Brinkerhoff paced Midge's office. "Nobodybypasses Gauntlet. It's impossible!"

"Wrong," she fired back. "I just talked to Jabba.He said he installed a bypass switch last year."

The PA looked doubtful. "I never heard that."

"Nobody did. It was hush-hush."

"Midge," Brinkerhoff argued, "Jabba'scompulsive about security! He would never put in a switch tobypass—"

"Strathmore made him do it," she interrupted.

Brinkerhoff could almost hear her mind clicking.

"Remember last year," she asked, "when Strathmorewas working on that anti-Semitic terrorist ring inCalifornia?"

Brinkerhoff nodded. It had been one of Strathmore's majorcoups last year. Using TRANSLTR to decrypt an intercepted code, hehad uncovered a plot to bomb a Hebrew school in Los Angeles. Hedecrypted the terrorist's message only twelve minutes beforethe bomb went off, and using some fast phone work, he saved threehundred schoolchildren.

"Get this," Midge said, lowering her voiceunnecessarily. "Jabba said Strathmore intercepted thatterrorist code six hours before that bomb wentoff."

Brinkerhoff's jaw dropped. "But… then why did hewait—"

"Because he couldn't get TRANSLTR to decrypt the file.He tried, but Gauntlet kept rejecting it. It was encrypted withsome new public key algorithm that the filters hadn't seenyet. It took Jabba almost six hours to adjust them."

Brinkerhoff looked stunned.

"Strathmore was furious. He made Jabba install a bypassswitch in Gauntlet in case it ever happened again."

"Jesus." Brinkerhoff whistled. "I had noidea." Then his eyes narrowed. "So what's yourpoint?"

"I think Strathmore used the switch today… to processa file that Gauntlet rejected."

"So? That's what the switch is for, right?"

Midge shook her head. "Not if the file in question is avirus."

Brinkerhoff jumped. "A virus? Who said anything about avirus!"

"It's the only explanation," she said."Jabba said a virus is the only thing that could keep TRANSLTRrunning this long, so—"

"Wait a minute!" Brinkerhoff flashed her the time-outsign. "Strathmore said everything's fine!"

"He's lying."

Brinkerhoff was lost. "You're saying Strathmore intentionally let a virus into TRANSLTR?"

"No," she snapped. "I don't think he knew it was a virus. I think he was tricked."

Brinkerhoff was speechless. Midge Milken was definitely losingit.

"It explains a lot," she insisted. "It explainswhat he's been doing in there all night."

"Planting viruses in his own computer?"

"No," she said, annoyed. "Trying to cover up hismistake! And now he can't abort TRANSLTR and get aux powerback because the virus has the processors locked down!"

Brinkerhoff rolled his eyes. Midge had gone nuts in the past,but never like this. He tried to calm her. "Jabba doesn'tseem to be too worried."

"Jabba's a fool," she hissed.

Brinkerhoff looked surprised. Nobody had ever called Jabba afool—a pig maybe, but never a fool. "You're trustingfeminine intuition over Jabba's advanced degrees inanti-invasive programming?"

She eyed him harshly.

Brinkerhoff held up his hands in surrender. "Never mind. Itake it back." He didn't need to be reminded ofMidge's uncanny ability to sense disaster. "Midge,"he begged. "I know you hate Strathmore, but—"

"This has nothing to do with Strathmore!" Midge was inoverdrive. "The first thing we need to do is confirmStrathmore bypassed Gauntlet. Then we call the director."

"Great." Brinkerhoff moaned. "I'll callStrathmore and ask him to send us a signed statement."

"No," she replied, ignoring his sarcasm."Strathmore's lied to us once already today." Sheglanced up, her eyes probing his. "Do you have keys toFontaine's office?

"Of course. I'm his PA."

"I need them."

Brinkerhoff stared in disbelief. "Midge, there's noway in hell I'm letting you into Fontaine'soffice."

"You have to!" she demanded. Midge turned and startedtyping on Big Brother's keyboard. "I'm requesting aTRANSLTR queue list. If Strathmore manually bypassed Gauntlet,it'll show up on the printout."

"What does that have to do with Fontaine'soffice?"

She spun and glared at him. "The queue list only prints toFontaine's printer. You know that!"

"That's because it's classified,Midge!"

"This is an emergency. I need to see that list."

Brinkerhoff put his hands on her shoulders. "Midge, pleasesettle down. You know I can't—"

She huffed loudly and spun back to her keyboard. "I'mprinting a queue list. I'm going to walk in, pick it up, andwalk out. Now give me the key."

"Midge…"

She finished typing and spun back to him. "Chad, the reportprints in thirty seconds. Here's the deal. You give me thekey. If Strathmore bypassed, we call security. If I'm wrong, Ileave, and you can go smear marmalade all over Carmen Huerta."She gave him a malicious glare and held out her hands for the keys."I'm waiting."

Brinkerhoff groaned, regretting that he had called her back tocheck the Crypto report. He eyed her outstretched hand."You're talking about classified information inside thedirector's private quarters. Do you have any idea what wouldhappen if we got caught?"

"The director is in South America."

"I'm sorry. I just can't." Brinkerhoffcrossed his arms and walked out.

Midge stared after him, her gray eyes smoldering. "Oh, yesyou can," she whispered. Then she turned back to Big Brotherand called up the video archives.

Midge'll get over it, Brinkerhoff told himself as hesettled in at his desk and started going over the rest of hisreports. He couldn't be expected to hand out thedirector's keys whenever Midge got paranoid.

He had just begun checking the COMSEC breakdowns when histhoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices coming from theother room. He set down his work and walked to his doorway.

The main suite was dark—all except a dim shaft of grayishlight from Midge's half-open door. He listened. The voicescontinued. They sounded excited. "Midge?"

No response.

He strode through the darkness to her workspace. The voices werevaguely familiar. He pushed the door open. The room was empty.Midge's chair was empty. The sound was coming from overhead.Brinkerhoff looked up at the video monitors and instantly felt ill.The same image was playing on each one of the twelve screens—akind of perversely choreographed ballet. Brinkerhoff steadiedhimself on the back of Midge's chair and watched inhorror.

"Chad?" The voice was behind him.

He spun and squinted into the darkness. Midge was standingkitty-corner across the main suite's reception area in frontof the director's double doors. Her palm was outstretched."The key, Chad."

Brinkerhoff flushed. He turned back to the monitors. He tried toblock out the images overhead, but it was no use. He waseverywhere, groaning with pleasure and eagerly fondling CarmenHuerta's small, honey-covered breasts.