- •Dan Brown Digital Fortress
- •Prologue
- •Chapter 1
- •Chapter 2
- •Chapter 3
- •National security agency (nsa) crypto facility authorized personnel only
- •Hl fkzc vd lds
- •Im glad we met
- •Chapter 4
- •Chapter 5
- •Employee carl austin terminated for inappropriate conduct.
- •Time elapsed: 15:09:33 awaiting key: ________
- •Chapter 6
- •Chapter 7
- •“Transltr?”
- •Chapter 8
- •Keep the change.
- •Chapter 9
- •Time elapsed: 15:17:21
- •Chapter 10
- •Chapter 11
- •Chapter 12
- •Chapter 13
- •Chapter 14
- •Chapter 15
- •Chapter 16
- •Chapter 17
- •Chapter 18
- •Chapter 19
- •Chapter 20
- •Chapter 21
- •Chapter 22
- •Chapter 23
- •Chapter 24
- •Chapter 25
- •Subject: p. Cloucharde‑terminated
- •Message sent chapter 26
- •Chapter 27
- •Dinner at alfredo’s? 8 pm?
- •Chapter 28
- •Chapter 29
- •Please accept this humble fax my love for you is without wax.
- •Tracer searching . . .
- •Tracer abort?
- •Chapter 30
- •Chapter 31
- •Chapter 32
- •Chapter 33
- •Chapter 34
- •Tracer aborted
- •Error code 22
- •Chapter 36
- •Tracer sent
- •Search for: “tracer”
- •No matches found
- •Search for: “screenlock”
- •Great progress! digital fortress is almost done. This thing will set the nsa back decades!
- •Rotating cleartext works! mutation strings are the trick!
- •Chapter 37
- •Chapter 38
- •Chapter 39
- •Chapter 40
- •Chapter 41
- •Subject: rocio eva granada‑terminated subject: hans huber‑terminated
- •Chapter 42
- •Chapter 43
- •Crypto‑production/expenditure
- •Chapter 44
- •Chapter 45
- •Chapter 46
- •Chapter 47
- •Chapter 48
- •Chapter 49
- •Chapter 50
- •Crypto sublevels authorized personnel only
- •Chapter 51
- •Chapter 52
- •Chapter 53
- •Chapter 54
- •Chapter 55
- •Chapter 56
- •Chapter 57
- •Chapter 58
- •Chapter 59
- •Chapter 60
- •Chapter 61
- •Chapter 62
- •Chapter 63
- •Chapter 64
- •Chapter 65
- •Chapter 66
- •Chapter 67
- •Chapter 68
- •Chapter 69
- •Chapter 70
- •Chapter 71
- •Chapter 72
- •Abort run
- •Chapter 73
- •Chapter 74
- •Chapter 75
- •Chapter 76
- •Chapter 77
- •Chapter 78
- •Chapter 79
- •Chapter 80
- •Chapter 81
- •Chapter 82
- •Chapter 83
- •Chapter 84
- •Chapter 85
- •Chapter 86
- •Sorry. Unable to abort. Sorry. Unable to abort. Sorry. Unable to abort.
- •Tell the world about transltr only the truth will save you now . . .
- •Only the truth will save you now
- •Enter pass‑key
- •Chapter 87
- •Chapter 88
- •Chapter 89
- •Chapter 90
- •Chapter 91
- •Chapter 92
- •Chapter 93
- •Chapter 94
- •Chapter 95
- •Chapter 96
- •Chapter 97
- •Chapter 98
- •Chapter 99
- •Chapter 100
- •Subject: david becker‑terminated
- •Chapter 101
- •Chapter 102
- •Chapter 103
- •Chapter 105
- •Chapter 106
- •Chapter 107
- •Chapter 108
- •Chapter 109
- •Only the truth will save you now enter pass‑key ______
- •Only the truth will save you now enter pass‑key ______
- •Chapter 110
- •Chapter 111
- •Chapter 112
- •Chapter 113
- •Chapter 114
- •Chapter 115
- •Chapter 116
- •Chapter 117
- •Only the truth will save you now
- •Chapter 118
- •Quiscustodietipsoscustodes
- •Chapter 119
- •Illegal entry. Numeric field only.
- •Chapter 120
- •Pfee sesn retm
- •Pfee sesn retm mfha irwe ooig meen nrma enet shas dcns iiaa ieer brnk fble lodi
- •Pfeesesnretmpfhairweooigmeennrmaenetshasdcnsiiaaieerbrnkfblelodi
- •Chapter 121
- •Chapter 122
- •Primedifferencebetweenelementsresponsibleforhiroshimaandnagasaki
- •Chapter 123
- •Prime difference between elements responsible for hiroshima and nagasaki
- •Chapter 124
- •Prime difference between elements responsible forhiroshima and nagasaki
- •Chapter 125
- •Chapter 126
- •Chapter 127
- •Enter pass‑key? 3
- •Kill code confirmed.
- •Chapter 128
- •Epilogue
Chapter 114
“Then look again!” Fontaine declared.
The director watched in dismay as the stilted image of the agents searched the two limp bodies in the van for a list of random numbers and letters.
Jabba was pale. “Oh my God, they can’t find it. We’re dead!”
“Losing FTP filters!” a voice yelled. “Third shield’s exposed!” There was a new flurry of activity.
On the front screen, the agent with the buzz cut held out his arms in defeat. “Sir, the pass‑key isn’t here. We’ve searched both men. Pockets. Clothing. Wallets. No sign at all. Hulohot was wearing a Monocle computer, and we’ve checked that too. It doesn’t look like he ever transmitted anything remotely resembling random characters‑only a list of kills.”
“Dammit!” Fontaine seethed, suddenly losing his cool. “It’s got to be there! Keep looking!”
Jabba had apparently seen enough‑Fontaine had gambled and lost. Jabba took over. The huge Sys‑Sec descended from his pulpit like a storm off a mountain. He swept through his army of programmers calling out commands. “Access auxiliary kills! Start shutting it down! Do it now!”
“We’ll never make it!” Soshi yelled. “We need a half hour! By the time we shut down, it will be too late!”
Jabba opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut short by a scream of agony from the back of the room.
Everyone turned. Like an apparition, Susan Fletcher rose from her crouched position in the rear of the chamber. Her face was white, her eyes transfixed on the freeze‑frame of David Becker, motionless and bloody, propped up on the floor of the van.
“You killed him!” she screamed. “You killed him!” She stumbled toward the image and reached out. “David . . .”
Everyone looked up in confusion. Susan advanced, still calling, her eyes never leaving the projection of David’s body. “David.” She gasped, staggering forward. “Oh, David . . . how could they—”
Fontaine seemed lost. “You know this man?”
Susan swayed unsteadily as she passed the podium. She stopped a few feet in front of the enormous projection and stared up, bewildered and numb, calling over and over to the man she loved.
Chapter 115
The emptiness in David Becker’s mind was absolute. I am dead. And yet there was a sound. A distant voice . . .
“David.”
There was a dizzying burning beneath his arm. His blood was filled with fire. My body is not my own. And yet there was a voice, calling to him. It was thin, distant. But it was part of him. There were other voices too‑unfamiliar, unimportant. Calling out. He fought to block them out. There was only one voice that mattered. It faded in and out.
“David . . . I’m sorry . . .”
There was a mottled light. Faint at first, a single slit of grayness. Growing. Becker tried to move. Pain. He tried to speak. Silence. The voice kept calling.
Someone was near him, lifting him. Becker moved toward the voice. Or was he being moved? It was calling. He gazed absently at the illuminated image. He could see her on a small screen. It was a woman, staring up at him from another world. Is she watching me die?
“David . . .”
The voice was familiar. She was an angel. She had come for him. The angel spoke. “David, I love you.”
Suddenly he knew.
* * *
Susan reached out toward the screen, crying, laughing, lost in a torrent of emotions. She wiped fiercely at her tears. “David, I‑I thought . . .”
Field Agent Smith eased David Becker into the seat facing the monitor. “He’s a little woozy, ma'am. Give him a second.”
“B‑but,” Susan was stammering, “I saw a transmission. It said . . .”
Smith nodded. “We saw it too. Hulohot counted his chickens a little early.”
“But the blood . . .”
“Flesh wound,” Smith replied. “We slapped a gauze on it.”
Susan couldn’t speak.
Agent Coliander piped in from off camera. “We hit him with the new J23‑long‑acting stun gun. Probably hurt like hell, but we got him off the street.”
“Don’t worry, ma'am,” Smith assured. “He’ll be fine.”
David Becker stared at the TV monitor in front of him. He was disoriented, light‑headed. The image on the screen was of a room‑a room filled with chaos. Susan was there. She was standing on an open patch of floor, gazing up at him.
She was crying and laughing. “David. Thank God! I thought I had lost you!”
He rubbed his temple. He moved in front of the screen and pulled the gooseneck microphone toward his mouth. “Susan?”
Susan gazed up in wonder. David’s rugged features now filled the entire wall before her. His voice boomed.
“Susan, I need to ask you something.” The resonance and volume of Becker’s voice seemed to momentarily suspend the action in the databank. Everyone stopped midstride and turned.
“Susan Fletcher,” the voice resonated, “will you marry me?”
A hush spread across the room. A clipboard clattered to the floor along with a mug of pencils. No one bent to pick them up. There was only the faint hum of the terminal fans and the sound of David Becker’s steady breathing in his microphone.
“D‑David . . .” Susan stammered, unaware that thirty‑seven people stood riveted behind her. “You already asked me, remember? Five months ago. I said yes.”
“I know.” He smiled. “But this time"‑he extended his left hand into the camera and displayed a golden band on his fourth finger‑"this time I have a ring.”