Digital Fortress Chapter 100-106

Part 100 Hulohot took the Giralda steps three at once. The main light in the winding section was from little outside windows each 180 degrees. He's caught! David Becker will kick the bucket! Hulohot orbited upward, firearm drawn. He kept to the outside divider in the event that Becker chose to assault from above. The iron flame shafts on each arrival would make great weapons if Becker chose to utilize one. Be that as it may, by remaining wide, Hulohot would have the option to spot him in time. Hulohot's weapon had a range essentially longer than a five-foot light shaft. Hulohot moved rapidly however cautiously. The steps were steep; sightseers had kicked the bucket here. This was not America-no wellbeing signs, no handrails, no protection disclaimers. This was Spain. In the event that you were sufficiently dumb to fall, it was your own damn issue, paying little heed to who manufactured the steps. Hulohot stopped at one of the shoulder-high openings and looked out. He was on the north face and, from the vibes of things, most of the way up. The opening to the survey stage was obvious around the bend. The flight of stairs to the top was vacant. David Becker had not tested him. Hulohot acknowledged perhaps Becker had not seen him enter the pinnacle. That implied the component of shock was Hulohot's ally too not that he'd need it. Hulohot held all the cards. Indeed, even the format of the pinnacle was in support of himself; the flight of stairs met the survey stage in the southwest corner-Hulohot would have an away from of fire to each purpose of the cell with no likelihood that Becker could get behind him. Also, to finish things off, Hulohot would be moving out of the dim into the light. A slaughtering box, he considered. Hulohot estimated the separation to the entryway. Seven stages. He rehearsed the execute in his psyche. In the event that he remained directly as he moved toward the opening, he would have the option to see the furthest left corner of the stage before he arrived at it. On the off chance that Becker was there, Hulohot would fire. If not, he would move inside and enter moving east, confronting the correct corner, the main spot remaining that Becker could be. He grinned. SUBJECT: DAVID BECKER-TERMINATED The opportunity had arrived. He checked his weapon. With a savage flood, Hulohot ran up. The stage swung into see. The left corner was unfilled. As practiced, Hulohot moved inside and burst through the initial confronting right. He terminated into the corner. The slug ricocheted chill out the exposed divider and scarcely missed him. Hulohot wheeled uncontrollably and let out a quieted shout. There was nobody there. David Becker had disappeared. Three trips underneath, suspended 325 feet over the Jardin de los Naranjos, David Becker held tight the outside of the Giralda like a man doing jaw ups on a window sill. As Hulohot had been hustling up the flight of stairs, Becker had slid three flights and brought down himself out one of the openings. He'd dropped far out in the nick of time. The executioner had shown right to him. He'd been in an over the top rush to see the white knuckles getting a handle on the window sill. Hanging outside the window, Becker said thanks to God that his day by day squash routine included twenty minutes on the Nautilus machine to build up his biceps for a harder overhead serve. Sadly, notwithstanding his solid arms, Becker was presently experiencing difficulty pulling himself back in. His shoulders consumed. His side felt as though it were tearing open. The harsh cut stone edge gave little grasp, grinding into his fingertips like broken glass. Becker realized it was just only seconds before his aggressor would come running down from above. From the higher ground, the executioner would without a doubt see Becker's fingers on the edge. Becker shut his eyes and pulled. He realized he would require a wonder to get away from death. His fingers were losing their influence. He looked down, past his dangling legs. The drop was the length of a football field to the orange trees underneath. Unsurvivable. The torment in his side was deteriorating. Strides presently roared above him, boisterous jumping strides hurrying down the steps. Becker shut his eyes. It was presently or never. He gritted his teeth and pulled. The stone tore against the skin on his wrists as he yanked himself upward. The strides were coming quick. Becker hooked at within the opening, attempting to make sure about his hold. He kicked his feet. His body felt like lead, as though somebody had a rope attached to his legs and were pulling him down. He battled it. He flooded up onto his elbows. He was on display now, his head half through the window like a man in a guillotine. He wriggled his legs, kicking himself into the opening. He was part of the way through. His middle presently hung into the flight of stairs. The strides were close. Becker got the sides of the opening and in a solitary movement propelled his body through. He hit the flight of stairs hard. Hulohot detected Becker's body hit the floor just underneath him. He jumped forward, firearm leveled. A window spun into see. This is it! Hulohot moved to the outside divider and pointed down the flight of stairs. Becker's legs ran far out just around the bend. Hulohot terminated in disappointment. The projectile ricocheted down the flight of stairs. As Hulohot ran down the steps after his prey, he kept to the outside divider for the most stretched out edge see. As the flight of stairs spun into see before him, it appeared Becker was consistently 180 degrees in front of him, simply far out. Becker had taken within track, removing the point and jumping four or five steps one after another. Hulohot remained with him. It would make just a solitary effort. Hulohot was picking up. He realized that regardless of whether Becker made the base, there was no place to run; Hulohot could shoot him in the back as he crossed the open yard. The edgy race spiraled descending. Hulohot moved inside to the quicker track. He detected he was picking up. He could see Becker's shadow each time they passed an opening. Down. Down. Spiraling. It appeared that Becker was in every case practically around the bend. Hulohot watched out for his shadow and one eye on the steps. Unexpectedly it appeared to Hulohot that Becker's shadow had faltered. It made an inconsistent reel left and afterward appeared to turn in midair and sail back toward the focal point of the flight of stairs. Hulohot jumped forward. I have him! On the steps before Hulohot, there was a blaze of steel. It hit into the air from around the bend. It push forward like a fencer's foil at lower leg level. Hulohot attempted to move left, yet it was past the point of no return. The article was between his lower legs. His back foot approached, got it hard, and the post pummeled over his shin. Hulohot's arms went out for help yet discovered just void air. He was suddenly airborne, turning on his side. As Hulohot cruised descending, he disregarded David Becker, inclined on his stomach, arms outstretched. The light post in his grasp was currently up to speed in Hulohot's legs as he spun descending. Hulohot collided with the outside divider before he hit the flight of stairs. At the point when he at long last found the floor, he was tumbling. His firearm rattled to the floor. Hulohot's body continued onward, head over heels. He spiraled five complete 360-degree pivots before he moved to a stop. Twelve additional means, and he would have tumbled out onto the porch. Section 101 David Becker had never held a weapon, yet he was holding one at this point. Hulohot's body was bent and disfigured in the dimness of the Giralda flight of stairs. Becker squeezed the barrel of the firearm against his aggressor's sanctuary and painstakingly bowed down. One jerk and Becker would fire. Be that as it may, there was no jerk. Hulohot was dead. Becker dropped the firearm and crumbled on the steps. Without precedent for a long time he felt destroys well. He battled them. He knew there would be the ideal opportunity for feeling later; presently the time had come to return home. Becker attempted to stand, however he was too worn out to even think about moving. He sat a drawn-out period of time, depleted, on the stone flight of stairs. Absently, he examined the turned body before him. The executioner's eyes started to coat over, looking out at nothing specifically. By one way or another, his glasses were as yet unblemished. They were odd glasses, Becker thought, with a wire distending from behind the earpiece and prompting a pack or some likeness thereof on his belt. Becker was too depleted to be in any way inquisitive. As he sat alone in the flight of stairs and gathered his musings, Becker moved his look to the ring on his finger. His vision had cleared to some degree, and he could at last read the engraving. As he had suspected, it was not English. He gazed at the etching along second and afterward scowled. This merits slaughtering for? The morning sun was blinding when Becker at long last ventured out of the Giralda onto the porch. The agony in his side had died down, and his vision was coming back to ordinary. He stood a second, in a surprise, getting a charge out of the aroma of the orange blooms. At that point he started moving gradually over the yard. As Becker walked away from the pinnacle, a van slipped to a stop close by. Two men leaped out. They were youthful and wearing military uniform. They progressed on Becker with the hardened exactness of very much tuned machines. â€Å"David Becker?† one requested. Becker held back, stunned they knew his name. â€Å"Who†¦ who are you?† â€Å"Come with us, it would be ideal if you Right away.† There was something stunning about the experience something that made Becker's nerve endings begin to shiver once more. He ended up moving in an opposite direction from them. The shorter man gave Becker a frosty gaze. â€Å"This way, Mr. Becker. Right now.† Becker went to run. Yet, he just made one stride. One of the men drew a weapon. There was a shot. A burning spear of torment emitted in Becker's chest. It soared to his skull. His fingers went firm, and Becker fell. A moment later, there was only darkness. Part 102 Strathmore arrived at the TRANSLTR floor and ventured off the catwalk into an inch of water. The goliath PC shivered alongside him. Tremendous beads of water fell like downpour through the whirling fog. The admonition horns seemed as though thunder. The administrator looked across at the bombed principle generators. Phil Chartrukian was there, his singed remains spread over a lot of coolant blades. The scene seemed as though an unreasonable Halloween show. In spite of the fact that Strathmore