Chapter 86

Trevor Strathmore was hunched at his desk when Susan arrived breathless at his door. His head was down, his sweaty head glistening in the light of his monitor. The horns on the sublevels blared.

Susan raced over to his desk. “Commander?”

Strathmore didn’t move.

“Commander! We’ve got to shut down TRANSLTR! We’ve got a—”

“He got us,” Strathmore said without looking up. “Tankado fooled us all . . .”

She could tell by the tone of his voice he understood. All of Tankado’s hype about the unbreakable algorithm . . . auctioning off the pass‑key‑it was all an act, a charade. Tankado had tricked the NSA into snooping his mail, tricked them into believing he had a partner, and tricked them into downloading a very dangerous file.

“The mutation strings—” Strathmore faltered.

“I know.”

The commander looked up slowly. “The file I downloaded off the Internet . . . it was a . . .”

Susan tried to stay calm. All the pieces in the game had shifted. There had never been any unbreakable algorithm‑never any Digital Fortress. The file Tankado had posted on the Internet was an encrypted virus, probably sealed with some generic, mass‑market encryption algorithm, strong enough to keep everyone out of harm’s way‑everyone except the NSA. TRANSLTR had cracked the protective seal and released the virus.

“The mutation strings,” the commander croaked. “Tankado said they were just part of the algorithm.” Strathmore collapsed back onto his desk.

Susan understood the commander’s pain. He had been completely taken in. Tankado had never intended to let any computer company buy his algorithm. There was no algorithm. The whole thing was a charade. Digital Fortress was a ghost, a farce, a piece of bait created to tempt the NSA. Every move Strathmore had made, Tankado had been behind the scenes, pulling the strings.

“I bypassed Gauntlet.” The commander groaned.

“You didn’t know.”

Strathmore pounded his fist on his desk. “I should have known! His screen name, for Christ’s sake! NDAKOTA! Look at it!”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s laughing at us! It’s a goddamn anagram!”

Susan puzzled a moment. NDAKOTA is an anagram? She pictured the letters and began reshuffling them in her mind. Ndakota . . . Kadotan . . . Oktadan . . . Tandoka . . . Her knees went weak. Strathmore was right. It was as plain as day. How could they have missed it? North Dakota wasn’t a reference to the U.S. state at all‑it was Tankado rubbing salt in the wound! He’d even sent the NSA a warning, a blatant clue that he himself was NDAKOTA. The letters spelled TANKADO. But the best code‑breakers in the world had missed it, just as he had planned.

“Tankado was mocking us,” Strathmore said.

“You’ve got to abort TRANSLTR,” Susan declared.

Strathmore stared blankly at the wall.

“Commander. Shut it down! God only knows what’s going on in there!”

“I tried,” Strathmore whispered, sounding as faint as she’d ever heard him.

“What do you mean you tried?”

Strathmore rotated his screen toward her. His monitor had dimmed to a strange shade of maroon. At the bottom, the dialogue box showed numerous attempts to shut down TRANSLTR. They were all followed by the same response: