the man was a hairless spheroid. As nonmigratory guardian angel of all NSA computer systems, Jabba marched from department to department, tweaking, soldering, and reaffirming his credo that pr horizontaltion was the best medicine. No NSA computer had ever been infected under Jabbas reign he intended to keep it that way.Jabbas home base was a raised workstation overlooking the NSAs underground, ultra-secret databank. It was there that a virus would do the most damage and there that he spent the majority of his time. At the moment, however, Jabba was taking a break and enjoying pepperoni calzones in the NSAs all- nighttime commissary. He was about to dig into his third when his cellular phone rang.Go, he said, cough up as he bring downed a mouthful.Jabba, a womans voice cooed. Its Midge.Data Queen the huge man gushed. Hed always had a soft spot for Midge Milken. She was sharp, and she was also the only woman Jabba had ever met who flirted with him. How the hell are you?No complaints.Jabba wiped his mouth. You on site?Yup.Care to join me for a calzone?Love to Jabba, but Im watching these hips.Really? He snickered. Mind if I join you?Youre bad.You pack no idea.Glad I caught you in, she said. I need some advice.He took a long swallow of Dr Pepper. Shoot.It might be nothing, Midge said, but my Crypto stats turned up something odd. I was hoping you could shed some light.What ya got? He took another(prenominal) sip.Ive got a report saying TRANSLTRs been running the like file for eighteen hours and hasnt cracked it.Jabba sprayed Dr Pepper all over his calzone. You what ?Any ideas?He dabbed at his calzone with a napkin. What report is this?Production report. Basic cost abstract stuff. Midge quickly explained what she and Brinkerhoff had found.Have you called Strathmore?Yes. He said everythings fine in Crypto. Said TRANSLTRs running full speed ahead. Said our datas wrong.Jabba furrowed his bulbous forehead. So whats the problem? Your report glitched. Midge did not respond. Jabba caught her drift. He frowned. You dont approximate your report glitched?Correct.So you think Strathmores lying?Its not that, Midge said diplomatically, k flating she was on fragile ground. Its just that my stats have never been wrong in the past. I thought Id get a second opinion.Well, Jabba said, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but your datas fried.You think so?Id bet my job on it. Jabba took a big bite of soggy calzone and spoke with his mouth full. Longest a file has ever lasted internal TRANSLTR is three hours. That includes diagnostics, boundary probes, ever ything. Only thing that could lock it down for eighteen hours would have to be viral. Nothing else could do it.Viral?Yeah, some kind of unembellished cycle. Something that got into the processors, created a loop, and essentially gummed up the works.Well, she ventured, Strathmores been in Crypto for about xxxvi hours straight. Any chance hes fighting a virus?Jabba laughed. Strathmores been in there for thirty-six hours? Poor bastard. His wife probably said he cant come home. I hear shes bagging his ass.Midge thought a moment. Shed heard that too. She wondered if maybe she was being paranoid.Midge. Jabba wheezed and took another long drink. If Strathmores toy had a virus, he would have called me. Strathmores sharp, but he doesnt know shit about viruses. TRANSLTRs all hes got. First sign of trouble, he would have pressed the panic button-and around here, that means me. Jabba sucked in a long strand of mozzarella. Be perspectives, theres no way in hell TRANSLTR has a virus. Gauntlets the best tog of package filters Ive ever written. Nothing gets through.After a long silence, Midge sighed. Any other thoughts?Yup. Your datas fried.You already said that.Exactly.She frowned. You havent caught wind of anything? Anything at all? Jabba laughed harshly. Midge listen up. click beetle sucked. Strathmore blew it. But move on-its over. There was a long silence on the line, and Jabba realized hed gone too far. Sorry, Midge. I know you took heat over that social unit mess. Strathmore was wrong. I know how you feel about him.This has nothing to do with Skipjack, she said firmly.Yeah, sure, Jabba thought. Listen, Midge, I dont have feelings for Strathmore one way or another. I mean, the guys a cryptographer. Theyre basically all self-centered assholes. They need their data yesterday. Every damn file is the one that could save the world.So what are you saying?Jabba sighed. Im saying Strathmores a psycho like the rest of them. But Im also saying he loves TRANSLTR more than hi s own goddamn wife. If there were a problem, he would have called me.Midge was quiet a long time. Finally she let out a reluctant sigh. So youre saying my datas fried?Jabba chuckled. Is there an echo in here?She laughed.Look, Midge. Drop me a work order. Ill be up on Monday to double-check your machine. In the meantime, get the hell out of here. Its Saturday night. Go get yourself laid or something.She sighed. Im trying, Jabba. Believe me, Im trying.Chapter 52Club Embrujo-Warlock in English-was situated in the suburbs at the end of the number 27 bus line. Looking more like a fortification than a dance club, it was surrounded on all sides by high stucco walls into which were embedded shards of shattered beer bottles-a crude security system preventing anyone from entering illegally without going away behind a good portion of flesh.During the ride, Becker had resolved himself to the fact that hed failed. It was time to call Strathmore with the bad news-the search was hopeless. He had d one the best he could now it was time to go home.But now, gazing out at the mob of patrons pushing their way through the clubs entrance, Becker was not so sure his conscience would allow him to contain up the search. He was staring at the biggest conclave of punks hed ever seen there were coiffures of red, white, and blue everywhere.Becker sighed, weighing his options. He scanned the crowd and shrugged. Where else would she be on a Saturday night? Cursing his good fortune, Becker climbed off the bus.The access to Club Embrujo was a narrow stone corridor. As Becker entered he immediately felt himself caught up in the inward surge of eager patrons.Outta my way, faggot A human pincushion pawed past him, giving Becker an elbow in the side.Nice tie. Someone gave Beckers necktie a hard yank.Wanna lie with? A teenage girl stared up at him looking like something out of Dawn of the Dead.The darkness of the corridor spilled out into a huge cement sleeping accommodation that reeked of alco hol and body odor. The scene was surreal-a deep mountain grotto in which hundreds of bodies moved as one. They surged up and down, hands pressed firmly to their sides, heads bobbing like lifeless bulbs on top of rigid spines. Crazed souls took running dives off a stage and landed on a sea of human limbs. Bodies were passed back and forrader like human beach balls. Overhead, the pulsating strobes gave the whole thing the look of an old, silent movie.On the far wall, speakers the size of minivans shook so deeply that not even the most dedicated dancers could get closer than thirty feet from the pounding woofers.Becker plugged his ears and searched the crowd. Everywhere he looked was another red, white, and blue head. The bodies were packed so closely in concert that he couldnt see what they were wearing. He saw no hint of a British flag anywhere. It was obvious hed never be able to enter the crowd without getting trampled. Someone nearby started vomiting.Lovely. Becker groaned. He mo ved off down a spray-painted hallway.The hall turned into a narrow mirrored tunnel, which opened to an alfresco patio scattered with tables and chairs. The patio was crowded with punk rockers, but to Becker it was like the gateway to Shangri-La-the summer sky opened up above him and the music fatigued away.Ignoring the curious stares, Becker walked out into the crowd. He loosened his tie and collapsed into a chair at the nearest unoccupied table. It seemed like a lifetime since Strathmores early-morning call.After glade the empty beer bottles from his table, Becker laid his head in his hands. Just for a few minutes, he thought.Five miles away, the man in wire-rim glasses sat in the back of a Fiat taxi as it raced headlong down a country road.Embrujo, he grunted, reminding the driver of their destination.The driver nodded, eyeing his curious new fare in the rearview mirror. Embrujo, he grumbled to himself. Weirder crowd every night.Chapter 53Tokugen Numataka lay naked on the massa ge table in his penthouse office. His personal masseuse worked out the kinks in his neck. She ground her palms into the laborious pockets surrounding his shoulder blades, slowly on the job(p) her way down to the towel covering his backside. Her hands slipped lower beneath his towel. Numataka notwithstanding noticed. His mind was elsewhere. He had been time lag for his private line to ring. It had not.There was a knock at the door.Enter, Numataka grunted.The masseuse quickly pulled her hands from beneath the towel.The switchboard operator entered and bow. Honored chairman?Speak.The operator bowed a second time. I spoke to the phone exchange. The call originated from country code 1-the United States.Numataka nodded. This was good news. The call came from the States. He smiled. It was genuine.Where in the U.S.? he demanded.Theyre working on it, sir.Very well. Tell me when you have more.The operator bowed again and left.Numataka felt his muscles relax. Country code 1. Good news ind eed.Chapter 54Susan Fletcher paced impatiently in the Crypto bathroom and counted slowly to fifty. Her head was throbbing. Just a little longer, she told herself. Hale is North DakotaSusan wondered what Hales plans were. Would he announce the pass-key? Would he be greedy and try to transfer the algorithm? Susan couldnt bear to wait any longer. It was time. She had to get to Strathmore.Cautiously she cracked the door and peered out at the reflective wall on the far side of Crypto. There was no way to know if Hale was still watching. Shed have to move quickly to Strathmores office. Not too quickly, of course-she could not let Hale suspect she was on to him. She reached for the door and was about to pull it open when she heard something. Voices. Mens voices.The voices were coming through the ventilation shaft near the floor. She released the door and moved toward the vent. The words were muffled by the dull hum of the generators below. The conversation sounded like it was coming up from the sublevel catwalks. One voice was shrill, angry. It sounded like Phil Chartrukian.You dont believe me?The sound of more tilt rose.We have a virusThen the sound of harsh yelling.We need to call JabbaThen there were sounds of a struggle.Let me goThe noise that followed was barely human. It was a long wailing cry of horror, like a tortured animal about to die. Susan froze beside the vent. The noise ended as abruptly as it had begun. Then there was a silence.An instant later, as if choreographed for some cheap horror matinee, the lights in the bathroom slowly dimmed. Then they flickered and went out. Susan Fletcher found herself standing in centre blackness.