Only the truth will save you now enter pass‑key ______

Jabba waited for a response and got none. “Looks like someone’s messing with us, Director. Blackmail. This is a ransom note if I ever saw one.”

Susan’s voice was a whisper, empty and hollow. “It’s . . . Ensei Tankado.”

Jabba turned to her. He stared a moment, wide‑eyed. “Tankado?”

Susan nodded weakly. “He wanted our confession . . . about TRANSLTR . . . but it cost him his—”

“Confession?” Brinkerhoff interrupted, looking stunned. “Tankado wants us to confess we have TRANSLTR? I’d say it’s a bit late for that!”

Susan opened her mouth to speak, but Jabba took over. “Looks like Tankado’s got a kill‑code,” he said, gazing up at the message on the screen.

Everyone turned.

“Kill code?” Brinkerhoff demanded.

Jabba nodded. “Yeah. A pass‑key that stops the worm. Simply put, if we admit we have TRANSLTR, Tankado gives us a kill‑code. We type it in and save the databank. Welcome to digital extortion.”

Fontaine stood like rock, unwavering. “How long have we got?”

“About an hour,” Jabba said. “Just time enough to call a press conference and spill our guts.

“Recommendation,” Fontaine demanded. “What do you propose we do?”

“A recommendation?” Jabba blurted in disbelief. “You want a recommendation? I’ll give you a recommendation! You quit fucking around, that’s what you do!”

“Easy,” the director warned.

“Director,” Jabba sputtered. “Right now, Ensei Tankado owns this databank! Give him whatever he wants. If he wants the world to know about TRANSLTR, call CNN, and drop your shorts. TRANSLTR’s a hole in the ground now anyway‑what the hell do you care?”

There was a silence. Fontaine seemed to be considering his options. Susan began to speak, but Jabba beat her to it.

“What are you waiting for, Director! Get Tankado on the phone! Tell him you’ll play ball! We need that kill‑code, or this whole place is going down!”

Nobody moved.

“Are you all insane?” Jabba screamed. “Call Tankado! Tell him we fold! Get me that kill‑code! NOW!” Jabba whipped out his cellular phone and switched it on. “Never mind! Get me his number! I’ll call the little prick myself!”

“Don’t bother,” Susan said in a whisper. “Tankado’s dead.”

After a moment of confused astonishment, the implications hit Jabba like a bullet to the gut. The huge Sys‑Sec looked like he was about to crumble. “Dead? But then . . . that means . . . we can’t . . .”

“That means we’ll need a new plan,” Fontaine said matter‑of‑factly.

Jabba’s eyes were still glazed with shock when someone in the back of the room began shouting wildly.

“Jabba! Jabba!”

It was Soshi Kuta, his head techie. She came running toward the podium trailing a long printout. She looked terrified.

“Jabba!” She gasped. “The worm . . . I just found out what it’s programmed to do!” Soshi thrust the paper into Jabba’s hands. “I pulled this from the system‑activity probe! We isolated the worm’s execute commands‑have a look at the programming! Look what it’s planning to do!”

Dazed, the chief Sys‑Sec read the printout. Then he grabbed the handrail for support.

“Oh, Jesus,” Jabba gasped. “Tankado . . . you bastard!”