irector Leland Fontaine was a mountain of a man, sixty-threeyears old, with a close-cropped military haircut and a rigiddemeanor. His jet-black eyes were like coal when he was irritated,which was almost always. He'd risen through the ranks of theNSA through hard work, good planning, and the well-earned respectof his predecessors. He was the first African American director ofthe National Security Agency, but nobody ever mentioned thedistinction; Fontaine's politics were decidedly color-blind,and his staff wisely followed suit.

Fontaine had kept Midge and Brinkerhoff standing as he wentthrough the silent ritual of making himself a mug of Guatemalanjava. Then he'd settled at his desk, left them standing, andquestioned them like schoolchildren in the principal'soffice.

Midge did the talking—explaining the unusual series ofevents that led them to violate the sanctity of Fontaine'soffice.

"A virus?" the director asked coldly. "You twothink we've got a virus?"

Brinkerhoff winced.

"Yes, sir," Midge snapped.

"Because Strathmore bypassed Gauntlet?" Fontaine eyedthe printout in front of him.

"Yes," she said. "And there's a file thathasn't broken in over twenty hours!"

Fontaine frowned. "Or so your data says."

Midge was about to protest, but she held her tongue. Instead shewent for the throat. "There's a blackout inCrypto."

Fontaine looked up, apparently surprised.

Midge confirmed with a curt nod. "All power's down.Jabba thought maybe—"

"You called Jabba?"

"Yes, sir, I—"

"Jabba?" Fontaine stood up, furious. "Why thehell didn't you call Strathmore?"

"We did!" Midge defended. "He said everything wasfine."

Fontaine stood, his chest heaving. "Then we have no reasonto doubt him." There was closure in his voice. He took a sipof coffee. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work todo."

Midge's jaw dropped. "I beg your pardon?"

Brinkerhoff was already headed for the door, but Midge wascemented in place.

"I said good night, Ms. Milken," Fontaine repeated."You are excused."

"But—but sir," she stammered, "I… Ihave to protest. I think—"

"You protest?" the director demanded. He setdown his coffee. "I protest! I protest to your presencein my office. I protest to your insinuations that the deputydirector of this agency is lying. I protest—"

"We have a virus, sir! My instincts tell me—"

"Well, your instincts are wrong, Ms. Milken! For once,they're wrong!"

Midge stood fast. "But, sir! Commander Strathmore bypassedGauntlet!"

Fontaine strode toward her, barely controlling his anger."That is his prerogative! I pay you to watch analystsand service employees—not spy on the deputy director! If itweren't for him we'd still be breaking codes with penciland paper! Now leave me!" He turned to Brinkerhoff, who stoodin the doorway colorless and trembling. "Both ofyou."

"With all due respect, sir," Midge said."I'd like to recommend we send a Sys-Sec team to Cryptojust to ensure—"

"We will do no such thing!"

After a tense beat, Midge nodded. "Very well. Goodnight." She turned and left. As she passed, Brinkerhoff couldsee in her eyes that she had no intention of letting thisrest—not until her intuition was satisfied.

Brinkerhoff gazed across the room at his boss, massive andseething behind his desk. This was not the director he knew. Thedirector he knew was a stickler for detail, for neatly tiedpackages. He always encouraged his staff to examine and clarify anyinconsistencies in daily procedure, no matter how minute. And yethere he was, asking them to turn their backs on a very bizarreseries of coincidences.

The director was obviously hiding something, but Brinkerhoff waspaid to assist, not to question. Fontaine had proven over and overthat he had everyone's best interests at heart; if assistinghim now meant turning a blind eye, then so be it. Unfortunately,Midge was paid to question, and Brinkerhoff feared she was headedfor Crypto to do just that.

Time to get out the résumés, Brinkerhoffthought as he turned to the door.

"Chad!" Fontaine barked, from behind him. Fontaine hadseen the look in Midge's eyes when she left. "Don'tlet her out of this suite."

Brinkerhoff nodded and hustled after Midge.

Fontaine sighed and put his head in his hands. His sable eyeswere heavy. It had been a long, unexpected trip home. The pastmonth had been one of great anticipation for Leland Fontaine. Therewere things happening right now at the NSA that would changehistory, and ironically, Director Fontaine had found out about themonly by chance.

Three months ago, Fontaine had gotten news that CommanderStrathmore's wife was leaving him. He'd also heardreports that Strathmore was working absurd hours and seemed aboutto crack under the pressure. Despite differences of opinion withStrathmore on many issues, Fontaine had always held his deputydirector in the highest esteem; Strathmore was a brilliant man,maybe the best the NSA had. At the same time, ever since theSkipjack fiasco, Strathmore had been under tremendous stress. Itmade Fontaine uneasy; the commander held a lot of keys around theNSA—and Fontaine had an agency to protect.

Fontaine needed someone to keep tabs on the wavering Strathmoreand make sure he was 100 percent—but it was not that simple.Strathmore was a proud and powerful man; Fontaine needed a way tocheck up on the commander without undermining his confidence orauthority.

Fontaine decided, out of respect for Strathmore, to do the jobhimself. He had an invisible tap installed on CommanderStrathmore's Crypto account—his E-mail, his interofficecorrespondence, his brainstorms, all of it. If Strathmore was goingto crack, the director would see warning signs in his work. Butinstead of signs of a breakdown, Fontaine uncovered the groundworkfor one of the most incredible intelligence schemes he'd everencountered. It was no wonder Strathmore was busting his ass; if hecould pull this plan off, it would make up for the Skipjack fiascoa hundred times over.

Fontaine had concluded Strathmore was fine, working at 110percent—as sly, smart, and patriotic as ever. The best thingthe director could do would be to stand clear and watch thecommander work his magic. Strathmore had devised a plan… aplan Fontaine had no intention of interrupting.