Part 6 (1/2)
Her thoughts wheeled back five months to the night the presidentof Georgetown University had offered David a promotion to thelanguage department chair. The president had warned him that histeaching hours would be cut back and that there would be increasedpaperwork, but there was also a substantial raise in salary.
Susanhad wanted to cry out David, don't do it! You'll bemiserable. We have plenty of money-who cares which one of usearns it? But it was not her place. In the end, she stood byhis decision to accept. As they fell asleep that night, Susan triedto be happy for him, but something inside kept telling her it wouldbe a disaster. She'd been right-but she'd nevercounted on being so right. ”You paid him ten thousand dollars?” she demanded.”That's a dirty trick!”
Strathmore was fuming now. ”Trick? It wasn't anyG.o.dd.a.m.n trick! I didn't even tell him about the money. I askedhim as a personal favor. He agreed to go.”
”Of course he agreed! You're my boss! You're thedeputy director of the NSA! He couldn't say no!”
”You're right,” Strathmore snapped. ”Whichis why I called him. I didn't have the luxuryof-”
”Does the director know you sent a civilian?”
”Susan,” Strathmore said, his patience obviouslywearing thin, ”the director is not involved. He knows nothingabout this.”
Susan stared at Strathmore in disbelief. It was as if she nolonger knew the man she was talking to. He had sent herfiance-a teacher-on an NSA mission and then failedto notify the director about the biggest crisis in the history ofthe organization.
”Leland Fontaine hasn't beennotified?”
Strathmore had reached the end of his rope. He exploded.”Susan, now listen here! I called you in here because I needan ally, not an inquiry! I've had one h.e.l.l of morning.
Idownloaded Tankado's file last night and sat here by theoutput printer for hours praying TRANSLTR could break it. At dawn Iswallowed my pride and dialed the director-and let me tellyou, that was a conversation I was really lookingforward to.
Good morning, sir. I'm sorry to wake you. Why am Icalling? I just found out TRANSLTR is obsolete. It's becauseof an algorithm my entire top-dollar Crypto team couldn't comeclose to writing!” Strathmore slammed his fist on thedesk.
Susan stood frozen. She didn't make a sound. In ten years,she had seen Strathmore lose his cool only a handful of times, andnever once with her.
Ten seconds later neither one of them had spoken. FinallyStrathmore sat back down, and Susan could hear his breathingslowing to normal. When he finally spoke, his voice was eerily calmand controlled.
”Unfortunately,” Strathmore said quietly, ”itturns out the director is in South America meeting with thePresident of Colombia. Because there's absolutely nothing hecould do from down there, I had two options-request he cut hismeeting short and return, or handle this myself.” There was along silence. Strathmore finally looked up, and his tired eyes metSusan's. His expression softened immediately. ”Susan,I'm sorry. I'm exhausted. This is a nightmare come true.I know you're upset about David. I didn't mean for you tofind out this way. I thought you knew.”
Susan felt a wave of guilt. ”I overreacted. I'm sorry.David is a good choice.”
Strathmore nodded absently. ”He'll be backtonight.” Susan thought about everything the commander was goingthrough-the pressure of overseeing TRANSLTR, the endless hoursand meetings. It was rumored his wife of thirty years was leavinghim. Then on top of it, there was Digital Fortress-the biggestintelligence threat in the history of the NSA, and the poor guy wasflying solo.
No wonder he looked about to crack.
”Considering the circ.u.mstances,” Susan said, ”Ithink you should probably call the director.”
Strathmore shook his head, a bead of sweat dripping on his desk.”I'm not about to compromise the director's safetyor risk a leak by contacting him about a major crisis he can donothing about.”
Susan knew he was right. Even in moments like these, Strathmorewas clear-headed.
”Have you considered calling thePresident?”
Strathmore nodded. ”Yes. I've decided against.i.t.”
Susan had figured as much. Senior NSA officials had the right tohandle verifiable intelligence emergencies without executiveknowledge. The NSA was the only U.S.
intelligence organization thatenjoyed total immunity from federal accountability of any sort.Strathmore often availed himself of this right; he preferred towork his magic in isolation.
”Commander,” she argued, ”this is too big to behandled alone. You've got to let somebody else in onit.”
”Susan, the existence of Digital Fortress has majorimplications for the future of this organization. I have nointention of informing the President behind the director'sback.
We have a crisis, and I'm handling it.” He eyed herthoughtfully. ”I am the deputy director ofoperations.” A weary smile crept across his face. ”Andbesides, I'm not alone. I've got Susan Fletcher on myteam.”
In that instant, Susan realized what she respected so much aboutTrevor Strathmore.
For ten years, through thick and thin, he hadalways led the way for her. Steadfast.
Unwavering. It was hisdedication that amazed her-his unshakable allegiance to hisprinciples, his country, and his ideals. Come what may, CommanderTrevor Strathmore was a guiding light in a world of impossibledecisions.
”You are on my team, aren't you?” heasked.
Susan smiled. ”Yes, sir, I am. One hundredpercent.”
”Good. Now can we get back to work?”
CHAPTER 12
David Becker had been to funerals and seen dead bodies before,but there was something particularly unnerving about this one. Itwas not an immaculately groomed corpse resting in a silk-linedcoffin. This body had been stripped naked and dumpedunceremoniously on an aluminum table. The eyes had not yet foundtheir vacant, lifeless gaze. Instead they were twisted upwardtoward the ceiling in an eerie freeze-frame of terror andregret.
”Donde estan sus efectos?” Beckerasked in fluent Castillian Spanish. ”Where are hisbelongings?”
”Alli,” replied the yellow-toothed lieutenant. Hepointed to a counter of clothing and other personal items.
”Es todo? Is that all?”
”Si.”
Becker asked for a cardboard box. The lieutenant hurried off tofind one.
It was Sat.u.r.day evening, and the Seville morgue was technicallyclosed. The young lieutenant had let Becker in under direct ordersfrom the head of the Seville Guardia- it seemed the visitingAmerican had powerful friends.
Becker eyed the pile of clothes. There was a pa.s.sport, wallet,and gla.s.ses stuffed in one of the shoes. There was also a smallduffel the Guardia had taken from the man's hotel.Becker's directions were clear: Touch nothing. Read nothing.Just bring it all back. Everything. Don't miss anything.
Becker surveyed the pile and frowned. What could the NSApossible want with this junk?
The lieutenant returned with a small box, and Becker beganputting the clothes inside.
The officer poked at the cadaver's leg. ”Quienes? Who is he?”
”No idea.”
”Looks Chinese.”