Tiny particles of dust drifted upward in wide unsuspecting spirals-captives of the dome’s powerful deionizing system. The screen filtered the sunlight into delicate lacework across the walls. The Plexiglas cupola was embedded with a polycarbonate mesh-a protective web capable of withstanding a two-megaton blast. Its transparent, domed ceiling towered 120 feet at its central peak. His wife had tried to beĬircular chamber that rose five stories. She was as brilliant and as beautiful as any woman he could imagine. He dreamed of her at night he cried out for her in his sleep. For years she’d been his illusion, his living fantasy. There were so many things he hadn’t told her-things he was now desperately ashamed of. There were people he hadn’t been honest with. He had served his country with honor and integrity for so many years, he couldn’t allow it to end this way. There would be trials, accusations, public outrage. His intentions had been patriotic, but nothing had gone as he’d planned. There was no doubt he would be hung out to dry. He had sent a virus into the nation’s most secure computer. He had kept information from the director. And disgrace was what was waiting for him. I’d rather die than live in the shadow of disgrace. I’m a survivor-but survival is nothing without honor. You’re a survivor… you’re a survivor… Yes, he thought. He sat alone in the shadows, the drone of TRANSLTR calling to him. Strathmore had no idea how long Susan had been gone. David Becker suddenly realized he was going to church.
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