"Here comes the handoff," Smith prompted. "We didn't notice it the first time around."
Susan gazed up at the sickening image on the screen. Tankado was gasping for breath, apparently trying communicate something to the Samaritans kneeling beside him. Then, in desperation, he thrust his left hand above him, almost hitting the old man in the face. He held the crippled appendage outward before the old man's eyes. The camera tightened on Tankado's three deformed fingers, and on one of them, clearly glistening in the Spanish sun, was the golden ring. Tankado thrust it out again. The old man recoiled. Tankado turned to the woman. He held his three deformed fingers directly in front of her face, as if begging her to understand. The ring glinted in the sun. The woman looked away. Tankado, now choking, unable to make a sound, turned to the obese man and tried one last time.
The elderly man suddenly stood and dashed off, presumably to get help. Tankado seemed to be weakening, but he was still holding the ring in the fat man's face. The fat man reached out and held the dying man's wrist, supporting it. Tankado seemed to gaze upward at his own fingers, at his own ring, and then to the man's eyes. As a final plea before death, Ensei Tankado gave the man an almost imperceptible nod, as if to say yes.
Then Tankado fell limp.
"Jesus." Jabba moaned.
Suddenly the camera swept to where Hulohot had been hiding. The assassin was gone. A police motorcycle appeared, tearing up Avenida Firelli. The camera wheeled back to where Tankado was lying. The woman kneeling beside him apparently heard the police sirens; she glanced around nervously and then began pulling at her obese companion, begging him to leave. The two hurried off.
The camera tightened on Tankado, his hands folded on his lifeless chest. The ring on his finger was gone.
Chapter 118
"It's proof," Fontaine said decidedly. "Tankado dumped the ring. He wanted it as far from himself as possible-so we'd never find it."
"But, Director," Susan argued, "it doesn't make sense. If Tankado was unaware he'd been murdered, why would he give away the kill code?"
"I agree," Jabba said. "The kid's a rebel, but he's a rebel with a conscience. Getting us to admit to TRANSLTR is one thing; revealing our classified databank is another."
Fontaine stared, disbelieving. "You think Tankado wanted to stop this worm? You think his dying thoughts were for the poor NSA?"
"Tunnel-block corroding!" a technician yelled. "Full vulnerability in fifteen minutes, maximum!"
"I'll tell you what," the director declared, taking control. "In fifteen minutes, every Third World country on the planet will learn how to build an intercontinental ballistic missile. If someone in this room thinks he's got a better candidate for a kill code than this ring, I'm all ears." The director waited. No one spoke. He returned his gaze to Jabba and locked eyes. "Tankado dumped that ring for a reason, Jabba. Whether he was trying to bury it, or whether he thought the fat guy would run to a pay phone and call us with the information, I really don't care. But I've made the decision. We're entering that quote. Now."
Jabba took a long breath. He knew Fontaine was right-there was no better option. They were running out of time. Jabba sat. "Okay... let's do it." He pulled himself to the keyboard. "Mr. Becker? The inscription, please. Nice and easy."
David Becker read the inscription, and Jabba typed. When they were done, they double-checked the spelling and omitted all the spaces. On the center panel of the view wall, near the top, were the letters:
QUISCUSTODIETIPSOSCUSTODES
"I don't like it," Susan muttered softly. "It's not clean."
Jabba hesitated, hovering over the ENTER key.
"Do it," Fontaine commanded.
Jabba hit the key. Seconds later the whole room knew it was a mistake.
Chapter 119
"It's accelerating!" Soshi yelled from the back of the room. "It's the wrong code!"
Everyone stood in silent horror.
On the screen before them was the error message:
ILLEGAL ENTRY. NUMERIC FIELD ONLY.
"Damn it!" Jabba screamed. "Numeric only! We're looking for a goddamn number! We're fucked! This ring is shit!"
"Worm's at double speed!" Soshi shouted. "Penalty round!"
On the center screen, right beneath the error message, the VR painted a terrifying image. As the third firewall gave way, the half-dozen or so black lines representing marauding hackers surged forward, advancing relentlessly toward the core. With each passing moment, a new line appeared. Then another.
"They're swarming!" Soshi yelled.
"Confirming overseas tie-ins!" cried another technician. "Word's out!"
Susan averted her gaze from the image of the collapsing firewalls and turned to the side screen. The footage of Ensei Tankado's kill was on endless loop. It was the same every time-Tankado clutching his chest, falling, and with a look of desperate panic, forcing his ring on a group of unsuspecting tourists. It makes no sense, she thought. If he didn't know we'd killed him... Susan drew a total blank. It was too late. We've missed something.
On the VR, the number of hackers pounding at the gates had doubled in the last few minutes. From now on, the number would increase exponentially. Hackers, like hyenas, were one big family, always eager to spread the word of a new kill.
Leland Fontaine had apparently seen enough. "Shut it down," he declared. "Shut the damn thing down."
Jabba stared straight ahead like the captain of a sinking ship. "Too late, sir. We're going down."
Chapter 120
The four-hundred-pound Sys-Sec stood motionless, hands resting atop his head in a freeze-frame of disbelief. He'd ordered a power shutdown, but it would be a good twenty minutes too late. Sharks with high-speed modems would be able to download staggering quantities of classified information in that window.
Jabba was awakened from his nightmare by Soshi rushing to the podium with a new printout. "I've found something, sir!" she said excitedly. "Orphans in the source! Alpha groupings. All over the place!"
Jabba was unmoved. "We're looking for a numeric, dammit! Not an alpha! The kill-code is a number!"
"But we've got orphans! Tankado's too good to leave orphans-especially this many!"
The term "orphans" referred to extra lines of programming that didn't serve the program's objective in any way. They fed nothing, referred to nothing, led nowhere, and were usually removed as part of the final debugging and compiling process.
Jabba took the printout and studied it.
Fontaine stood silent.
Susan peered over Jabba's shoulder at the printout. "We're being attacked by a rough draft of Tankado's worm?"
"Polished or not," Jabba retorted, "it's kicking our ass."
"I don't buy it," Susan argued. "Tankado was a perfectionist. You know that. There's no way he left bugs in his program."
"There are lots of them!" Soshi cried. She grabbed the printout from Jabba and pushed it in front of Susan. "Look!"
Susan nodded. Sure enough, after every twenty or so lines of programming, there were four free-floating characters. Susan scanned them.
PFEE
SESN
RETM
"Four-bit alpha groupings," she puzzled. "They're definitely not part of the programming."
"Forget it," Jabba growled. "You're grabbing at straws."
"Maybe not," Susan said. "A lot of encryption uses four-bit groupings. This could be a code."