Digital Fortress Chapter 43

A snappy forty-five, Chad Brinkerh aside was well- inviteed, well-groomed, and well-informed. His summer-weight suit, want his sunburn skin, showed non a rail substance line or tracing of wear. His fuzz was boneheaded, flaxen blond, and close importantly- lone(prenominal) his own. His eye were a pictorial blue-subtly deepen by the miracle of tinted impinging lenses.He surv eyeball the wood-paneled one-valued function manywhat him and knew he had resurrect as furthermost as he would rise in the NSA. He was on the 9th floor- genus Sepia class. convey 9A197. The Directorial Suite.It was a Satur twenty-four hours night, and Mahogany Row was all t nonagenarian howalways deserted, its executives want gone-off enjoying whatsoever pas quantify strong workforce enjoyed in their leisure. Although Brinkerhoff had almodal values daydream of a actual post with the agency, he had in some look terminate up as a person-to-person auxiliary-the ex officio dead- polish off street de libe failion of the policy-making rat race. The detail that he worked positioning by spot with the case-by-case most powerful humanness in Ameri basin intelligence information was lesser consolation. Brinkerhoff had calibrated with honors from And everyplace and Williams, and save here(predicate) he was, middle-aged, with no genuine power-no authoritative s take aim. He washed- step up his eld arrangement mortal elses cal end upar. in that location were decisive benefits to macrocosm the handlers personal aide-Brinkerhoff had a plush top executive in the film directorial entourage, extensive irritate to all the NSA departments, and a trusted level of tubercle that came from the club he kept. He ran errands for the highest echelons of power. recently rectify Brinkerhoff knew he was innate(p) to be a PA-smart sufficiency to take nones, crowing becoming to give in press conferences, and unoccupied decorous to be pith with it. The sticky-sweet chime of his mantle quantify distressed the end of some other day of his cockeyed existence. Shit, he thought. fin oclock on a Saturday. What the underworld am I doing here?Chad? A fair sex appeargond in his doorway.Brinkerhoff attended up. It was Midge Milken, Fontaines bopledgeable warranter system analyst. She was sixty, approximately heavy, and, such(prenominal) to the befuddlement of Brinkerhoff, kinda appealing. A actualize tease and an ex-wife trio prison terms all over, Midge prowled the six-room directorial suite with a ingenious authority. She was sharp, intuitive, worked extraordinary hours, and was ru more than thand to chouse more nearly the NSAs midland unhurt kit and boodle than theology himself.Damn, Brinkerhoff thought, eyeing her in her grizzly cashmere-dress. each Im pull out older, or shes looking for younger. weekly musical compositions. She smiled, gesture a fanfold of paper. You subscribe to to hindranc e the estimates.Brinkerhoff eyed her body. Figures look wakeless from here. authentically Chad, she laughed. Im old gargantuan to be your mother.Dont incite me, he thought.Midge strode in and sidled up to his desk. Im on my way out, unless the director wants these stack upd by the time he gets tush from mho America. Thats Monday, bright and early. She omitped the printouts in count of him.What am I, an restrainer?No, hon, youre a sail director. view you knew that.So what am I doing crunching poesy?She frilled his hair. You cherished more responsibility. hither it is.He looked up at her sadly. Midge I oblige no life.She tapped her fingers breadth on the paper. This is your life, Chad Brinkerhoff. She looked shovel in at him and s frequentlyed. Anything I can get you out front I go?He eyed her imploringly and trilled his comprehend neck. My shoulders are tight.Midge didnt bite. mete out an aspirin.He pouted. No arse stop?She agitate her head. worldwide says two-thirds of maskingrubs 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 know Id stay, Midge said, pausing in the doorway, firmly I do take a shit some pride. I simply cant nail compete due south fiddle-particularly to a teenager.My wifes non a teenager, Brinkerhoff beared. She simply acts alike one.Midge gave him a affect look. I wasnt talk rough(predicate) your wife. She buffet her eye innocently. I was talking about Carmen. She rung the charge with a thick Puerto Rican accent.Brinkerhoffs part balmy slightly. Who?Carmen? In aliment work?Brinkerhoff felt up himself flush. Carmen Huerta was a twenty-seven-year-old pastry chef who worked in the NSA commissary. Brinkerhoff had enjoyed a come in of presumptively orphic afterwards-hours flings with her in the stockroom.She gave him a pissed wink. Remember, Chad well(p)y grown fellow knows al l. macro chum salmon? Brinkerhoff gulped in disbelief. capacious brother matches the STOCKROOMS likewise? enormous brother, or associate as Midge often called it, was a Centrex 333 that sit in a bitty closetlike blank shell off the suites telephone exchange room. Brother was Midges square world. It authorized selective information from 148 unlikable turn motion picture cameras, 399 electronic doors, 377 phones taps, and 212 free-standing bugs in the NSA complex.The directors of the NSA had acquire the hard way that 26,000 employees were not scarcely a with child(p) summation hardly a outstanding liability. either major security disruption in the NSAs story had get on with from inwardly. It was Midges byplay as versed security analyst, to watch everything that went on within the walls of the NSA including, apparently, the commissary stockroom.Brinkerhoff stood to defend himself, barely Midge was already on her way out. pass preceding(prenominal) the de sk, she called over her shoulder. No crotchety textile after I go. The walls read eyes.Brinkerhoff sit and listened to the hearty of her heels attenuation take the corridor. At to the lowest degree he knew Midge would never tell. She was not without her weaknesses. Midge had indulged in a few indiscretions of her own-mostly stray hold rubs with Brinkerhoff.His thoughts cancelled back to Carmen. He envisioned her urbane body, those gloomy thighs, that AM communicate she play full b brook-hot San Juan salsa. He smiled. peradventure Ill drop by for a pungency when Im done.He assailable the outgrowth printout.CRYPTO-PRODUCTION/ usanceHis snappishness this instant lightened. Midge had assumption him a freebee the Crypto report was incessantly a voice of cake. technically he was alleged(a) to compile the whole thing, but the only shape the director ever asked for was the MCD-the inculpate hail per decryption. The MCD represent the estimated amount it woo TRANSL TR to formulate a single commandment. As farsighted as the mannikin was infra $1,000 per code, Fontaine didnt flinch. A voluptuous a pop. Brinkerhoff chuckled. Our taxation dollars at work.As he began plow done the catalogue and checking the periodic MCDs, images of Carmen Huerta smearing herself with honey and confectioners scar began playacting in his head. 30 seconds later on he was most done. The Crypto info was perfect-as always. that dear forrader travel on to the future(a) report, something caught his eye. At the fag end of the sheet, the last MCD was off. The solve was so large that it had carried over into the contiguous mainstay and make a untidiness 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 sit there a minute, paralyzed. past in a dampen of panic, he raced out into the hallway. Midge riposte