hil Chartrukian stood fuming in the Sys-Sec lab.Strathmore's words echoed in his head: Leave now!That's an order! He kicked the trash can and swore in theempty lab.

"Diagnostic, my ass! Since when does the deputy directorbypass Gauntlet's filters!?"

The Sys-Secs were well paid to protect the computer systems atthe NSA, and Chartrukian had learned that there were only two jobrequirements: be utterly brilliant and exhaustively paranoid.

Hell, he cursed, this isn't paranoia! The fuckingRun-Monitor's reading eighteen hours!

It was a virus. Chartrukian could feel it. There was littledoubt in his mind what was going on: Strathmore had made a mistakeby bypassing Gauntlet's filters, and now he was trying tocover it up with some half-baked story about a diagnostic.

Chartrukian wouldn't have been quite so edgy had TRANSLTRbeen the only concern. But it wasn't. Despite its appearance,the great decoding beast was by no means an island. Although thecryptographers believed Gauntlet was constructed for the solepurpose of protecting their code-breaking masterpiece, the Sys-Secsunderstood the truth. The Gauntlet filters served a much highergod. The NSA's main databank.

The history behind the databank's construction had alwaysfascinated Chartrukian. Despite the efforts of the Department ofDefense to keep the Internet to themselves in the late 1970s, itwas too useful a tool not to attract the public-sector. Eventuallyuniversities pried their way on. Shortly after that came thecommercial servers. The floodgates opened, and the public pouredin. By the early 90's, the government's once-secure"Internet" was a congested wasteland of public E-mail andcyberporn.

Following a number of unpublicized, yet highly damaging computerinfiltrations at the Office of Naval Intelligence, it becameincreasingly clear that government secrets were no longer safe oncomputers connected to the burgeoning Internet. The President, inconjunction with the Department of Defense, passed a classifieddecree that would fund a new, totally secure government network toreplace the tainted Internet and function as a link between U.S. intelligence agencies. To prevent further computer pilfering ofgovernment secrets, all sensitive data was relocated to one, highlysecure location—the newly constructed NSA databank—theFort Knox of U.S. intelligence data.

Literally millions of the country's most classified photos,tapes, documents, and videos were digitized and transferred to theimmense storage facility and then the hard copies were destroyed.The databank was protected by a triple-layer power relay and atiered digital backup system. It was also 214 feet underground toshield it from magnetic fields and possible explosions. Activitieswithin the control room were designated Top Secret Umbra… the country's highest level of security.

The secrets of the country had never been safer. Thisimpregnable databank now housed blueprints for advanced weaponry,witness protection lists, aliases of field agents, detailedanalyses and proposals for covert operations. The list was endless.There would be no more black-bag jobs damaging U.S.intelligence.

Of course, the officers of the NSA realized that stored data hadvalue only if it was accessible. The real coup of the databank wasnot getting the classified data off the streets, it was making itaccessible only to the correct people. All stored information had asecurity rating and, depending on the level of secrecy, wasaccessible to government officials on a compartmentalized basis. Asubmarine commander could dial in and check the NSA's mostrecent satellite photos of Russian ports, but he would not haveaccess to the plans for an antidrug mission in South America. CIAanalysts could access histories of known assassins but could notaccess launch codes reserved for the President.

Sys-Secs, of course, had no clearance for the information in thedatabank, but they were responsible for its safety. Like all largedatabanks—from insurance companies to universities—theNSA facility was constantly under attack by computer hackers tryingto sneak a peek at the secrets waiting inside. But the NSA securityprogrammers were the best in the world. No one had ever come closeto infiltrating the NSA databank—and the NSA had no reason tothink anybody ever would.

Inside the Sys-Sec lab, Chartrukian broke into a sweat trying todecide whether to leave. Trouble in TRANSLTR meant trouble in thedatabank too. Strathmore's lack of concern wasbewildering.

Everyone knew that TRANSLTR and the NSA main databank wereinextricably linked. Each new code, once broken, was fired fromCrypto through 450 yards of fiber-optic cable to the NSA databankfor safe keeping. The sacred storage facility had limited points ofentry—and TRANSLTR was one of them. Gauntlet was supposed tobe the impregnable threshold guardian. And Strathmore had bypassedit.

Chartrukian could hear his own heart pounding. TRANSLTR's been stuck eighteen hours! The thought of acomputer virus entering TRANSLTR and then running wild in thebasement of the NSA proved too much. "I've got to reportthis," he blurted aloud.

In a situation like this, Chartrukian knew there was only oneperson to call: the NSA's senior Sys-Sec officer, theshort-fused, 400-pound computer guru who had built Gauntlet. Hisnickname was Jabba. He was a demigod at the NSA—roaming thehalls, putting out virtual fires, and cursing the feeblemindednessof the inept and the ignorant. Chartrukian knew that as soon asJabba heard Strathmore had bypassed Gauntlet's filters, allhell would break loose. Too bad, he thought, I'vegot a job to do. He grabbed the phone and dialed Jabba'stwenty-four-hour cellular.