Digital Fortress Chapter 100-106

Section 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 bite the dust! Hulohot circumnavigated upward, weapon drawn. He kept to the outside divider on the off chance that Becker chose to assault from above. The iron light shafts on each arrival would make great weapons if Becker chose to utilize one. However, by remaining wide, Hulohot would have the option to spot him in time. Hulohot's firearm had a range altogether longer than a five-foot light shaft. Hulohot moved rapidly however cautiously. The steps were steep; visitors 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 moronic to fall, it was your own damn shortcoming, paying little heed to who fabricated 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 noticeable around the bend. The flight of stairs to the top was unfilled. 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 also 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. What's more, to finish things off, Hulohot would be moving out of the dull into the light. A slaughtering box, he considered. Hulohot estimated the separation to the entryway. Seven stages. He rehearsed the slaughter in his brain. 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. In the event 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 rough 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 projectile ricocheted ease off the exposed divider and scarcely missed him. Hulohot wheeled uncontrollably and let out a quieted shout. There was nobody there. David Becker had evaporated. Three trips beneath, suspended 325 feet over the Jardin de los Naranjos, David Becker held tight the outside of the Giralda like a man doing jawline ups on a window sill. As Hulohot had been dashing up the flight of stairs, Becker had slid three flights and brought down himself out one of the openings. He'd dropped far out without a moment to spare. 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, in spite of his solid arms, Becker was currently 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 attacker 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 supernatural occurrence 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 agony in his side was deteriorating. Strides currently roared above him, boisterous jumping strides surging down the steps. Becker shut his eyes. It was currently 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 snatched 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, weapon 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 rotated 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 edge 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 porch. The frantic 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 staggered. It made a sporadic sway 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 glimmer of steel. It punched 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 item 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 unexpectedly airborne, turning on his side. As Hulohot cruised descending, he disregarded David Becker, inclined on his stomach, arms outstretched. The flame shaft 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 revolutions before he moved to a stop. Twelve additional means, and he would have tumbled out onto the yard. Part 101 David Becker had never held a firearm, yet he was holding one at this point. Hulohot's body was curved and damaged in the murkiness of the Giralda flight of stairs. Becker squeezed the barrel of the firearm against his aggressor's sanctuary and deliberately bowed down. One jerk and Becker would fire. Be that as it may, there was no jerk. Hulohot was dead. Becker dropped the weapon and fallen on the steps. Without precedent for a very 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, yet he was too drained to even think about moving. He sat an extended period of time, depleted, on the stone flight of stairs. Absently, he contemplated the bent 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 flawless. They were odd glasses, Becker thought, with a wire jutting from behind the earpiece and prompting a pack or something to that affect on his belt. Becker was too depleted to ever be interested. 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 long last read the engraving. As he had suspected, it was not English. He gazed at the etching along second and afterward scowled. This merits murdering for? The morning sun was blinding when Becker at long last ventured out of the Giralda onto the yard. The torment in his side had died down, and his vision was coming back to typical. He stood a second, in a surprise, appreciating 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 accuracy 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 wound up moving in an opposite direction from them. The shorter man gave Becker a frigid gaze. â€Å"This way, Mr. Becker. Right now.† Becker went to run. Be that as it may, he just made one stride. One of the men drew a weapon. There was a shot. A burning spear of agony ejected in Becker's chest. It soared to his skull. His fingers went solid, 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 monster PC shivered close to him. Immense beads of water fell like downpour through the twirling fog. The admonition horns seemed as though thunder. The officer looked across at the bombed primary generators. Phil Chartrukian was there, his roasted remains spread over a lot of coolant balances. The scene seemed as though an unreasonable Halloween show. In spite of the fact that Strathmore