Digital Fortress Chapter 107-109

Part 107 Susan had no clue how much time had passed. A consuming in her throat pulled her to her detects. Perplexed, she considered her environmental factors. She was on a floor covering behind a work area. The main light in the room was an abnormal orange glinting. The air possessed a scent like consuming plastic. The room she was remaining in was not so much a room; it was a crushed shell. The shades were ablaze, and the Plexiglas dividers were seething. At that point she recalled that it all. David. In a rising frenzy, she pulled herself to her feet. The air felt scathing in her windpipe. She faltered to the entryway searching for away out. As she crossed the edge, her leg swung out over a void; she snatched the door jamb without a moment to spare. The catwalk had vanished. Fifty feet underneath was a curved breakdown of steaming metal. Susan examined the Crypto floor with sickening apprehension. It was an ocean of fire. The liquefied survives from 3,000,000 silicon chips had emitted from TRANSLTR like magma. Thick, harsh smoke surged upward. Susan knew the smell. Silicon smoke. Fatal toxic substance. Withdrawing into the remaining parts of Strathmore's office, she started to feel swoon. Her throat consumed. The whole spot was loaded up with a red hot light. Crypto was biting the dust. So will I, she thought. For a second, she considered the main conceivable leave Strathmore's lift. Be that as it may, she realized it was futile; the hardware could never have endure the impact. In any case, as Susan cleared her path through the thickening smoke, she reviewed Hale's words. The lift runs on power from the primary structure! I've seen the schematics! Susan realized that was valid. She additionally realized the whole shaft was encased in strengthened cement. The exhaust twirled all around her. She lurched through the smoke toward the lift entryway. Yet, when she arrived, she saw that the lift's call button was dull. Susan hit unproductively at the obscured board, at that point she tumbled to her knees and beat on the entryway. She halted quickly. Something was humming behind the entryways. Alarmed, she turned upward. It seemed like the carriage was in that spot! Susan cut at the catch once more. Once more, a buzzing behind the entryways. Out of nowhere she saw it. The call button was not dead-it had recently been secured with dark ash. It currently shined faintly underneath her smeared fingerprints. There's capacity! With a flood of expectation, she punched at the catch. Again and again, something behind the entryways locked in. She could hear the ventilation fan in the lift vehicle. The carriage is here! For what reason won't the damn entryways open? Through the smoke she saw the small auxiliary keypad-lettered catches, A through Z. In a rush of gloom, Susan recalled. The secret word. The smoke was beginning to twist in through the softened window outlines. Again she struck against the lift entryways. They wouldn't open. The secret phrase! she thought. Strathmore never disclosed to me the secret phrase! Silicon smoke was currently filling the workplace. Stifling, Susan fell against the lift tragically. The ventilation fan was running only a couple of feet away. She lay there, bewildered, swallowing for air. She shut her eyes, yet again David's voice woke her. Departure, Susan! Open the entryway! Getaway! She opened her eyes hoping to see his face, those wild green eyes, that fun loving grin. Be that as it may, the letters A-Z came into center. The password†¦ Susan gazed at the letters on the keypad. She could scarcely keep them in center. On the LED underneath the keypad, five void spots anticipated passage. A five-character secret key, she thought. She in a flash knew the chances: twenty-six to the fifth force; 11,881,376 potential decisions. At one supposition consistently, it would take nineteen weeks†¦ As Susan Fletcher lay gagging on the floor underneath the keypad, the officer's pitiful voice went to her. He was calling to her once more. I love you Susan! I've generally cherished you! Susan! Susan! Susan†¦ She realized he was dead, but then his voice was steady. She heard her name again and again. Susan†¦ At that point, in a snapshot of chilling lucidity, she knew. Trembling feebly, she came to up to the keypad and composed the secret key. S†¦ U†¦ S†¦ A†¦ N A moment later, the entryways slid open. Part 108 Strathmore's lift dropped quick. Inside the carriage, Susan sucked full much needed refreshers into her lungs. Shocked, she steadied herself against the divider as the vehicle eased back to a stop. After a second a few apparatuses clicked, and the transport started moving once more, this time evenly. Susan felt the carriage quicken as it started thundering toward the fundamental NSA complex. At last it hummed to a stop, and the entryways opened. Hacking, Susan Fletcher unearthed an obscured concrete hallway. She wound up in a passage low-ceilinged and thin. A twofold yellow line loosened up before her. The line vanished into a vacant, dim empty. The Underground Highway†¦ She stumbled toward the passage, holding the divider for direction. Behind her, the lift entryway slid shut. Indeed Susan Fletcher was dove into obscurity. Quiet. Nothing with the exception of a black out murmuring in the dividers. A murmuring that became stronger. Out of nowhere maybe sunrise were breaking. The darkness diminished to a foggy dim. The dividers of the passage started to come to fruition. At the same time, a little vehicle whipped around the bend, its front light blinding her. Susan staggered back against the divider and protected her eyes. There was a whirlwind, and the vehicle whipped past. A moment later there was a stunning screech of elastic on concrete. The murmur drew nearer by and by, this time backward. Seconds after the fact the vehicle ground to a halt adjacent to her. â€Å"Ms. Fletcher!† an astounded voice shouted. Susan looked at a dubiously recognizable shape in the driver's seat of an electric golf truck. â€Å"Jesus.† The man heaved. â€Å"Are you alright? We thought you were dead!† Susan gazed vacantly. â€Å"Chad Brinkerhoff,† he faltered, considering the shell-stunned cryptographer. â€Å"Directorial PA.† Susan could just deal with a shocked whine. â€Å"TRANSLTR†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Brinkerhoff gestured. â€Å"Forget it. Get on!† The light emission golf truck's headlights whipped over the concrete dividers. â€Å"There's an infection in the fundamental databank,† Brinkerhoff shouted. â€Å"I know,† Susan heard herself murmur. â€Å"We need you to help us.† Susan was retaliating the tears. â€Å"Strathmore†¦ he†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"We know,† Brinkerhoff said. â€Å"He skirted Gauntlet.† â€Å"Yes†¦ and†¦Ã¢â‚¬  The words stalled out in her throat. He murdered David! Brinkerhoff put a hand on her shoulder. â€Å"Almost there, Ms. Fletcher. Simply hold on.† The rapid Kensington golf truck adjusted a corner and slid to a stop. Adjacent to them, fanning out opposite to the passage, was a lobby, faintly lit by red floor lighting. â€Å"Come on,† Brinkerhoff stated, getting her out. He guided her into the passage. Susan floated behind him in a mist. The tiled path slanted descending at a precarious grade. Susan snatched the handrail and followed Brinkerhoff down. The air started to develop cooler. They proceeded with their plummet. As they dropped further into the earth, the passage limited. From some place behind them came the reverberation of strides a solid, intentional walk. The strides became stronger. Both Brinkerhoff and Susan halted and turned. Striding toward them was a colossal dark man. Susan had never observed him. As he drew closer, he fixed her with an infiltrating gaze. â€Å"Who's this?† he requested. â€Å"Susan Fletcher,† Brinkerhoff answered. The tremendous man angled his eyebrows. Indeed, even dirty and drenched, Susan Fletcher was more striking than he had envisioned. â€Å"And the commander?† he requested. Brinkerhoff shook his head. The man said nothing. He gazed off a second. At that point he turned around to Susan. â€Å"Leland Fontaine,† he stated, offering her his hand. â€Å"Glad you're okay.† Susan gazed. She'd generally realized she'd meet the chief sometime in the not so distant future, however this was not the presentation she'd imagined. â€Å"Come along, Ms. Fletcher,† Fontaine stated, driving the way. â€Å"We'll require all the assist we with canning get.† Approaching in the rosy dimness at the base of the passage, a steel divider hindered their direction. Fontaine drew nearer and composed a section code into a recessed figure box. He at that point put his correct hand against a little glass board. A strobe flashed. After a second the gigantic divider roared left. There was just a single NSA chamber more consecrated than Crypto, and Susan Fletcher detected she was going to enter it. Section 109 The war room for the NSA's fundamental databank appeared as though a downsized NASA crucial. Twelve PC workstations confronted the thirty-foot by forty-foot video divider at the most distant finish of the room. On the screen, numbers and charts flashed in fast progression, showing up and vanishing as though somebody were channel surfing. A bunch of specialists hustled fiercely from station to station trailing long sheets of printout paper and shouting orders. It was tumult. Susan gazed at the astonishing office. She ambiguously recollected that 250 metric huge amounts of earth had been unearthed to make it. The load was found 214 feet subterranean, where it would be absolutely impenetrable to transition bombs and atomic impacts. On a brought workstation up in the focal point of the room stood Jabba. He cried orders from his foundation like a lord to his subjects. Lit up on the screen straightforwardly behind him was a message. The message was very recognizable to Susan. The board size content hung forebodingly over Jabba's head: Just THE TRUTH WILL SAVE YOU NOW ENTER PASS-KEY ______ As though caught in some strange bad dream, Susan followed Fontaine toward the platform. Her reality was a moderate movement obscure. Jabba saw them coming and wheeled like an angered bull. â€Å"I assembled Gauntlet for a reason!† â€Å"Gauntlet's gone,† Fontaine answered equally. â€Å"Old news, Director,† Jabba spat. â€Å"The stun wave thumped