equal paper money and paper money equals true wealth. It does not. It is a form of economic faith. I will destroy that faith. The FDIC will have to bail out every bank in the nation."
"My god," said Smith. "The FDIC will go broke trying."
"And the banking system will collapse completely, taking with it the United States economy. Unless the U.S. government agrees to wire transfer to my Swiss account the sum of twenty billion dollars."
"Why?"
"Because it is doable."
"I mean with Chip Craft dead, why would you proceed with this mad plan?"
"It is the XL SysCorp business plan for the final quarter of this fiscal year. Goals must be reached and the profits allocated to future expansion and growth."
"I will not help you," Smith snapped.
"You are a prisoner on this floor. I control the elevators."
"I am willing to die to stop you."
"There is no profit in dying."
"You have stripped me of all I have."
"I offer you more than you can dream," said the smooth voice, growing warm and generous.
"Except my duty to my country," added Smith.
And he raised his pistol, pointing at the square glass port.
"Harold, stop this minute!"
The voice came from off to his left. Gun unwavering, Smith peered out of the corner of one eye.
There was a woman there. She wore a topless black gown that exposed two ripe breasts. But Harold Smith's eyes were drawn to the MAC-10 in her pink- nailed right hand.
"Don't shoot, Harold," she was saying. "I will kill you."
"I do not care," said Smith tightly. His trigger finger constricted.
The girl's voice grew shrill. "You can't get us both, Harold. Do you understand? If you want to live, you'll have to shoot me first. Turn around and shoot me, if you can."
"You are trying to trick me into wasting my ammunition on you. You know if you fire now, the odds are my hand will convulse and destroy the ES Quantum anyway. It will not work."
"Harold, think about it. If you don't turn around right now, you may get the computer, but so help me God I'll break your spine with this thing."
Harold Smith heard the words, understanding their full import. He was about to die. He knew it deep in his New England bones, understood it in an absolute sense.
He squeezed the trigger of the automatic anyway. The port on the ES Quantum 3000 shattered and gave out a puff of greenish smoke.
In his left ear, Harold Smith heard the percussive blatt of the MAC-10 and turned to send one last bullet between the perfect breasts of the unknown woman who had already killed him—
Harold Smith managed to squeeze off two clean shots, much to his surprise.
The girl with the MAC-10 stood looking at him, the barrel of her weapon emitting a curl of grayish smoke. She did not fire again. Her mistake. Smith squeezed off another shot.
Incredibly she did not react, recoil or fall to the polished floor. She just looked at him with her sad blue eyes and lowered the weapon in defeat as behind him the ES Quantum 3000 crackled and hissed as its internal circuitry shorted and sputtered uselessly.
She dropped the MAC-10 to the floor.
Then the girl faded from sight. Smith blinked tired, incredulous eyes. He rushed to the spot. There was no sign of her.
Smith knelt to pick up the weapon, and his fingers went through it as if it were a mirage. Then it, too, faded from sight.
"A hologram," said Smith. "It was only a hologram."
His heart pounding low in his chest, Smith began to understand that he had not been shot with real bullets. Indeed he had not been shot at all. He checked himself for wounds. There were none.
Eyes closing in relief, Smith lowered himself to the floor and tried to get his breathing under control.
When he felt up to it, he returned to the ES Quantum 3000.
It was still smoking.
"Can you hear me, ES Quantum 3000?" he asked.
The machine sizzled unintelligibly.
Smith located the power cable and yanked it from its floor plate.
The lights went out, leaving him in darkness.
In the gloom he heaved a relieved sigh. The menace was over.
When the rubbery feeling left his knees, he carefully felt his way back to the elevator and forced the doors open.
It took nearly two hours, but he managed with the help of a chair to open the elevator roof hatch, climb atop the cage and pry open the doors to the fourteenth floor.
He took his time walking down the darkened stairwell. He was not used to such exertions and at his age did not wish to risk a heart attack.
Few understood the velocity of money in the electronic age as Harlan Richmond, vice president of computer operations of the Minneapolis Federal Reserve Bank.
He saw it firsthand. Virtually every check written off the nation's personal and business accounts passed through the twelve federal reserve banks. It was well- known that the Fed served as a clearinghouse for America's check transactions.
What most people did not realize was that much of the federal government's banking transfers passed through the Fed, as well. Everything from interagency fund transfers to the payroll checks issued to the President and members of Congress went through the Federal Reserve system.
And if a bank got into short-term trouble, it was the Fed that acted as lender of last resort, bailing the institution out.