idge Milken prowled angrily into the conference room acrossfrom her office. In addition to the thirty-two foot mahogany tablewith the NSA seal inlaid in black cherry and walnut, the conferenceroom contained three Marion Pike watercolors, a Boston fern, amarble wet bar, and of course, the requisite Sparklett's watercooler. Midge helped herself to a glass of water, hoping it mightcalm her nerves.

As she sipped at the liquid, she gazed across at the window. Themoonlight was filtering through the open venetian blind and playingon the grain of the table. She'd always thought this wouldmake a nicer director's office than Fontaine's currentlocation on the front of the building. Rather than looking out overthe NSA parking lot, the conference room looked out over animpressive array of NSA outbuildings—including the Cryptodome, a high-tech island floating separate from the main buildingon three wooded acres. Purposefully situated behind the naturalcover of a grove of maples, Crypto was difficult to see from mostwindows in the NSA complex, but the view from the directorial suitewas perfect. To Midge the conference room seemed the perfectvantage point for a king to survey his domain. She had suggestedonce that Fontaine move his office, but the director had simplyreplied, "Not on the rear." Fontaine was not a man to befound on the back end of anything.

Midge pulled apart the blinds. She stared out at the hills.Sighing ruefully, she let her eyes fall toward the spot whereCrypto stood. Midge had always felt comforted by the sight of theCrypto dome—a glowing beacon regardless of the hour. Buttonight, as she gazed out, there was no comfort. Instead she foundherself staring into a void. As she pressed her face to the glass,she was gripped by a wild, girlish panic. Below her there wasnothing but blackness. Crypto had disappeared!