As the two vehicles rocketed into the empty hangar, Becker desperately searched for an escape. There was none. The building’s rear wall, an expansive sheet of corrugated metal, had no doors or windows. The taxi roared up beside him, and Becker looked left to see Hulohot raising his gun.

Reflex took over. Becker slammed down on his brakes. He barely slowed. The hangar floor was slick with oil. The Vespa went into a headlong skid.

Beside him there was a deafening squeal as the taxi’s brakes locked and the balding tires hydroplaned on the slippery surface. The car spun around in a cloud of smoke and burning rubber only inches to the left of Becker’s skidding Vespa.

Now side by side, the two vehicles skimmed out of control on a collision course with the rear of the hangar. Becker desperately pumped his brakes, but there was no traction; it was like driving on ice. In front of him, the metal wall loomed. It was coming fast. As the taxi spiraled wildly beside him, Becker faced the wall and braced for the impact.

There was an earsplitting crash of steel and corrugated metal. But there was no pain. Becker found himself suddenly in the open air, still on his Vespa, bouncing across a grassy field. It was as if the hangar’s back wall had vanished before him. The taxi was still beside him, careening across the field. An enormous sheet of corrugated metal from the hangar’s back wall billowed off the taxi’s hood and sailed over Becker’s head.

Heart racing, Becker gunned the Vespa and took off into the night.

Jabba let out a contented sigh as he finished the last of his solder points. He switched off the iron, put down his penlight, and lay a moment in the darkness of the mainframe computer. He was beat. His neck hurt. Internal work was always cramped, especially for a man of his size.

And they just keep building them smaller, he mused.

As he closed his eyes for a well?deserved moment of relaxation, someone outside began pulling on his boots.

“Jabba! Get out here!” a woman’s voice yelled.

Midge found me. He groaned.

“Jabba! Get out here!”

Reluctantly he slithered out. “For the love of God, Midge! I told you—” But it was not Midge. Jabba looked up, surprised. “Soshi?”

Soshi Kuta was a ninety?pound live wire. She was Jabba’s righthand assistant, a razor?sharp Sys?Sec techie from MIT. She often worked late with Jabba and was the one member of his staff who seemed unintimidated by him. She glared at him and demanded, “Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone? Or my page?”

“Your page,” Jabba repeated. “I thought it was—”

“Never mind. There’s something strange going on in the main databank.”

Jabba checked his watch. “Strange?” Now he was growing concerned. “Can you be any more specific?”

Two minutes later Jabba was dashing down the hall toward the databank.

Greg Hale lay curled on the Node 3 floor. Strathmore and Susan had just dragged him across Crypto and bound his hands and feet with twelve?gauge printer cable from the Node 3 laser?printers.

Susan couldn’t get over the artful maneuver the commander had just executed. He faked the call! Somehow Strathmore had captured Hale, saved Susan, and bought himself the time needed to rewrite Digital Fortress.

Susan eyed the bound cryptographer uneasily. Hale was breathing heavily. Strathmore sat on the couch with the Berretta propped awkwardly in his lap. Susan returned her attention to Hale’s terminal and continued her random?string search.

Her fourth string search ran its course and came up empty. “Still no luck.” She sighed. “We may need to wait for David to find Tankado’s copy.”

Strathmore gave her a disapproving look. “If David fails, and Tankado’s key falls into the wrong hands . . .”

Strathmore didn’t need to finish. Susan understood. Until the Digital Fortress file on the Internet had been replaced with Strathmore’s modified version, Tankado’s pass?key was dangerous.

“After we make the switch,” Strathmore added, “I don’t care how many pass?keys are floating around; the more the merrier.” He motioned for her to continue searching. “But until then, we’re playing beat?the?clock.”

Susan opened her mouth to acknowledge, but her words were drowned out by a sudden deafening blare. The silence of Crypto was shattered by a warning horn from the sublevels. Susan and Strathmore exchanged startled looks.

“What’s that?” Susan yelled, timing her question between the intermittent bursts.

“TRANSLTR!” Strathmore called back, looking troubled. “It’s too hot! Maybe Hale was right about the aux power not pulling enough freon.”

“What about the auto?abort?”

Strathmore thought a moment, then yelled, “Something must have shorted.” A yellow siren light spun above the Crypto floor and swept a pulsating glare across his face.

“You better abort!” Susan called.

Strathmore nodded. There was no telling what would happen if three million silicon processors overheated and decided to ignite. Strathmore needed to get upstairs to his terminal and abort the Digital Fortress run?particularly before anyone outside of Crypto noticed the trouble and decided to send in the cavalry.

Strathmore shot a glance at the still?unconscious Hale. He laid the Berretta on a table near Susan and yelled over the sirens, “Be right back!” As he disappeared through the hole in the Node 3 wall, Strathmore called over his shoulder, “And find me that pass?key!”

Susan eyed the results of her unproductive pass?key search and hoped Strathmore would hurry up and abort. The noise and lights in Crypto felt like a missile launch.

On the floor, Hale began to stir. With each blast of the horn, he winced. Susan surprised herself by grabbing the Berretta. Hale opened his eyes to Susan Fletcher standing over him with the gun leveled at his crotch.

“Where’s the pass?key?” Susan demanded.

Hale was having trouble getting his bearings. “Wh?what happened?”

“You blew it, that’s what happened. Now, where’s the passkey?”

Hale tried to move his arms but realized he was tied. His face became taut with panic. “Let me go!”

“I need the pass?key,” Susan repeated.

“I don’t have it! Let me go!” Hale tried to getup. He could barely roll over.

Susan yelled between blasts of the horn. “You’re North Dakota, and Ensei Tankado gave you a copy of his key. I need it now!”

“You’re crazy!” Hale gasped. “I’m not North Dakota!” He struggled unsuccessfully to free himself.

Susan charged angrily. “Don’t lie to me. Why the hell is all of North Dakota’s mail in your account?”

“I told you before!” Hale pleaded as the horns blared on. “I snooped Strathmore! That E?mail in my account was mail I copied out of Strathmore’s account?E?mail COMINT stole from Tankado!”

“Bull! You could never snoop the commander’s account!”

“You don’t understand!” Hale yelled. “There was already a tap on Strathmore’s account!” Hale delivered his words in short bursts between the sirens. “Someone else put the tap there. I think it was Director Fontaine! I just piggybacked! You’ve got to believe me! That’s how I found out about his plan to rewrite Digital Fortress! I’ve been reading Strathmore’s brainstorms!”

Brain Storms? Susan paused. Strathmore had undoubtedly outlined his plans for Digital Fortress using his BrainStorm software. If anyone had snooped the commander’s account, all the information would have been available . . .

“Rewriting Digital Fortress is sick!” Hale cried. “You know damn well what it implies?total NSA access!” The sirens blasted, drowning him out, but Hale was possessed. “You think we’re ready for that responsibility? You think anyone is? It’s fucking shortsighted! You say our government has the people’s best interests at heart? Great! But what happens when some future government doesn’t have our best interests at heart! This technology is forever!”