Digital Fortress Chapter 55-58

Chapter 55Youre in my seat, asshole.Becker lifted his head make his arms. Doesnt anyone speak Spanish in this damn country?Glaring cut gage at him was a short, pimple-faced teenager with a shaved head. Half of his scalp was red and half was purple. He go toed like an Easter egg. I said youre in my seat, asshole.I heard you the first time, Becker said, standing up. He was in no mood for a fight. It was time to go.Whered you put my bottles? the pull the leg of snarled. There was a safety block in his nose.Becker pointed to the beer bottles hed located on the ground. They were empty.They were my fuckin emptiesMy apologies, Becker said, and turned to go.The tacky blocked his way. Pick em upBecker blinked, not amused. Youre pincerding, right? He was a full foot taller and outweighed the child by about fifty pounds.Do I fuckin look like Im kidding?Becker said nothing.Pick em up The kids voice cracked.Becker attempted to step around him, but the teenager blocked his way. I said, fuckin pick em upStoned punks at nearby shelves began turning to watch the excitement.You dont want to do this, kid, Becker said quietly.Im warning you The kid seethed. This is my table I come here every night. Now pick em upBeckers patience ran out. Wasnt he supposed to be in the Smokys with Susan? What was he doing in Spain arguing with a psyc sultryic adolescent?Without warning, Becker caught the kid to a lower place the armpits, lifted him up, and slammed his rear end down on the table. Look, you runny-nosed little runt. Youre going to back off right now, or Im going to rip that safety pin out of your nose and pin your mouth shut.The kids face went pale.Becker held him a moment, then he released his grip. Without fetching his eyes off the frightened kid, Becker stooped down, picked up the bottles, and returned them to the table. What do you say? he asked.The kid was speechless.Youre welcome, Becker snapped. This kids a walking billboard for birth control.Go to blazing the k id yelled, now aware of his peers laughing at him. Ass-wipeBecker didnt move. Something the kid had said suddenly registered. I come here every night. Becker wondered if maybe the kid could athletic supporter him. Im sorry, Becker said, I didnt catch your name.Two-Tone, he hissed, as if he were giving a death sentence.Two-Tone? Becker mused. Let me guess because of your hair?No shit, Sherlock.Catchy name. Make that up yourself?Damn straight, he said proudly. Im gonna patent it.Becker scowled. You mean trademark it?The kid looked confused.Youd com servicemand a trademark for a name, Becker said. Not a patent.Whatever the punk screamed in frustration.The motley assortment of drunken and drugged-out kids at the nearby tables were now in hysterics. Two-Tone stood up and sneered at Becker. What the fuck do you want from me?Becker thought a moment. I want you to wash your hair, cleanup your language, and get a job. Becker figured it was too frequently to ask on a first meeting. I need some information, he said.Fuck you.Im looking for someone.I aint seen him.Havent seen him, Becker corrected as he flagged a passing waitress. He bought cardinal Aguila beers and handed one to Two-Tone. The boy looked shocked. He took a swig of beer and eyed Becker warily.You hitting on me, mister?Becker smiled. Im looking for a girl.Two-Tone let out a shrill laugh. You sure as hell aint gonna get any action dressed like thatBecker frowned. Im not looking for action. I just need to talk to her. Maybe you could help me find her.Two-Tone set down his beer. You a cop?Becker shook his head.The kids eyes narrowed. You look like a cop.Kid, Im from Maryland. If I were a cop, Id be a little out of my jurisdiction, dont you work out?The interrogative mood seemed to stump him.My names David Becker. Becker smiled and offered his hand across the table.The punk recoiled in disgust. Back off, fag boy.Becker retracted the hand.The kid sneered. Ill help you, but itll cost you.Becker played a bro ad. How much?A hundred bucks.Becker frowned. Ive only got pesetas.Whatever Make it a hundred pesetas.Foreign currency exc mentione was obviously not one of Two-Tones fortes a hundred pesetas was about eighty-seven cents. Deal, Becker said, rapping his bottle on the table.The kid smiled for the first time. Deal.Okay, Becker continued in his hushed tone. I figure the girl Im looking for might hang out here. Shes got red, white, and blue hair.Two-Tone snorted. Its Judas Taboos anniversary. Everybodys got-Shes also wearing a British flag T-shirt and has a skull pendant in one ear.A faint look of recognition crossed Two-Tones face. Becker saw it and felt a surge of hope. But a moment later Two-Tones expression turned stern. He slammed his bottle down and grabbed Beckers shirt.Shes Eduardos, you asshole Id watch it You touch her, and hell kill youChapter 56Midge Milken prowled angrily into the conference room across from her office. In addition to the thirty-two foot mahogany table with the NSA seal inlaid in black cherry and walnut, the conference room contained terzetto Marion Pike watercolors, a Boston fern, a marble wet bar, and of course, the necessary Sparkletts water cooler. Midge helped herself to a glass of water, hoping it might calm her nerves.As she sipped at the liquid, she gazed across at the window. The moonlight was filtering through the out-of-doors venetian blind and contend on the grain of the table. Shed always thought this would make a nicer directors office than Fontaines current location on the appear of the building. Rather than looking out everyplace the NSA parking percentage, the conference room looked out over an impressive array of NSA outbuildings-including the Crypto dome, a high-tech island floating separate from the main building on three wooded acres. Purposefully situated behind the natural cover of a grove of maples, Crypto was difficult to see from most windows in the NSA complex, but the view from the directorial suite was perfect. To Midge the conference room seemed the perfect vantage point for a king to survey his domain. She had suggested once that Fontaine move his office, but the director had simply replied, Not on the rear. Fontaine was not a man to be found on the back end of anything.Midge pulled apart the blinds. She stared out at the hills. Sighing ruefully, she let her eyes attain toward the secern where Crypto stood. Midge had always felt comforted by the sight of the Crypto dome-a glowing beacon regardless of the hour. But tonight, as she gazed out, there was no comfort. Instead she found herself stark(a) into a void. As she pressed her face to the glass, she was gripped by a wild, girlish panic. Below her there was nothing but blackness. Crypto had disappearedChapter 57The Crypto bathrooms had no windows, and the darkness contact Susan Fletcher was absolute. She stood dead noneffervescent for a moment trying to get her bearings, acutely aware of the growing sense of panic gripp ing her body. The horrible cry from the ventilating system shaft seemed to hang all around her. Despite her effort to fight off a rising sense of d watch, fear swept across her pattern and took control.In a flurry of involuntary motion, Susan found herself groping wildly across stall doors and sinks. Disoriented, she spun through the blackness with her hands out in front of her and tried to picture the room. She knocked over a garbage can and found herself against a tiled wall. Following the wall with her hand, she scrambled toward the exit and fumbled for the door handle. She pulled it open and stumbled out onto the Crypto floor.There she froze for a second time.The Crypto floor looked nothing like it had just moments ago. TRANSLTR was a gray silhouette against the faint twilight coming in through the dome. All of the overhead lighting was dead. Not even the electronic keypads on the doors were glowing.As Susans eyes became accustomed to the dark, she saw that the only light in C rypto was coming through the open trapdoor-a faint red glow from the utility lighting below. She moved toward it. There was the faint smell of ozone in the air.When she made it to the trapdoor, she peered into the hole. The freon vents were still belching swirling mist through the redness, and from the higher-pitched drone of the generators, Susan knew Crypto was running on backup power. Through the mist she could make out Strathmore standing on the platform below. He was leaning over the railing and staring into the depths of TRANSLTRs rumbling shaft.CommanderThere was no response.Susan eased onto the ladder. The hot air from below rushed in under her skirt. The rungs were slippery with condensation. She set herself down on the grated landing.Commander?Strathmore did not turn. He continued staring down with a blank look of shock, as if in a trance. Susan followed his gaze over the banister. For a moment she could see nothing except wisps of steam. whence suddenly she saw it. A fig ure. Six stories below. It appeared briefly in the billows of steam. There it was again. A tangled mass of twisted limbs. Lying ninety feet below them, Phil Chartrukian was sprawled across the sharp iron fins of the main generator. His body was darkened and burned. His fall had shorted out Cryptos main power supply.But the most chilling image of all was not of Chartrukian but of someone else, another body, halfway down the long staircase, crouched, hiding in the shadows. The muscular frame was unmistakable. It was Greg Hale.Chapter 58The punk screamed at Becker, Megan belongs to my friend Eduardo You stay away from herWhere is she? Beckers heart was racing out of control.Fuck youIts an catch Becker snapped. He grabbed the kids sleeve. Shes got a ring that belongs tome. Ill pay her for it A lotTwo-Tone stopped dead and burst into hysterics. You mean that ugly, gold piece of shit is yours?Beckers eyes widened. Youve seen it?Two-Tone nodded coyly.Where is it? Becker demanded.No clue. Two-Tone chuckled. Megan was up here trying to hock it.She was trying to sell it?Dont worry, man, she didnt have any luck. Youve got shitty taste in jewelry. atomic number 18 you sure nobody bought it?Are you shitting me? For four hundred bucks? I told her Id give her fifty, but she wanted more. She was trying to buy a plane ticket-standby.Becker felt the blood drain from his face. Whereto?Fuckin computed tomography, Two-tone snapped. Eddies bummin.Connecticut?Shit, yeah. Going back to Mommy and Daddys mansion in the burbs. Hated her Spanish homestay family. Three Spic brothers always hitting on her. No fucking hot water.Becker felt a knot rise in his throat. When is she leaving?Two-Tone looked up. When? He laughed. Shes long gone by now. Went to the airport hours ago. Best spot to hock the ring-rich tourists and shit. at once she got the cash, she was flying out.A dull nausea swept through Beckers gut. This is some kind of sick joke, isnt it? He stood a long moment. Whats her last name?Two-Tone pondered the question and shrugged.What flight was she taking?She said something about the Roach Coach.Roach Coach?Yeah. Weekend red-eye-Seville, Madrid, La Guardia. Thats what they call it. College kids take it cause its cheap. Guess they sit in back and smoke roaches.Great. Becker groaned, running a hand through his hair. What time did it leave?Two a.m. sharp, every Saturday night. Shes somewhere over the Atlantic by now.Becker checked his watch. It read 145 p.m. He turned to Two-Tone, confused. You said its a two a.m. flight?The punk nodded, laughing. Looks like youre fucked, ol man.Becker pointed angrily to his watch. But its only quarter to twoTwo-Tone eyed the watch, apparently puzzled. Well, Ill be damned. he laughed. Im usually not this buzzed till four a.m.Whats the fastest way to the airport? Becker snapped.Taxi stand out front.Becker grabbed a 1,000-peseta note from his pocket and stuff edit in Two-Tones hand.Hey, man, thanks the punk called after him. If y ou see Megan, tell her I said hi But Becker was already gone.Two-Tone sighed and staggered back toward the dance floor. He was too drunk to notice the man in wire-rim glasses following him.Outside, Becker scanned the parking lot for a taxi. There was none. He ran over to a stocky bouncer. TaxiThe bouncer shook his head. Demasiado temprano. Too early.Too early? Becker swore. Its two oclock in the morningPidame uno Call me oneThe man pulled out a walkie-talkie. He said a few words and then signed off. Veinte minutos, he offered.Twenty minutes? Becker demanded. Y elautobus?The bouncer shrugged. 45 minutos.Becker threw up his hands. PerfectThe sound of a small engine turned Beckers head. It sounded like a chainsaw. A big kid and his chain-clad date pulled into the parking lot on an old Vespa 250 motorcycle. The girls skirt had blown high on her thighs. She didnt seem to notice. Becker dashed over. I cant believe Im doing this, he thought. I hate motorcycles. He yelled to the driver. Il l pay you ten thousand pesetas to take me to the airportThe kid ignored him and killed the engine.Twenty thousand Becker blurted. I need to get to the airportThe kid looked up. Scusi? He was Italian.Aeroporto Per favore. Sulla Vespa Venti mille peseteThe Italian eyed his crummy, little bike and laughed. Venti mille pesete? La Vespa?Cinquanta mille Fifty thousand Becker offered. It was about four hundred dollars.The Italian laughed doubtfully. Dove la plata? Wheres the cash?Becker pulled five 10,000-peseta notes from his pocket and held them out. The Italian looked at the money and then at his girlfriend. The girl grabbed the cash and stuffed it in her blouse.Grazie the Italian beamed. He tossed Becker the keys to his Vespa. Then he grabbed his girlfriends hand, and they ran off laughing into the building.Aspetta Becker yelled. Wait I wanted a ride