Digital Fortress Chapter 66-70 Free Essays

Part 66 Becker crossed the concourse toward the rest room entryways just to discover the entryway checked CABALLEROS obstructed by an orange arch and a cleaning truck loaded up with cleanser and mops. He looked at the other entryway. DAMAS. We will compose a custom article test on Advanced Fortress Chapter 66-70 or on the other hand any comparative point just for you Request Now He walked over and rapped noisily. â€Å"Hola?† he called, pushing the ladies’ room entryway open an inch. â€Å"Con permiso?† Quiet. He went in. The rest room was run of the mill, Spanish institutional-entirely square, white tile, one glowing bulb overhead. Not surprisingly, there was one slow down and one urinal. Regardless of whether the urinals were ever utilized in the women’s washrooms was unimportant including them spared the temporary workers the cost of building the additional slow down. Becker looked into the rest room in sicken. It was tarnished. The sink was stopped up with dim earthy colored water. Grimy paper towels were thronw all over. The floor was doused. The old electric hand blower on the divider was spread with greenish fingerprints. Becker stepped before the mirror and moaned. The eyes that typically gazed back with wild clearness were not all that unmistakable today around evening time. To what extent have I been going around here? he pondered. The math got away from him. Out of scholarly propensity, he shimmied his necktie’s Windsor hitch up on his neckline. At that point he went to the urinal behind him. As he remained there, he wound up thinking about whether Susan was home yet. Where might she be able to have gone? To Stone Manor without me? â€Å"Hey!† a female voice behind him said irately. Becker hopped. â€Å"I-I’m†¦Ã¢â‚¬  he stammered, hustling to speed up. â€Å"I’m sorry†¦ I†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Becker went to confront the young lady who had quite recently entered. She was a youthful sophisticate, directly off the pages of Seventeen Magazine. She wore moderate plaid pants and a white sleeveless shirt. In her grasp was a red L. L. Bean duffel. Her fair hair was consummately blow-dried. â€Å"I’m sorry.† Becker bumbled, clasping his belt. â€Å"The men’s room was†¦ anyway†¦ I’m leaving.† â€Å"Fuckin’ weirdo!† Becker did a twofold take. The irreverence appeared to be improper originating from her lips-like sewage spilling out of a cleaned decanter. In any case, as Becker considered her, he saw that she was not as cleaned as he’d first idea. Her eyes were puffy and ragged looking, and her left lower arm was swollen. Underneath the rosy disturbance on her arm, the substance was blue. Jesus, Becker thought. Intravenous medications. Who might have speculated? â€Å"Get out!† she hollered. â€Å"Just get out!† Becker quickly disregarded the ring, the NSA, every last bit of it. His heart went out to the little youngster. Her folks had likely sent her here with some private academy study program and a VISA card-and she’d wound up isolated in a washroom in the late evening taking medications. â€Å"Are you okay?† he asked, backing toward the entryway. â€Å"I’m fine.† Her voice was haughty. â€Å"You can leave now!† Becker went to go. He shot her lower arm a last dismal look. There’s nothing you can do, David. Disregard it. â€Å"Now!† she hollered. Becker gestured. As he left he gave her a tragic grin. â€Å"Be careful.† Section 67 â€Å"Susan?† Hale gasped, his face in hers. He was sitting, one leg on either side of her, his full weight on her midriff. His tailbone ground horrendously into her pubis through the meager texture of her skirt. His nose was trickling blood all over her. She tasted upchuck in the rear of her throat. His hands were at her chest. She didn't feel anything. Is it accurate to say that he is contacting me? It paused for a minute for Susan to acknowledge Hale was closing her top catch and concealing her. â€Å"Susan.† Hale wheezed, short of breath. â€Å"You’ve got the chance to get me out of here.† Susan was in a shock. Nothing seemed well and good. â€Å"Susan, you’ve got the chance to support me! Strathmore executed Chartrukian! I saw it!† It paused for a minute for the words to enlist. Strathmore executed Chartrukian? Solidness clearly had no clue Susan had seen him first floor. â€Å"Strathmore realizes I saw him!† Hale disagreement. â€Å"He’ll slaughter me too!† Had Susan not been short of breath with dread, she would have chuckled in his face. She perceived the separation and-vanquish mindset of an ex-Marine. Imagine lies-set your adversaries in opposition to one another. â€Å"It’s true!† he hollered. â€Å"We’ve got the opportunity to call for help! I think we’re both in danger!† She didn't accept a word he said. Hale’s solid legs were squeezing, and he moved up on his backside to move his weight marginally. He opened his mouth to talk, yet he never found the opportunity. As Hale’s body rose, Susan felt the dissemination flood once again into her legs. Before she recognized what had occurred, a reflex impulse yanked her left leg back hard into Hale’s groin. She felt her kneecap smash the delicate sac of tissue between his legs. Sound whimpered in anguish and right away went limp. He moved onto his side, gripping himself. Susan contorted free from his deadweight. She stumbled toward the entryway, knowing she’d never be sufficiently able to get out. Settling on a brief instant choice, Susan situated herself behind the long maple meeting table and dove her feet into the floor covering. Kindly the table had casters. She walked energetically toward the curved glass divider, pushing the table before her. The casters were acceptable, and the table moved well. Most of the way across Node 3, she was at a full run. Five feet from the glass divider, Susan hurled and let go. She jumped aside and secured her eyes. After a nauseating split, the divider detonated in a shower of glass. The hints of Crypto hurried into Node 3 just because since its development. Susan turned upward. Through the rough opening, she could see the table. It was all the while rolling. It spun wide circles out over the Crypto floor and in the end vanished into the dimness. Susan slammed her mutilated Ferragamo’s in a good place again, shot a last look at the as yet squirming Greg Hale, and ran over the ocean of broken glass out onto the Crypto floor. Section 68 â€Å"Now wasn’t that easy?† Midge said with a scoff as Brinkerhoff gave over the way to Fontaine’s office. Brinkerhoff looked beaten. â€Å"I’ll eradicate it before I go,† Midge guaranteed. â€Å"Unless you and your significant other need it for your private collection.† â€Å"Just get the cursed printout,† he snapped. â€Å"And then get out!† â€Å"Si, senor,† Midge clucked in a thick Puerto Rican emphasize. She winked and headed over the suite to Fontaine’s swinging doors. Leland Fontaine’s private office looked in no way like the remainder of the directorial suite. There were no compositions, no overstuffed seats, no ficus plants, no classical tickers. His space was smoothed out for effectiveness. His glass-beat work area and dark calfskin seat sat legitimately before his tremendous picture window. Three file organizers remained in the corner close to a little table with a French press coffeepot. The moon had ascended high over Fort Meade, and the delicate light sifting through the window highlighted the distinction of the director’s decorations. What the heck am I doing? Brinkerhoff pondered. Midge walked to the printer and gathered up the line list. She squinted in the murkiness. â€Å"I can’t read the data,† she whined. â€Å"Turn on the lights.† â€Å"You’re perusing it outside. Presently come on.† Be that as it may, Midge was clearly having a fabulous time. She played with Brinkerhoff, strolling to the window and calculating the readout for a superior view. â€Å"Midge†¦Ã¢â‚¬  She continued perusing. Brinkerhoff moved restlessly in the entryway. â€Å"Midge†¦ please. These are the director’s private quarters.† â€Å"It’s here somewhere,† she mumbled, examining the printout. â€Å"Strathmore avoided Gauntlet, I know it.† She drew nearer to the window. Brinkerhoff started to perspire. Midge continued perusing. After a couple of seconds, she heaved. â€Å"I knew it! Strathmore did it! He truly did! The idiot!† She held up the paper and shook it. â€Å"He avoided Gauntlet! Have a look!† Brinkerhoff gazed puzzled a second and afterward hustled over the director’s office. He swarmed in close to Midge before the window. She highlighted the finish of the readout. Brinkerhoff read in dismay. â€Å"What the†¦?† The printout contained a rundown of the last thirty-six records that had entered TRANSLTR. After each document was a four-digit Gauntlet freedom code. Be that as it may, the keep going document on the sheet had no freedom code-it basically read: manual detour. Jesus, Brinkerhoff thought. Midge strikes once more. â€Å"The idiot!† Midge faltered, fuming. â€Å"Look at this! Gauntlet dismissed the record twice! Transformation strings! He despite everything skirted! What the heck was he thinking?† Brinkerhoff felt powerless kneed. He asked why Midge was in every case right. Neither of them saw the reflection that had showed up in the window next to them. An enormous figure was remaining in Fontaine’s open entryway. â€Å"Jeez,† Brinkerhoff gagged. â€Å"You think we have a virus?† Midge murmured. â€Å"Nothing else it could be.† â€Å"Could be none of your damn business!† the profound voice blasted from behind them. Midge thumped her head against the window. Brinkerhoff tipped over the director’s seat and wheeled toward the voice. He promptly knew the outline. â€Å"Director!† Brinkerhoff heaved. He walked over and expanded his hand. â€Å"Welcome home, sir.† The immense man overlooked it. â€Å"I-I thought,† Brinkerhoff stammered, withdrawing his hand, â€Å"I thought you were