Susan Fletcher paced impatiently in the Crypto bathroom andcounted slowly to fifty. Her head was throbbing. Just a littlelonger, she told herself. Hale is North Dakota!

Susan wondered what Hale's plans were. Would he announcethe pass-key? Would he be greedy and try to sell the algorithm?Susan couldn't bear to wait any longer. It was time. She hadto get to Strathmore.

Cautiously she cracked the door and peered out at the reflectivewall on the far side of Crypto. There was no way to know if Halewas still watching. She'd have to move quickly toStrathmore's office. Not too quickly, of course—she couldnot let Hale suspect she was on to him. She reached for the doorand was about to pull it open when she heard something. Voices.Men's voices.

The voices were coming through the ventilation shaft near thefloor. She released the door and moved toward the vent. The wordswere muffled by the dull hum of the generators below. Theconversation sounded like it was coming up from the sublevelcatwalks. One voice was shrill, angry. It sounded like PhilChartrukian.

"You don't believe me?"

The sound of more arguing rose.

"We have a virus!"

Then the sound of harsh yelling.

"We need to call Jabba!"

Then there were sounds of a struggle.

"Let me go!"

The noise that followed was barely human. It was a long wailingcry of horror, like a tortured animal about to die. Susan frozebeside the vent. The noise ended as abruptly as it had begun. Thenthere was a silence.

An instant later, as if choreographed for some cheap horrormatinee, the lights in the bathroom slowly dimmed. Then theyflickered and went out. Susan Fletcher found herself standing intotal blackness.