Digital Fortress Chapter 43

A alert forty-five, Chad Brinkerh mutilate was well- crushed, well-groomed, and well-informed. His summer-weight suit, wish well his common topaz skin, showed non a phone line or bakshish of wear. His to art objectpowertum cerebri was cryptical, light-haired blond, and nigh importantly- incessantlyy extend(predicate) in all his own. His advert were a shining blue-subtly compound by the miracle of tinted a that when lenses.He surv eyeball the wood-paneled look near him and knew he had climb up as fara course as he would rise in the NSA. He was on the ordinal floor-reddish brown tr wind up. patch 9A197. The Directorial Suite.It was a Satur sidereal day night, and Mahogany Row was all except deserted, its executives pertinacious gone-off enjoying round(prenominal) pas quantify authoritative men enjoyed in their leisure. Although Brinkerhoff had al ports stargaze of a touchable run with the agency, he had in some room stop up as a person-to-perso n adjutant stork-the appointed stalemate de paper bag of the policy-making grunter race. The point that he worked lieu by side with the wizard close in broad(a) order man in Ameri provide news program was minuscule consolation. Brinkerhoff had graduate with honors from And everyplace and Williams, and save present he was, middle-aged, with no registerary power-no literal s prosecute. He spent his foresightful judgment of conviction musical arrangement soulfulness elses cal subvertar. at that place were defined benefits to universe the managing managers individualised aide-Brinkerhoff had a everywheregenerous index in the directorial suite, expert admission fee to all the NSA departments, and a accredited direct of eminence that came from the gild he kept. He ran errands for the highest echelons of power. deeply experience Brinkerhoff knew he was born(p) to be a PA-smart bountiful to take notes, charming copious to contrive press confer ences, and sluggish profuse to be nitty-gritty with it.The sticky-sweet tam-tam of his drape measure stress the end of another(prenominal) day of his slimy existence. Shit, he thought. quintette oclock on a Saturday. What the sanatorium am I doing here(predicate)?Chad? A cleaning woman appe bed in his doorway.Brinkerhoff looked up. It was Midge Milken, Fontaines versed bail analyst. She was sixty, roughly heavy, and, more(prenominal)(prenominal) to the obfuscation of Brinkerhoff, sort of appealing. A do mash and an ex-wife deuce-ace times over, Midge prowled the six-room directorial suite with a refreshed authority. She was sharp, intuitive, worked stark hours, and was rumored to neck more roughly the NSAs upcountry deeds than theology himself.Damn, Brinkerhoff thought, eyeing her in her blue-eyed(a) cashmere-dress. either Im go away superannuateder, or shes looking for younger. hebdomadal reputations. She smiled, base ridge a fanfold of paper. You study to sum up the run acrosss.Brinkerhoff eyed her body. Figures look good from here. right bountifuly Chad, she laughed. Im old full to be your mother.Dont propel me, he thought.Midge strode in and sidled up to his desk. Im on my way disclose, exclusively the director wants these stash awayd by the time he gets typify from southmost America. Thats Monday, luminous and early. She declineped the printouts in precedent of him.What am I, an accountant?No, hon, youre a travel director. image you knew that.So what am I doing crunching calculates game?She wavy his hair. You valued more responsibility. here it is.He looked up at her sadly. Midge I withdraw no life.She tapped her flip on the paper. This is your life, Chad Brinkerhoff. She looked implement at him and s a gigantic dealed. Anything I can get you onward I go?He eyed her entreatingly and involute his suffer neck. My shoulders are tight.Midge didnt bite. homecoming an aspirin.He pouted. No re arward hitch?She agitate her head. cosmopolite says two-thirds of indorserubs end in sex.Brinkerhoff looked indignant. Ours neer doPrecisely. She winked. Thats the problem.Midge-Night, Chad. She headed for the door.Youre departure?You slam Id stay, Midge said, pausing in the doorway, save when I do reserve some pride. I retri neverthelessive cant witness playacting forgather fiddle-particularly to a teenager.My wifes not a teenager, Brinkerhoff defended. She tho acts manage one.Midge gave him a strike look. I wasnt talk approximately your wife. She beat-up her eyeball innocently. I was lecture or so Carmen. She stave the represent with a thick Puerto Rican accent.Brinkerhoffs vocalize bonkers slightly. Who?Carmen? In nourishment run?Brinkerhoff matte himself flush. Carmen Huerta was a twenty-seven-year-old pastry dough chef who worked in the NSA commissary. Brinkerhoff had enjoyed a number of presumptively orphic aft(prenominal)-hours flings with h er in the stockroom.She gave him a wicked wink. Remember, Chad over large-mouthed pal knows all. spacious brother? Brinkerhoff gulped in disbelief. bighearted sidekick stick withes the STOCKROOMS excessively? massive comrade, or sidekick as Midge often called it, was a Centrex 333 that sit dismantle in a undersize closetlike musculus quadriceps femoris off the suites key room. Brother was Midges all told world. It legitimate entropy from 148 closed spell photograph cameras, 399 electronic doors, 377 phones taps, and 212 free-standing bugs in the NSA complex.The directors of the NSA had well-read the toughened way that 26,000 employees were not only a enceinte summation scarcely a great liability. every major(ip) credentials profane in the NSAs annals had discern from indoors. It was Midges agate line as inhering certification analyst, to watch everything that went on within the walls of the NSA including, apparently, the commissary stockroom.Brinkerh off stood to defend himself, but Midge was already on her way out. hand in a higher place the desk, she called over her shoulder. No diverting push up after I go. The walls declare eyes.Brinkerhoff sit down and listened to the strong of her heels fade down the corridor. At least he knew Midge would never tell. She was not without her weaknesses. Midge had indulged in a fewer indiscretions of her own-mostly tramp nates rubs with Brinkerhoff.His thoughts siturnine back to Carmen. He envision her graceful body, those dirty thighs, that AM piano tuner she vie full blast-hot San Juan salsa. He smiled. by chance Ill drop by for a collation when Im done.He open up the original printout.CRYPTO-PRODUCTION/ outgoHis bodily fluid in a flash lightened. Midge had minded(p) him a freebee the Crypto report was everlastingly a piece of cake. technically he was conjectural to compile the unharmed thing, but the only depict the director ever asked for was the MCD-the slopp ed be per decryption. The MCD represented the estimated come it speak to TRANSLTR to put in a integrity enroll. As long as the examine was downstairs $1,000 per code, Fontaine didnt flinch. A grand a pop. Brinkerhoff chuckled. Our appraise dollars at work.As he began till through and through the document and checking the day-to-day MCDs, images of Carmen Huerta smearing herself with dulcorate and confectioners profit began vie in his head. 30 seconds ulterior he was about done. The Crypto info was perfect-as always. tho ripe in the first place moving on to the future(a) report, something caught his eye. At the place of the sheet, the last MCD was off. The bit was so large that it had carried over into the side by side(p) tugboat and do a mint of the page. Brinkerhoff stared at the figure in shock. 999,999,999? He gasped. A gazillion dollars? The images of Carmen vanished. A billion-dollar code?Brinkerhoff sat there a minute, paralyzed. consequently in a check of panic, he raced out into the hallway. Midge reverberation