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 hindered 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 paper test on Advanced Fortress Chapter 66-70 or on the other hand any comparative theme just for you Request Now He walked over and rapped boisterously. 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-totally square, white tile, one glowing bulb overhead. Of course, there was one slow down and one urinal. Regardless of whether the urinals were ever utilized in the women’s restrooms was insignificant including them spared the temporary workers the cost of building the additional slow down. Becker looked into the rest room in sicken. It was smudged. The sink was stopped up with dim earthy colored water. Messy paper towels were thronw all over the place. The floor was drenched. The old electric hand blower on the divider was spread with greenish fingerprints. Becker stepped before the mirror and moaned. The eyes that generally gazed back with savage lucidity were not all that reasonable 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 would she be able to have gone? To Stone Manor without me? â€Å"Hey!† a female voice behind him said indignantly. Becker bounced. â€Å"I-I’m†¦Ã¢â‚¬  he stammered, hustling to hurdle 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 pullover. In her grasp was a red L. L. Bean duffel. Her fair hair was consummately blow-dried. â€Å"I’m sorry.† Becker bungled, clasping his belt. â€Å"The men’s room was†¦ anyway†¦ I’m leaving.† â€Å"Fuckin’ weirdo!† Becker did a twofold take. The obscenity appeared to be unseemly originating from her lips-like sewage spilling out of a cleaned decanter. Be that as it may, as Becker examined 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 ruddy disturbance on her arm, the substance was blue. Jesus, Becker thought. Intravenous medications. Who might have speculated? â€Å"Get out!† she shouted. â€Å"Just get out!† Becker immediately overlooked the ring, the NSA, every last bit of it. His heart went out to the little youngster. Her folks had most 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 pitiful look. There’s nothing you can do, David. Disregard it. â€Å"Now!† she hollered. Becker gestured. As he left he gave her a pitiful grin. â€Å"Be careful.† Part 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 waist. His tailbone ground agonizingly into her pubis through the flimsy texture of her skirt. His nose was dribbling 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 opportunity 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 murdered Chartrukian! I saw it!† It paused for a minute for the words to enroll. Strathmore slaughtered Chartrukian? Sound clearly had no clue Susan had seen him ground 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-overcome mindset of an ex-Marine. Create lies-set your foes 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 somewhat. He opened his mouth to talk, however he never found the opportunity. As Hale’s body rose, Susan felt the flow flood over into her legs. Before she comprehended what had occurred, a reflex nature yanked her left leg back hard into Hale’s groin. She felt her kneecap squash the delicate sac of tissue between his legs. Solidness whimpered in misery and immediately 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 delved her feet into the floor covering. Tolerantly 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 raced into Node 3 just because since its development. Susan turned upward. Through the barbed gap, she could see the table. It was all the while rolling. It spun wide circles out over the Crypto floor and in the long run vanished into the dimness. Susan smashed her disfigured 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. Part 68 â€Å"Now wasn’t that easy?† Midge said with a jeer 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 better half 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 artistic creations, no overstuffed seats, no ficus plants, no classical tickers. His space was smoothed out for effectiveness. His glass-beat work area and dark cowhide seat sat straightforwardly before his colossal 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 separating through the window emphasizd the obviousness of the director’s goods. What the heck am I doing? Brinkerhoff pondered. Midge walked to the printer and gathered up the line list. She squinted in the haziness. 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.† Yet, 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 tensely in the entryway. â€Å"Midge†¦ please. These are the director’s private quarters.† â€Å"It’s here somewhere,† she murmured, considering the printout. â€Å"Strathmore skirted Gauntlet, I know it.† She drew nearer to the window. Brinkerhoff started to perspire. Midge continued perusing. After a couple of seconds, she wheezed. â€Å"I knew it! Strathmore did it! He truly did! The idiot!† She held up the paper and shook it. â€Å"He circumvent Gauntlet! Have a look!† Brinkerhoff gazed puzzled a second and afterward hustled over the director’s office. He jammed 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 documents that had entered TRANSLTR. After each record was a four-digit Gauntlet freedom code. Be that as it may, the keep going record on the sheet had no leeway code-it just 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 document twice! Change strings! He despite everything circumvent! What the heck was he thinking?† Brinkerhoff felt feeble 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. A gigantic figure was remaining in Fontaine’s open entryway. â€Å"Jeez,† Brinkerhoff stifled. â€Å"You think we have a virus?† Midge moaned. 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 quickly knew the outline. â€Å"Director!† Brinkerhoff wheezed. He walked over and broadened 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