8192 lines
355 KiB
Groff
8192 lines
355 KiB
Groff
Welcome back to more "Terminal Compromise."
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This file contains Chapters 16 through 21. Enjoy it.
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INTER.PACT Press
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11511 Pine St.
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Seminole, FL 34642
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All contents are (C) 1991, 1992, 1993 Inter.Pact
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****************************************************************
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Chapter 15
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Sunday, December 6
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Washington, D.C.
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Miles Foster was busy at one of the several computers in his
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Washington, D.C. condo. It was necessary, on a daily basis, to
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stay in contact with a vast group of people who were executing
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portions of his master plan. He thought it was going quite well,
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exceedingly so in fact. Spread over 3 continents he remote
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controlled engineers and programmers who designed methods to
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compromise computers. With his guidance, though. He broke them
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into several groups, and none of them knew they were part of a
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much larger organization, nor did they have any idea of their
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ultimate objective.
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Each of his computer criminals was recruited by Alex; that's the
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only name that Miles knew. Alex. Miles had drawn up a list of
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minimum qualifications for his 'staff'. He forwarded them to
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Homosoto, who, Miles guessed, passed them on to the ubiquitous
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yet invisible Alex. That obviously wasn't his real name, but
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suitable for conversation.
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Miles had developed a profile of the various talents he required.
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One group needed to have excellent programming skills, with a
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broad range of expertise in operating systems. An operating
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system is much like English or any other language. It is the O/S
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||
that allows the computer to execute its commands. Unless the
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||
computer understands the O/S, the computer is deaf dumb and
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||
blind. As a child learns to communicate, a computer is imbued
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||
with the basic knowledge to permit it to function. It is still
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essentially stupid, that is, it can't do anything on its own
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without instructions, but it can understand them when they are
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||
given.
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In order to violate a computer, a thorough understanding of the
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O/S, or language of the computer is a must. Good programmers
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learn the most efficient way to get a computer to perform the
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desired task. There are, as in any field, tricks of the trade.
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Through experience, a programmer will learn how to fool the
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computer into doing things it might not be designed to do. By
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||
taking advantage of the features of the Operating System, many of
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||
them unknown and therefore undocumented by the original designers
|
||
of the O/S, a computer programmer is able to extract additional
|
||
performance from the equipment.
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Similarly, though, such knowledge allows the motivated programmer
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to bypass critical portions of the Operating System to perform
|
||
specific jobs and to circumvent any security measures that may be
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||
present. For example, in most of the 85,000,000 or so DOS com-
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||
puters in the world, it is common knowledge that when you ERASE a
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||
file, you really don't erase it. You merely erase the NAME of
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||
the file. If a secretary was told to dispose of document from a
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||
file cabinet, and she only removed the name of each file, but
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left the contents remaining in the file drawers, she would cer-
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tainly have reason to worry for her job. Such is an example of
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||
one of the countless security holes that permeate computer land.
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To take advantage of such glaring omissions, several software
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companies were formed that allowed users to retrieve 'erased'
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files.
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These were among the skills that Miles wanted his people to have.
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He needed them to be fluent in not only DOS, but Unix, Xenix,
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VMS, Mac and a host of other Operating Systems. He needed a
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group that knew the strengths and weaknesses of every major O/S
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to fulfill his mission. They needed to be able to identify and
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exploit the trap doors and holes in all operating and security
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systems. From an engineering standpoint, Miles found it terrifi-
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cally exciting. Over the three years he had been working for
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Homosoto, Miles and his crew designed software techniques and
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hardware tools that he didn't believe were even contemplated by
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his former employer, the NSA.
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The qualifications he sent to Homosoto were extensive, detailed
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and demanding. Miles wasn't convinced that anyone but he could
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find the proper people. The interview process alone was crucial
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to determining an applicant's true abilities, and a mediocre
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programmer could easily fool a non-technical person. While Miles
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and Homosoto agreed that all programmers should be isolated from
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each other, Miles felt he should know them more than by a coded
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name over modem lines. Miles lost that battle with one swift
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word from Homosoto. No.
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To Miles' surprise, within a few days of providing Homosoto with
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is recruitment lists, his 'staff' began calling him on his com-
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puter. To call Miles, a computer needed his number, and the
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proper security codes. To a man, or woman, they all did. And,
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as he spoke to them over the public phone lines, in encrypted
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form of course, he was amazed at their quality and level of
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technical sophistication. Whoever Alex was, he knew how to do
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his job.
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Over a period of a few months, Miles commanded the resources of
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over 100 programmers. But, Miles thought, there was something
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strange about most of those with whom he spoke. They seemed
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ready to blindly follow instructions without questioning the
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assigned tasks. When a programmer takes a job or an assignment,
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he usually knows that he will be designing a data base, or word
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processor or other application program. However, Miles' staff
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was to design programs intended to damage computers.
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He had assembed the single largest virus software team in the
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world, and none of them questioned the nature or ethics of the
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work. Miles would have thought that while there is considerable
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technical talent around the world, finding people who would be
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willing to work on projects to facilitate the interruption of
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communications and proper computer operations would have been the
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most difficult part of recruitment. He realized he was wrong,
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although he did not know why. Technical mercenaries perhaps? He
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had never seen an ad with that as a job title, but, what the
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hell. Money can buy anything. Weapons designers since Oppen-
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heiner have had to face similar moral dilemmas, and with wide-
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spread hatred of things American, recruitment couldn't have been
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all that difficult.
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As he sat in his apartment, he was receiving the latest virus
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designs from one of his programmers who lived in the suburbs of
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Paris, France. While there was somewhat of a language barrier
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when they spoke, the computer language was a common denominator,
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and they all spoke that fluently. It broke down communications
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errors. Either it was in the code, or it wasn't.
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Miles knew this designer only as Claude. Claude's virus was
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small, less than 2K, or 2000 characters, but quite deadly. Miles
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went over it and saw what it was designed to do. Ooh, clever,
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thought Miles. As many viruses do, this one attached itself to
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the Command.Com file of the DOS Operating System. Rather than
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wait for a specific future date, the next time the computer was
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booted, or turned on, Claude's virus in the O/S would play havoc
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with the chips that permit a printer to be connected to the
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computer. In a matter of seconds, with no pre-warning, the user
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would hear a small fizzle, and smell the recognizable odor of
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electronic burn. During the time the user poked his nose around
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the computer, to see if the smell was real or imaginary, the
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virus would destroy the contents of the hard disk.
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According to Claude, whose English was better than most French-
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men, there was a psychological advantage to this type of double-
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duty virus. The victim would realize that his computer needed
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repair and take it be fixed at his local computer shop. But,
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alas! Upon its return, the owner would find his hard disk trashed
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and attempt to blame the repairman. Deviously clever. Of course
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this type of virus would be discovered before too long. After a
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few thousand computers had their printer port blown up, word
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would get around and the virus would be identified. But, mean-
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while, oh what fun.
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As Miles prepared to send Claude's latest and greatest to another
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of his staff for analysis and debugging, the computer dedicated
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to speaking to Homosoto beeped at him. He glanced over at Nip-
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||
Com. He labeled all his computers with abbreviations. In this
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case, Nippon Communications seemed appropriate.
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<<<<<<CONNECTION>>>>>>
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MR. FOSTER
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Miles scooted his chair over to NipCom and entered his PRG re-
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sponse..
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Here Boss-san. What's up
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YOU TELL ME.
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Huh?
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I READ THE PAPERS. AGAIN YOU MOVE PRECIPITOUSLY.
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What are you talking about?
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FIRST STATE BANK. YOUR INFECTORS ARE WITHOUT DISCIPLINE
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I still don't know what you mean
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THE PAPERS HAVE SAID THAT FIRST STATE BANK WAS INVADED BY HACKERS
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AND THEIR STOCK DROPPED VERY MUCH. IT IS STILL NOT TIME.
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Oh, that. Good bit of work.
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NO SO MR FOSTER. I AM NOT PLEASED WITH YOU
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Me, why? I didn't have anything to do with it
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EXPLAIN
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Nothing to explain. My group doesn't do that, and even if they
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did, so what.
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WHAT ABOUT THE VIRUSES? I READ EVERY DAY OF NEW COMPUTER VIRUS.
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THEY MUST BE STOPPED.
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Why? It's all in good fun. Let 'em release them all they want.
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THEY WILL HURT OUR PLANS
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Bull. If anything, they help us.
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HOW IS THAT?
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Getting folks good and nervous. They're beginning to wonder who
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they can trust. It sure as hell won't be the government.
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BUT IT IS IN THE PAPERS.
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So?
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THE BANKS WILL PROTECT THEMSELVES. THEY WILL SEEN WHAT THE
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HACKERS DO AND MAKE OUR JOB MORE DIFFICULT.
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Not a chance. Listen, there are hundreds, maybe thousands or
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more of small time hackers who poke around computers all the
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time. Sometimes they do some damage, but most of the time they
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||
are in it for the thrill. The challenge. They are loosely
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||
organized at best. Maybe a few students at a university, or high
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school who fancy themselves computer criminals. Most of them
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wouldn't know what to do with the information if they took it.
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The only reason this one hit the papers is because First is under
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investigation anyway, some fraud stuff. Literally thousands of
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computers are attacked every day, yet those don't appear in the
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paper or TV. It's kind of like rape. Companies don't want to
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admit they've been violated. And since damage has been limited,
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at least as far as the scale upon which we function, it's a non-
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issue. I DO NOT SEE IT THAT WAY.
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Well, that's the way it is. There are maybe a half dozen well
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coordinated hacking groups who care to cause damage. The rest of
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them, ignore them. They're harmless.
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I WISH I BELIEVED THAT
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There's not much we can do about it.
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WHY NOT STOP THEM
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We can't. Look at our plans. We have hundreds of people who
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have a single purpose. We operate as a single entity. The hack-
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ers are only a small thorn. Industry can't do much about them,
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so they ignore them. It is better that we ignore them, too.
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FIND THEM
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Who?
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THE FIRST BANK ATTACKERS
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Why?
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I WANT THEM STOPPED
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I told you, you can't do that. It's impossible. Call the Arab.
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LOOK AT US, MR FOSTER. NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE.
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What do you want me to do with them?
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TELL ME WHO THEY ARE. I WILL TAKE CARE OF IT.
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I'll see what I can do.
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DO IT.
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<<<<<<CONNECTION TERMINATED>>>>>>
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Fuck, thought Miles. Sometimes Homosoto can be such an asshole.
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He doesn't really understand this business. I wonder how he got
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into it in the first place.
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He remembered that he had to get Claude's virus properly analyzed
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and tested, so he sent it off to an American programmer who would
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perform a sanity-check on it. If all went well he would then
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send it out for distribution into America's computers through his
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BBS system set up just for that purpose.
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With Diet Coke and Benson and Hedges Ultra Lights in hand he
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figured he might as well have someone look into Homosoto's para-
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noia. With some luck they could get a lead on this anonymous
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hacker and maybe Homosoto would leave him alone for a few hours.
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The constant interruptions and micro-management was a perpetual
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pain in the ass.
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Miles moved over to his BBS computer and told ProCom to dial 1-
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602-555-3490. That was the phone number of the Freedom BBS,
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established by Miles and several recruits that Alex had so ably
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located. It was mid morning Arizona time. Revere should be
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there.
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<<<<<<CONNECTION>>>>>>
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Welcome to the Freedom BBS
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||
Owned and Operated by the
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Information Freedom League
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(Non-profit)
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Are You a Member of the IFL? Y
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ID: XXXXXXXXX
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PASSWORD: XXXXXXXX
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Pause . . .
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WELCOME TO THE FREEDOM BBS, MF. HOW ARE YOU TODAY?
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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FREEDOM FLASH!!!!!!!!!
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||
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Another hacker has been convicted of a computer crime and
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has been sentenced to 1 Year in jail, a fine of $25,000 and
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2000 hours of community service!
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His crime? Larry Johnson, a respected hacker from Milwau-
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kee, WI, was a founding member of the 401 Group over 10
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years ago. Since then he has been hacking systems success-
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fully and was caught after he added $10,000 to his bank
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account.
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GOOD FOR THE SECRET SERVICE! Congratulations Guys!
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The IFL believes in a free exchange of information for all
|
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those who wish to be willing participants. We whole-heart-
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edly condemn all computer activities that violate the law
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and code of computer ethics. All members of IFL are expect-
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ed to heed all current computer legislation and use comput-
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ers exclusively for the betterment of mankind.
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Any IFL member found to be using computers in any illegal
|
||
fashion or for any illegal purpose will be reported to the
|
||
Computer Crime Division of the Secret Service in Washington,
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||
D.C.
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Remember, hacking is a crime!
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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A little thick, thought Miles, but effective. And a stroke of
|
||
genius. He patted himself ion the back every time he saw how
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effective Freedom, his computer warfare distribution system was.
|
||
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DO YOU WANT THE MAIN MENU? No
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DO YOU WANT TO SPEAK TO REVERE? Y
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||
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LET ME SEE IF HE IS HERE, OR IF YOU NEED TO LEAVE A MESSAGE.
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ONE MOMENT PLEASE. . .
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||
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||
THE SYSOP IS WAITING. PLEASE ENTER YOUR PIN: XXXX-XXXX
|
||
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||
Pause . . .
|
||
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||
MF? IS THAT YOU?
|
||
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||
Betch'ure ass. Revere? How's trix?
|
||
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||
SAME OL' SAME OL'. YOU?
|
||
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||
Trying to make a profit. Hey, we gotta talk.
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||
OUT LOUD?
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||
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No whisper.
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OK. LET ME SET IT.
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<<CRYPT KEY SELECTION>>
|
||
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||
Pause . . .
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||
<<CRYPT KEY EXCHANGE>>
|
||
Pause . . .
|
||
<<TRANSMISSION ENCODED>>
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||
MF?
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||
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||
Still here.
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GOOD. SURPRISES THE SHIT OUT OF ME EVERY TIME THIS WORKS.
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||
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||
Me too.
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||
WHAT CAN I DO? GOT ANOTHER PRESENT?
|
||
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||
Couple of days, sure. Some doosies.
|
||
|
||
WHAT'YA GOT?
|
||
|
||
A graphics program that kicks the living shit out of VGA Master
|
||
and Paint Man. Deadly too.
|
||
|
||
HOW?
|
||
|
||
Copies portions of itself into Video RAM and treats it as a TSR.
|
||
Next program you load gets infected from Video RAM and spreads
|
||
from there. Undetectable unless you're running debug at the same
|
||
time and looking for it. Then it stealths itself into all V-RAM
|
||
applications and spreads outside the O/S.
|
||
|
||
TRIGGERS?
|
||
|
||
I forget the exact trigger mechanism, but it gives constant
|
||
parity errors. Nothing'll run.
|
||
|
||
OK! LOOKIN' GOOD.
|
||
|
||
Also have a few Lotus utilities, a couple of games.
|
||
|
||
THE GAMES ARE GOING GREAT GUNS. WE SHOULD BE SELLING THEM IN THE
|
||
STORES.
|
||
|
||
How many?
|
||
|
||
AS OF A WEEK AGO, MORE THAN 240,000 PACK-LADIES HAVE BEEN DOWN
|
||
LOADED. THAT'S OUR BEST SELLER.
|
||
|
||
Anyone sending money?
|
||
|
||
SURPRISINGLY, YES. WE'RE TURNING A PROFIT.
|
||
|
||
Shit. That's not what we wanted.
|
||
|
||
CAN'T KEEP A GOOD PROGRAM DOWN.
|
||
|
||
Yeah Yeah Yeah. Need some info.
|
||
|
||
THAT'S OUR MIDDLE NAME. WHAT DO YOU NEED?
|
||
|
||
You hear about the First Bank hacker?
|
||
|
||
SURE! I GOT A DOZEN PEOPLE TAKING CREDIT FOR IT.
|
||
|
||
You're kidding
|
||
|
||
NO! IT'S A GOOD ONE. BRING A BANK TO IT'S KNEES. STOP STOCK
|
||
TRADING. SEC INVESTIGATION. A LOT OF OUR FOLKS WOULD HAVE BEEN
|
||
PROUD.
|
||
|
||
Was it us?
|
||
|
||
NO WAY.
|
||
|
||
Then who, really?
|
||
|
||
DAMNED IF I KNOW OR CARE.
|
||
|
||
Care
|
||
|
||
WHAT? SINCE WHEN DO WE CARE ABOUT THE AMATEURS?
|
||
|
||
Since now. Things are heating up too soon. I need to know who
|
||
pulled the job.
|
||
|
||
I CAN GET A LOT OF PEOPLE TO ADMIT IT, BUT I CAN'T VERIFY IT.
|
||
|
||
Whoever did it is not likely to advertise it openly. We may need
|
||
to pull him into the open.
|
||
|
||
GOTCHA
|
||
|
||
Here's my thinking. Assume the hack is just a kid. He's getting
|
||
no credit and receives a shitty allowance. So, we offer a re-
|
||
ward. Whoever can prove that they are the one's who broke into
|
||
First Bank, we'll send them a new 386. Whatever, use your imagi-
|
||
nation.
|
||
|
||
THINK HE'LL BITE?
|
||
|
||
If it's a pro, no. But this doesn't ring of a pro. The news-
|
||
papers know too much.
|
||
|
||
AND IF WE FIND HIM?
|
||
|
||
Just get me his number and shipping address. Make sure he gets
|
||
the computer too.
|
||
|
||
OK BOSS. ANYTHING ELSE?
|
||
|
||
Keep up the good work. Oh, yeah. I need the estimates.
|
||
|
||
NO PROBLEM. THEY LOOK GREAT. IN JUST OVER 2 YEARS, WE HAVE
|
||
GIVEN AWAY OVER 1,300,000 INFECTED PROGRAMS AND NONE HAVE GONE
|
||
OFF YET. ACCORDING TO PLAN.
|
||
|
||
Love it. Peace.
|
||
|
||
BYE, YOU MF.
|
||
|
||
<<<<<<CONNECTION TERMINATED>>>>>>
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Monday, December 7
|
||
New York City
|
||
|
||
The phone on Scott Mason's desk had been unusually, but grateful-
|
||
ly quiet. Higgins had been able to keep the First State lawyers
|
||
at bay with the mounds of information the paper had accumulated
|
||
on MacMillan's doings. The bank's stock was trading again, but
|
||
at a dilution of over 75%. Most individual customers had cashed
|
||
out their accounts, including Higgins, and only those long term
|
||
portfolios remained. Scott's stories on First Bank had won him
|
||
recognition by his peers. No awards, but an accolade at the New
|
||
York Journalists Club dinner. Not bad, he thought.
|
||
|
||
Now the hard work continued for him. The full background analy-
|
||
ses, additional proof, more witnesses now that Sidneys was under
|
||
Federal indictment and out of work. MacMillan was in trouble,
|
||
but it was clear to Scott, that if the heat got turned up too
|
||
much, there was a cache of millions offshore for the person with
|
||
the right access codes.
|
||
|
||
His phone rang.
|
||
|
||
"Scott Mason."
|
||
|
||
"Hey, Scott this is Kirk. We gotta talk, I'm in trouble." Kirk
|
||
sounded panicked.
|
||
|
||
"Damn Klingons," Scott cracked.
|
||
|
||
"Seriously, I'm in trouble. You gotta help me out."
|
||
|
||
Scott realized this was no prank. "Sure, sure, calm down. What
|
||
happened?"
|
||
|
||
"They found me, and they got into my computer and now it's
|
||
gone . . .shit, I'm in trouble. You gotta help me."
|
||
|
||
"Kirk!" Scott shouted. "Kirk, relax, ground yourself. You're
|
||
not making sense. Take it from the beginning."
|
||
|
||
Kirk exhaled heavily in Scott's ear, taking several deep breaths.
|
||
"O.K., I'm O.K., but should we be talking on the phone?"
|
||
|
||
"Hey, you called me . . .," Scott said with irritation.
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, I know, but I'm not thinking so good. You're right, I'll
|
||
call you tonight."
|
||
|
||
Click.
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Nightline was running its closing credits when Scott's home
|
||
computer beeped at him. Though Kirk had not told him when to
|
||
expect a call, all other communications had begun precisely at
|
||
midnight, so Scott made a reasonable deduction.
|
||
|
||
The dormant video screen came to life as the first message
|
||
appeared.
|
||
|
||
MASON
|
||
|
||
That was unlike Kirk to start a conversation that way.
|
||
|
||
wtfo
|
||
|
||
ITS ME. KIRK.
|
||
|
||
Now it was Scott's turn to be suspicious.
|
||
|
||
Prove it.
|
||
|
||
AW CMON
|
||
|
||
Prove it.
|
||
|
||
I CALLED YOU TODAY
|
||
|
||
So did half of the crack pots in New York
|
||
|
||
I'M IN TROUBLE
|
||
|
||
So were the others.
|
||
|
||
OK. WE WENT THROUGH THE BANK AND HAD SOME FUN WITH PRESSED RAT
|
||
AND WHARTHOG, INC.
|
||
|
||
Good enough. You sound as scared here as you did on the phone.
|
||
I thought computers didn't have emotion.
|
||
|
||
I DO.
|
||
|
||
OK, what's up.
|
||
|
||
THEY FOUND ME
|
||
|
||
Who?
|
||
|
||
THE PEOPLE FROM FIRST STATE BANK.
|
||
|
||
How? What?
|
||
|
||
I RECEIVED A MESSAGE ON MY COMPUTER, E-MAIL. IT SAID, STAY AWAY
|
||
FROM FIRST STATE BANK. YOUR HACKING CAREER IS OVER. OR ELSE.
|
||
|
||
What did you do?
|
||
|
||
CALLED A FEW FRIENDS WHO THINK THEY'RE FUNNY.
|
||
|
||
And?
|
||
|
||
HONOR AMONG THIEVES. IT WASN'T THEM. SO I FIGURED IT WAS FOR
|
||
REAL.
|
||
|
||
You sure?
|
||
|
||
AS SURE AS I CAN BE. MY ACTIVITIES ARE SUPPOSED TO BE SECRET.
|
||
NO ONE KNOWS. EXCEPT YOU.
|
||
|
||
And you think I did something.
|
||
|
||
THE THOUGHT CROSSED MY MIND MORE THAN ONCE, I'LL TELL YOU. BUT, I
|
||
THINK I HAVE ELIMINATED YOU
|
||
|
||
Thanks, Why?
|
||
|
||
NO MOTIVATION. I'M MORE USE TO YOU ALIVE THAN DEAD.
|
||
|
||
Excuse me?
|
||
|
||
AS LONG AS MY IDENTITY AND ACTIVITIES REMAIN SECRET, I'M ALIVE AS
|
||
A HACKER AND CAN CONTINUE TO DO WHAT I DO. AS SOON AS I'M FOUND
|
||
OUT, IT'S OVER. BUT THAT'S NOT THE PROBLEM.
|
||
|
||
What is?
|
||
|
||
I CAME HOME THIS MORNING AND FOUND THAT SOMEONE BROKE IN AND
|
||
TRASHED EVERYTHING. COMPUTERS, PRINTERS, MONITORS, THE WHOLE
|
||
BALL OF WAX. AND THERE WAS A NOTE.
|
||
|
||
What did it say?
|
||
|
||
WE KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE. STAY OUT OF OUR COMPUTERS OR YOU WILL
|
||
BE SORRY. IT WAS SIGNED FIRST STATE BANK.
|
||
|
||
That doesn't make sense.
|
||
|
||
WHAT DOESN'T
|
||
|
||
Nobody except terrorists leave their calling card, and then only
|
||
when they're sure they can't be caught. I would bet dollars to
|
||
donuts that First State had nothing to do with it.
|
||
|
||
ARE YOU SURE?
|
||
|
||
No, I'm not sure, not 100%, but it doesn't add up. You've
|
||
stepped on somebody's toes, and it may or may not have anything
|
||
to do with First State. They're just trying to scare you.
|
||
|
||
AND DOING A DAMNED GOOD JOB OF IT
|
||
|
||
Have you called the police.
|
||
|
||
NO. NOT YET. I'M NOT IN THE LINE OF WORK THEY PROBABLY APPROVE
|
||
OF.
|
||
|
||
So I see. Who else knew about your trips through the bank, other
|
||
than me. I will assume I'm not the guilty party.
|
||
|
||
A COUPLE OF HACKER FRIENDS, MY GIRLFRIEND, THAT'S ABOUT IT.
|
||
|
||
No one else?
|
||
|
||
NOT THAT I CAN THINK OF.
|
||
|
||
Let me ask you. If you wanted to find out who was hacking where,
|
||
how would you find out? Let's say you wanted to know what your
|
||
friends were doing. Is there a way?
|
||
|
||
NOT WITHOUT A LOT OF EXPENSIVE EQUIPMENT. NO. YOU WOULD HAVE TO
|
||
TELL SOMEONE.
|
||
|
||
And you told no one? No one?
|
||
|
||
WELL, THERE WAS FREEDOM.
|
||
|
||
What's Freedom?
|
||
|
||
FREEDOM IS A NATIONAL BBS SYSTEM. IT'S FAIRLY NEW.
|
||
|
||
What do they do?
|
||
|
||
LIKE MOST BBS'S, IT'S AN OPEN FORUM FOR EXCHANGE OF INFORMATION,
|
||
PROGRAMS, ETC. IT IS ONE OF THE LARGEST IN THE COUNTRY. THEY
|
||
HAVE BBS AFFILIATES IN 50 OR 60 CITIES. THEY ALSO RUN A SHARE-
|
||
WARE SERVICE.
|
||
|
||
Is that significant?
|
||
|
||
MOST SHAREWARE COMPANIES SELL THEIR SOFTWARE ON OTHER PEOPLE'S
|
||
BBS'S. THE CONCEPT IS SIMPLE. THEY GIVE AWAY THEIR SOFTWARE FOR
|
||
FREE. IF YOU LIKE IT, YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO SEND IN A FEW DOLLARS
|
||
AS A REGISTRATION, AND THAT'S HOW THEY MAKE MONEY. IT'S PART OF
|
||
THE CULTURE, DON'T BECOME RICH ON SOFTWARE. FREEDOM WRITES A
|
||
TREMENDOUS AMOUNT OF SOFTWARE AND THEY PUT IT ON THEIR OWN AS
|
||
WELL AS OTHER BBS'S. IT'S REAL SMART. THEY BASICALLY HAVE THEIR
|
||
OWN METHOD TO DISTRIBUTE THEIR SOFTWARE.
|
||
|
||
Do they make money?
|
||
|
||
WHO KNOWS. IT LOOKS LIKE A BIG OPERATION. VERY FEW SHAREWARE
|
||
PEOPLE MAKE MONEY, AND FREEDOM SAYS ITS NON-PROFIT.
|
||
|
||
Non-Profit did you say? Are you sure?
|
||
|
||
THAT'S WHAT THEY SAY.
|
||
|
||
What's their number?
|
||
|
||
I ONLY HAVE THE LA NUMBER.
|
||
|
||
So you are from the Coast.
|
||
|
||
SHIT. YEAH. I'M FROM THE COAST.
|
||
|
||
That was an accident. I really don't care.
|
||
|
||
I KNOW. IT MAY NOT MATTER. I MAY GIVE IT UP. I DON'T NEED MY
|
||
COMPUTERS BEING BLOWN TO SMITHERINES TO TELL ME I'M BARKING UP
|
||
THE WRONG TREE.
|
||
|
||
Maybe it is the right tree.
|
||
|
||
WHAT?
|
||
|
||
Never mind. So, you said you told them?
|
||
|
||
WELL, KIND OF. YOU SEE, THEY ARE VERY MUCH AGAINST HACKING.
|
||
THEY ALWAYS TALK ABOUT PROSECUTING HACKERS, HOW BAD WE ARE.
|
||
AFTER THE FIRST STATE ARTICLES YOU WROTE, A LOT OF PEOPLE ON THE
|
||
CHAT LINE CLAIMED TO HAVE DONE THE JOB. NOT THAT WE REALLY DID
|
||
ANYTHING. WE JUST LOOKED AROUND. ALL THESE GUYS ADMITTED TO
|
||
HAVE DONE IT, SO I ADDED MY TWO CENTS AND SAID I DID IT. I
|
||
THOUGHT IT MIGHT ADD TO THE CONFUSION.
|
||
|
||
Apparently it did.
|
||
|
||
WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?
|
||
|
||
Let's say I had something to hide, and let's even say I was First
|
||
State.
|
||
|
||
SO
|
||
|
||
So, a bunch of people claim to have wrecked havoc on a computer.
|
||
What easier way to cover all the possible bases than to threaten
|
||
them all.
|
||
|
||
YOU MEAN EVERYONE WHO ADMITTED IT? OR CLAIMED IT?
|
||
|
||
Right. Get to them all.
|
||
|
||
BUT HOW WOULD FIRST STATE KNOW ABOUT IT?
|
||
|
||
I'm not saying they did. Do you know any of the others who
|
||
claimed responsibility?
|
||
|
||
NOT PERSONALLY. ONLY ONE GUY NAMED DA VINCI I'VE TALKED TO.
|
||
|
||
Can you call him?
|
||
|
||
SURE, HE'S ON FREEDOM ALL THE TIME.
|
||
|
||
Don't use Freedom. Is there any other way to contact him? On
|
||
another BBS?
|
||
|
||
IT WOULDN'T BE HARD TO FIND OUT, BUT WHY NOT FREEDOM?
|
||
|
||
Look. This BBS may be the only link between the First State hack
|
||
you and I were in on, by the way, did you use my name?
|
||
|
||
DIDN'T NEED TO. YOU WROTE THE ARTICLE. YOU'RE GETTING VERY WELL
|
||
KNOWN.
|
||
|
||
Thanks for the warning. HA! At any rate, you check it out with
|
||
this Da Vinci character and once you know, just call me at the
|
||
office, and say something like, the Mona Lisa frowned. That
|
||
means he got a message similar to yours. If the Mona Lisa
|
||
smiles, then we can figure out something else. OK?
|
||
|
||
SURE. HEY, QUESTION.
|
||
|
||
Answer.
|
||
|
||
SERIOUSLY.
|
||
|
||
I'm serious.
|
||
|
||
WHAT DO YOU THINK'S GOING ON? YOU BELIEVE IT'S HACKERS, DON'T
|
||
YOU?
|
||
|
||
bLet me ask you a question. How many surrealistic painters does
|
||
it take to screw in a lightbulb?
|
||
|
||
I GIVE. HOW MANY
|
||
|
||
A fish.
|
||
|
||
I DON'T UNDERSTAND
|
||
|
||
That's the point. Neither do I. Yet. But you can help. Accord-
|
||
ing to what you're saying, there may be some weirdness with
|
||
Freedom. What do you recommend so I can dig a little deeper?
|
||
Into the whole cult of hacking. And don't worry. I don't hang
|
||
sources. Besides, I think we may need each other.
|
||
|
||
HOW DO YOU MEAN?
|
||
|
||
I think you should talk to the authorities.
|
||
|
||
NO WAY
|
||
|
||
Wait. I have a friend, ex-friend, who knows about this kind of
|
||
thing, at least a little, and he might be of some help to you. I
|
||
just don't think it should go unreported. Would you talk to him?
|
||
|
||
LIVE OR MEMOREX?
|
||
|
||
He probably would want a face to face, but I can't say for sure.
|
||
|
||
FORGET IT. BUT I CAN HELP YOU WITH MORE SOURCES. AT LEAST I CAN
|
||
TELL YOU WHERE TO GO.
|
||
|
||
So can a lot of people.
|
||
|
||
REALLY. NEXT WEEK, THERE'S A CONVENTION OF SORTS FOR HACKERS.
|
||
|
||
A convention?
|
||
|
||
WELL, IT'S MORE LIKE AN UNDERGROUND MEETING, A LARGE ONE. WHERE
|
||
HACKERS FROM ALL OVER GET TOGETHER AND COMPARE NOTES. IT'S A
|
||
GREAT DEAL OF FUN, AND FOR YOU, MIGHT BE A SOURCE OF LEADS.
|
||
GENERALLY SPEAKING OF COURSE. YOU CAN'T BE A BULL IN A CHINA
|
||
SHOP.
|
||
|
||
In other words, reporters are taboo.
|
||
|
||
KIND OF. YOU'LL NEED AN INVITATION, I CAN PROBABLY SWING THAT.
|
||
BEYOND THAT, YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN. IT'S A VERY PRIVATE CLUB.
|
||
|
||
Where is this meeting?
|
||
|
||
IN AMSTERDAM.
|
||
|
||
Holland?
|
||
|
||
YUP.
|
||
|
||
Why there?
|
||
|
||
SIN CITY IS AS GOOD FOR HACKERS AS IT IS FOR DRUGS AND SEX. SO
|
||
I'M TOLD. HA HA. THE POLICE DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHAT YOU DO.
|
||
|
||
What goes on?
|
||
|
||
BESIDES THE USUAL AMSTERDAM ANTICS? A COUPLE OF HUNDRED OF THE
|
||
BEST HACKERS IN THE WORLD SHOW UP TO OSTENSIBLY SET CODES OF
|
||
ETHICS FOR THEMSELVES, JUST LIKE FREEDOM DOES. IN REALITY,
|
||
THOUGH, WE STROKE OUR EGOS AND PARADE AROUND WITH OUR LATEST
|
||
CLAIMS TO FAME AND INVASIONS OF COMPUTERS. WAR STORIES OF THE
|
||
PREVIOUS YEAR. NEW CRACKING AND HACKING TECHNIQUES ARE SHARED,
|
||
PEOPLE LIE TO EACH OTHER ABOUT THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS AND TALK ABOUT
|
||
WHAT THEY WILL ACCOMPLISH IN THE NEXT YEAR. PROGRAMASTERBATION.
|
||
|
||
Some name. Is that really what they call it?
|
||
|
||
NAH, JUST A TERM WE USE. I WENT LAST YEAR AND HAD A BALL, LITER-
|
||
ALLY. IN FACT, THAT'S WHERE I LEARNED HOW TO GET INTO FIRST
|
||
STATE. IT WAS SECOND RATE INFORMATION, FIRST STATE IS NOT EXACT-
|
||
LY YOUR HIGH PROFILE BANK TO CRACK.
|
||
|
||
Understood. How do I get in, what's it called?
|
||
|
||
IT'S CALLED THE INTERGALACTIC HACKERS CONFERENCE, I-HACK FOR
|
||
SHORT. ONLY THE BEST GET TO GO.
|
||
|
||
You're kidding. So what do you do to get me in?
|
||
|
||
I CALL YOU AGAIN. LEAVE YOUR BOX ON. I'LL GET YOU AN INVITE.
|
||
|
||
That's great, I really appreciate that. Will you be there?
|
||
|
||
NOT THIS YEAR. CAN'T SPARE THE TIME. DON'T ACT LIKE A REPORTER.
|
||
PARANOIA RUNS RAMPANT.
|
||
|
||
Will anyone talk to me, as a reporter?
|
||
|
||
THAT'S UP TO YOU. ASK THE RIGHT QUESTIONS AND SHOW SYMPATHY FOR
|
||
THEIR ACTIVITIES. IF YOU'RE LUCKY YOU'LL MEET THE RIGHT PERSON
|
||
WHO CAN GIVE YOU A HANDS ON CRACKING LESSON. FAIR ENOUGH?
|
||
|
||
Again, thanks. I'll expect your call. And, I'll let you know
|
||
what my Fed-Friend says about your problem.
|
||
|
||
TA.
|
||
|
||
<<<<<<CONNECTION TERMINATED>>>>>><EIO>
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Tuesday, December 8
|
||
Vienna, Austria
|
||
|
||
Vienna is not only the geographic center of Europe - for 45 years
|
||
it has been the geopolitical center as well. A neutral country,
|
||
as is Switzerland, it contains the highest concentration of KGB
|
||
and CIA operatives in the world. Perhaps that is why Martin
|
||
Templer chose to meet Alex Spiradon there a week after his meet-
|
||
ing with Tyrone Duncan at P Street.
|
||
|
||
Situated by the Danube of Strauss fame, Vienna, Austria is an odd
|
||
mixture of the old, the very old and nouveau European high tech.
|
||
Downtown Vienna is small, a semi-circle of cobblestone streets
|
||
and brash illuminated billboards at every juncture.
|
||
|
||
Templer contacted Alex through intermediaries stationed in Zu-
|
||
rich. The agreed upon location was the third bench from St.
|
||
Stephen's Cathedral on the Stephansplatz, where Vienna's main
|
||
street, Karntnerstrasse-Rotenturmstrasse changes names. No
|
||
traffic is allowed on the square, on Kartnerstrasse or on Graben-
|
||
strasse, so it is always packed with shoppers, tourists and
|
||
street musicians. Ideal for a discreet meeting.
|
||
|
||
"Have you ever seen Vienna from Old Steffel?" A deep voice came
|
||
from behind where Martin was seated. He looked around and saw
|
||
it was Alex.
|
||
|
||
"Many years ago. But I prefer the Prater." He spoke of the
|
||
fairgrounds 2 kilometers from town where the world's oldest
|
||
Ferris Wheel offered an unparalleled view of the Viennese sur-
|
||
rounds. Templer smiled at his old ally from the German Bunde-
|
||
poste. Today though, Alex was an asset to the Agency, as he had
|
||
been since he had gone freelance some years ago. An expensive
|
||
asset, but always with quality information.
|
||
|
||
"Did you know that St. Stephen's," Alex gestured at the pollu-
|
||
tion stained church, "is one of the finest examples of Gothic
|
||
architecture in Europe? And Vienna's paradox?"
|
||
|
||
Templer had never been a history buff. He shook his head.
|
||
|
||
"Most of Vienna is Baroque, in fine fashion, but there are iso-
|
||
lated examples of Gothic. Yet, they seem to coexist. In peace."
|
||
Alex's poetic words rolled off of his well educated tongue. The
|
||
allegory was not lost on Templer. Western and Eastern intelli-
|
||
gence services used Vienna as a no-man's land, where information
|
||
and people were regularly exchanged.
|
||
|
||
"It is a new world," commented Templer. "The threats are differ-
|
||
ent."
|
||
|
||
Alex took the hint. "Let us walk," he urged.
|
||
|
||
They slowly strolled up the Kartnerstrasse as the Austrian night-
|
||
life took on its own distinct flavor.
|
||
|
||
"How long has it been, my friend?" Alex casually asked. He
|
||
disliked rushing into business, the way the Americans favored.
|
||
|
||
"Damned if I know. 4, 5, 6 years? Too long. We've had some
|
||
good times."
|
||
|
||
"'85, '86 was it? So much travel blurs the senses." Alex wrin-
|
||
kled his forehead in thought. "Wasn't it the Pelton affair?
|
||
Yes, that would be summer of '85." He referred to Ron Pelton,
|
||
the ex-NSA analyst who sold American cryptographic secrets to
|
||
the Soviets.
|
||
|
||
"Yeah," Templer laughed. "That poor jerk. I'd forgotten all
|
||
about that. Never would have caught on to the scam if it weren't
|
||
for Slovnov. The KGB should tell their own to stay out of the
|
||
Moulin Rouge. Not good for business. Ivan had to trade Slovnov
|
||
for Pelton. We didn't find out for a year that they wanted
|
||
Pelton out anyway. He was too fucked up for them."
|
||
|
||
"And now? Who do you spy on since Sam and Ivan are brothers
|
||
again?" Alex openly enjoyed speaking obliquely.
|
||
|
||
"Spy? Ha!" Templer shook his head. "I got pushed upstairs.
|
||
Interagency cooperation, political bullshit. I do miss the
|
||
streets though, and the friends . . .on both sides."
|
||
|
||
"Don't you mean on all sides?" Cocktail semantics made Alex
|
||
occasionally annoying.
|
||
|
||
"No, I mean both. At least we had class; we knew the rules and
|
||
how to play. Now every third rate country tries to stick their
|
||
nose in and they screw it up. One big mess." Templer had been a
|
||
staunch anti-Communist when there were Communists, but he re-
|
||
spected their agents' highly professional attitude, and yes,
|
||
ethics.
|
||
|
||
"Touch<1B> ! I have missed our talks and our disagreements. I never
|
||
could talk you into something you did not believe in, could I?"
|
||
Alex slapped Templer lightly on his back. Templer didn't answer.
|
||
"Ah, you look so serious. You came for business, not old memo-
|
||
ries?"
|
||
|
||
"No, Alex, I'd love to chat, and we will, but I do need to get a
|
||
couple of questions answered, and then, I can relax. Perhaps a
|
||
trip to Club 24?" Templer pointed at the bright yellow kiosk
|
||
with the silhouettes of naked women emblazoned on it. For a mere
|
||
$300, you can buy a bottle of Chevas Regal and share it with one
|
||
or two or more of the lovely skimpily clad ladies who adorned
|
||
the bar seats. All else was negotiable in private.
|
||
|
||
"Done. Let us speak, now. What can I do for you?" Alex ap-
|
||
proved of the plan.
|
||
|
||
"I need some information," Templer said seriously.
|
||
|
||
"That is my business, of course."
|
||
|
||
"We have a problem in the States . . ."
|
||
|
||
"As usual," Alex interrupted.
|
||
|
||
"Yes," Templer grinned, "as usual. But this one is not usual.
|
||
Someone, someone with connections, is apparently using computers
|
||
as a blackmail tool. The FBI is investigating domestically, and,
|
||
well, it's our job, to look outside. So, I figure, call Alex.
|
||
That's why I'm here."
|
||
|
||
Alex disguised his surprise. How had they found him? He now
|
||
needed to find out what, if anything, they knew.
|
||
|
||
"Blackmail? Computers? That's not a lot to go on." Alex main-
|
||
tained absolute composure.
|
||
|
||
"Here's what we know. And it's not much. There appears to be a
|
||
wholesale blackmail operation in place. With the number of com-
|
||
plaints we have gotten over the last few months, we could guess
|
||
that maybe 10, or 20 people, maybe more are involved. They're
|
||
after the big boys; the banks, some senators, folks with real
|
||
money and power. And it's one professional job. They seem to
|
||
get their information from computers, from the radiation they
|
||
emanate. It's something we really want to keep quiet."
|
||
|
||
Alex listened quietly. If Templer was being straight, they
|
||
didn't know much, certainly not the scope of the operation nor
|
||
Alex's own involvement. It was possible, though, that Templer
|
||
was playing dumb, and trying to elicit clues from Alex. If he
|
||
was a suspect.
|
||
|
||
"What sort of demands are being made?" Alex was going to play
|
||
the game to the hilt.
|
||
|
||
"None. Yet."
|
||
|
||
"After 2 months? You say? And no demands? What kind of black-
|
||
mail is that?" Alex ineffectively stifled a laugh. "This
|
||
sounds like some Washington paranoia. "You really don't know
|
||
what to do without an adversary, so you create one," Alex chuck-
|
||
led.
|
||
|
||
"Alex, c'mon. No shit, we got some muckity mucks with their
|
||
heads in a tail spin and our asses in a sling. I don't know
|
||
what's happening, but, whatever it is, it's causing a pile of
|
||
shit bigger than Congress and smellier."
|
||
|
||
"And you thought I might know something about it?" Alex ven-
|
||
tured.
|
||
|
||
"Well, no, or yes, or maybe," Templer said coyly. "Who's got a
|
||
grudge? Against so many people? And then, who's also got the
|
||
technology to do it. There must be a lot of smart people and
|
||
money in on it. You have the best ears in Europe." The compli-
|
||
ment might help.
|
||
|
||
"Thank you for the over-statement, but I have only a small group
|
||
on whom I can rely. Certainly your own agency can find out
|
||
before I can." Deniability and humility could raise the ante.
|
||
|
||
"We have our good days, but too many bad days." Templer was being
|
||
sincere concluded Alex. "Listen, I need the streets. If there's
|
||
nothing, then there's nothing. It could be domestic, but it
|
||
smells of outside influence. Can you help?"
|
||
|
||
Alex stopped to light up a non-filtr Gaulloise. He inhaled
|
||
deeply as his eyes scanned the clear sky. He wanted to have
|
||
Templer think there might be something.
|
||
|
||
"How much is this information worth?" Alex was the perfect
|
||
mercenary, absolutely no allegiance to anyone other than himself.
|
||
|
||
"We have about fifty grand for good info. But for that price, it
|
||
had better be good."
|
||
|
||
Alex had to laugh to himself at the American's naivete. Homosoto
|
||
was paying him a hundred times that for one job. Being a free-
|
||
lancer means treating all customers as equals, and there was no
|
||
way he would jeopardize his planned retirement for a cause or for
|
||
a friend. This would be easy.
|
||
|
||
"Phew!" Alex whistled. "Hot off the griddle, huh? I'll see who
|
||
knows what. It may take a while, a week, ten days, but I'll get
|
||
back to you with anything I find. No promises, though."
|
||
|
||
"I know it's a long shot, but we have to look at all angles. I
|
||
really appreciate it." Templer sounded relieved. He had just
|
||
recruited, for no money down, the best source of information in
|
||
Europe. "Let's go have a bottle of Chevas. On me." The Ameri-
|
||
can taxpayer was about to pay for the sexual relief of a merce-
|
||
nary enemy.
|
||
|
||
Alex made it home at 4:00 A.M. after the romp in Club 24. Or was
|
||
it Club 1? He no longer knew, no cared. Despite his intense
|
||
intoxication, he had to talk to his employer. Somehow he managed
|
||
to get his computer alive. He dialed the number in Tokyo, not
|
||
knowing whether Homosoto would be in the office.
|
||
|
||
ENTER PASSWORD
|
||
ENTER CRYPT KEY
|
||
|
||
He responded to both, nearly blinded from the Chevas, yet his
|
||
professionalism demanded that he make immediate contact if possi-
|
||
ble.
|
||
|
||
<<<<<<CONNECTION>>>>>>
|
||
|
||
Alex missed the message for several seconds before forcing him-
|
||
self alert. He quickly entered his opening words before the
|
||
connection would shut down.
|
||
|
||
I have been contacted.
|
||
|
||
Homosoto apparently never went home. He got an immediate re-
|
||
sponse.
|
||
|
||
BY WHOM
|
||
|
||
The CIA
|
||
|
||
The screen paused for several seconds. Alex was too drunk to
|
||
notice.
|
||
|
||
HOW?
|
||
|
||
An old frrrriend. He called for a meeeeeeting.
|
||
|
||
WHAT DID HE WANT?
|
||
|
||
He asked about the US operations.
|
||
|
||
HOW MUCH DOES HE KNOW?
|
||
|
||
They kkknnow about the blackmail. But, they're
|
||
fishing
|
||
|
||
FISH
|
||
|
||
Looking for answers. They know nothing.
|
||
|
||
TELL ME MORE. I AM NOT HAPPY.
|
||
|
||
The FBI is looking for an answer, who is behind the propaganda.
|
||
They think it is very important, take it seriously. They brought
|
||
in the CIA and, probably, the NSA. The effect is beginning. We
|
||
should be pleased.
|
||
|
||
AND THE PRESS? IS IT IN THE PAPERS?
|
||
|
||
No, it was suppressed. The Government still controls the press.
|
||
|
||
AND YOU. WHY CONTACT YOU?
|
||
|
||
The same reason you did. It is pure coincidence.
|
||
|
||
I AM NOT CONVINCED.
|
||
|
||
An old friend, a colleague, called for a meeting. He asked for
|
||
my help. He tried to hire me to find out if it was foreign.
|
||
|
||
WHAT DID YOU SAY?
|
||
|
||
I told him the streets, the rumors, know nothing. That is true.
|
||
He never suspected me. I was surprised. He offered me money to
|
||
give him information.
|
||
|
||
HOW MUCH MONEY?
|
||
|
||
$50,000 US
|
||
|
||
I PAY YOU A THOUSAND TIMES THAT
|
||
|
||
No, only 100 times.
|
||
|
||
DOES IT MATTER?
|
||
|
||
Only if they equal your money.
|
||
|
||
MAKE SURE THEY DO NOT. IT IS NOT WORTH YOUR LIFE.
|
||
|
||
The CIA does not have that kind of money. That is why the Rus-
|
||
sians learned so much for so little. The US does not think they
|
||
should pay to keep their secrets.
|
||
|
||
THEY ARE WRONG. WE CALL IT INSURANCE.
|
||
|
||
They call it blackmail. They do not have the funds.
|
||
|
||
WHAT WILL YOU TELL THEM?
|
||
|
||
I will tell them that it is not from here. No, it must be from
|
||
the US. They will believe me. I will charge them for that
|
||
information.
|
||
|
||
AND THEY WILL BELIEVE YOU?
|
||
|
||
If I make them pay, yes. If I give it for free, no. That's the
|
||
American way. They will believe what is easiest to believe.
|
||
They do not know that this is my last job. They cannot know. If
|
||
they think that, they will suspect me. And then, you.
|
||
|
||
WHY ME?
|
||
|
||
They will use drugs I cannot resist. So, I must make sure I help
|
||
them.
|
||
|
||
AND IF THEY OFFER MONEY. AS MUCH AS I DO?
|
||
|
||
Then we negotiate.
|
||
|
||
THEN YOU WILL DIE.
|
||
|
||
<<<<<<CONNECTION TERMINATED>>>>>>
|
||
|
||
****************************************************************
|
||
|
||
Chapter 16
|
||
|
||
Wednesday, December 9
|
||
New York
|
||
|
||
The late afternoon pace of the City Room at the Times tended to
|
||
be chaotic. As deadlines approached and the paper was laid out
|
||
for the printers, the flurry of activity was associated with an
|
||
increase in the loudness of the room. Scott Mason listened with
|
||
one hand over his right ear and the phone so awkwardly pressed
|
||
between his left ear and shoulder that his glasses sat askew on
|
||
his face. Suddenly hanging up the phone, Scott sprung up shout-
|
||
ing, "I got it." Several people stopped and stared in his
|
||
direction, but seeing nothing of concern or interest to them,
|
||
they returned to their own world.
|
||
|
||
Scott ripped a page from a notebook and ran into and around his
|
||
co-workers. "Doug, I got it. Confirmed by the President."
|
||
|
||
"You're kidding me?" Doug stopped his red pencil mid-stroke.
|
||
"Give it to me from the top." He turned in his swivel chair to
|
||
face Scott more directly.
|
||
|
||
"It goes like this. A few weeks ago Sovereign Bank in Atlanta
|
||
found that someone had entered their central computers without
|
||
permission." Scott perused his notes. "It didn't take long for
|
||
them to find the intruder. He left a calling card. It said that
|
||
the hackers had found a hole to crawl through undetected into
|
||
their computers. Was the bank interested in knowing how it was
|
||
done? They left a Compuserve Mail Box.
|
||
|
||
"As you can imagine the bank freaked out and told their computer
|
||
people to fix whatever it was. They called in the FBI, that's
|
||
from my contact, and went on an internal rampage. Those good ol'
|
||
boys don't trust nobody," Scott added sounding like a poor imita-
|
||
tion of Andy from Mayberry.
|
||
|
||
"Anybody that could spell computer was suspect and they turned
|
||
the place upside down. Found grass, cocaine, ludes, a couple of
|
||
weapons and a lot of people got fired. But no state secrets.
|
||
You talk about a dictatorship," commented Scott on the side.
|
||
"There's no privacy at all. They scanned everyone's electronic
|
||
mail boxes looking for clues and instead found them staring at
|
||
invasion of privacy suits from employees and ex-employees who
|
||
were fired because of the contents of their private mail.
|
||
|
||
"The computer jocks unplugged the computers, turned them inside
|
||
out and screwed them back together. Nothing. They found nada.
|
||
So they tighten the reins and give away less passwords, to less
|
||
people. That's all they figured they could do."
|
||
|
||
"This is where the fun starts." Scott actively gestured with his
|
||
hands as he shifted weight to his other foot. "A few days later
|
||
they discover another message in their computer. Says something
|
||
like, 'sorry Charlie' or something to that effect. The hackers
|
||
were back. And this time they wanted to sell their services to
|
||
the bank. For a nominal fee, say, a million bucks, we'll show
|
||
you how to sew up the holes."
|
||
|
||
"Well, what does that sound like to you?" Scott asked Doug.
|
||
|
||
"Extortion."
|
||
|
||
"Exactly, and ape-shit doesn't begin to describe what the bank
|
||
did. Bottom line? They made a deal. We'll pay you a million
|
||
bucks as consultants for 10 years. You agree to stay out of the
|
||
machines unless we need you. Immunity unless you break the
|
||
deal."
|
||
|
||
"What happened?" Doug said with rapt attention.
|
||
|
||
"Sovereign bank now has three fourteen year old consultants at a
|
||
hundred grand a year," Scott said choking with laughter on his
|
||
words.
|
||
|
||
"You're kidding," exclaimed Doug slapping his knees.
|
||
|
||
"No shit. And everyone is pretty happy about it. The kids have
|
||
a way to pay for a good college, they're bright little snots, and
|
||
they get off. The bank figures it's making an investment in the
|
||
future and actually may have gotten off cheap. It woke them up
|
||
to the problems they could face if their computers did go down
|
||
for a month. Or if they lost all their records. Or if someone
|
||
really wanted to do damage. Thoughts like that trigger a panic
|
||
attack in any bank exec. They'd rather deal with the kids.
|
||
|
||
"In fact, they're turning it into a public relations coup. Dig
|
||
this," Scott knew the story like the back of his hand. "The bank
|
||
realized that they could fix their security problems for a couple
|
||
of million bucks. Not much of an investment when you're guarding
|
||
billions. So they design a new ad campaign: Sovereign. The
|
||
Safest Your Money Can Be."
|
||
|
||
"Now that's a story," said Doug approvingly. "Important, fun,
|
||
human, and everyone comes out a winner. A story with a moral.
|
||
Confirmed?"
|
||
|
||
"Every bit. From the president. They announce it all tomorrow
|
||
and we print tonight with their blessing. Exclusive."
|
||
|
||
"Why? What did you have to do . . ?"
|
||
|
||
"Nothing. He likes the work we've been doing on the computer
|
||
capers and crime and all and thought that we would give it fair
|
||
coverage. I think they're handling it like absolute gentlemen."
|
||
|
||
"How fast do you type?"
|
||
|
||
"Forty mistakes a minute. Why?"
|
||
|
||
"You got 40 minutes to deadline."
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Friday, December 11
|
||
Washington, D.C.
|
||
|
||
Throughout his years of Government service at the National Secu-
|
||
rity Agency, Miles Foster had become a nine to fiver. Rarely did
|
||
he work in the evening or on weekends. So the oddball hours he
|
||
had to work during his association with Homosoto were irritating
|
||
and made him cranky. He could function well enough, and cranki-
|
||
ness was difficult to convey over a computer terminal, but work-
|
||
ing nights wasn't much to his liking. It interfered with his
|
||
social responsibilities to the women.
|
||
|
||
The master plan Miles had designed years ago for Homosoto was now
|
||
calling for phase two to go into effect. The beauty of it all,
|
||
thought Miles, was that it was unstoppable. The pieces had been
|
||
put into play by scores of people who workedfor him; the pro-
|
||
grammers, the Freedom League BBS's and the infectors. Too much
|
||
had already gone into play to abort the mission. There was no
|
||
pulling back.
|
||
|
||
Only a few weeks were left before the first strike force landed.
|
||
The militaristic thinking kept Miles focussed on the task at
|
||
hand, far away from any of the personalization that might surface
|
||
if he got down to thinking about the kinds of damage he was going
|
||
to be inflicting on millions of innocent targets. Inside, perhaps
|
||
deep inside, Miles cared, but he seemed to only be aware of the
|
||
technical results of his efforts in distinction to the human
|
||
element. The human elements of frustration, depression, help-
|
||
lessness - a social retreat of maybe fifty years, that was going
|
||
to be the real devastation above and beyond the machinery. Just
|
||
the way Homosoto wanted it. To hurt deep down.
|
||
|
||
Miles had come to learn of the intense hatred that Homosoto felt
|
||
toward the United States. In his more callous moments, especial-
|
||
ly when he and Homosoto were at odds over any particular subject,
|
||
Miles would resort to the basest of verbal tactics.
|
||
|
||
"You're just pissed off 'cause we nuked your family." It was
|
||
meant to sting and Homosoto's reactions were unpredictable.
|
||
Often violent, he had once thrown priceless heirlooms across his
|
||
office shattering in a thousand shards. A three hour lecture
|
||
ensued on one occasion, tutoring Miles about honorable warfare.
|
||
Miles listened and fell asleep during more than one sermon.
|
||
|
||
But at the bottom of it, Homosoto kept a level head and showed he
|
||
knew what he was doing. The plans they formulated were coming
|
||
together though Miles had no direct control over many pieces. The
|
||
Readers were run by another group altogether; Miles only knew
|
||
they were fundamentalist fanatics. He didn't really care as long
|
||
as the job was getting done. And the groundhogs; he designed
|
||
them, but they were managed by others. Propaganda, yet another,
|
||
just as the plan called for. Extreme compartmentalization, even
|
||
at the highest level.
|
||
|
||
Only Homosoto knew all the players and therefore had the unique
|
||
luxury of viewing the grand game being played. Though Miles
|
||
designed every nuance, down to the nth degree of how to effect
|
||
the invasion properly, he was not privileged to push the chessmen
|
||
around the board. His rationalization was that he was being paid
|
||
a great deal of money for the job, and he was working for a more
|
||
important cause, one that would make it all worthwhile. Perhaps
|
||
in another year or two when the final phases were complete, and
|
||
the United States was even more exposed and defenseless than it
|
||
was right now, the job would be done.
|
||
|
||
Miles' ruminating provided a calming influence during the inter-
|
||
minable months and years that distanced the cause and effect. In
|
||
the intelligence game, on the level that he had operated while
|
||
with the NSA, he would receive information, process it, make
|
||
recommendation and determinations, and that was that. Over.
|
||
Next.
|
||
|
||
Now though, Miles had designed the big picture, and that meant
|
||
long range planning. No more instant gratification. He was in
|
||
control, only partially, as he was meant to be. He was impressed
|
||
with the operation. That nothing had gone awry so far consoled
|
||
Miles despite the fact that Homosoto called him almost every day
|
||
to ask about another computer crime he had heard about.
|
||
|
||
This time is was Sovereign Bank. Homosoto had heard rumors that
|
||
they were being held hostage by hackers and was concerned that
|
||
some of Miles' techies had gone out on their own.
|
||
|
||
Homosoto reacted to the Sovereign issue as he had many others
|
||
that he seemed so concerned about. Once Miles gave him an expla-
|
||
nation, he let the matter drop. Not without an appropriate warn-
|
||
ing to Miles, though, that he had better be right.
|
||
|
||
The number of computer crimes was increasing more rapidly than
|
||
Miles or anyone in the security field had predicted only a few
|
||
years ago and the legal issues were mounting faster than the
|
||
state or federal legislatures could deal with them. But, as
|
||
Miles continually reassured Homosoto, they were small timers with
|
||
no heinous motivation. They were mostly kids who played chicken
|
||
with computers instead of chasing cars or smoking crack. A far
|
||
better alternative, Miles offered.
|
||
|
||
Just kids having a little fun with the country's most important
|
||
computer systems. No big deal. Right? How anyone can leave the
|
||
front door to their computer open, or with the keys lying around,
|
||
was beyond him. Fucking stupid.
|
||
|
||
His stream of consciousness was broken when his NipCom computer
|
||
announced that Homosoto was calling. Again. Shit. I bet some high
|
||
school kids changed their school grades and Homosoto thinks the
|
||
Rosenburgs are behind it. Paranoid gook.
|
||
|
||
<<<<<<TRANSMISSION ENCRYPTED>>>>>>
|
||
|
||
MR FOSTER
|
||
|
||
That's me. What's wrong.
|
||
|
||
NOTHING. ALL IS WELL.
|
||
|
||
That's a change. Nobody fucking with your Ninten-
|
||
do, huh?
|
||
|
||
YOUR HUMOR ESCAPES ME, AT TIMES
|
||
|
||
S'pozed 2
|
||
|
||
WHAT?
|
||
|
||
Never Mind. What do you need?
|
||
|
||
WE ARE CLOSE
|
||
|
||
I know.
|
||
|
||
OF COURSE YOU DO. A BRIEF REPORT PLEASE.
|
||
|
||
Sure. Freedom is doing better than expected. Over a million now,
|
||
maybe a million and a half. The majors are sick, real sick.
|
||
Alex has kept my staff full, and we're putting out dozens of
|
||
viruses a week. On schedule.
|
||
|
||
GOOD
|
||
|
||
I'm gonna be out for a few days. I'll call when I
|
||
get back.
|
||
|
||
SHOULDN'T YOU STAY WHERE YOU CAN BE REACHED?
|
||
|
||
I carry a portable. I will check my computer, as I always do.
|
||
You have never had trouble reaching me.
|
||
|
||
THAT IS TRUE. WHERE DO YOU GO?
|
||
|
||
Amsterdam.
|
||
|
||
HOLLAND? WHY?
|
||
|
||
A hackers conference. I need a break anyway, so I thought I
|
||
might as well make it a working vacation. The top hackers get
|
||
together and stroke themselves, but I could pick something up.
|
||
Useful to us.
|
||
|
||
DO BE CAREFUL, YOU ARE VALUABLE. NO ONE CAN KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
|
||
|
||
No one does. No one. I use my BBS alias. Spook.
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
San Francisco, California
|
||
|
||
Sir George Sterling checked his E-Mail for messages. There were
|
||
only 2, both from Alex. The one week holiday had been good for
|
||
Sir George. Well earned, he thought. In less than 3 months, he
|
||
had called over 1,700 people on the phone and let them in on his
|
||
little secrets, as he came to call them.
|
||
|
||
Every month Alex had forwarded money, regular like clockwork, and
|
||
Sir George had diligently followed instructions. To the letter.
|
||
Not so much in deference to the implicit threats issued him by
|
||
Alex, over computer and untraceable of course, but by the pros-
|
||
pect of continued income. He came to enjoy the work. Since he
|
||
was in America and his calls were to Americans, he had the oppor-
|
||
tunity to dazzle them with his proper and refined accent before
|
||
he let the hammer down with whatever tidbit of private informa-
|
||
tion he was told to share with them.
|
||
|
||
In the beginning Sir George had little idea of what the motiva-
|
||
tion behind his job was, and still, he wasn't completely sure.
|
||
He realized each call he made contained the undercurrent of a
|
||
threat. But he never threatened anyone, his instructions were
|
||
explicit; never threaten. So therefore, he reasoned, he must
|
||
actually be making threats, no matter how veiled.
|
||
|
||
He rather enjoyed it all. Not hurting people, that wasn't his
|
||
nature, but he savored impressing people with his knowledge and
|
||
noting their reactions for his daily reports back to Alex. In the
|
||
evenings Sir George searched out small American recreational
|
||
centers inaccurately referred to as pubs. In fact they were
|
||
disguised bars with darts and warm beer, but it gave Sir George
|
||
the chance to mingle and flash his assumed pedigree. When asked
|
||
what he did for a living, he truthfully said, "I talk to people."
|
||
About what? "Whatever interests them."
|
||
|
||
He became somewhat of a celebrated fixture at several 'pubs' in
|
||
Marin County where he found the atmosphere more to his liking; a
|
||
perfectly civilized provincial suburb of San Francisco where his
|
||
purchased affectations wore well on the locals who endlessly
|
||
commuted to their high tech jobs in Silicon Valley 40 miles to
|
||
the south.
|
||
|
||
Hawaii had been, as he said, "Quite the experience." Alex had
|
||
informed him one day that he was to take a holiday and return
|
||
ready for a new assignment, one to which now he was ideally
|
||
suited. Sir George smiled to himself. A job well done, and
|
||
additional rewards. That was a first for George Toft of dreary
|
||
Manchester, England.
|
||
|
||
Since he did not have a printer, there was no way he would jeop-
|
||
ardize his livelihood for a comfort so small, he read his E-Mail
|
||
by copying the messages into Word Perfect, and then reading them
|
||
at his leisure. All E-Mail was encrypted with the Public Private
|
||
RSA algorithm, so he had to manually decrypt the messages with
|
||
his private key and save them unencrypted. When he was done, he
|
||
erased the file completely, to keep anyone else from discovering
|
||
the nature of his work. Alex's first message was dated two days
|
||
before he returned from Hawaii. It was actually cordial, as far
|
||
as Alex could be considered cordial. After their first meeting
|
||
in Athens, Alex had taken on a succinct if not terse tone in all
|
||
communications.
|
||
|
||
Sir George:
|
||
|
||
Welcome back. I hope you had a most enjoyable holiday. It was
|
||
well deserved.
|
||
|
||
We now enter phase two of our operations. We place much faith in
|
||
your ability and loyalty. Please do not disrupt that confidence.
|
||
|
||
As in the past, you will be given daily lists of
|
||
people to call. They are some of the people whom you have called
|
||
before. As before, identify yourself and the nature of your
|
||
call. I am sure your last call was so disturbing to them, they
|
||
will take your call this time as well.
|
||
|
||
Then, once you have confirmed their identity,
|
||
give them the new information provided, and ask them to follow
|
||
the instructions given, to the letter. Please be your usual
|
||
polite self.
|
||
|
||
Alex
|
||
|
||
The second message was more Alex-like:
|
||
|
||
Sir George:
|
||
|
||
If you have any problems with your new assignment, please
|
||
call me to arrange your termination.
|
||
|
||
Alex.
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
"Hello? Are you there?" Sir George Sterling spoke with as much
|
||
elegance he could muster. "This is John Fullmaster calling again
|
||
for Robert Henson." Sir George remembered the name but not the
|
||
specifics.
|
||
|
||
"One moment please," Maggie said. "Mr. Henson?" She said after
|
||
dialing his intercom extension. "It's John Fullmaster for you.
|
||
Line three"
|
||
|
||
"Who?"
|
||
|
||
"Mr. Fullmaster. He called once several months ago. Don't you
|
||
remember?" He thought. Fullmaster. Fullmaster. Oh, shit. I
|
||
thought he was a bad dream. Goddamn blackmailer. Never did
|
||
figure how he knew about the Winston Ellis scam. Good thing
|
||
that's been put to bed and over.
|
||
|
||
"All right, I'll take it." He punched up the third line.
|
||
"Yeah?" He said defiantly.
|
||
|
||
"Mr. Henson? This is John Fullmaster. I believe we spoke a
|
||
while back about some of your dealings? Do you recall?"
|
||
|
||
"Yes, I recall you bastard, but you're too late. The deal closed
|
||
last month. So you can forget your threats. Fuck off and die."
|
||
Henson used his best boardroom belligerence.
|
||
|
||
"Oh, I am sorry that you thought I was threatening you, I can
|
||
assure you I wasn't." Sir George oozed politeness.
|
||
|
||
"Bullshit. I don't know how the blazes you learned anything
|
||
about my business, and I don't really care . . ."
|
||
|
||
"I think you might care, sir, if you will allow me to speak for a
|
||
moment." Sir George interjected. The sudden interruption caught
|
||
Henson off guard. He stood his ground in silence.
|
||
|
||
"Thank you." Sir George waited for an acknowledgement which
|
||
never arrived, so he continued. "Winston Ellis is old news, Mr.
|
||
Henson, very old news. I read today, though, that Miller Pharma-
|
||
ceuticals is about to have its Anti-AIDS drug turned down by the
|
||
FDA. Apparently it still has too many side effects and may be
|
||
too dangerous for humans. I'm sure you've read the reports
|
||
yourself. Don't you think it would be wise to tell your investors
|
||
before they sink another $300 Million into a black hole from
|
||
which there is no escape?" The aristocratic British accent
|
||
softened the harshness of the words, but not the auger of the
|
||
meaning.
|
||
|
||
Henson seethed. "I don't know who you are," he hissed, "but I
|
||
will not listen to this kind of crap. I won't take it
|
||
from . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Sorry," Sir George again interrupted, "but I'm afraid you will
|
||
listen. The instructions are as follows. I want $5 Million in
|
||
small bills in a silver Samsonite case to be placed into locker
|
||
number 235 at Grand Central Station, first level. You have 48
|
||
hours to comply. If you do not have the money there, we will
|
||
release these findings to the media and the SEC which will no
|
||
doubt prompt an investigation into this and other of your deal-
|
||
ings. Don't you think?"
|
||
|
||
Blackmail was anathema to Robert Henson, although he should have
|
||
felt quite comfortable in its milieu. It was effectively the
|
||
same stunt he performed on many of his investors. Nobody treats
|
||
Robert Henson this way, nobody. He needed time to think. The
|
||
last time Fullmaster called it was a bluff, obviously, but then
|
||
there were no demands. This time, he wanted something. But, how
|
||
did he know? The FDA reports were still confidential, and he
|
||
hoped to have completed raising the funds before the reports
|
||
became public, another few weeks at most. He counted on ineffi-
|
||
cient government bureaucracy and indifference to delay any an-
|
||
nouncement. Meanwhile though, he would pocket several millions
|
||
in banking fees.
|
||
|
||
"You got me. I'll do it. 235. Right?"
|
||
|
||
"Very good, Mr. Henson. I'm glad you see it my way. It has been
|
||
a pleasure doing business with you." Sir George sounded like a
|
||
used car salesman. "Oh, yes, I almost forgot. Please, Mr. Hen-
|
||
son, no police. In that case, our deal is off."
|
||
|
||
"Of course, no police. No problem. Thanks for the call."
|
||
Henson hung up. Fuck him. No money, no way.
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
"Mr. Faulkner, this is John Fullmaster." Sir George was sicken-
|
||
ingly sweet. "Do you recall our last conversation?"
|
||
|
||
How couldn't he? This was the only call he had received on his
|
||
private line since that maniac had last called. Faulkner had had
|
||
the number changed at least a half a dozen times since, as a
|
||
matter of course, but still, Fullmaster, if that was his real
|
||
name, reached him with apparent ease.
|
||
|
||
"Yes, I remember," he said tersely. "What do you want now?"
|
||
|
||
"Just a piece of the action, Mr. Faulkner."
|
||
|
||
"What the hell does that mean?"
|
||
|
||
"Well, according to my records, you have lost quite a sum of
|
||
money since our last conversation, and it would be such a shame,
|
||
don't you agree, if California National Bank found out they lost
|
||
another $2 million to your bad habits?" Sir George instinctively
|
||
thought Faulkner was a California slime ball, never mind his own
|
||
actions, and he briefly thought that he might actually be work-
|
||
ing for the side of good after all.
|
||
|
||
"You have a real doctor's bedside manner. What do you want?"
|
||
Faulkner conveyed extreme nervousness.
|
||
|
||
"I think, under the circumstances that, shall we say, oh, one
|
||
million would do it. Yes, that sounds fair."
|
||
|
||
"One million? One million dollars?" Faulkner shrieked from his
|
||
pool side lounge chair.
|
||
|
||
"Yessir, that sounds just about right." Sir George paused for
|
||
effect. "Now here is what I want you to do. Go to Las Vegas,
|
||
and have your credit extended, and acquire small bills. Then,
|
||
place the money in a silver Samsonite case at Union Station.
|
||
Locker number 12. Is that simple enough?" British humor at its
|
||
best.
|
||
|
||
"Simple, yes. Possible, no," Faulkner whispered in terror.
|
||
|
||
"Oh, yes, it is possible, as you well know. You cleared up the
|
||
$2.4 Million you owed Caesar's only last week. Your credit is
|
||
excellent."
|
||
|
||
"There's no way you can know that . . ." Then it occurred to
|
||
him. The mob. He wasn't losing enough at the tables, they
|
||
wanted more. Losing money was one thing, his way, but a sore
|
||
winner is the worst possible enemy. He had no choice. There was
|
||
only one way out.
|
||
|
||
"All right, all right. What locker number?"
|
||
|
||
"Twelve. Within 48 hours. And, I probably needn't mention it,
|
||
but no police."
|
||
|
||
"Of course," Faulkner smiled to himself. At last the nightmare
|
||
would be over.
|
||
|
||
"Thank you so very much. Have a nice day."
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
"Merrill! It's the blackmailer again. Merrill, do you hear me?"
|
||
Ken Boyers tried to get Senator Rickfield out from the centerfold
|
||
of the newest Playboy. "Merrill!"
|
||
|
||
"Oh sorry, Ken. Just reading the articles. Now what is it?"
|
||
Rickfield put the magazine down, slowly, for one last lustful
|
||
gaze.
|
||
|
||
"Merrill, that Fullmaster fellow, the one who called about the
|
||
Credite Suisse arrangements . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Shut up! We don't talk about that in this office, you know
|
||
that!" Rickfield admonished Ken.
|
||
|
||
"I know, but he doesn't," he said, pointing at the blinking light
|
||
on the Senator's desk phone.
|
||
|
||
"I thought he went away. Nothing ever came of it, did it?"
|
||
|
||
"No, nothing, after we got General Young onto it," Boyers ex-
|
||
plained. "I thought he took care of it, in his own way. The
|
||
problem just disappeared like it was supposed to."
|
||
|
||
"Well," Rickfield said scornfully, "obviously it didn't. Give me
|
||
the goddamned phone." He picked it up and pressed the lighted
|
||
button. His senatorial dignity was absent as he spoke.
|
||
|
||
"This is Rickfield. Who is this?"
|
||
|
||
"Ah, thank you for taking my call. Yes, thank you." Sir George
|
||
spoke slowly, more slowly than necessary. This call was marked
|
||
critical. That meant, don't screw it up. "My name is John
|
||
Fullmaster and I believe we spoke about some arrangements you
|
||
made with General Young and Credite Suisse."
|
||
|
||
"I remember. So what? That has nothing to do with me," Rick-
|
||
field retorted. He grabbed a pen and wrote down the name, John
|
||
Fullmaster. Ken looked at the scribbled writing and shrugged his
|
||
shoulders.
|
||
|
||
"Ah, but I'm afraid it does. I see here that Allied Dynamics
|
||
recently made a significant contribution to a certain account in
|
||
Credite Suisse. There are only two signators on the passbook.
|
||
It also says here that they will be building two new factories in
|
||
your state. Quite an accomplishment. I am sure your constitu-
|
||
ents would be proud."
|
||
|
||
The color drained from Rickfield's face. He put his hand over
|
||
the mouthpiece to speak privately to Ken. "Who else knows?
|
||
Don't bullshit me, boy. Who else have you told?"
|
||
|
||
"No one!" Boyers said in genuine shock. "I want to enjoy the
|
||
money, not pay attorney's fees."
|
||
|
||
Rickfield waved Boyers away. He appeared satisfied with the
|
||
response. "This is speculation. You can't prove a thing."
|
||
Rickfield took a shot to gauge his opponent.
|
||
|
||
"Believe that if you wish, Senator, but I don't think it is in
|
||
either of our best interests to play the other for the fool."
|
||
Sir George saw that Rickfield did not attain his position as
|
||
Chairman of the Senate Committee on Space, Transportation and
|
||
Technology by caving in to idle demands or threats. In fact, in
|
||
34 years of Senate service, Senator Merrill Rickfield had sur-
|
||
vived 8 presidents, counseling most of them to varying degrees
|
||
depending upon the partisan attitude of the White House.
|
||
|
||
At 65, much of the private sector would have forced him into
|
||
retirement, but elected Government service permitted him the
|
||
tenure to continue as long as his constituents allowed. Claude
|
||
Pepper held the record and Merrill Rickfield's ego wanted to
|
||
establish new definitions of tenure.
|
||
|
||
His involvement with General Chester Oliver Young was recent, in
|
||
political terms; less than a decade. During the Reagan military
|
||
buildup, nearly 3 trillion dollars worth, defense contractors
|
||
expanded with the economy, to unprecedented levels and profits.
|
||
Congress was convinced that $300 Billion per year was about right
|
||
to defend against a Cold War enemy that couldn't feed its own
|
||
people. The overestimates of the CIA, with selective and often
|
||
speculative information provided by the country's intelligence
|
||
gatherer, the NSA, helped define a decade of political and tech-
|
||
nological achievements: Star Wars, Stealth, MX, B1, B2 and other
|
||
assorted toys that had no practical use save all out war.
|
||
|
||
With that kind of spending occurring freely, and the Senate Over-
|
||
sight Committee in a perpetual state of the doldrums, there was
|
||
money to be made for anyone part of Washington's good ol' boy
|
||
network. General Young was one such an opportunistic militarist.
|
||
Promoted to one star general in 1978, after two lackluster but
|
||
politically well connected tours in Vietnam, it was deemed pru-
|
||
dent by the power brokers of that war to bring Young into the
|
||
inner rings of the Pentagon with the corresponding perks such a
|
||
position brought. But Young had bigger and better ideas.
|
||
|
||
He saw countless ways to spend taxpayers money protecting them
|
||
from the Communist threat of the Evil Empire, but had difficulty
|
||
getting support from his two and three star superiors. It didn't
|
||
take him long to realize that he had been token promoted to keep
|
||
his mouth shut about certain prominent people's roles in the
|
||
Vietnam era. Events that were better left to a few trusted
|
||
memories than to the history books.
|
||
|
||
So Young decided to go out on his own and find support from the
|
||
legislative branch; find an influential proponent for a few
|
||
specific defense programs by which he could profit. Over the
|
||
course of a few years, he and Senator Rickfield became fast
|
||
friends, holding many of the same global views and fears, if not
|
||
paranoias. When Allied Dynamics began losing Congressional
|
||
support for an advanced jet helicopter project, Young went to
|
||
Rickfield for help. After all, Allied was headquartered in
|
||
Rickfield's home state, and wouldn't it be a great boon to the
|
||
economy? The recession was coming to an end and that meant jobs.
|
||
|
||
Rickfield was unaware, initially, that Allied had an arrangement
|
||
with General Young to donate certain moneys to certain charities,
|
||
in certain Swiss bank accounts if certain spending programs were
|
||
approved. Only when Rickfield offered some later resistance to
|
||
the Allied projects did Young feel the need to share the wealth.
|
||
After 25 years in Congress, and very little money put away to
|
||
show for it, Rickfield was an easy target.
|
||
|
||
Rickfield's recruitment by Young, on Allied's behalf, had yielded
|
||
the Senator more than enough to retire comfortably on the island
|
||
paradise of his choice. Yet, Rickfield found an uncontrolled
|
||
desire for more; considerations was his word for it, just as he
|
||
had grown used to wielding power and influence in the nation's
|
||
capital. Rickfield was hooked, and Credite Suisse was the cer-
|
||
tain Swiss bank in question. Ken Boyers was involved as well,
|
||
almost from the start. They both had a lot to lose.
|
||
|
||
"No, I must assume that you are not a fool, and I know for a fact
|
||
I am not one, so on that one point we do agree." Political
|
||
pausing often allowed your opponent to hang himself with addi-
|
||
tional oration. Rickfield found the technique useful, especial-
|
||
ly on novices. "Please continue."
|
||
|
||
"Thank you." Sir George said with a hint of patronization. "To
|
||
be brief, Senator, I want you to keep your money, I think that
|
||
dedicated civil servants like yourself are grossly underpaid and
|
||
underappreciated. No sir, I do not wish to deny you the chance
|
||
to make your golden years pleasant after such a distinguished
|
||
career."
|
||
|
||
"Then what is it. What do you want from me?" The Senator was
|
||
doodling nervously while Ken paced the room trying to figure out
|
||
what was being said at the other end of the phone.
|
||
|
||
"I'm glad you asked," said Sir George. "Beginning next month you
|
||
are chairing a sub-committee that will be investigating the
|
||
weaknesses and potential threats to government computer systems.
|
||
As I remember it is called the Senate Select Sub-Committee on
|
||
Privacy and Technology Containment. Is that right?"
|
||
|
||
"Yes, the dates aren't firm yet, and I haven't decided if I will
|
||
chair the hearings or assign it to another committee member. So
|
||
what?"
|
||
|
||
"Well, we want you to drag down the hearings. Nothing more."
|
||
Sire George stated his intention as a matter of fact rather than
|
||
a request.
|
||
|
||
Rickfield's face contorted in confusion. "Drag down? Exactly
|
||
what does that mean, to you, that is?"
|
||
|
||
"We want you to downplay the importance of security for govern-
|
||
ment computers. That there really is no threat to them, and
|
||
that government has already met all of its obligations in balance
|
||
with the new world order, if you will. The threats are mere
|
||
scare tactics by various special interest groups and government
|
||
agencies who are striving for long term self preservation." Sir
|
||
George had practiced his soliloquy before calling Senator Rick-
|
||
field.
|
||
|
||
"What the hell for?" Rickfield raised his voice. "Security?
|
||
Big deal! What's it to you?"
|
||
|
||
"I am not at liberty to discuss our reasons. Suffice it to say,
|
||
that we would be most pleased if you see to it that the hearings
|
||
have minimal substance and that no direct action items are deliv-
|
||
ered. I believe that term you Americans so eloquently use is
|
||
stonewall, or perhaps filibuster?"
|
||
|
||
"They're not the same things."
|
||
|
||
"Fine, but you do understand nonetheless. We want these hearings
|
||
to epitomize the rest of American politics with procrastination,
|
||
obfuscation and procedural gerrymandering." Sir George had
|
||
learned quite a bit about the political system since he had moved
|
||
to the States.
|
||
|
||
"And to what aim?" Rickfield's political sense was waving red
|
||
flags.
|
||
|
||
"That's it. Nothing more."
|
||
|
||
"And in return?" The Senator had learned to be direct in mat-
|
||
ters of additional compensation since he had hooked up with the
|
||
earthy General.
|
||
|
||
"I will assure you that the details of your arrangements with
|
||
Allied Dynamics will remain safe with me."
|
||
|
||
"Until the next time, right? This is blackmail?"
|
||
|
||
"No. Yes." Sir George answered. "Yes, it is blackmail, but
|
||
without the usual messiness. And no, there will be no next time.
|
||
For, as soon as the hearings are over, it would be most advisable
|
||
for you to take leave of your position and enjoy the money you
|
||
have earned outside of your paycheck."
|
||
|
||
"And, if I don't agree to this?" Rickfield was looking at his
|
||
options which seemed to be somewhere between few and none. Maybe
|
||
he only had one.
|
||
|
||
"That would be so unfortunate." Sir George smiled as he spoke.
|
||
"The media will receive a two page letter, it is already pre-
|
||
pared I can assure you, detailing your illegal involvements with
|
||
Allied, General Young and Mr. Boyers."
|
||
|
||
"What's in it for you? You don't want any money?" The confusion
|
||
in Rickfield's mind was terribly obvious, and he was sliding on a
|
||
logical Mobius loop.
|
||
|
||
"No Senator, no money. Merely a favor."
|
||
|
||
"I will let you know what I decide. May I have your number?"
|
||
|
||
"I do not need to contact you again. Your answer will be evident
|
||
when the hearings begin. Whatever course you pursue, we will
|
||
make an appropriate response."
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
"Scott!" A woman called across the noisy floor. "Is your phone
|
||
off the hook?"
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, why?" He looked up and couldn't match the voice with a
|
||
person.
|
||
|
||
"You gotta call."
|
||
|
||
"Who is it? I'm busy."
|
||
|
||
"Some guy from Brooklyn sounds like. Says he got a package for
|
||
you?"
|
||
|
||
Holy shit. It's Vito! Scott's anonymous caller. The one who
|
||
had caused him so much work, so much research without being able
|
||
to print one damn thing.
|
||
|
||
Not yet.
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, OK. It's back on." The phone rang instantly and Scott
|
||
rushed to pick it up on the first ring.
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, Scott Mason here." He sounded hurried.
|
||
|
||
"Yo! Scott. It's me, your friend, rememba?" No one could
|
||
forget the accent that sounded more fake than real. He had been
|
||
nicknamed Vito for reference purposes by Scott.
|
||
|
||
"Sure do, fella," Scott said cheerily. "That bunch of shit you
|
||
sent me was worthless. Garbage."
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, well, we may have fucked up a little on that. Didn't
|
||
count on youse guys having much in the ethics department if youse
|
||
know what I mean." Vito laughed at what he thought was a pretty
|
||
good joke. "So, we all screw up, right? Now and again? Never
|
||
mind that, I got something real good, something youse really
|
||
gonna like."
|
||
|
||
"Sure you do."
|
||
|
||
"No, really, dig this. I gotta list of names that . . . "
|
||
|
||
"Great another list. Just what I need. Another list."
|
||
|
||
"Whad'ar'ya, a wise guy? Youse wanna talk or listen?" Scott
|
||
didn't answer. "That's better, cause youse gonna like this.
|
||
Some guy named Faulkner, big shit banker from La La Land is
|
||
borrowing money from the mob to pay off a blackmailer. Another
|
||
guy, right here in New York Shitty, a Wall Street big shot called
|
||
Henson, him too. Another one named Dobbs, same thing. All being
|
||
blackballed by the same guys. Youse want more?"
|
||
|
||
"I'm writing, quiet. Faulkner, Henson and Dobbs, right?"
|
||
|
||
"That's whad'I said, yeah."
|
||
|
||
"So how come you know so much?"
|
||
|
||
"That's my job. I deal in information. Pretty good, huh?"
|
||
|
||
"Maybe. I gotta check it out. That last stuff was . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Hey!" Vito interrupted, "I told youse 'bout that. Eh, paysan,
|
||
what's a slip up among friends, right?"
|
||
|
||
"I'll ignore that. Gimme a couple of days, I'll call you."
|
||
|
||
"Like hell you will. I'll call you. You'll see, this is good
|
||
stuff. No shit. All right? Two days."
|
||
|
||
Click.
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Monday, December 14
|
||
Washington, D.C.
|
||
|
||
The FBI runs a little known counter intelligence operation from
|
||
the middle of a run down Washington, D.C. neighborhood on Half
|
||
Street. Getting in and out is an exercise in evasive not to
|
||
mention defensive driving. The South East quadrant of Washing-
|
||
ton, D.C. is vying for the drug capital of the nation, and per-
|
||
haps has the dubious distinction of having the highest murder
|
||
rate per capita in the United States. Since the CI division of
|
||
the FBI is a well kept secret, its location was strategically
|
||
chosen to keep the casual passerby from stopping in for a chat.
|
||
Besides, there was no identification on the front of the build-
|
||
ing.
|
||
|
||
Most Americans think that the CIA takes care of foreign spies,
|
||
but their agents are limited to functioning on foreign land. On
|
||
the domestic front the FBI Counter Intelligence Group is assigned
|
||
to locate and monitor alien intelligence activities. For exam-
|
||
ple, CI-3 is assigned to focus on Soviet and East Bloc activi-
|
||
ties, and other groups focus on their specific target countries.
|
||
Thus, there is a certain amount of competition, not all of it
|
||
healthy, between the two agencies chartered to protect our na-
|
||
tional interests. The CIA is under the impression that it con-
|
||
trols all foreign investigations, even if they tread upon United
|
||
States territory. This line of thinking has been a constant
|
||
source of irritation and inefficiency since the OSS became the
|
||
CIA during the Truman administration. Only during the Hoover
|
||
reign at the FBI days was there any sense of peaceful coexist-
|
||
ence. Hoover did what he damn well pleased, and if anyone stood
|
||
in his way, he simply called up the White House and had the
|
||
roadblock removed. Kennedy era notwithstanding, Hoover held his
|
||
own for a 50 year reign.
|
||
|
||
Tyrone Duncan received an additional lesson on inter-agency
|
||
rivalry when he was called down to Half Street. His orders were
|
||
similar to those he had received from the safe house in George-
|
||
town months before. Stick to your hackers and viruses, period,
|
||
he was told. If it smells of foreign influence, let the CI fight
|
||
it out with Langley. Keep your butt clean.
|
||
|
||
In 25 years of service, Tyrone had never been so severely admon-
|
||
ished for investigating a case that he perceived as being domes-
|
||
tic in nature. The thought of foreign influences at work had not
|
||
occurred to him, until CI brought it up.
|
||
|
||
As far as he was concerned the quick trip from New York to Half
|
||
Street was a bureaucratic waste of time and money. However,
|
||
during the fifteen minute discussion he was told by his CI compa-
|
||
triots that both the blackmail and the ECCO investigations situa-
|
||
tions had international repercussions and he should keep his nose
|
||
out of it. CI was doing just fine without Tyrone's help.The
|
||
meeting, or warning as Tyrone Duncan took it, served to raise an
|
||
internal flag.
|
||
|
||
There was a bigger picture, something beyond a classical black-
|
||
mail operation and some hackers screwing with government comput-
|
||
ers, and he was being excluded. That only meant one thing. He
|
||
was pushing someone's button and he didn't know how, where or
|
||
why. The Trump Shuttle flight back to La Guardia gave Tyrone
|
||
time to think about it, and that only incensed him further.
|
||
Aren't we all on the same team? If I stumbled onto something,
|
||
and you want me to back off, O.K., but at least let me know what
|
||
I'm missing.
|
||
|
||
Twenty five years and a return to Hoover paranoia. He under-
|
||
stood, and advocated, the need for secrecy, privacy and the
|
||
trappings of confidentiality. But, compartmentalization of
|
||
information this extreme was beyond the normal course to which he
|
||
was accustomed. The whole thing stunk.
|
||
|
||
He arrived back at New York's Federal Square during lunch hour.
|
||
Normally there was a minimal staff at that hour, or hour and half
|
||
or two hours depending upon your rank. When the elevator doors
|
||
opened on Level 5, seventy feet under lower Manhattan, he walked
|
||
into a bustle of activity normally present only when visiting
|
||
heads of state need extraordinary security. He was immediately
|
||
accosted by eager subordinates. The onslaught of questions
|
||
overwhelmed him, so he ignored them and walked through the maze
|
||
directly to his office.
|
||
|
||
His head ringing, he plopped himself down behind his desk. He
|
||
stared at the two agents who followed him all the way, plus his
|
||
secretary stood in the open door, watching with amusement.
|
||
Duncan was not appreciative of panic situations. His silence was
|
||
contagious.
|
||
|
||
"Who's first?" He asked quietly.
|
||
|
||
The two agents looked at each other and one spoke. "Uh, sir, I
|
||
think we have a lead in the blackmail operation." Duncan looked
|
||
at the other, offering him a chance to speak.
|
||
|
||
"Yessir, it seems to have broken all over at once." Duncan
|
||
opened his eyes wide in anticipation. Well, he, thought, go on.
|
||
|
||
The first agent picked up the ball. "Demands. The blackmailers
|
||
are making demands. So far we have six individuals who said they
|
||
were recontacted by the same person who had first called them a
|
||
year ago."
|
||
|
||
Duncan sat upright. "I want a complete report, here, in 1 hour.
|
||
We'll talk then. Thank you gentlemen." They took their cue to
|
||
exit and brushed by, Tyrone's secretary on their way out the
|
||
door.
|
||
|
||
"Yes, Gloria?" Duncan treated her kindly, not with the adminis-
|
||
trative brusqueness he often found necessary to motivate some of
|
||
his agents.
|
||
|
||
"Good morning, or afternoon, sir. Pleasant trip?" She knew he
|
||
hated sudden trips to D.C. It was her way of teasing her boss.
|
||
|
||
"Wonderful!" Tyrone beamed with artificial enthusiasm. "Book me
|
||
on the same flights every day for a month. Definite E-ticket
|
||
ride."
|
||
|
||
"Do you remember a Franklin Dobbs? He was here some time ago,
|
||
about, I believe the same matter you were just discussing?" Her
|
||
demureness pampered Duncan.
|
||
|
||
"Dobbs? Yes, why?"
|
||
|
||
"He's been waiting all morning. Had to see you, no on else.
|
||
Shall I show him in?"
|
||
|
||
"Yes, by all means, thank you."
|
||
|
||
"Mr. Dobbs, how good to see you again. Please," Duncan pointed
|
||
at a chair in front of his desk. "Sit down. How may I help
|
||
you?"
|
||
|
||
Dobbs shuffled over to the chair and practically fell into it.
|
||
He sighed heavily and looked down at his feet. "I guess it's all
|
||
over. All over."
|
||
|
||
"What do you mean? My secretary, said you were being blackmailed
|
||
again. I think you should know I'm not working on that case
|
||
anymore."
|
||
|
||
"This time it's different," Dobbs said, his eyes darting about.
|
||
"They want money, a lot of money, more than we have. Last time I
|
||
received a call I was told some very private and specific knowl-
|
||
edge about our company that we preferred to remain private.
|
||
That information contained all our pricing, quotation methods,
|
||
profit figures, overhead . . .everything our competitors could
|
||
use."
|
||
|
||
"So you think your competition is blackmailing you," Duncan
|
||
offered.
|
||
|
||
"I don't know. If they wanted the information, why call me and
|
||
tell me? We haven't been able to figure it out."
|
||
|
||
"What about the others," Duncan thought out loud. "The others
|
||
with access to the information?"
|
||
|
||
"Everyone is suspecting everyone else. It's not healthy. Now,
|
||
after this, I'm thinking of packing it in."
|
||
|
||
"Why now? What's different?"
|
||
|
||
"The demands. I can't believe it's my competitors. Sure, it's a
|
||
cut throat business, but, no, it's hard to believe."
|
||
|
||
"Stranger things have happened, Mr. Dobbs." Duncan tried to be
|
||
soothing. "The demands, what were they?"
|
||
|
||
"They want three million dollars, cash. If we don't pay they
|
||
said they'd give away our company secrets to our competitors.
|
||
We don't have the cash."
|
||
|
||
Duncan felt for the man. Dobbs had been right. There was noth-
|
||
ing the FBI could have done to help. No demands, no recontacts,
|
||
and no leads, just a lot of suspicion. But, now, the Bureau was
|
||
in a position to help.
|
||
|
||
"Mr. Dobbs, rest assured, we will pursue this case aggressively.
|
||
We will assign you two of our top agents, and, in cases like
|
||
this, we are quite successful." Duncan's upbeat tone was meant
|
||
to lift Dobbs' spirits. "Was there anything else demanded?"
|
||
|
||
"No, nothing, they just told me not to go to the police."
|
||
|
||
"You haven't told anyone, have you?" Duncan asked.
|
||
|
||
"No, not even my wife."
|
||
|
||
"Mr. Dobbs, let me ask you a couple more things, then I will
|
||
introduce you to some fine men who will help you. Do you know
|
||
anyone else who is in your position? Other people who are being
|
||
blackmailed in similar ways?"
|
||
|
||
Dobbs shuffled his feet under the chair, and picked at the edge
|
||
of the chair. Duncan hit a raw nerve.
|
||
|
||
"Mr. Dobbs, I don't want names, no specifics. It's a general
|
||
question. Do you know others?"
|
||
|
||
"Yes," Dobbs said almost silently.
|
||
|
||
"Do you know how many?" Duncan needed details if his current
|
||
line of thinking would pan out into a viable theory.
|
||
|
||
"No, not exactly."
|
||
|
||
"Is it five? Ten? More than Ten? Twenty-five? More than twenty-
|
||
five?" Dobbs nodded suddenly.
|
||
|
||
"Do you mean that you know of 25 other companies that are going
|
||
through what you're going through? Twenty five?" Tyrone was
|
||
incredulous at the prospects. The manpower alone to investigate
|
||
that many cases would totally overwhelm his staff. There was no
|
||
way. The ramifications staggered him. Twenty five, all at once.
|
||
|
||
"Yeah. At least."
|
||
|
||
"I know you can't tell me who they are . . ." Duncan hoped that
|
||
Dobbs might offer a few.
|
||
|
||
"No. But, look at their stocks. They're not doing well. Our
|
||
competitors seem to be getting the best of the deal."
|
||
|
||
Twenty five cases in New York alone, and he knows of at least 6
|
||
others, so far. The rekindled blackmail operation, after months
|
||
of dead ends. Duncan wondered how big the monster behind the
|
||
head could get. And how could the FBI handle it all. Poor
|
||
bastard. Poor us.
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Tuesday, December 15
|
||
New York
|
||
|
||
It was before 8:00 A.M. and Scott cursed himself for arriving at
|
||
his office at this ungodly hour. He had found the last piece of
|
||
the puzzle, didn't sleep very much, and was in high gear before
|
||
6:00. Scott couldn't remember the last time he had been awake
|
||
this early, unless it was coming round the long way. He scurried
|
||
past security, shaking his ID card as he flew through the closing
|
||
doors on the express elevator. The office hadn't yet come to life
|
||
so Doug McGuire was available without a wait or interruption.
|
||
|
||
"I need some expense money," Scott blurted out at Doug.
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, so?" Doug sounded exasperated with Scott's constant
|
||
requests for money. He didn't even look up from his impossibly
|
||
disorganized desk.
|
||
|
||
"I'm serious . . .," Scott came back.
|
||
|
||
"So am I." Doug firmly laid down his pen on his desk and looked
|
||
at Scott. "What the hell kind of expenses do you need now?"
|
||
Scott spent more money than several reporters combined, and he
|
||
never felt bad about it. While a great deal of his work was
|
||
performed at the office or at home, his phone bills were extraor-
|
||
dinary as were his expenses.
|
||
|
||
Scott had developed a reputation as willing to go to almost any
|
||
lengths to get a story. Like the time he hired and the paper paid
|
||
for a call girl to entertain Congressman Daley from Wisconsin.
|
||
She was supposed to confirm, in any way necessary, that LeMal
|
||
Chemical was buying votes to help bypass certain approval cycles
|
||
for their new line of drugs. She accidentally confirmed that he
|
||
was a homosexual, but not before he slipped and the lady of the
|
||
evening became the much needed confirmation.
|
||
|
||
As Scott put it, Daley's embarrassed resignation was unavoidable
|
||
collateral damage in stopping the approval of a drug as poten-
|
||
tially dangerous as thalidomide.
|
||
|
||
Or then there was the time that Scott received an anonymous tip
|
||
that the Oil Companies had suppressed critical temperature-emis-
|
||
sion ratio calculations, and therefore the extent of the green-
|
||
house effect was being sorely underestimated. As a result of his
|
||
research and detective work, and the ability to verify and under-
|
||
stand the physics involved, Scott's articles forced a re-examina-
|
||
tion of the dangers. He received a New York Writer's Award for
|
||
that series.
|
||
|
||
When Doug had hired Scott, as a thirty-something cub reporter,
|
||
they both thought that Scott would fit in, nice and neat, and
|
||
write cute, introspective technical pieces. Neither expected
|
||
Scott to quickly evolve into a innovative journalist on the
|
||
offensive who had the embryo of a cult following.
|
||
|
||
But Scott Mason also performed a lot of the more mundane work
|
||
that most writer's suffer with until the better stories can
|
||
justify their full time efforts. New products, whiz bang elec-
|
||
tronic toys for the kitchen, whiz bangs for the bathroom. New
|
||
computer this, new software that.
|
||
|
||
Now, though, he was on the track, due in part he admitted, to
|
||
Doug coercing him into writing the computer virus bits. Yes, he
|
||
was wrong and Doug was right. The pieces were falling in place.
|
||
So, no matter what happened, it was Doug's fault.
|
||
|
||
"I'm going to Europe."
|
||
|
||
"No you're not!" thundered Doug.
|
||
|
||
"Yes I am. I gotta go . . ." Scott tried to plead his case.
|
||
|
||
"You aren't going anywhere, and that's final." Doug retorted
|
||
without a pause. He stared challengingly through Scott.
|
||
|
||
"Doug," Scott visibly calmed himself, "will you at least hear me
|
||
out, before telling me no? At least listen to me, and if I'm
|
||
wrong, tell me why. O.K.?" Same routine, different day, thought
|
||
Scott. The calmer, sincere request elicited empathy from Doug.
|
||
Maybe he'd been too harsh.
|
||
|
||
"Sorry, it's automatic to say 'no'. You know that they," he
|
||
pointed down with his thumb, "have us counting paper clips.
|
||
Sure, explain to me why I'm going to say 'no'," he joked. Doug's
|
||
overtly stern yet fatherlike geniality returned.
|
||
|
||
"O.K." Scott mentally organized his thoughts. He touched his
|
||
fingers to his forehead and turned to sit on the edge of Doug's
|
||
desk. A traditional no-no. "Without my notes . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Screw the notes, what have you got? If you don't know the mate-
|
||
rial, the notes won't help. They're the details, not the story."
|
||
Scott had heard this before.
|
||
|
||
"Sure, sorry." He gained confidence and went straight from the
|
||
hip. "Fact one. The FBI is investigating a massive blackmail
|
||
campaign that nobody wants us to talk about, and probably for
|
||
good reason from what I can see. As of now, there is no clue at
|
||
all to whom is behind the operation.
|
||
|
||
"Fact two. My story got pulled by CIA, NSA or someone that pushed
|
||
the AG's buttons. And this Tempest thing gets heads turning too
|
||
fast for my taste." Doug nodded briefly. Scott made sense so
|
||
far, both things were true.
|
||
|
||
"Three," Scott continued, "First State has been the target of
|
||
hackers, plus, we have Sidneys . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Sort of. McMillan hasn't caved in on that yet."
|
||
|
||
"Agreed, but it's still good. You and I both know it." Doug
|
||
grudgingly nodded in agreement.
|
||
|
||
"Then we have all those papers that came from a van, or more than
|
||
one van I would guess, and not a damned thing we can do with them
|
||
according to Higgins." Again, Doug nodded, but he wondered where
|
||
all of this was going. "Then the EMP-T bombs, NASA, the Phone
|
||
Company, and all of these viruses. What we have is a number of
|
||
apparently dissimilar events that have one common denominator:
|
||
computers."
|
||
|
||
Scott waited for a reaction from Doug that didn't come so he
|
||
continued. "Don't you see, the van with the computer data, the
|
||
endless files, the Sidneys problems, pulling my stories, the
|
||
hackers? Even the viruses. They're starting to get a little out
|
||
of hand. It's all the same thing!"
|
||
|
||
Doug rolled his head from side to side on his shoulder. Rather
|
||
than boredom, Scott knew that Doug was carefully thinking through
|
||
the logic of it. "Aren't you acting the engineer instead of the
|
||
reporter here? Miss the old line of work 'eh?"
|
||
|
||
"Give me a break! You and your viruses are the ones who got me
|
||
into this mess in the first place." Scott knew it would come up,
|
||
so he had been ready and grabbed the opportunity Doug had just
|
||
given him. "That's exactly the point!" Scott leaped off the
|
||
desk to his feet. "All we have are technical threads, pieces of
|
||
a puzzle. It's a classic engineering problem." Although Scott
|
||
had never been a brilliant engineer, he could argue the issues
|
||
fluently.
|
||
|
||
"Let me give you an example. When I was in defense electronics,
|
||
whenever someone built something we had to document, without
|
||
failure, it didn't work. Radar, navigation, communications, it
|
||
didn't matter. The engineers forever were releasing products that
|
||
failed on the first pass." Doug stopped rolling his head and
|
||
looked at Scott with a blank stare.
|
||
|
||
"We had these terrifically advanced products meant to defend our
|
||
country and they didn't work. So, we had to tell the engineers
|
||
what was wrong so they could figure it out. Our own engineers
|
||
and I got involved more times than we liked because the response
|
||
time from the contractors was for shit. They didn't care any
|
||
more. Since we hadn't designed it, we only saw the pieces that
|
||
were on the fritz, we had symptoms and had to figure out what
|
||
they meant in order to diagnose the failure so we could get the
|
||
designers to come up with a fix. The point is, we only had
|
||
shreds of evidence, little bits of technical information from
|
||
which to try to understand the complete system. That's exactly
|
||
what's going on here."
|
||
|
||
"So?" Doug said dead panned.
|
||
|
||
"So," Scott avoided getting incensed. "You're damn lucky you have
|
||
me around. I see a pattern, a trail, that leads I don't know
|
||
where, but I have to follow the trail. That's my job."
|
||
|
||
"What has Europe got to do with it?" Doug was softening.
|
||
|
||
"Oops, thanks! I almost forgot." Scott felt stupid for a second,
|
||
but he was without notes, he rationalized. "Kirk is my hacker
|
||
contact who I've been talking to over my computer. Gives me real
|
||
good stuff. He says there's a conference of hackers in Amsterdam
|
||
next week. It's a real private affair, and he got me an invite.
|
||
I think, no I know, there's something bigger going down; somehow
|
||
all of these pieces tie together and I need to find out how."
|
||
|
||
"That's it?" Scott looked disappointed at Doug's reaction.
|
||
|
||
"No, that's not it! You know that the Expos<1B> has been publishing
|
||
bits and pieces of the same stuff we haven't been publishing?"
|
||
|
||
Scott didn't know which of his arguments made the case, but Doug
|
||
certainly reacted to the competitive threat. "How much?"
|
||
|
||
"How much what?" Scott wasn't ready for the question.
|
||
|
||
"For Europe? How much play money will you need. You know I have
|
||
to sell this upstairs and they . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Airfare and a couple of nights plus food. That's it. If you
|
||
want," Scott readied the trump card he had never used at the
|
||
Times. "I'll pay for it myself, and submit it all when I come
|
||
back. Then, you make the call. I'll trust you."
|
||
|
||
"You really think it's that important?" Doug said.
|
||
|
||
"Absolutely. No question. Something's going on that smells
|
||
rotten, bad, and it includes the Government, but I have no idea
|
||
how." Scott spoke as if he was on a soapbox. He had shot his
|
||
wad. That was it. Anything more was a rehash of the same stuff
|
||
and it would have been worthless to say more. He shut up and
|
||
waited for Doug who enjoyed making his better reporters anxious
|
||
with anticipation.
|
||
|
||
"Have a good trip," Doug said nonchalantly. He leaned forward
|
||
to hunch over his desk, and ignoring Scott, he went back to
|
||
redlining another writer's story.
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Tuesday, December 15
|
||
Scarsdale, New York
|
||
|
||
Kirk delivered on his word. In his E-Mail repository at the
|
||
Times, Scott found a message from Kirk. It was short, but all
|
||
Scott needed to hear. Never mind how Kirk broke into the comput-
|
||
ers.
|
||
|
||
Tues. 12/15 00:02:14.1
|
||
<< FREEDOM BBS >>
|
||
|
||
Repo Man,
|
||
|
||
When you arrive, call 602-356. It's an Amsterdam number. Jon
|
||
Gruptmann is your contact. I told him you were a reporter, but a
|
||
good one. I said you're working to preserve freedom of electronic
|
||
information and you were sick and tired of the police and media
|
||
beating up on hackers. He thinks you want to give the other side
|
||
of the story to the public.
|
||
|
||
Jon is one of the best in Holland and anywhere.
|
||
He agreed to meet and talk with you himself. He will show you
|
||
around. Have a good trip. Call me, oops, no can do.
|
||
|
||
Oh, Yes. Mona Lisa frowned. I will call you.
|
||
|
||
Kirk
|
||
|
||
<< TRANSMITTED BY THE FREEDOM BBS SERVICE >>
|
||
|
||
When Scott got home from work he checked his E-mail and found the
|
||
same message from Kirk, telling him to be on the line tonight.
|
||
The Mona Lisa frowned. That meant to Scott that someone was
|
||
interested enough in Kirk's activities, or alleged activities at
|
||
First State to break in and ruin his computers. And Da Vinci's.
|
||
Who was so scared of hackers, or of what they knew to go to these
|
||
lengths? How many have had their computers ravaged?
|
||
|
||
As anticipated, midnight brought Kirk calling.
|
||
|
||
WE'RE GOING AFTER THEM
|
||
|
||
After who?
|
||
|
||
FREEDOM. NEMO AND SOME PHREAKS PHRIENDS ARE GOING TO FIND OUT
|
||
WHAT'S GOING ON.
|
||
|
||
What's wrong?
|
||
|
||
DID YOU EVER TALK TO ANYONE AND FEEL THAT THINGS WEREN'T QUITE
|
||
RIGHT?
|
||
|
||
Sure.
|
||
|
||
WELL SO DO I. DA VINCI IS A STRAIGHT WHITE HAT HACKER. I HAD
|
||
HIM CHECKED OUT BY PHRIENDS. THEN I CALLED FREEDOM AND JOINED
|
||
UP. I GAVE THEM A BUNCH OF SOFTWARE AND I TOOK SOME. I ASKED TO
|
||
CHAT WITH THE SYSOP AND WE'VE BEEN TALKING DAILY. STRANGE GUY.
|
||
|
||
Strange? Over a computer?
|
||
|
||
YOU CAN TELL. HE SPOKE WITH AN ACCENT.
|
||
|
||
You're putting me on.
|
||
|
||
REALLY. EVER READ A VCR MANUAL TRANSLATED FROM THE JAPANESE?
|
||
THEY LEAVE OUT THE the's FROM EVERYTHING. IT HAS AN ACCENT. AND
|
||
THE WORD DUDE ESPECIALLY UPSET HIM.
|
||
|
||
Dude? Good reason to be suspicious.
|
||
|
||
THEN I HACKED HIS SYSTEM WHEN I KNEW HE WASN'T ON LINE. JUST TO
|
||
LOOK AROUND MIND YOU.
|
||
|
||
How can you do that?
|
||
|
||
BBS'S ONLY COME IN SO MANY FLAVORS. THEY'RE PRETTY EASY TO
|
||
CRACK, ESPECIALLY IF YOU HAVE A COPY TO WORK ON.
|
||
|
||
Ah hah!
|
||
|
||
I FOUND HUGE AREAS OF HIS COMPUTER NOT ASSIGNED TO THE BBS.
|
||
|
||
So?
|
||
|
||
A BBS COMPUTER IS DEDICATED TO ONE FUNCTION, BBS'ING. SO I POKED
|
||
AROUND AND FOUND ANOTHER COMPLETE BBS SYSTEM, NOT PART OF FREE-
|
||
DOM. TOO MUCH WAS ENCRYPTED, THOUGH, TO LEARN MUCH. BUT WE
|
||
WILL.
|
||
|
||
Don't get yourself into hot water again . . .
|
||
|
||
NOT TO WORRY. I'LL BECOME ONE OF THEM. PLAY THEIR GAMES. IT'S
|
||
EASY TO BE ANYONE YOU WANT. I WANT TO SEE WHAT'S GOING ON BEHIND
|
||
THE SCENES. SHOULDN'T TAKE LONG.
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Friday, December 18
|
||
New York
|
||
|
||
U.S. Army on Virus Vigil!
|
||
by Scott Mason
|
||
|
||
In July of 1990, the United States Army joined the inner sanctum
|
||
of the Computer Hacker.
|
||
|
||
The Pentagon had finally realized that the computer is as essen-
|
||
tial to battlefield operations and communications as is the gun
|
||
and the radio.
|
||
|
||
Therefore, as the logic goes, why shouldn't the computers be
|
||
directly attacked as are other military targets. In keeping with
|
||
that line of thinking, the Army said, use computer viruses.
|
||
Viruses are those little gremlins which roam throughout a comput-
|
||
er system, hiding themselves in silicon gulches, waiting to
|
||
ambush mountains of megabytes and erase deserts of data. Perfect
|
||
for modern warfare.
|
||
|
||
The Army issued an RFP, (Request For Proposal) asking the private
|
||
sector to study and design computer viruses and other methods to
|
||
be used offensively against enemy computers. The half million
|
||
dollar contract was awarded to a Beltway Bandit, a small govern-
|
||
ment sub-contractor so named for their proximity to Interstate
|
||
495, which loops around Washington, D.C.
|
||
|
||
So, the Army is going into the hacking business, but this brings
|
||
up quite a few questions.
|
||
|
||
Question I. How long has the Government known that computer
|
||
viruses and other maladies could be used in a strategic militari-
|
||
ly offensive fashion? RFP's are always preceded by much internal
|
||
research and consultation with private industry. The Government
|
||
typically will have issued RFI's, (Requests For Information) and
|
||
RFQ's (Request For Quotes) and already have a darn good idea of
|
||
what's available and from whom.
|
||
|
||
Question II. Has the Government already sponsored such research?
|
||
The existence of the EMP-T Bomb has created quite a furor.
|
||
|
||
Question III. What if the Army created experimental computer
|
||
viruses and they get loose? Who is responsible for silicon based
|
||
biological warfare on desktop computers?
|
||
|
||
Question IV. Have any computer viral outbreaks actually been
|
||
Government projects gone out of control?
|
||
|
||
Question V. If the Government knew that civilian and military
|
||
computers could be systematically attacked and destroyed, why
|
||
haven't we done anything to defend ourselves against a similar
|
||
assault?
|
||
|
||
Last month's attack on the Stock Exchange by secret EMP-T bombs
|
||
prompted an investigation into such military capabilities, and
|
||
some surprising answers were uncovered.
|
||
|
||
In an attempt to get specific answers from various Government
|
||
agencies, I located a secretive group called OCTAG/0N. (Offensive
|
||
Computer Technology Applications Group/Zero-November). OCTAG/0N
|
||
is a highly classified interagency project whose sole function is
|
||
to develop methods to destroy or disable computers from great
|
||
distances.
|
||
|
||
According to a highly placed source at the Pentagon, OCTAG/0N
|
||
allegedly developed computer viruses that will destroy the ene-
|
||
my's hard disks. Successful deployment, to use Pentagon-ese, is
|
||
the hard part. "If we can get at their computers," an engineer
|
||
with OCTAG/0N said requesting anonymity, "we can stop them in-
|
||
stantly. Getting them there has been the problem. But now we
|
||
know how to get at their computers from great distances."
|
||
|
||
In the battlefield, for example, advanced tactical communications
|
||
groups explode small Magnetic Bombs (EMP-T) which emit very
|
||
strong electromagnetic pulses at certain frequencies. The EM
|
||
pulses destroy nearby computers, (RAM, ROM, EPROM, Magnetic
|
||
storage). Some computer systems are 'hardened' with extra
|
||
shielding as in the Tempest program. Other computers, such as
|
||
those in Air Force One, inside missile silos, or in the Pentagon
|
||
War Room are additionally protected by the secret C3I programs
|
||
which 'super-hardens' the computers against the intense magnetic
|
||
pulses associated with above ground nuclear explosions.
|
||
|
||
Intensely focussed energy beams of low power can totally disrupt
|
||
an unshielded computer as far away as three miles. Synchronized
|
||
Interference Techniques provide double duty to both listen in on
|
||
and jam air borne computer traffic. One of OCTAG/0N's pet tricks
|
||
is to broadcast a computer virus from a small antenna so that it
|
||
is caught by a computers communicating on the same frequency. So
|
||
simple, yet so devious.
|
||
|
||
In conversations with computer experts and the underground hacker
|
||
community, the existence of such high tech weaponry has been
|
||
confirmed, although the Department of Defense is still issuing a
|
||
predictable 'no comment'.
|
||
|
||
So, I have to ask again. Why hasn't our Government been helping
|
||
us protect ourselves against an apparently formidable computer
|
||
weapons complement? I hope "The Other Guys" aren't so well
|
||
armed.
|
||
|
||
This is Scott Mason, adding a chastity belt to my modem.
|
||
|
||
****************************************************************
|
||
|
||
Chapter 17
|
||
|
||
Monday, December 28
|
||
|
||
A/K/A Software
|
||
by Scott Mason
|
||
|
||
The Christmas Virus is upon is. So is the anticipated New Years
|
||
Eve and New Year's Day Virus.
|
||
|
||
Seems like wherever I look, someone is making a virus to attack
|
||
my computer or celebrate a holiday.
|
||
|
||
Rather than another rash of warnings about the impending doom and
|
||
gloom faced by your computers, my editor asked me to find the
|
||
lighter side of computer viruses. I strongly objected, stating
|
||
that I found nothing amusing about them. They were a deadly and
|
||
cowardly form of terrorism that should be rewarded with behead-
|
||
ing.
|
||
|
||
However, there is one thing . . .
|
||
|
||
The geniuses who come up with the names for viral infections;
|
||
about as believable and laughable as a Batman comic.
|
||
|
||
I wonder what most of us would think if our doctor told us we had
|
||
the Ping Pong virus instead of strep throat. Or in spring time
|
||
we contracted the April Fool's Virus.
|
||
|
||
It is entirely within the realm of reason that America's comput-
|
||
ers go unprotected because of the sheer absurdity of the names we
|
||
attach to each one. Comical names create a comical situation, so
|
||
no one takes the issue seriously.
|
||
|
||
The Marijuana virus conjures up images of a stoned orgy, and why
|
||
would a computer care about that. The Fu Manchu virus conjures
|
||
up the Red Chinese Army crossing the Mississippi, which is clear-
|
||
ly not the case, so it is ignored.
|
||
|
||
Viruses know no national boundary. The Pakistani virus, the
|
||
Icelandic, the Israeli, Jerusalem A, Jerusalem B, Jerusalem C,
|
||
Lehigh, Alameda, Vienna, Czech, Rumanian - I found over 900
|
||
current and active viruses that are identified by their reputed
|
||
place of origin.
|
||
|
||
The Brain virus sounds more sinister than the Stoned Virus, and
|
||
Friday the 13th viruses are as popular as the movie sequels. The
|
||
Columbus Day Virus was actually dubbed by its authors as Data
|
||
Crime, and might have generated more concern if not for the nick-
|
||
nom-de-plume it inherited.
|
||
|
||
So to fulfill my editor's dream, I will list a few of the more
|
||
creative virus names. Some were chosen by the programmers,
|
||
others by the Virus Busters and others yet by the media. See
|
||
what you think each virus would do to your computer, or when it
|
||
will strike, merely from the name.
|
||
|
||
The Vatican Virus The Popeye Virus
|
||
The Garlic Virus The Scrooge Virus
|
||
Teenage Mutant Ninja Virus The Ides Virus
|
||
The Quaalude Virus The Amphetamine Virus
|
||
Super Virus The Tick Tock Virus
|
||
The String Virus The Black Hole Virus
|
||
The Stupid Virus Stealth
|
||
|
||
I have a few of my own suggestions for future virus builders.
|
||
|
||
The Jewish Sex Virus (Dials your mother-in-law during a romantic
|
||
interlude.)
|
||
|
||
The Ronald Reagan Virus (Puts your computer to sleep only in
|
||
important meetings.)
|
||
|
||
The Pee Wee Herman Virus (Garbage In Garbage Out)
|
||
|
||
The Donald Trump Virus (Makes all of your spread sheets go into
|
||
the red.)
|
||
|
||
Tomorrow, Viruses from Hell on Geraldo.
|
||
|
||
Namely, this is Scott Mason.
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Tuesday, December 29
|
||
Washington, D.C.
|
||
|
||
"Why the hell do I have to find out what's going on in the world
|
||
from the goddamned papers and CNN instead of from the finest
|
||
intelligence services in the world?" The President snapped
|
||
sarcastically while sipping black coffee over his daily collec-
|
||
tion of U.S. and foreign papers.
|
||
|
||
The early morning ritual of coffee, newspapers and a briefing by
|
||
Chief of Staff Phil Musgrave provided the day with a smooth
|
||
start. Usually.
|
||
|
||
"I've been asking for weeks about this computer craziness. All I
|
||
get is don't worry, Mr. President," he said mimicking the classic
|
||
excuses he was sick and tired of hearing. "We have it taken care
|
||
of, Mr. President. No concern of yours, Mr. President, we have
|
||
everything under control. We temporarily have our thumbs up our
|
||
asses, Mr. President." Phil stifled a giggle behind his napkin.
|
||
|
||
"I'm sorry, Phil," the President continued, "but it irritates the
|
||
shit out of me. The damn media knowing more about what's hap-
|
||
pening than we do. Where the hell is that report I asked for?
|
||
The one on the bank hostage I've been requesting for a week?"
|
||
The President's mood portended a rough day for the inner circle.
|
||
|
||
"Sir, as I understand, it wasn't ready for your desk yet."
|
||
|
||
"Do the goddamned missiles have to land on the White House lawn
|
||
before we verify it's not one of our own?"
|
||
|
||
Phil knew better than to attempt any dissuasion when the Presi-
|
||
dent got into these moods. He took notes, and with luck it would
|
||
blow over in a couple of days. Today was not Phil's lucky day.
|
||
|
||
"I want a briefing. Two Hours."
|
||
|
||
"Gentlemen," the President said from behind his desk in the oval
|
||
office, "I'd like to read you something I had Brian put togeth-
|
||
er." The efficiency of the White House Press Office under the
|
||
leadership of Brian Packard was well known. The President had
|
||
the best rapport with the press that any President had in a
|
||
generation.
|
||
|
||
He slipped on his aviator style glasses and pulled the lobe of
|
||
his left ear while reading from his desk. "Let's start here.
|
||
Phone Company Invaded by Hackers; Stock Exchange Halted by Gov-
|
||
ernment Bomb; Computer Crime Costs Nation $12 Billion Annually;
|
||
Viruses Stop Network; Banks Lose Millions to Computer Embez-
|
||
zlers; Trojan Horse Defeats Government Computers; NASA Spending
|
||
Millions On Free Calls for Hackers." He looked for a reaction
|
||
from his four key associates: Phil, Quinton Chambers, Martin
|
||
Royce and Henry Kennedy. "If you don't know, these are headlines
|
||
from newspapers and magazines across the country."
|
||
|
||
The President read further from his notes. "Viruses Infect
|
||
Trans-Insurance Payments; Secret Service Computers Invaded; NSA
|
||
and NIST in Security Rift; FBI Wasting Millions on Computer
|
||
Blackmail Scheme; First National Bank Held Hostage; Sperm Bank
|
||
Computer Records Erased; IRS Returns of the Super Rich." The
|
||
President removed his glasses wanting answers.
|
||
|
||
"What is going on here, gentlemen?" the President asked directly.
|
||
"I am baffled that everyone else but me seems to know there's a
|
||
problem, and that pisses me off. Answers?"
|
||
|
||
He wondered who would be the first to speak up. Surprisingly, it
|
||
was Henry, who normally waited to speak last. "Sir, we have
|
||
active programs in place to protect classified computer systems."
|
||
|
||
"Then what are these about?" He waved a couple of sheets of
|
||
paper in the air.
|
||
|
||
"Of course we haven't fully implemented security everywhere yet,
|
||
but it is an ongoing concern. According to NSA, the rash of
|
||
recent computer events are a combination of anomalies and the
|
||
press blowing it all out of proportion."
|
||
|
||
"Do you believe Henry," the President asked, "that if there's
|
||
smoke, a reasonable man will assume that there is a fire nearby?"
|
||
Henry nodded obligingly. "And what would you think if there were
|
||
a hundred plumes of smoke rising?"
|
||
|
||
Henry felt stumped. "Jacobs assured me that he had everything
|
||
under control and . . ."
|
||
|
||
"As I recall Henry," the President interrupted, "you told me that
|
||
a couple of months ago when the papers found out about the EMP-T
|
||
bombs. Do you recall, Henry?"
|
||
|
||
"Yessir," he answered meekly.
|
||
|
||
"Then what happened?"
|
||
|
||
"We have to rely on available information, and as far as we know,
|
||
as far as we're being told, these are very minor events that have
|
||
been sensationalized by the media."
|
||
|
||
"It says here," the President again donned his glasses, "Defense
|
||
Contractors Live with Hackers; Stealth Program Uncovered in
|
||
Defense Department Computers; Social Security Computers At Risk.
|
||
Are those minor events?" He pointed the question at not only
|
||
Henry.
|
||
|
||
"There was no significant loss of information," Coletree rapidly
|
||
said. "We sewed up the holes before we were severely compro-
|
||
mised."
|
||
|
||
"Wonderful," the President said sarcastically. "And what ever
|
||
happened to that bank in Atlanta? Hiring Those kids?"
|
||
|
||
"If I may, sir?" Phil Musgrave filled the silence. "That was a
|
||
private concern, and we had no place to interfere - as is true in
|
||
most of these cases. We can only react if government property is
|
||
affected."
|
||
|
||
"What is being done about it? Now I mean."
|
||
|
||
"We have activated CERT and ECCO, independent computer crime
|
||
units to study the problem further." As usual, Phil was impecca-
|
||
bly informed. "Last years the Secret Service and FBI arrested
|
||
over 70 people accused of computer crimes. The state of Pennsyl-
|
||
vania over 500, California 300. Remember, sir, computer crimes
|
||
are generally the states' problems."
|
||
|
||
"I'm wondering if it shouldn't be our problem, too," the Presi-
|
||
dent pondered.
|
||
|
||
"There are steps in that direction, as well. Next week the
|
||
Senate hearings on Privacy and Technology Containment begin, and
|
||
as I understand it, they will be focusing on exactly this issue."
|
||
|
||
"Who's running the show?" the President asked with interest.
|
||
|
||
"Ah," Phil said ripping through his notes, "Rickfield, sir."
|
||
|
||
"That bigot? Christ. I guess it could be worse. We could have
|
||
ended up with Homer Simpson." The easing of tension worked to
|
||
the President's advantage, for a brief moment. "I want the whole
|
||
picture, the good and the bad, laid out for me." He scanned his
|
||
private appointment book. "Two weeks. Is that long enough to
|
||
find out why I'm always the last to know?"
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Wednesday, December 30
|
||
New York
|
||
|
||
"Scott Mason," Scott said answering the phone with his mouth full
|
||
of hot pastrami on rye with pickles and mayonnaise.
|
||
|
||
"Scott? It's Tyrone." Tyrone's voice was quiet, just about a
|
||
whisper.
|
||
|
||
"Oh, hi." Scott continued to chew. Scott was unsuccessfully
|
||
trying not to sound angry.
|
||
|
||
Other than following Scott's articles in the paper, they had had
|
||
no contact since that eventful phone call a month ago. Since
|
||
then, Scott had made sure that they rode on different cars during
|
||
their daily commute into the city. It was painful for both of
|
||
them since they had been close friends, but Scott was morally
|
||
obligated, so he thought, to cut off their association after
|
||
Tyrone broke the cardinal rule of all journalists; keep your
|
||
sources protected. And, Tyrone had broken that maxim. Scott had
|
||
not yet learned that the Bureau made their own rules, and that
|
||
the gentleman's agreement of off-the-record didn't carry weight
|
||
in their venue.
|
||
|
||
"How have you been?" Tyrone said cordially. "Good bit of work
|
||
you been doing."
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, thanks, thanks," Scott said stiffly.
|
||
|
||
Tyrone had already determined that he needed Scott if his own
|
||
agency wouldn't help him. At least Scott wasn't bound by idiotic
|
||
governmental regulations that stifled rather than helped the
|
||
cause. Maybe there was hope for cooperation yet, if his little
|
||
faux pas could be forgiven.
|
||
|
||
"We need to talk. I've been meaning to call you." Though Tyrone
|
||
meant it, Scott thought it was a pile of warmed up FBI shit.
|
||
|
||
"Sure, let's talk." Scott's apparent indifference bothered
|
||
Tyrone.
|
||
|
||
"Scott, I mean it," he said sincerely. "I have an apology to
|
||
make, and I want to do it in person. Also, I think that we both
|
||
need each other . . .you'll understand when I tell you what's
|
||
been going on." Tyrone's deep baritone voice conveyed honesty
|
||
and a little bit of urgency. If nothing else, he had never known
|
||
or had any reason to suspect Tyrone of purposely misleading or
|
||
lying to him. And their friendship had been a good one. Plus,
|
||
the tease of a secret further enticed Scott into agreeing.
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, what the hell. It's Christmas." Scott's aloofness came
|
||
across as phony, but Tyrone understood the awkwardness and let it
|
||
pass.
|
||
|
||
"How 'bout we meet at The Oyster Bar, Grand Central, and get shit
|
||
faced. Merry Christmas from the Bureau."
|
||
|
||
The Oyster Bar resides on the second lower level of Grand Cen-
|
||
tral Station, located eighty feet beneath Park Avenue and 42nd.
|
||
Street. It had become a fairly chic restaurant bar in the '80's;
|
||
the seafood was fresh, and occasionally excellent. The patronage
|
||
of the bar ranged from the commuter who desperately quaffed down
|
||
two or three martinis to those who enjoyed the seafaring ambi-
|
||
ence. The weathered hardwood walls were decorated with huge
|
||
stuffed crabs, swordfish, lifesavers and a pot pourri of fishing
|
||
accouterments. The ceilings were bathed in worn fishing nets
|
||
that occasionally dragged too low for anyone taller than 6 feet.
|
||
|
||
Away from the bar patrons could dine or drink in privacy, with
|
||
dim ten watt lamps on each table to cut through the darkness.
|
||
Tyrone was sitting at such a table, drink in hand when Scott
|
||
craned his neck from the door to find his friend through the
|
||
crowd. He ambled over, and Tyrone stood to greet him. Scott was
|
||
cool, but willing to give it a try. As usual Tyrone was elegant-
|
||
ly attired, in a custom tailored dark gray pin stripe suit, a
|
||
fitted designer shirt and a stylish silk tie of the proper width.
|
||
|
||
Scott was dressed just fine as far as he was concerned. His
|
||
sneakers were clean, his jeans didn't have holes and the sweater
|
||
would have gained him admission to the most private ski parties
|
||
in Vermont. Maybe they were too different and their friendship
|
||
had been an unexplainable social aberration; an accident.
|
||
|
||
Scott's stomach tightened. His body memory recalled the time the
|
||
principal had suspended him from high school for spreading liquid
|
||
banana peel on the hall floors and then ringing the fire drill
|
||
alarm. The picture of 3000 kids and 200 teachers slipping and
|
||
sliding and crawling out of the school still made Scott smile.
|
||
|
||
"What'll you have?" Tyrone gestured at a waiter while asking
|
||
Scott for his preference.
|
||
|
||
"Corona, please."
|
||
|
||
Tyrone took charge. "Waiter, another double and a Corona." He
|
||
waved the waiter away. "That's better." Tyrone was already
|
||
slightly inebriated. "I guess you think I'm a real shit hole,
|
||
huh?"
|
||
|
||
"Sort of," Scott agreed. "I guess you could put it that way."
|
||
Scott was impressed with Ty's forthright manner. "I can think of
|
||
a bunch more words that fit the bill." At least Tyrone admitted
|
||
it. That was a step in the right direction.
|
||
|
||
Ty laughed. "Yeah, I bet you could, and you might be right."
|
||
Scott's drink came. He took a thirsty gulp from the long neck
|
||
bottle."
|
||
|
||
"Ease on down the road!" Ty held his half empty drink in the
|
||
air. It was peace offering. Scott slowly lifted his and their
|
||
drinks met briefly. They both sipped again, and an awkward
|
||
silence followed.
|
||
|
||
"Well, I guess it's up to me to explain, isn't it?" Tyrone ven-
|
||
tured.
|
||
|
||
"You don't have to explain anything. I understand," Scott said
|
||
caustically.
|
||
|
||
"I don't think you do, my friend. May I at least have my last
|
||
words before you shoot?" Tyrone's joviality was not as effective
|
||
when nervous.
|
||
|
||
Scott remembered that he used the same argument with Doug only
|
||
days before. He eased up. "Sure, ready and aimed, though."
|
||
|
||
"I'm quitting." Tyrone's face showed disappointment, resigna-
|
||
tion.
|
||
|
||
The beer bottle at Scott's lips was abruptly laid on the table.
|
||
"Quitting? The FBI?" Tyrone nodded. "Why? What happened?"
|
||
For one moment Scott completely forgot how angry he was.
|
||
|
||
The din of the Oyster Bar made for excellent cover. They could
|
||
speak freely with minimal worry of being overheard.
|
||
|
||
"It's a long story, but it began when they pulled your article.
|
||
God, I'm sorry, man," Tyrone said with empathy. The furrows on
|
||
his forehead deepened as he searched for a reaction from Scott.
|
||
Nothing.
|
||
|
||
Ty finished off his drink and started on the refill. "Unlike
|
||
what you probably believe, or want to believe, when you called me
|
||
that morning, I had no idea what you were talking about. It was
|
||
several hours before I realized what had happened. If I had any
|
||
idea . . ."
|
||
|
||
Scott stared blankly at Tyrone. You haven't convinced me of
|
||
anything, Scott thought.
|
||
|
||
"As far as I knew, you were writing an article that had no par-
|
||
ticular consequence . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Thanks a shitload," Scott quipped.
|
||
|
||
"No, I mean, I had no idea of the national security implica-
|
||
tions, and besides, it was going to be in the paper the next day
|
||
anyway." Tyrone shrugged with his hands in the air for added
|
||
emphasis. "Tempest meant nothing to me. All I said was that you
|
||
and I had been talking. I promise you, that's it. As a friend,
|
||
that was the extent of it. They took it from there." Tyrone
|
||
extended his hands in an open gesture of conciliation. "All I
|
||
knew was that what you'd said about CMR shook some people up in
|
||
D.C.. ECCO has been quite educational. Now I know why, and
|
||
that's why I have to leave."
|
||
|
||
The genuineness from Tyrone softened Scott's attitude some. "I
|
||
thought you spooks stuck together. Spy and die together."
|
||
|
||
Tyrone contorted his face to show disgust with that thought.
|
||
"That'll be the day. In fact it's the opposite. A third of our
|
||
budgets are meant to keep other agencies in the dark about what
|
||
we're doing."
|
||
|
||
"You're kidding!"
|
||
|
||
"I wish I was." Tyrone looked disheartened, betrayed.
|
||
|
||
"At any rate," Tyrone continued, "I got spooked by the stunt with
|
||
your paper and the Attorney General. I just couldn't call you,
|
||
you'll see why. The Agency is supposed to enforce the law, not
|
||
make it and they have absolutely no business screwing with the
|
||
press. Uh-uh." Tyrone took a healthy sip of his drink. "Reminds
|
||
me of times that are supposed to be gone. Dead in the past. Did
|
||
you know that I am a constitutional lawyer?"
|
||
|
||
Scott ordered another beer and shook his head, no. Just a regular
|
||
lawyer. Will wonders never cease?
|
||
|
||
"Back in the early 60's the South was not a good place for
|
||
blacks. Or Negroes as we were called back then." Tyrone said
|
||
the word Negro with disdain. He pulled his tie from the stiff
|
||
collar and opened a button. "I went on some marches in Alabama,
|
||
God, that was a hot summer. A couple of civil rights workers were
|
||
killed."
|
||
|
||
Scott remembered. More from the movie Mississippi Burning than
|
||
from memory.
|
||
|
||
Civil rights wasn't a black-white issue, Tyrone insisted. It was
|
||
about man's peaceful co-existence with government. A legal
|
||
issue. "I thought that was an important distinction and most
|
||
people were missing the point. I thought I could make a differ-
|
||
ence working from inside the system. I was wrong, and I've been
|
||
blinded by it until now . . .you know.
|
||
|
||
"When I was in college the politicians screamed integration while
|
||
the poor blacks no more wanted to be bussed to the rich white
|
||
neighborhood that the rich whites wanted the poor blacks in their
|
||
schools." Tyrone spoke from his heart, his soul, with a touch of
|
||
resentment that Scott had not seen before. But then, they had
|
||
never spoken of it before. This was one story that he had suc-
|
||
cessfully neglected to share. "Forced integration was govern-
|
||
ment's answer to a problem it has never understood.
|
||
|
||
"It's about dignity. Dignity and respect, not government inter-
|
||
vention. It's about a man's right to privacy and the right to
|
||
lead his life the way he sees fit. Civil rights is about how to
|
||
keep government from interfering with its citizens. Regardless
|
||
of color." Tyrone was adamant.
|
||
|
||
"And that's why you're gonna quit?" Scott didn't see the con-
|
||
nection.
|
||
|
||
"No, goddamnit, no," Tyrone shouted. "Don't you get it?" Scott
|
||
shook his head. "They want to take them away." He spoke with
|
||
finality and assumed Scott knew what he meant. The liquor fogged
|
||
his brain to mouth speech connection.
|
||
|
||
"Who's gonna take what away?" Scott asked, frustrated by Ty's
|
||
ramblings.
|
||
|
||
"I know it's hokey, but the Founding Fathers had a plan, and so
|
||
far it's survived two hundred years of scrutiny and division. I
|
||
would like to think it can survive the computer age." Tyrone
|
||
quieted down some. "My father used to tell me, from the time I
|
||
was old enough to understand, that law was merely a measure of
|
||
how much freedom a man was willing to sacrifice to maintain an
|
||
orderly society."
|
||
|
||
"My father was a radical liberal among liberals," Tyrone remem-
|
||
bered. "Even today he'll pick a fight at the family barbecue for
|
||
his own entertainment. And he'll hold his own."
|
||
|
||
Scott enjoyed the image of a crotchety octogenarian stirring up
|
||
the shit while his children isolated their kids from their grand
|
||
father's intellectual lunacy. What was this about?
|
||
|
||
Tyrone caught himself and realized that he wasn't getting his
|
||
point across. He took a deep breath and slouched back in the
|
||
chair that barely held him.
|
||
|
||
"From the beginning," he said. "I told you about ECCO, and what
|
||
a disaster it is. No authority, no control, no responsibility.
|
||
And the chaos is unbelievable.
|
||
|
||
"I don't pretend to understand all of the computer jargon, but I
|
||
do recognize when the NSA wants to control everything. There's a
|
||
phenomenal amount of arrogance there. The NSA reps in ECCO
|
||
believe that they are the only ones who know anything about
|
||
computers and how to protect them. I feel sorry for the guys
|
||
from NIST. They're totally underfunded, so they end up with both
|
||
the grunt work and the brunt of the jokes from the NSA.
|
||
|
||
"NSA won't cooperate on anything. If NIST says it's white, NSA
|
||
says it's black. If NIST says there's room to compromise, NSA
|
||
gets more stubborn. And the academic types. At long last I now
|
||
know what happened to the hippies: they're all government con-
|
||
sultants through universities. And all they want to do is
|
||
study, study, study. But they never come up with answers, just
|
||
more questions to study.
|
||
|
||
"The vendors try to sell their products and don't contribute a
|
||
damn thing," sighed Tyrone. "A bunch of industry guys from
|
||
computer companies and the banks, and they're as baffled as I
|
||
am."
|
||
|
||
"So why quit? Can't you make a difference?"
|
||
|
||
"Listen. The FBI views computer crimes as inter-state in nature
|
||
and therefore under their domain."
|
||
|
||
Scott nodded in understanding.
|
||
|
||
"We are enforcement, only," Tyrone asserted. "We do not, nor
|
||
should we make the laws. Separation of power; Civics 101. To
|
||
accomplish anything, I have to be a private citizen."
|
||
|
||
"What do you want to accomplish?" asked Scott with great inter-
|
||
est.
|
||
|
||
"I want to stop the NSA." Tyrone spoke bluntly and Scott sat too
|
||
stunned to speak for long seconds.
|
||
|
||
"From what?" A sudden pit formed in Scott's stomach.
|
||
|
||
"I found out why they dumped on you about the CMR," Tyrone said.
|
||
"I haven't been able to tell you before, but it doesn't matter
|
||
any more." Tyrone quickly shook off the veiling sadness. "NSA
|
||
has a built-in contradiction. On one hand they listen into the
|
||
world and spy for America. This is supposed to be very secret,
|
||
especially how they do it. It turns out that CMR is one of their
|
||
'secret' methods for spying on friends and foes alike.
|
||
|
||
"So, to keep our friends and foes from spying on us, they create
|
||
the secret Tempest program. Except, they think it needs to be
|
||
kept a military secret, and the public sector be damned. They
|
||
actually believe that opening the issue to the public will hamper
|
||
their intelligence gathering capabilities because the enemy will
|
||
protect against it, too."
|
||
|
||
Scott listened in fascination. What he was learning now more than
|
||
made up for the loss of one article. He felt bad now that he had
|
||
overreacted and taken it out on Tyrone.
|
||
|
||
"Same goes for the EMP-T bomb," Tyrone added. "Only they didn't
|
||
know that you were going to publish ahead of time like they did
|
||
when I opened up my fat trap."
|
||
|
||
Scott's eyes suddenly lit up. "How much did you tell them?"
|
||
|
||
"That I knew you and you were writing an article. That's it."
|
||
|
||
"Then how did they know what I had written? It was pretty damned
|
||
close. I assumed that you had . . ."
|
||
|
||
"No way, man," Tyrone held his hands up.
|
||
|
||
"Then how did . . .Ty? What if they're using CMR on my computers?
|
||
Could they . . ."
|
||
|
||
Tyrone's predicament was to decide whether or not to tell Scott
|
||
that he knew the NSA and others spied on Americans and gathered
|
||
intelligence through remote control means. "I assume they're
|
||
capable of anything."
|
||
|
||
"Shit!" Scott exclaimed. "Privacy goes right out the window.
|
||
Damn." Scott rapidly spun in his chair and vacantly stared off
|
||
in space. "Is that legal?"
|
||
|
||
"What? CMR? I looked into that briefly, and there's nothing on
|
||
the books yet, but I did find out that tapping cellular phone
|
||
conversations is legal."
|
||
|
||
"Phone tapping, legal?" Scott couldn't believe his ears.
|
||
|
||
"Cellular phones, yeah. The FCC treats them like TV sets, radi-
|
||
os, satellites. Anyone can listen to any station."
|
||
|
||
"That's incredible," Scott said, mouth gaping. "I wonder how
|
||
they'll handle RF LAN's."
|
||
|
||
"RF LAN's," asked Ty. "What are those?"
|
||
|
||
"A bunch of computers tied together with radios. They replace
|
||
the wires that connect computers now. Can you imagine?" Scott
|
||
saw the irony in it. "Broadcasting your private secrets like
|
||
that? Hah! Or if you have your own RF network, all you have to
|
||
do is dial up another one and all the information ends up right
|
||
in your computer! Legal robbery. Is this a great country or
|
||
what?"
|
||
|
||
"Now you know why I'm leaving. The NSA cannot be permitted to
|
||
keep the public uninformed about vulnerabilities to their person-
|
||
al freedom. And hiding under the umbrella of national security
|
||
gets old. A handful of paranoid un-elected, un-budgeted, non-ac-
|
||
countable, mid-level bureaucrats are deciding the future of
|
||
privacy and freedom in this country. They are the ones who are
|
||
saying, 'no, no problem,' when they know damn well it is a prob-
|
||
lem. What they say privately is in diametric opposition to their
|
||
public statements and positions."
|
||
|
||
Scott stifled a nervous laugh. Who wound Tyrone up? A conspira-
|
||
cy theory. Tyrone was drunk. "Don't you think that maybe you're
|
||
taking this a little far," he suggested. For the first time in
|
||
years the shoe was on the other foot. Scott was tempering some-
|
||
body elses extremes.
|
||
|
||
"Why the hell do you think there's so much confusion at ECCO and
|
||
CERT and the other computer SWAT teams? NSA interferes at every
|
||
step," Tyrone responded. "And no, I am not taking this too far.
|
||
I haven't taken it far enough. I sit with these guys and they
|
||
talk as though I'm not there. I attend meetings where the poli-
|
||
cies and goals of ECCO are established. Shit, I trust the dope-
|
||
smoking hippies from Berkeley more than anyone from the Fort."
|
||
The bitterness came through clearly, but Scott could see it
|
||
wasn't focussed on any one person or thing.
|
||
|
||
But Scott began to understand. For over 20 years Tyrone had
|
||
insulated himself from the politics of the job and had seen only
|
||
what he wanted to see; a national Police Force enforcing the
|
||
laws. Tyrone loved the chase of the crime. The bits and pieces,
|
||
the endless sifting of evidence, searching for clues and then
|
||
building a case from shreds. The forensics of modern criminology
|
||
had been so compelling for Tyrone Duncan that he had missed the
|
||
impact that the mass proliferation of technology would have on
|
||
his first love - The Constitution.
|
||
|
||
The sudden revelations and realizations of the last several weeks
|
||
set his mind into high gear. Tyrone introspectively examined his
|
||
beliefs; he tried to review them from the perspective of an
|
||
idealistic young man in his twenties. What would he have done
|
||
then? He realized the answer was easier found now that he was a
|
||
man of experience: Do Something About It.
|
||
|
||
Far from a rebel looking for a cause, the cause jumped all over
|
||
Tyrone with a vengeance and the tenacity of a barnacle.
|
||
|
||
All at once Scott knew that Tyrone was serious and that he would
|
||
be a better friend if he congratulated instead of castigated.
|
||
|
||
"You know, I kind of understand a little. Same thing with my ex-
|
||
wife."
|
||
|
||
"Hey, that's not fair, man," Tyrone vigorously objected. "Maggie
|
||
was a dingbat . . ."
|
||
|
||
"I know that and she knew that," Scott agreed, "but that was what
|
||
made her Maggie." Tyrone nodded, remembering her antics. "And
|
||
in some ways we still love each other. After ten years of fun,
|
||
great fun, she wanted to get off of the planet more than I did,
|
||
so she went to California." The softness in Scott's voice said
|
||
he still cared about Maggie, that she was a cherished part of his
|
||
life, that was and would remain in the past.
|
||
|
||
Scott shook off the melancholy and continued. "It's the same for
|
||
you. You're married to the FBI, and while you still love it, you
|
||
need to let it go to move on with your life."
|
||
|
||
"Y'know, I don't know why everyone says you're so stupid," Tyrone
|
||
said with respect. "UFO's aside, you can actually make sense."
|
||
|
||
"Maybe, maybe not. Doesn't really matter. But I'm doing exactly
|
||
what I want to do. And the day it stops being fun, I'm outta
|
||
here."
|
||
|
||
"Isn't that the arrogance of wealth speaking?" Tyrone asked.
|
||
|
||
"And you're any different? The 22 room Tudor shack you live in
|
||
is not exactly my vision of poverty. As I see it, it's one of
|
||
the benefits," Scott said unembarrassed by his financial securi-
|
||
ty. "Before I made my money, I swore that when I got rich, I
|
||
would give something back. You know, to the planet or society or
|
||
something. Do something useful and not for the money." Scott
|
||
spoke with honest enthusiasm. "But I don't believe there's a
|
||
rule that says I have to be miserable. I love what I do, and
|
||
well, I don't know. The concept of career is different for me.
|
||
I like the idea of doing a little bit of everything for the
|
||
experience. You know, I drove a cab for one night. Glad I did,
|
||
but never again."
|
||
|
||
"So?" asked Tyrone.
|
||
|
||
"So, do what you want to do and enjoy it. Period. As a friend of
|
||
a friend says, live long and prosper."
|
||
|
||
Scott let Tyrone sit in contemplative silence as the waiter
|
||
brought them two more. They were doing a good job of sticking to
|
||
the plan of getting 'shiffaced'.
|
||
|
||
"You know," Tyrone opined, "INTERNET is only the tip of the
|
||
iceberg. NASA is having ECCO and CERT look into over $12 Million
|
||
in unaccounted-for telephone calls. The Justice Department sold
|
||
old computers containing the names and other details of the
|
||
Witness Protection Program to a junk dealer in Kentucky and
|
||
they're suing him to get them back. The Secret Service is rede-
|
||
signing its protection techniques for the President since someone
|
||
got into their computers and copied the plans. The computers at
|
||
Mitre have been used by hackers for years to get at classified
|
||
information. The public hears less than 1% of the computer
|
||
problems in the government. And still, no one will do anything.
|
||
There's even talk that the missing Plutonium that the Israelis
|
||
theoretically stole in 1981 was actually a computer error."
|
||
|
||
"What do you want to do about it?" Scott was asking as a friend,
|
||
not a reporter.
|
||
|
||
"First," said a newly determined Tyrone, "I'm gonna nail me some
|
||
of these mothers, and I'll do it with your help. Then, after
|
||
that?" Tyrone's old smile was suddenly back. "I think I'm gonna
|
||
kick myself some government ass." Tyrone roared with laughter
|
||
and Scott joined the contagious behavior. "In the meantime, I
|
||
want to take a look at some blackmail. I think you may be
|
||
right."
|
||
|
||
"About what? I don't listen to what I tell you."
|
||
|
||
"Remember you said that the blackmail scheme wasn't really
|
||
blackmail." Tyrone shifted his weight in the chair and he
|
||
reached for the words through is fogged mind. "You said it might
|
||
be a way to make us too busy to see our own shadow. That it was
|
||
a cover up for another dissociated crime."
|
||
|
||
"Yeah? It might be," Scott said.
|
||
|
||
Tyrone's body heaved while he snickered. "We finally have a lead.
|
||
Demands have been made."
|
||
|
||
"What kind? Who? What do they want?" Scott's journalist mind
|
||
clicked into gear. "What about the computer virus crap?"
|
||
|
||
"I'm kind of looking into both, but this morning my interest was
|
||
renewed. A corporate type I met says not only he, but another 25
|
||
or more of his corporate brethren are getting the same treatment.
|
||
If he's right, someone is demanding over $30 Million in ransoms."
|
||
|
||
"Jesus Christ! Is that confirmed?" Scott probed.
|
||
|
||
"Yes. That's why I said you were right."
|
||
|
||
The implications were tremendous, even to Scott's clouded mind.
|
||
While the legal system might not be convinced that computer
|
||
radiation was responsible for an obviously well coordinated
|
||
criminal venture, he, as an engineer, realized how vulnerable
|
||
anyone - everyone was. The questions raced through his mind all
|
||
at once.
|
||
|
||
Over a few dozen oysters and not as many drinks, Scott and Ty
|
||
proceeded to share their findings. Scott had documents up the
|
||
ying-yang, documents he couldn't use in a journalistic sense, but
|
||
might be valuable to the recent developments in Ty's case. He
|
||
had moved the files to his home; they were simply taking too much
|
||
space around his desk at the office. They were an added attrac-
|
||
tion to the disaster he called his study. Scott agreed to show
|
||
Ty some of them. After the meeting with Franklin Dobbs, and
|
||
knowing there might be others in similar situations, Ty wanted an
|
||
informal look at Scott's cache.
|
||
|
||
"I've been holding back, Ty," Scott said during a lull in their
|
||
conversation.
|
||
|
||
"How do you mean?"
|
||
|
||
"I got a call from a guy I had spoken to a few months ago; I
|
||
assume he sent me those files, and he said that key executives
|
||
throughout the country were being blackmailed. Some were borrow-
|
||
ing money from the mob to pay them off."
|
||
|
||
"Do you have names? Who?" Tyrone's took an immediate interest.
|
||
|
||
"Let me see if I have'm here," he said as he reached for his
|
||
small notebook in the sports jacket draped over the back of his
|
||
chair. "Yeah, he only gave me three, not much to go on. A
|
||
Faulkner, some banker from L.A., a Wall Street tycoon named
|
||
Henson and another guy Dobbs, Franklin Dobbs."
|
||
|
||
"Dobbs! How the hell do you know about Dobbs?" Tyrone yelled so
|
||
loud several remaining bar patrons looked over to see what the
|
||
ruckus was.
|
||
|
||
Scott was taken aback by the outburst. "What're you hollering
|
||
about?"
|
||
|
||
"Shit, goddamned shit, I don't need this." Tyrone finished one
|
||
and ordered another drink. He was keeping his promise; well on
|
||
the way to getting severely intoxicated. "Dobbs. Dobbs is the
|
||
poor fucker that came into my office."
|
||
|
||
"You saw Dobbs? He admitted it?" Scott's heart raced at the
|
||
prospect of a connection. Finally.
|
||
|
||
"Scott," Tyrone asked quietly, "I have no right to ask you this,
|
||
but I will anyway. If you find anything, on Dobbs, can you hold
|
||
back? Just for a while?" A slight pleading on Tyrone's part.
|
||
|
||
"Why?" Was this part of the unofficial trade with Ty for earlier
|
||
information?
|
||
|
||
The waiter returned with the credit card. Tyrone signed the
|
||
slip, giving the waiter entirely too much of a tip. "I'll tell
|
||
you on the train. Let's go."
|
||
|
||
"Where?"
|
||
|
||
"To your house. You have a computer, don't you?"
|
||
|
||
"Yeah . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Well, let's see if we can find out who the other 25 are."
|
||
|
||
They took a cab from the Scarsdale station to Scott's house. No
|
||
point in ending up in the clink for a DUI, even with a Federal
|
||
Agent in tow. Scott's study was in such disarray that he liter-
|
||
ally scraped off books and papers from the couch onto the floor
|
||
to find Ty a place to sit and he piled up bigger piles of files
|
||
to make room for their beers on one of his desks.
|
||
|
||
Scott and Tyrone hadn't by any means sobered up on the train, but
|
||
their thinking was still eminently clear. During the hour ride,
|
||
they reviewed what they knew.
|
||
|
||
Several prominent businessmen were being actively blackmailed.
|
||
In addition, the blackmailer, or a confederate, was feeding
|
||
information to the media. At a minimum the Times, and probably
|
||
the Expos<1B> . Perhaps other media as well were in receipt of simi-
|
||
lar information, but legitimate news organizations couldn't have
|
||
much to do with it in its current form.
|
||
|
||
Presumably then, like Scott, other reporters were calling names
|
||
in the files. Tyrone reasoned that such an exercise might be a
|
||
well planned maneuver on the part of the perpetrators.
|
||
|
||
"Think about it this way," he said. "Let's say you get a call
|
||
from someone who says they know something about you that you
|
||
don't want them to. That'll shake you up pretty good, won't it?"
|
||
Scott rapidly agreed. "Good. And the nature of the contact is
|
||
threatening, not directly, perhaps, but the undercurrent leaves
|
||
no doubt that the caller is not your best friend. Follow?"
|
||
|
||
"And then," Scott picked up, "a guy like me calls with the same
|
||
information. The last person in the world he wants to know about
|
||
his activities is a reporter, or to see it show up in the news,
|
||
so he really freaks."
|
||
|
||
"Exactly!" Tyrone slapped his thigh. "And, if he gets more than
|
||
one call, cardiac arrest is nearby. Imagine it. Makes for a good
|
||
case of justifiable paranoia."
|
||
|
||
Tyrone nodded vigorously. "I've been in this game long enough to
|
||
see the side effects of blackmail and extortion. The psycholog-
|
||
ical effects can be devastating. An inherent distrust of strang-
|
||
ers is common. Exaggerated delusions occur in many cases. But
|
||
think about this. If we're right, you begin to distrust every-
|
||
one, your closest friends, business associate, even your family.
|
||
Suddenly, everyone is a suspect. Distrust runs rampant and you
|
||
begin to feel a sense of isolation, aloneness. It feels like
|
||
you're fighting the entire world alone. Solitude can be the
|
||
worst punishment."
|
||
|
||
The analysis was sound. The far ranging implications had never
|
||
occurred to Scott. To him it had been a simple case of extortion
|
||
or blackmail using some high tech wizardry. Now, suddenly there
|
||
was a human element. The personal pain that made the crime even
|
||
that much more sinister.
|
||
|
||
"Well, we, I mean the FBI, have seven stake outs. It's a fairly
|
||
simple operation. Money drops in public places, wait and pick up
|
||
the guy who picks up the money." Tyrone made it sound so easy.
|
||
Scott wondered.
|
||
|
||
"I bet it isn't that simple," Scott challenged.
|
||
|
||
"No shit, it ain't," Tyrone came back.
|
||
|
||
"So whaddya do?"
|
||
|
||
"Pay and have another beer." Tyrone tempered the seriousness of
|
||
their conversation.
|
||
|
||
As Scott got up to go the kitchen he called out, "Hey, I been
|
||
thinking."
|
||
|
||
"Yeah?" Tyrone yelled.
|
||
|
||
He popped a Bud and handed it to Tyrone. "Listen, I know this
|
||
may be left field, but let's think it through." Scott sat behind
|
||
his desk and put his feet on top of some books on the desk. He
|
||
leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "We've been
|
||
talking about the front end of this thing, the front lines where
|
||
the victims are actually being blackmailed. The kind of stuff
|
||
that makes headlines." Scott smiled devilishly at Ty who made a
|
||
significant hand gesture in return. "And now you're talking
|
||
about how to catch them when they pick up the money. Have you
|
||
thought of the other side?"
|
||
|
||
"What other side?" Tyrone was still confused by Scott's logic.
|
||
|
||
"Assume for a moment that all this information is really coming
|
||
from computers. The CMR. Ok?" Ty grudgingly shrugged his shoul-
|
||
ders. "Ok, you said that there are 7 cases across the country.
|
||
Dobbs said he knew of more here. Right? Well, who gets the
|
||
information?"
|
||
|
||
Confusion showed on Tyrone's face. "Gets the information?"
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, who runs around the country listening in on computers?"
|
||
The question had been obvious to Scott. All of sudden Tyrone's
|
||
face lit up.
|
||
|
||
"You mean the van?"
|
||
|
||
"Right. How many vans would it take to generate all this?"
|
||
Scott pointed at several boxes next to the disorganized shelves.
|
||
|
||
"Damned if I know!"
|
||
|
||
"Neither do I, but I'll make a wild guess and say that there are
|
||
quite a few running around. One blew up, or more specifically,
|
||
was blown up. You guys have the pieces."
|
||
|
||
"Not any more," Ty said. "They were taken away by CI . Said it
|
||
was national security . I was told to stay away from it. Told
|
||
you about us Feds."
|
||
|
||
"Whatever," Scott waved away the sidebar. "The point is that if
|
||
a whole bunch of these vans were used, that's not cheap. They
|
||
held a lot of very expensive equipment. Why not look for the
|
||
vans? They can't be that hard to find. Maybe you'll find
|
||
your . . . "
|
||
|
||
"Holy Christ, Mother Mary and Joseph, why didn't I think of
|
||
that." Tyrone stood up and aimlessly meandered amongst Scott's
|
||
junk heaps. "We've been looking in one direction only. The van
|
||
ceased to exist in our minds since CI took it. The Government can
|
||
be a royal pain in the ass. The van, of course."
|
||
|
||
Just as Scott was going to describe how to find villains without
|
||
wasting hundreds of hours scouring data banks, his computer
|
||
beeped three times. Scott was shaken from his comfort. "What
|
||
the . . .?" He looked at the clock. It was just midnight.
|
||
Kirk! Kirk was calling and he totally had forgotten to mention
|
||
the computer ransacking to Ty.
|
||
|
||
"Great! It's Kirk. I wanted you to meet him." As Scott leaned
|
||
over the keyboard to answer the page, Tyrone looked quizzically
|
||
at him.
|
||
|
||
"Who's Kirk?"
|
||
|
||
"This hacker, some kid on the West Coast. He's taught me a lot.
|
||
Good guy. Hope to meet him someday." Scott pushed a few keys.
|
||
The screen came alive.
|
||
|
||
WTFO
|
||
|
||
"Hey," said Tyrone, "that's what we used to say in the Reserves."
|
||
|
||
Gotta Spook here.
|
||
|
||
SPOOK? YOU KNOW SPOOK?
|
||
|
||
Who's Spook?
|
||
|
||
YOU SAID HE'S WITH YOU
|
||
|
||
Not Spook, a spook. FBI guy.
|
||
|
||
FBI? YOU PROMISED.
|
||
|
||
Don't worry. Tell him yourself. Who is Spook, anyway?
|
||
|
||
SPOOK IS A HACKER, ONE OF THE BEST. BEEN ON THE SCENE FOR YEARS.
|
||
A FEW PEOPLE CLAIM TO HAVE MET HIM, BUT IT'S ALWAYS A FRIEND OF A
|
||
FRIEND OF A FRIEND. HE KEEPS A LOW PROFILE. THE WORD IS SPOOK IS
|
||
PLAYING SOME GOOD GAMES RECENTLY. THE FBI?
|
||
|
||
He's a friend. He doesn't know.
|
||
|
||
Tyrone had come over to the crowded desk to watch the exchange.
|
||
"Who is this guy? What don't I know?"
|
||
|
||
Kirk, can I tell him? No one knows who you are?
|
||
|
||
I GUESS SO.
|
||
|
||
Be back . . .
|
||
|
||
Scott proceeded to tell Tyrone about the warnings that Kirk
|
||
received and then how his computers were destroyed. That the
|
||
calling card warned Kirk to stay away from First State Bank. And
|
||
how another hacker calling himself Da Vinci on a BBS called
|
||
Freedom might be a link. Then Scott admitted that he had been in
|
||
on a bank robbery, or at least breaking and entering a bank's
|
||
computer.
|
||
|
||
Tyrone had enough. "I'm not sure I want to hear anymore. You
|
||
have been busy. So what can I do?"
|
||
|
||
"Tell Kirk what he can do," Scott said.
|
||
|
||
"He could probably go to jail. Bank computers, my God! Is that
|
||
where you get your stories? You live them and then report them in
|
||
the third person? Stories for the inquiring mind."
|
||
|
||
"Are you through! I mean, are you through?" Scott sounded per-
|
||
turbed.
|
||
|
||
"It's true. What does this guy want?"
|
||
|
||
"Advice. Talk to him. Here." Scott motioned for Tyrone to sit
|
||
at the keyboard.
|
||
|
||
"What do I do?"
|
||
|
||
"Just type," Scott said with exasperation. "You're as bad as my
|
||
mother. Type!" Scott ordered.
|
||
|
||
This is Ty
|
||
|
||
Scott pulled Ty's hands from the keyboard. "A handle, use a
|
||
handle, like on a CB!"
|
||
|
||
"Oh, yeah, I forgot," Tyrone lied.
|
||
|
||
This is the FBI
|
||
|
||
Scott looked on in shock. Tyrone laughed out loud. "He already
|
||
knows who I am. So what? I've always liked saying that anyway."
|
||
|
||
KIRK HERE, FBI, WHERE NO MAN HAS GONE BEFORE
|
||
|
||
So I hear. Been to any good banks lately?
|
||
|
||
REPO MAN, WHAT'S UP?
|
||
|
||
Can't take a joke?
|
||
|
||
YEAH. NO PROBLEM.
|
||
|
||
Listen, I don't know you from Adam, and you don't have to talk to
|
||
me, but I am curious. Did your computers really get bashed?
|
||
|
||
TOTALLY, DUDE.
|
||
|
||
Tyrone pointed his thumb at the computer. "Wise guy, eh?"
|
||
|
||
"Give him a chance. Generation gap." Tyrone didn't take kindly
|
||
to references to his age. Sensitive area.
|
||
|
||
Why?
|
||
|
||
CAUSE SOMEONE THINKS I KNOW SOMETHING THAT I DON'T
|
||
|
||
That's clear.
|
||
|
||
THANKS
|
||
|
||
Do you want to make a formal complaint?
|
||
|
||
WOULD IT DO ANY GOOD?
|
||
|
||
No.
|
||
|
||
THEN, NO
|
||
|
||
You think it was First State?
|
||
|
||
YES.
|
||
|
||
Don't you go around poking into other computers, too?
|
||
|
||
SURE
|
||
|
||
So why not someone else?
|
||
|
||
THEY DIDN'T GET INTO BIG TROUBLE FROM REPO MAN'S ARTICLE?
|
||
|
||
"He knows who you are?" Tyrone asked.
|
||
|
||
"Sure. He likes calling me Repo Man for some reason that still
|
||
escapes me.
|
||
|
||
Where else do you go?
|
||
|
||
THAT WOULD BE TELLING
|
||
|
||
Gotcha. Well, I guess that's about it.
|
||
|
||
PHEW!
|
||
|
||
<<<<<<CONNECTION TERMINATED>>>>>>
|
||
|
||
"I guess you scared him off." Scott was amused.
|
||
|
||
"Sorry," Tyrone said.
|
||
|
||
"He'll call back," Scott waved off the apology. "When the coast
|
||
is clear."
|
||
|
||
"Fuck off." Their friendship was returning to the level it once
|
||
had been.
|
||
|
||
"Hey, it's getting beyond late," Scott ignored him. "What say we
|
||
get together in a few days and sort through some of this."
|
||
|
||
"I know, but one thing. Can you get into your computers, at the
|
||
paper?"
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, why?"
|
||
|
||
"Dobbs said that the other victims had had their stock go down
|
||
pretty dramatically. Can you look up stock prices and perform-
|
||
ances over the last few months?"
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, do it all the time."
|
||
|
||
"Could you? I want to see if there are any names I recognize."
|
||
|
||
"No problem." Scott dialed the Times' computer and identified
|
||
himself. After going into the bank computer with Kirk, every
|
||
time he dialed up his office, he felt an increased sense of
|
||
power, and an increased sense of responsibility. He had access
|
||
to massive amounts of information that if it got into the wrong
|
||
hands . . .
|
||
|
||
He shook the thought. The computer offered the 'Stocks and Bonds
|
||
Menu' and Scott set up a query in a modified SQL that was simple
|
||
enough for reporters to use:
|
||
|
||
ALL STOCKS LOSING 35% OR MORE OF VALUE IN LAST YEAR.
|
||
|
||
The computer flashed a message. 'Working'. Scott leaned back.
|
||
"Takes a few seconds. Oh, as I was saying, when I get back,
|
||
I'll call and we'll see what we can screw together."
|
||
|
||
"Back from where?" Tyrone sounded accusatory but jealous.
|
||
|
||
"Europe. Amsterdam." Scott checked the computer screen. It was
|
||
still busy.
|
||
|
||
"Rough life."
|
||
|
||
"No, it's only for a couple of days. There's a hackers confer-
|
||
ence. I've been invited, by Kirk as a matter of fact."
|
||
|
||
"Hackers conference, sounds like tons of fun." Tyrone was not
|
||
impressed.
|
||
|
||
"The best hackers in the world are going to be there. I hope to
|
||
get some leads on the First State mess. The Freedom BBS is not
|
||
all it seems."
|
||
|
||
"Please stay in touch," Tyrone implored.
|
||
|
||
"Sure. Here we go. It's ready. Ah, let's see, there are 267
|
||
companies who meet that criterion. I guess that narrows it down
|
||
for you."
|
||
|
||
"Smart ass. Ah, can you get those in New York only?"
|
||
|
||
"The city? Sure."
|
||
|
||
SORT BY ZIP 100XX
|
||
|
||
"That'll give us . . ."
|
||
|
||
"I know what it means." Tyrone shut Scott up in mock defense.
|
||
In reality he didn't know much about computers, but some things
|
||
were obvious even to the technically naive.
|
||
|
||
"That was fast," said Scott. "Only 17. Help any?"
|
||
|
||
"Might. Can I get that on paper?"
|
||
|
||
Scott gave him the printout of the finances on the several unfor-
|
||
tunate companies who had lost more than a third of their net
|
||
worth in the last year. Tyrone folded it into his jacket pocket.
|
||
"Hey, call me a cab. I'm too drunk to walk."
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Wednesday, December 30
|
||
Lenox, Georgia
|
||
|
||
A faded blue Ford Econoline van sat in the Lenox Square parking
|
||
lot. The affluent Atlanta suburb had been targeted from the
|
||
beginning. Demographically ,it fit the bill to a tee.
|
||
|
||
From the outside, the van looked like a thousand other parked
|
||
cars; empty, with their owners shopping in the huge mall. On the
|
||
inside though, two men were intently operating a vast array of
|
||
electronic equipment.
|
||
|
||
"Here comes another one," said the first. "How many does that
|
||
make today?"
|
||
|
||
"A hundred and forty seven. Let's do it." The second man
|
||
watched the enhanced color video image on a small monitor. A
|
||
well dressed lady walked up to the ATM machine, card in hand.
|
||
The first man pressed a switch on another monitor and the snow
|
||
filled picture was transformed into an electronic copy of the
|
||
ATM's video display.
|
||
|
||
Please Insert Card
|
||
|
||
The screen in the van echoed the ATM screen.
|
||
|
||
"Can you tune it in a bit?" asked the first man. " It's a little
|
||
fuzzy."
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, we must have settled. Let me adjust the antenna." His
|
||
hand grabbed a joystick on one of the tightly packed racks of
|
||
equipment and gingerly moved it from left to right. "Is that
|
||
better?" A small disguised antenna on the roof of the van
|
||
aligned itself as the joystick commanded.
|
||
|
||
"Yeah . . .no . . .yeah, back again . . ."
|
||
|
||
"I see it. There."
|
||
|
||
"Thanks."
|
||
|
||
Enter Personal Identification Number:
|
||
|
||
A third monitor over the second man's cramped desk came to life
|
||
as the number 3435 appeared across his screen.
|
||
|
||
"Got it. You, too?"
|
||
|
||
"On disk and saved."
|
||
|
||
"I'll back it up."
|
||
|
||
"Better not. Here comes another one."
|
||
|
||
"Busy day."
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
It was a very busy day. Ahmed Shah saw to it that his followers
|
||
were kept busy, six days a week. As they had been for months.
|
||
|
||
When his army of a hundred plus Econoline vans were not raiding
|
||
the contents of unsuspecting computers during the day, they
|
||
became electronic ears which listened in on the conversations
|
||
between the ATM's and their bank customers.
|
||
|
||
Ahmed's vans were used most efficiently. On the road, doing his
|
||
bidding twenty four hours a day, every day but the Sabbath.
|
||
Ahmed created cells of eight loyal anti-American sympathizers,
|
||
regardless of nationality, to operate with each van. Each group
|
||
operated as an independent entity with only one person from each
|
||
able to communicate privately with Ahmed over cellular modem. No
|
||
cell knew of any other cell. If one group was apprehended, they
|
||
couldn't tell what they didn't know. Therefore, the rest of the
|
||
cells remain intact.
|
||
|
||
Absolute loyalty was an unquestioned assumption for all members
|
||
of Ahmed's electronic army. It had to be that way, for the
|
||
bigger cause.
|
||
|
||
All day and night one of Ahmed Shah's computers in his lab at
|
||
Columbia received constant calls from his cell leaders. During
|
||
the day it was the most interesting information that they had
|
||
captured from computer screens. At night, it was the passcodes
|
||
to automatic bank tellers machines and credit card information.
|
||
|
||
Once the passcodes were in hand, making fake ATM cards was a
|
||
trivial task.
|
||
|
||
****************************************************************
|
||
|
||
Chapter 18
|
||
|
||
Wednesday, January 6
|
||
Amsterdam, Holland
|
||
|
||
Scott Mason had a theory. It didn't matter than no one else
|
||
believed it, or that they thought him daffy. It worked for him.
|
||
|
||
He believed that jet lag was caused by the human body traveling
|
||
across mystical magnetic force fields called Ley lines. The
|
||
physics of his theory made common sense to anyone but a scien-
|
||
tist. It went like this: the body is electric and therefore
|
||
magnetic fields can influence it. Wherever we live we are sub-
|
||
ject to the local influence of magnetic, electrical and Ley
|
||
lines. If we move too quickly, as by plane, through Ley lines,
|
||
the balance of our system is disturbed. The more Ley lines you
|
||
traverse, the more upsetting it is to the system. Thus, jet lag.
|
||
|
||
But, Scott had a solution. Or more accurately, his mother had one
|
||
which she had convinced him of years earlier. Scott carried with
|
||
him a small box, the size of a pack of cigarettes, that had a
|
||
switch and a blinking light. It was called an Earth Resonance
|
||
Generator, or ERG. The literature said the ERG established a
|
||
negative gravity field through a magnetic Mobius loop. Inside
|
||
the box was a battery, a loop of wire, a light emitting diode and
|
||
the back side of the switch. In short, nothing of electronic
|
||
consequence or obvious function. There was no way in hell that
|
||
this collection of passive components could do anything other
|
||
than wear out batteries. All for $79.95 plus $4 shipping.
|
||
|
||
Scott first heard his mother proselytize about the magic of the
|
||
ERG when he was ten or twelve. His father, the role model for
|
||
Archie Bunker ignored her completely and said her rantings in-
|
||
creased with certain lunar phases. Since his father wouldn't
|
||
listen to her any longer, she endlessly lectured Scott about the
|
||
virtues of the ERG whenever she returned from a trip. His father
|
||
refused to travel, and had never even been on a plane.
|
||
|
||
His mother so persisted in her belief that she even tried experi-
|
||
ments. On one of her trips to Rome, she somehow talked the
|
||
stewardesses into handing out the 400 questionnaires she'd
|
||
brought with her onto the plane. It asked the passengers how
|
||
they felt after the flight, and if they do anything special to
|
||
avoid jet lag. She claims more than 200 were returned and that
|
||
they overwhelmingly indicated that no one felt jet lag on that
|
||
trip.
|
||
|
||
She attributed this immense success to the ERG effects which
|
||
purportedly spread over one acre. In other words, the ERG takes
|
||
care of an entire 747 or L-1011 or DC-10.
|
||
|
||
For years Scott successfully used the ERG to avoid jet lag. Some
|
||
people put brown paper bags in their shoes, others eat yogurt and
|
||
bean sprouts before a long flight. Maybe his solution was psy-
|
||
chosomatic, Scott admitted to anyone who asked, but, so what? It
|
||
still works, doesn't it? Scott was forever impressed that air-
|
||
port security had never, once, asked him what this little blink-
|
||
ing black box was. Scary thought.
|
||
|
||
He arrived completely refreshed via KLM at the Amsterdam Interna-
|
||
tional Airport at 9:15 A.M. While he had been to Europe many
|
||
times, he had thus far missed the Amsterdam experience. He had
|
||
heard that pot was legal in Amsterdam. In fact it was more than
|
||
legal. Every morning the marijuana prices were broadcast on the
|
||
local radio stations and Scott had every intention of sampling
|
||
the wares. After 20 years of casual pot use, he preferred it
|
||
immensely to the effects of drinking, and he was not going to
|
||
miss out on the opportunity.
|
||
|
||
In New York no one harassed pot smokers, but technically, it
|
||
still wasn't legal, while Amsterdam represented the ultimate
|
||
counterculture. This was the first time since Maggie had left
|
||
for the Coast three years ago that Scott felt an independence, a
|
||
freedom reminiscent of his rebellious teen years.
|
||
|
||
He gave the taxi driver the address of the Eureka! hotel, on the
|
||
Amstel. During the half hour fifty guilder ride into downtown,
|
||
the driver continuously chattered. "Amsterdam has more canals
|
||
than Venice. Many more. Holland is mostly land reclaimed from
|
||
the sea. We have the biggest system of dikes in Europe. Don't
|
||
forget to see our diamond centers." He spoke endlessly with deep
|
||
pride about his native land.
|
||
|
||
The Eureka! is a small four story townhouse with only 16 rooms
|
||
that overlooked the Amstel, the largest canal in Amsterdam,
|
||
similar to the Grand Canal in Venice. The Times had booked it
|
||
because it was cheap, but Scott felt instantly at home. After
|
||
settling in, Scott called the local number that Kirk had given
|
||
him.
|
||
|
||
"Hallo?" A thick Dutch accent answered the phone.
|
||
|
||
"Hello? I'm looking for Jon Gruptmann? This is Scott Mason."
|
||
|
||
"Ya, this is Jon."
|
||
|
||
"A mutual friend, Kirk, said I should call you."
|
||
|
||
"Ah, ya, ya. Repo Man, is it not?" The voice got friendly.
|
||
|
||
"That's what Kirk calls me."
|
||
|
||
"Ya, ya. He said you want to attend our meetings. Ya? Is that
|
||
so?" Jon sounded enthusiastic.
|
||
|
||
"That's why I swam the Atlantic, all three thousand miles. I
|
||
would love to!" Jon didn't sound like Scott expected a computer
|
||
hacker to sound, whatever that was.
|
||
|
||
"Huh?" Jon asked. "Ah, ya, a joke. Goot. Let me tell you where
|
||
we meet. The place is small, so it may be very crowded. I hope
|
||
you do not mind." Jon sounded concerned about Scott's comfort.
|
||
|
||
"Oh, no. I'm used to inconvenience. I'm sure it will be fine."
|
||
|
||
"Ya, ya. I expect so. The meetings don't really begin until
|
||
tomorrow at 9AM. Is that goot for you?"
|
||
|
||
"Yes, just fine, what's the address?" Scott asked as he readied
|
||
paper and pen.
|
||
|
||
"Ya. Go to the warehouse on the corner of Oude Zidjs Voorburg
|
||
Wal and Lange Niezel. It's around from the Oude Kerksplein.
|
||
Number 44."
|
||
|
||
"Hold it, I'm writing." Scott scribbled the address phonetically.
|
||
A necessary trick reporters use when someone is speaking unintel-
|
||
ligibly. "And then what?"
|
||
|
||
"Just say you're Repo Man. There's a list. And please remember,
|
||
we don't use our given names."
|
||
|
||
"No problem. Fine. Thank you."
|
||
|
||
"Ya. What do you plan for tonight?" Jon asked happily.
|
||
|
||
"I hadn't really thought about it," Scott lied.
|
||
|
||
"Ya, ya. Well, I think you should see our city. Enjoy the unique
|
||
pleasures Amsterdam has to offer."
|
||
|
||
"I might take a walk . . . or something."
|
||
|
||
"Ya, ya, or something. I understand. I will see you tomorrow.
|
||
Ya?" Jon said laughing.
|
||
|
||
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
|
||
|
||
"Do one favor?" Jon asked. "Watch your wallet. We have many
|
||
pickpockets."
|
||
|
||
"Thanks for the warning. See you tomorrow." Click. I grew up in
|
||
New York, Scott thought. Pickpockets, big deal.
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Scott took a shower to remove the vestiges of the eleven hour
|
||
trip; an hour ride to Kennedy, an hour and a half at the airport,
|
||
a half hour on the tarmac, seven hours on the plane, and an hour
|
||
getting into town.
|
||
|
||
He dressed casually in the American's travel uniform: jeans, jean
|
||
jacket and warm sweater. He laced his new Reeboks knowing that
|
||
Amsterdam is a walking city. Driving would be pure insanity
|
||
unless the goal is sitting in two hour traffic jams. The single
|
||
lane streets straddle the miles of canals throughout the inner
|
||
city which is arranged in a large semi-circular pattern. Down-
|
||
town, or old Amsterdam, is a dense collection of charming clean,
|
||
almost pristine 4 story buildings built over a period of several
|
||
hundred years. That's the word for Amsterdam; charming. From
|
||
late medieval religious structures to townhouses that are tightly
|
||
packed on almost every street, to the various Pleins where the
|
||
young crowds congregate in the evenings, Amsterdam has something
|
||
for everyone. Anne Frank's house to the Rembrandt Museum to a
|
||
glass roofed boat trip down the canals through the diamond dis-
|
||
trict and out into the Zeider Zee. Not to mention those attrac-
|
||
tions for the more prurient.
|
||
|
||
He ran down the two flights to the hotel lobby and found the
|
||
concierge behind the Heineken bar which doubled as a registration
|
||
desk. He wanted to know where to buy some pot.
|
||
|
||
"Not to find us selling that here," the Pakistani concierge said
|
||
in broken English.
|
||
|
||
"I know. But where . . ." It was an odd feeling to ask which
|
||
store sold drugs.
|
||
|
||
"You want Coffee Shop," he helpfully said.
|
||
|
||
"Coffee Shop?" Scott asked, skeptical of the translation.
|
||
|
||
"Across bridge, make right, make left." The concierge liberally
|
||
used his hands to describe the route. "Coffee shop. Very good."
|
||
|
||
Scott thanked him profusely and made a quick exit thinking that
|
||
in parts of the U.S., Texas came to mind, such a conversation
|
||
could be construed as conspiracy. He headed out into the cool
|
||
damp late morning weather. The air was crisp, clean, a pleasure
|
||
to breathe deeply. The Amstel canal, not a ripple present,
|
||
echoed the tranquility that one feels when walking throughout the
|
||
city. There are only a half dozen or so 'main' streets or boule-
|
||
vards in Amsterdam and they provide the familiar intense interna-
|
||
tional commercialism found in any major European city. It is
|
||
when one begins to explore the back streets, the countless alleys
|
||
and small passageways; the darkened corridors that provide a
|
||
short cut to the bridge to the next islet; it is then that one
|
||
feels the essence of Amsterdam.
|
||
|
||
Scott crossed over the bridge that spans the wide Amstel con-
|
||
scious of the small high speed car and scooters that dart about
|
||
the tiny streets. He turned right as instructed and looked at the
|
||
street names on the left. While Scott spoke reasonable French,
|
||
Dutch escaped him. Bakkerstraat. Was that the name? It was just
|
||
an alley, but there a few feet down on the right was the JPL
|
||
Coffee Shop. JPL was the only retail establishment on Bakker-
|
||
straat, and it was unassuming, some might call it derelict, in
|
||
appearance. From a distance greater than 10 meters, it appeared
|
||
deserted.
|
||
|
||
Through the large dirty plate glass window Scott saw a handful of
|
||
patrons lazing on white wrought iron cafe chairs at small round
|
||
tables. The Coffee Shop was no larger than a small bedroom.
|
||
Here goes nothing, Scott thought as he opened the door to enter.
|
||
No one paid scant attention to him as he crossed over and leaned
|
||
on the edge of the bar which was reminiscent of a soda fountain.
|
||
A man in his young twenties came over and amiably introduced him-
|
||
self as Chris, the proprietor of the establishment. How could he
|
||
be of service?
|
||
|
||
"Ah . . . I heard I can buy marijuana here," Scott said.
|
||
|
||
"Ya, of course. What do you want?" Chris asked.
|
||
|
||
"Well, just enough for a couple of days, I can't take it back
|
||
with me you know," Scott laughed nervously.
|
||
|
||
"Ya. We also have cocaine, and if you need it, I can get you he-
|
||
roin." Chris gave the sales pitches verbally - there was no
|
||
printed menu in this Coffee Shop.
|
||
|
||
"No!" Scott shot back immediately, until he realized that all
|
||
drugs were legal here, not just pot. He didn't want to offend.
|
||
"Thanks anyway. Just some grass will do."
|
||
|
||
"How many grams do you want?"
|
||
|
||
Grams? How many grams? Scott mused that the metric Europeans
|
||
thought in grams and Americans still in ounces and pounds. O.K.,
|
||
28 grams to an ounce . . .
|
||
|
||
"Two grams," Scott said. "By the way, how late are you open?"
|
||
Scott pushed his rounded spectacles back up his nose.
|
||
|
||
"Ah, sometimes 8, sometimes 10, sometimes late," Chris said while
|
||
bringing a tissue box sized lock box to the top of the bar. He
|
||
opened it and inside were several bags of pot and a block of
|
||
aluminum foil the size of a candy bar. "You want hashish?" Chris
|
||
offered.
|
||
|
||
Scott shook his head, 'no,' so Chris opened one of the bags in-
|
||
stead of the candy bar.
|
||
|
||
"You American?" A voice came from one of the tables. Scott
|
||
looked around. "Here," the voice said. "Me too." The man got
|
||
up and approached Scott. "Listen, they got two types of ganja
|
||
here. Debilitating and Coma. I've made the mistake."
|
||
|
||
"Ya, we have two kinds," Chris agreed laughing. "This will only
|
||
get you a little high," he said holding up a bag. "This one," he
|
||
held up another, "will get you stoned."
|
||
|
||
"Bullshit," the American said. "Their idea of a little high is
|
||
catatonic for us. Take my word for it. The Mexican shit we
|
||
smoke? They'd give it to the dogs."
|
||
|
||
"You sold me," Scott said holding his hands up in surrender.
|
||
"Just a little high is fine by me. Two grams, please," he said
|
||
to Chris pointing at the less potent bag. "Thanks for the warn-
|
||
ing," he said to the American. "Where you from?" Scott asked.
|
||
|
||
"Oh, around. I guess you could call Washington my home."
|
||
|
||
"D.C.?"
|
||
|
||
"Yeah," the American nodded. "And you?" He leaned over the back
|
||
of his chair to face Scott.
|
||
|
||
"Big Apple. The 'burbs."
|
||
|
||
"What brings you here?"
|
||
|
||
"To Europe?" Scott asked.
|
||
|
||
"Amsterdam. Sin City. Diamonds?"
|
||
|
||
"No, I wish," Scott laughed. "News. A story brought me here for
|
||
a couple of days."
|
||
|
||
Chris finished weighing Scott's purchase on a sensitive digital
|
||
scale that measured the goods down to the nearest hundredth of a
|
||
gram. Scott handed Chris $10 in Guilders and pocketed the pot.
|
||
"Um, where can I get some papers?" Scott asked. Chris pointed
|
||
to a glass on the bar with a complete selection of assorted
|
||
paraphernalia.
|
||
|
||
"Hey, why don't you join me," the American asked. "I've been to
|
||
Amsterdam before."
|
||
|
||
"Is it all right to smoke in here?" Scott asked looking around.
|
||
|
||
"Sure, that's what coffee shops are. The only other thing you
|
||
can buy in here is sodas. No booze." The American spoke confi-
|
||
dently as he lit up a joint and passed it to Scott.
|
||
|
||
"Thanks," Scott coughed as he handed it back. "Oh, I don't think
|
||
I caught your name.
|
||
|
||
"Oh, just call me Spook."
|
||
|
||
THE Spook? thought Scott. What incredible synchronicity.
|
||
|
||
Scott's body instantly tensed up and he felt the adrenaline rush
|
||
with an associated rise in pulse rate. Was this really the leg-
|
||
endary Spook?
|
||
|
||
Is it possible that he fell into a chance meeting with the hacker
|
||
that Kirk and his friends refer to as the king of hackers?
|
||
Spook? Gotta stay cool. Could he be that lucky? Was there more
|
||
than one spook? Scott momentarily daydreamed, remembering how
|
||
fifteen years before, in Athens, Greece he had opened a taxi door
|
||
right into the face a lady who turned out to be an ex-high-school
|
||
girl friend. It is a small world, Scott thought tritely.
|
||
|
||
"Spook? Are you a spy?" Scott comically asked, careful to dis-
|
||
guise his real interest.
|
||
|
||
"If I answer that I'll have to kill you," the Spook laughed out
|
||
loud in the quiet establishment. "Spy? Hardly. It's just a
|
||
handle." Spook said guardedly. "What's yours?"
|
||
|
||
"Mine? Oh, my handle. They call me Repo Man, but it's really
|
||
Scott Mason. Glad to meet you. Spook," he added handing back the
|
||
intoxicating cigarette.
|
||
|
||
BINGO! Scott Mason in hand without even a search. Landing right
|
||
in his lap. Keep your cool. Dead pan poker face. What unbe-
|
||
lievable luck. Don't blow it, let's play this for all that it's
|
||
worth. Your life just got very simple. Give both Homosoto and
|
||
Mason exactly what they want with no output of energy.
|
||
|
||
"You said you're a reporter," Spook said inhaling deeply again.
|
||
"What's the story?" At least he gets high, Spook thought. Mason
|
||
could have been a real dip-shit nerd. Thank God for small fa-
|
||
vors.
|
||
|
||
"There's a hacker conference that I was invited to," Scott said
|
||
unabashedly. "I'm trying to show the hacker's side of the story.
|
||
Why they do what they do. How they legitimize it to themselves."
|
||
Scott's mouth was rapidly drying out so he ordered a Pepsi. "I
|
||
assume you're a hacker, too," Scott broached the issue carefully.
|
||
|
||
Spook smiled widely. "Yup. And proud of it."
|
||
|
||
"You don't care who knows?" Scott asked looking around to see if
|
||
anyone was paying attention to their conversation. Instead the
|
||
other patrons were engrossed in chess or huddled conversation.
|
||
Only Chris, the proprietor listened from behind the bar.
|
||
|
||
"The Spook is all anyone knows. I like to keep it that way,"
|
||
Spook said as he laid the roach end of the joint in the ashtray.
|
||
"Not bad, huh?" He asked Scott.
|
||
|
||
"Christ, no. Kinda hits you between the eyes." Scott rubbed them
|
||
to clear off the invading fog.
|
||
|
||
"After a couple of days it won't get you so bad," Spook said.
|
||
"You said you wanted to do a fair story on hackers, right?"
|
||
|
||
"Fair? A fair story? I can only try. If hackers act and talk
|
||
like assholes then they'll come across like assholes, no matter
|
||
what I do. However, if they make a decent case, hold a rational,
|
||
albeit arguable position, then maybe someone may listen."
|
||
|
||
"You sound like you don't approve of our activities." The Spook
|
||
grinned devilishly.
|
||
|
||
"Honestly, and I shouldn't say this cause this is your grass,"
|
||
Scott said lighting the joint again. "No, I don't approve, but I
|
||
figure there's at least 10 sides to a story, and I'm here to find
|
||
that story and present all sides. Hopefully I can even line up a
|
||
debate or two. Convincing me is not the point; my readers make
|
||
up their own minds."
|
||
|
||
The word 'readers' momentarily jolted the Spook until he realized
|
||
Scott meant newspaper readers, not his team of Van-Ecking eaves-
|
||
droppers. Spook took the joint from Scott. "You sound like you
|
||
don't want to approve."
|
||
|
||
"Having a hard time with all the crap going down with computers
|
||
these days," Scott agreed. "I guess my attitude comes through in
|
||
my articles."
|
||
|
||
"I've never read your stuff," Spook lied.
|
||
|
||
"Mainly in New York."
|
||
|
||
"That explains it. Ever been to Amsterdam?"
|
||
|
||
"No, I was going to get a map and truck around . . ."
|
||
|
||
"How about I show you around, and try to convince you about the
|
||
honor of our profession?" Spook asked.
|
||
|
||
"Great!" Scott agreed. "But what about . . ." He made a motion
|
||
to his lips as if he was holding a cigarette.
|
||
|
||
"Legal on the streets."
|
||
|
||
"You sure?"
|
||
|
||
"C'mon," Spook said rising from his chair. "Chris, see you
|
||
later," he promised. Chris reciprocated and invited his two new
|
||
friends to return any time.
|
||
|
||
Scott followed Spook up the alley named Bakkerstraat and into the
|
||
Rembrandt Plein, a huge open square with cafes and street people
|
||
and hotels. "At night," Spook said, "Rembrandt and another 4 or
|
||
5 pleins are the social hub of activity for the younger genera-
|
||
tion. Wished I had had this when I was a kid. How are your
|
||
legs?" The Spook amorously ogled the throngs of young women
|
||
twenty years his junior.
|
||
|
||
"Fine, why?"
|
||
|
||
"I'm going to show you Amsterdam."
|
||
|
||
Scott and the Spook began walking. The Spook knew his way around
|
||
and described much of the history and heritage of the city, the
|
||
country and its culture. This kind of educated hacker was not
|
||
what Scott had expected. He had thought that today's hackers
|
||
were nerds, the propeller heads of his day, but he was discover-
|
||
ing through the Spook, that he may have been wrong. Scott remem-
|
||
bered Clifford Stoll's Hanover Hacker was a well positioned and
|
||
seemingly upstanding individual who was selling stolen computer
|
||
information to the KGB. How many nerds would have the gumption
|
||
to play in that league?
|
||
|
||
They walked to the outer edge of Old Amsterdam, on the Singel-
|
||
gracht at the Leidseplein. Without a map or the Spook, Scott
|
||
would have been totally lost. The streets and canals were all so
|
||
similar that, as the old phrase goes, you can't tell the players
|
||
without a scorecard. Scott followed the Spook onto an electric
|
||
street car. It headed down the Leidsestraat, one of the few
|
||
heavily commercial streets and across the Amstel again.
|
||
|
||
The street car proceeded up the Nieuwezuds Voorburgwal, a wide
|
||
boulevard with masses of activities on both sides. This was
|
||
tourist madness, thought Scott.
|
||
|
||
"This is freedom," said the Spook.
|
||
|
||
"Freedom?" The word instantly conjured his memory of the Freedom
|
||
League, the BBS he suspected was up to no-good. The Spook and
|
||
Freedom?
|
||
|
||
"At the end of this street is the Train Station. Thousands of
|
||
people come through this plaza every day to experience Amsterdam.
|
||
Get whatever it is out of their system. The drugs, the women,
|
||
the anarchy of a country that relies upon the integrity of its
|
||
population to work. Can't you feel it?" The Spook positively
|
||
glowed as he basked in the aura of the city.
|
||
|
||
Scott had indeed felt it during their several hours together. An
|
||
intense sense of independence that came from a generation of
|
||
democratic socialism. Government regulated drugs, a welfare
|
||
system that permitted the idle to live nearly as well as the
|
||
working. Class structures blurred by taxes so extraordinarily
|
||
high that most everyone lived in similarly comfortable condi-
|
||
tions. Poverty is almost non-existent.
|
||
|
||
Yet, as the Spook explained to Scott, "This is not the world for
|
||
an entrepreneur. That distinction still belongs to the ol' Red,
|
||
White and Blue. It's almost impossible to make any real money
|
||
here."
|
||
|
||
The sun was setting behind the western part of the city, over the
|
||
church steeples and endless rows of townhouses.
|
||
|
||
"Hungry yet?" Spook grinned at Scott.
|
||
|
||
"Hungry? I got a case of the munchies that won't quit. Let's
|
||
eat." Scott's taste buds were entering panic mode.
|
||
|
||
"Good," the Spook said as he lit up another joint on the street
|
||
car. "Let's eat." He hastily leapt off the slow moving vehicle.
|
||
Scott followed him across the boulevard and dodged cars, busses
|
||
and bicycles. They stopped in front of a small Indonesian res-
|
||
taurant, Sarang Mas, ably disguised with a red and white striped
|
||
awning and darkened windows.
|
||
|
||
"Ever had Indonesian food?"
|
||
|
||
"No, well maybe, in New York I guess . . ."
|
||
|
||
Miles dragged Scott into the unassuming restaurant and the calm-
|
||
ing strains of Eastern music replaced the city noises on the
|
||
street outside. The red and white plastic checkered tablecloths
|
||
severely clashed with the gilt of the pagoda shaped decorations
|
||
throughout. But only by American tastes. Sarang Mas was a much
|
||
touted and reputable restaurant with very fine native Indonesian
|
||
chefs doing the preparations.
|
||
|
||
"Let me tell you something," the Spook said. "This food is the
|
||
absolute finest food available, anywhere in the world, bar no
|
||
idyllic island location, better than a trip to Hershey, Pennsyl-
|
||
vania to cure a case of the munchies. It's delicate, it's sweet,
|
||
it's taste bud heaven, it's a thousand points of flavor you've
|
||
never tried before." The Spook sounded like a hawker on the Home
|
||
Shopping Network.
|
||
|
||
"Shut up," Scott joked. "You're just making it worse."
|
||
|
||
"Think of the oral orgasm that's coming. Anticipation." The
|
||
waiter had appeared and waited patiently. It was still early and
|
||
the first seating crowd was two hours away. "Do you mind if I
|
||
order?"
|
||
|
||
"No, be my guest. Just make it fast food. Super fast food,"
|
||
Scott begged.
|
||
|
||
"Ah, let's have a couple of Sate Kambings to start, ah, and we'll
|
||
share some Daguig Goreng, and some Kodok Goreng and ah, the Guila
|
||
Kambing. And," Spook looked at Scott, "a couple of Heinekens?"
|
||
Scott nodded. "And, if there's any way you could put that order
|
||
into warp drive, my friend here," he pointed at Scott, "would
|
||
appreciate it muchly."
|
||
|
||
"Very good," the dark skinned Indonesian waiter replied as he
|
||
scurried back to the kitchen.
|
||
|
||
It still took half an hour for the appetizers to arrive. Scott
|
||
chewed up three straws and tore two napkins into shreds while
|
||
waiting.
|
||
|
||
"What is this," asked Scott as he voraciously dove into the food.
|
||
|
||
"Does it matter?"
|
||
|
||
"No," Scott bit into it. "Mmmmmmm . . .Holy shit, that's good,
|
||
what is it?"
|
||
|
||
"Goat parts," the Spook said with a straight face.
|
||
|
||
Scott stopped chewing. "Which goat parts?" he mumbled staring
|
||
over the top of his round glasses.
|
||
|
||
"The good parts," said the Spook taking two big bites. "Only the
|
||
good parts."
|
||
|
||
"It's nothing like, eyeballs, or lips or . . ." Scott was gross-
|
||
ing himself out.
|
||
|
||
"No, no, paysan, eat up. It's safe." The Spook made the Italian
|
||
gesture for eating. "Most of the time." The Spook chuckled as
|
||
he ravaged the unidentifiable goat parts on his plate.
|
||
|
||
Scott looked suspiciously at the Spook, who seemed to be surviv-
|
||
ing. How bad could it be? It tasted great, phenomenal, but what
|
||
is it? Fuck it. Scott wolfed down his goat parts in total ecsta-
|
||
sy. The Spook was right. This was the best tasting food he had
|
||
had, ever.
|
||
|
||
The rest of the meal was as sensorally exquisite as the appetiz-
|
||
er. Scott felt relieved once the waiter had promised that the
|
||
goat parts were from a goat roast, just like a rib roast or a
|
||
pork roast. Nothing disgusting like ear lobes. Ecch!
|
||
|
||
"So you want to know why we do it," said the Spook in between
|
||
nibbles of Indonesian frog legs. Scott had to think hard to
|
||
realize that the Spook had shifted the conversation to hacking.
|
||
|
||
"It had occurred to me," responded Scott. "Why do you do it?"
|
||
|
||
"I've always liked biology, so hacking became the obvious
|
||
choice," Spook said laughing. Scott looked perplexed but that
|
||
didn't interrupt his voracious attack on the indescribably deli-
|
||
cious foods on his plate.
|
||
|
||
"How old are you?" Asked the Spook.
|
||
|
||
"The Big four-oh is in range."
|
||
|
||
"Good, me too. Remember Marshall McCluhan?"
|
||
|
||
"The medium is the message guru." Scott had admired him and made
|
||
considerable effort to attend a few of his highly motivating
|
||
lectures.
|
||
|
||
"Exactly. He predicted it 20 years early. The Networked Socie-
|
||
ty." The Spook paused to toss more food into his mouth. "How
|
||
much do you know about computers?"
|
||
|
||
"I'm learning," Scott said modestly. Whenever asked that ques-
|
||
tion he assumed that he was truly ignorant on the subject despite
|
||
his engineering degree. It was just that computers had never
|
||
held the fascination for him that they did for others.
|
||
|
||
"O.K., let me give you the low down." The Spook sucked down the
|
||
last of the Heineken and motioned to the waiter for two more. He
|
||
wiped his lips and placed his napkin beside the well cleaned
|
||
plate. "At what point does something become alive?"
|
||
|
||
"Alive?" Scott mused. "When some carbon based molecules get the
|
||
right combination of gases in the proper proportions of tempera-
|
||
ture and pressure . . ."
|
||
|
||
"C'mon, guy. Use your imagination," the Spook scoffed with his
|
||
eyes twinkling. "Biologically, you're right, but philosophically
|
||
that's pretty fucking lame. Bart Simpson could come up with
|
||
better than that." The Spook could be most insulting without
|
||
even trying. "Let me ask you, is the traffic light system in New
|
||
York alive?"
|
||
|
||
"No way!" Retorted Scott. "It's dead as a doornail, programmed
|
||
for grid lock." They both laughed at the ironic choice for
|
||
analogy.
|
||
|
||
"Seriously, in many ways it can be considered alive," the Spook
|
||
said. "It uses electricity as its source of power or food.
|
||
Therefore it eats, has a digestive system and has waste product;
|
||
heat. Agreed?"
|
||
|
||
Scott nodded. That was a familiar personification for engineer-
|
||
ing students.
|
||
|
||
"And, if you turn off the power, it stops functioning. A tempo-
|
||
rary starvation if you will. It interacts with its environment;
|
||
in this case with sensors and switches that react to the condi-
|
||
tions at any particular moment. And lastly, and most important-
|
||
ly, it has purpose." Scott raised his eyebrows skeptically.
|
||
"The program, the rules, those are its purpose. It is coinciden-
|
||
tally the same purpose that its designers had, but nonetheless it
|
||
has purpose."
|
||
|
||
"That doesn't make it alive. It can't think, as we do, and there
|
||
is no ego or personality," Scott said smugly.
|
||
|
||
"So what? Since when does plankton or slime mold join Mensa?
|
||
That's sentience." Spook walked right over Scott's comment.
|
||
|
||
"O.K.," Scott acquiesced. "I'm here to play Devil's Advocate,
|
||
not make a continent of enemies."
|
||
|
||
"Listen, you better learn something early on," Spook leaned in
|
||
over the table. His seriousness caught Scott's attention. "You
|
||
can disagree with us all you want, that's not a problem, most
|
||
everyone does. But, we do expect fairness, personal and profes-
|
||
sional."
|
||
|
||
"Meaning?"
|
||
|
||
"Meaning," the dimples in Spook's smiling cheeks radiated cama-
|
||
raderie. "Don't give up on an argument so early if you believe
|
||
in it. That's a chicken shit way out of taking a position. Real
|
||
kindergarten." The Spook finished off his Heineken in two gulps.
|
||
|
||
Scott's tension eased realizing the Spook wanted the debate, the
|
||
confrontation. This week could be a lot more fun than he had
|
||
thought.
|
||
|
||
"At any rate, can you buy into that, that the traffic systems are
|
||
alive?" The Spook asked again.
|
||
|
||
"I'll hold my final judgment in abeyance, but for sake of discus-
|
||
sion, let's continue," acquiesced Scott.
|
||
|
||
"Fair enough. In 1947, I think that was the year, some guy said
|
||
that he doubted there would be world wide market for more than
|
||
three computers."
|
||
|
||
Scott choked on his beer. "Three? Ha! What mental moron came up
|
||
with that?"
|
||
|
||
"Watson. Thomas Watson, founder of IBM," the Spook said dead
|
||
pan.
|
||
|
||
"You're kidding."
|
||
|
||
"And what about Phil Estridge?"
|
||
|
||
"Who's that?"
|
||
|
||
"Another IBM'er," said the Spook. "He was kind of a renegade,
|
||
worked outside of the mainstream corporate IBM mold. His bosses
|
||
told him, 'hey, we need a small cheap computer to tie to our
|
||
bigger computers. This little company Apple is selling too many
|
||
for us not to get involved. By the way, Corporate Headquarters
|
||
thinks this project is a total waste of money; they've been
|
||
against it from the outset. So, you have 8 months.' They gave
|
||
him 8 months to build a computer that would set standards for
|
||
generations of machines. And, he pulled it off. Damned shame he
|
||
died.
|
||
|
||
"So, here we have IBM miss-call two of the greatest events in
|
||
their history yet they still found ways to earn tens of billions
|
||
of dollars. Today we have, oh, around a hundred million comput-
|
||
ers in the world. That's a shitload of computers. And we're
|
||
cranking out twelve million more each year.
|
||
|
||
"Then we tied over fifty million of these computers together. We
|
||
used local area networks, wide area networks, dedicated phone
|
||
lines, gate ways, transmission backbones all in an effort to
|
||
allow more and more computers to talk to each other. With the
|
||
phone company as the fabric of the interconnection of our comput-
|
||
ers we have truly become a networked society. Satellites further
|
||
tighten the weave on the fabric of the Network. With a modem
|
||
and telephone you have the world at your fingertips." The Spook
|
||
raised his voice during his passionate monologue.
|
||
|
||
"Now we can use computers in our cars or boats and use cellular
|
||
phone links to create absolute networkability. In essence we
|
||
have a new life form to deal with, the world wide information
|
||
Network."
|
||
|
||
"Here's where we definitely diverge," objected Scott, hands in
|
||
the air. "Arriving at the conclusion that a computer network is
|
||
a life form, requires a giant leap of faith that I have trouble
|
||
with."
|
||
|
||
"Not faith, just understanding," the Spook said with sustained
|
||
vigor. "We can compare networks to the veins and blood vessels
|
||
in our bodies. The heart pumps the blood, the lungs replenish
|
||
it, the other organs feed off of it. The veins serve as the
|
||
thoroughfares for blood just as networks serve as highways for
|
||
information. However, the Network is not static, where a fixed
|
||
road map describes its operation. The Network is in a constant
|
||
state of flux, in all likelihood never to repeat the same pattern
|
||
of connections again.
|
||
|
||
"So you admit," accused Scott, "that a network is just a conduit,
|
||
one made of copper and silicon just as the vein in a conduit?"
|
||
|
||
"Yes, a smart conduit," the Spook insisted. "Some conduits are
|
||
much smarter than others. The Network itself is a set of rules
|
||
by which information is transmitted over a conductive material.
|
||
You can't touch a network. Sure, you can touch the computer, the
|
||
network wire, you can touch the bits and pieces that make up the
|
||
Network, but you cannot touch the Network. The Network exists as
|
||
a synergistic byproduct of many dissimilar and physically isolat-
|
||
ed devices."
|
||
|
||
"I must admit Spook . . ."
|
||
|
||
"That's Mister Spook to you earth man," joked the Spook. "Sorry,
|
||
continue."
|
||
|
||
"I could probably nickel and dime you into death by boredom on
|
||
several points, but I will concede that they are arguable and
|
||
better relegated for a long evening of total disagreement. For
|
||
the sake of world peace I will not press the issue now."
|
||
|
||
"How very kind," mocked the Spook. "Let's get out of here, take
|
||
a walk, and I'll continue your education."
|
||
|
||
If anyone else spoke to Scott so derogatorily, there would be
|
||
instant conflict. The Spook, though, didn't raise the defense
|
||
mechanism in Scott. Spook was actually a likable fellow, if
|
||
somewhat arrogant.
|
||
|
||
They walked back down Nieuwezuds Voorburgwal and Beursplein very
|
||
slowly. The Spook lit up another joint.
|
||
|
||
"What's this," said Scott appreciatively, "an endless supply?"
|
||
|
||
"When in Rome!" replied Spook. The brightly lit grand boulevard
|
||
was a sample of the energy that permeates the Amsterdam night
|
||
life. The train station was still a hub of activity in the
|
||
winter darkness of early evening.
|
||
|
||
"So look at the Network. You can cut off its tentacles, that's
|
||
better than legs and feet in this case, and they will reappear,
|
||
reconnect somewhere else. Alternate routing bypasses trouble
|
||
spots, self diagnostics help the Network doctors, priority and
|
||
preferences are handled according to a clear set of rules."
|
||
Spook waved his hands to reinforce his case.
|
||
|
||
"That's, ah, quite, ah, a theory. What do the experts say about
|
||
this?" Scott was teetering on the edge of partial acceptance.
|
||
|
||
"Experts? We're the experts. That's why we hack, don't you
|
||
see?" The answer was so obvious it didn't deserve a question.
|
||
"Now, I can only speak for myself, but I find that the Network
|
||
organism itself is what's interesting. The network, the sponta-
|
||
neously grown information organism that covers most of the planet
|
||
Earth. I believe that is why all hackers start hacking. Innate
|
||
curiosity about the way things work. Then, before our eyes, and
|
||
behind the back of the world, the planet gets connected, totally
|
||
connected to each other, and we haven't examined the ramifica-
|
||
tions of that closeness, computer-wise that is. That's what we
|
||
do." The Spook sounded satisfied with his explanation.
|
||
|
||
Scott thought about it as they crossed Kerksplein and over canals
|
||
to the Oude Zijds Voorbugwal. Was the Spook spouting off a lot
|
||
of rationalized bullshit or were he and the likes of him actually
|
||
performing valuable services, acting as technological sociolo-
|
||
gists to five billion clients? If a network was alive, thought
|
||
Scott, it was alive in the sense that a town or village is alive,
|
||
as the sum of its parts. As a society is alive. If the computer
|
||
terminal and its operator are members of a global village, as are
|
||
thousands of other computer users, might that not be considered a
|
||
society? Communications are indeed different, but Scott remem-
|
||
bered that Flatland was considered a valid society with a unique
|
||
perspective on the universe. Is it any different than the tele-
|
||
phone, which connects everyone on the planet? Shit, Spook made
|
||
some sense.
|
||
|
||
They paused on a bridge by the Voorsbugwal, and a few blocks down
|
||
the canal Scott saw a concentration of bright lights. "What's
|
||
that?" He asked.
|
||
|
||
"Poontang," the Spook said lasciviously.
|
||
|
||
"Say wha?" Scott asked
|
||
|
||
"This is Horny Heaven, Ode to Orgasm, Pick a Perversion." The
|
||
Spook proudly held his arms out.
|
||
|
||
"Aha, the Red Light District," Scott added dryly.
|
||
|
||
"Don't take the romance out of it, this is sleaze at it's best.
|
||
Believe me I know." Somehow Scott had no doubts. With the way
|
||
Spook was passionately describing the specific acts and services
|
||
available within the 10 square block hotbed of sex, Scott knew
|
||
that the Spook was no novice. They grabbed a couple of Heinekens
|
||
from a bar and slowly strolled down one side of the carnal canal.
|
||
|
||
"I was going to go to the Yab Yub tonight, but since you've never
|
||
been here before, I figured I owed you a tour."
|
||
|
||
"Yab Yub? Am I supposed to know . . ."
|
||
|
||
"The biggest bestest baddest whorehouse in Amsterdam," said Spook
|
||
exuberantly.
|
||
|
||
"O.K., fine, and this is . . ."
|
||
|
||
"The slums."
|
||
|
||
"Thanks a lot," Scott said sarcastically.
|
||
|
||
"No, this is for middle class tourist sex. Yab Yub is first
|
||
class but this'll do me just fine. How about you? Ready for some
|
||
serious debauching?" The Spook queried.
|
||
|
||
"Huh?" Scott laughed anxiously. "Oh, I don't know, I've never
|
||
been terribly fond of hookers."
|
||
|
||
"First time when I was 13. My uncle took me to a whorehouse for
|
||
my birthday. Shit," the Spook fondly grinned at the memory.
|
||
"I'll never forget the look on my mom's face when he told her.
|
||
She lectured him for a week. Christ," he paused. "It's so funny,
|
||
you know. My uncle's gay."
|
||
|
||
Scott was enjoying the conversation and the company of the Spook.
|
||
Americans meeting up with kindred Americans in a foreign land is
|
||
a breath of fresh air and the Spook provided that.
|
||
|
||
Scott window shopped as they walked, sidestepping the very few
|
||
venturesome cars which attempted to penetrate the horny humanity
|
||
on the crowded cobblestone streets. The variety of sexual mate-
|
||
rials was beyond comprehension. Spook seemed to be avidly fluent
|
||
in their description and application. In one window, a spiked
|
||
dildo of emmense girth and length dominated the display. Scott
|
||
grimaced at the weapon while the Spook commented on it's possible
|
||
uses at an adult sit'n'spin party.
|
||
|
||
"Here's the live sex show," the Spook said invitingly. "Pretty
|
||
wild. Look at the pictures." Scott leaned over to view a set of
|
||
graphic photographs that would have caused the Meese Commission
|
||
on Pornography to double dose on its Geritol.
|
||
|
||
"Damn, they show this stuff on the street, huh?" Asked the sur-
|
||
prised Scott. He wasn't naive, it was just quite a shock to see
|
||
such graphic sexuality in such a concentration and in such an
|
||
open manner. On Sundays when the Red Light District is closed
|
||
until 6 P.M., many Dutch families use the window dressings as the
|
||
textbook for their children's' sex education. "No, let's keep
|
||
going," Scott said unconvinced he would partake of the pleasures.
|
||
|
||
"Isn't this great?" The Spook blurted out as Scott was looking
|
||
in the window of one of the hundred plus sex shops. "I just love
|
||
it. Remember I was telling you about freedom in Amsterdam? It's
|
||
kind of like the hacker's ethic."
|
||
|
||
Spook was going to equate sex and hacking? "Is that 'cause all
|
||
hacker's are hard up?" Scott laughed.
|
||
|
||
"No, dig it." The Spook suddenly stopped to face Scott. "Free-
|
||
dom, total freedom implies and requires responsibility. Without
|
||
that, the system would collapse into chaotic anarchy. Hacking is
|
||
a manifestation of freedom. Once we have cracked a system, and
|
||
are in it, we have the freedom to do anything we want. But that
|
||
freedom brings responsibility too, and, just like with sex so
|
||
freely available, legally, it must be handled with care." Spook
|
||
was sermonizing again, but was making more sense. His parallels
|
||
were concise and poignant.
|
||
|
||
They walked further into the heart of the District and the Spook
|
||
was constantly distracted by the quantity of red lights over the
|
||
basement and first floor windows. He wanted to closely examine
|
||
the contents of every one. In each window was a girl, sometimes
|
||
two, clad in either a dental floss bathing suit or a see through
|
||
penoire. Scott enjoyed the views, but thought that the Spook was
|
||
acting somewhat obsessively. The calm, professional, knowledge-
|
||
able hacker had reverted into a base creature, driven by hormonal
|
||
compulsion. Or then again, maybe they were just stoned.
|
||
|
||
"I gotta pick the right one, just the right one," the Spook said.
|
||
"Let's see what else is available. Got to find you a good one,
|
||
too."
|
||
|
||
Scott shook his head. "I don't know . . ."
|
||
|
||
"What, you don't wanna get laid? What's the matter with you?"
|
||
The Spook couldn't believe his ears.
|
||
|
||
The sheer intensity of the omnipresent sexual stimulation gave
|
||
Scott the urge to pause and ask himself why. The desire was
|
||
physically manifest, but the psychology of hookers; it wasn't his
|
||
style. In the three years since he and Maggie had split, Scott
|
||
occassioned to spend time with many ladies. He had kept himself
|
||
in reasonable shape without doing becoming fanatic about it, and
|
||
his high metabolism helped keep the body from degenerating ahead
|
||
of schedule. So he had had his share of companionship and oppor-
|
||
tunity, but right now he was enjoying the freedom of his work and
|
||
the pleasures that that offered. If a woman was in the cards, so
|
||
be it, but it was not essential at the moment.
|
||
|
||
"Nothing, it's just that, well, I prefer to know the lady, if you
|
||
know what I mean."
|
||
|
||
"Oh, no problem!" The Spook had an answer. "That's an all night-
|
||
er and will cost you 1000 guilders."
|
||
|
||
"No, no," Scott said quickly. "That's not it. I just don't get
|
||
a charge from hookers. Now, if some friends set it up to like a
|
||
real pick-up, at the beach, a bar, whatever, as long as I didn't
|
||
know. That could prove interesting. Hmmmm." He smiled to
|
||
himself. "But honestly? I been a couple of times, just for
|
||
giggles. And boy was it giggles."
|
||
|
||
Scott laughed out loud at the memory. "The first time it was a
|
||
friend's birthday and a bunch of us put up enough to get him laid
|
||
at the Chicken Ranch." That was the evening Scott had lost
|
||
almost two hours of his life on the drive back to Vegas. He
|
||
speculated to himself, in private, that he may been abducted by
|
||
alien creatures from a UFO. Right.
|
||
|
||
"I know the place," added the Spook.
|
||
|
||
"I was designated drunk driver so I drove him over to the high
|
||
desert in the company van, about an hour's drive. Before we went
|
||
in I insisted on a couple of beers. He was getting laid and I
|
||
was nervous. Go figure. At any rate, the security cameras let
|
||
us in and two very attractive ladies in slinky gowns lead us over
|
||
to the couch. They immediately assumed that we were both there
|
||
for, well, the services. I was too embarrassed to say no, that I
|
||
wasn't interested, but then out came a line of 20 of the most
|
||
gorgeous girls you could imagine. The madam, I forget her name,
|
||
stepped in and begged our indulgence for the interruption. It
|
||
seems, she said, that the BBC was filming a documentary on broth-
|
||
els, and they had a camera crew in the next room, and would we
|
||
mind too terribly much if they filmed us?" Scott feigned extreme
|
||
shock.
|
||
|
||
"Filmed you? For TV? Even I won't go that far," the Spook said
|
||
impressed with Scott's story. "My movies are all first run
|
||
private. Alphabetical from Adelle to Zelda."
|
||
|
||
"Not film that, pervert!" He had pegged the Spook. "They only
|
||
filmed the selection process, the initial meetings and then the
|
||
walk down the hallways to the bedrooms."
|
||
|
||
"So what'd you do?" The Spook asked with interest.
|
||
|
||
"We did the camera bit, Jim got laid and I take the fifth."
|
||
|
||
"You chicken shit asshole," hollered the laughing Spook.
|
||
|
||
Scott took that as a compliment from the male slut to whom he was
|
||
speaking. "Listen, that was a long time ago, before I was mar-
|
||
ried, and I don't want it to screw up our divorce. Three years of
|
||
bliss."
|
||
|
||
The Spook kept laughing. "You really are a home boy, huh?" He
|
||
gasped for air. They continued down a side street and back up
|
||
the Oude Zijds Achterburgwal, the other main canal in the Dis-
|
||
trict, so Spook could check out more windows. Those with the
|
||
curtain drawn indicated that either services were being rendered
|
||
or that it was lunch hour. Hard to tell.
|
||
|
||
As they passed the Guys and Gals Sex Shop, the Spook abruptly
|
||
stopped and stepped back toward the canal. He whistled to him-
|
||
self in appreciation of the sex goddesses that had captured his
|
||
attention. In the basement window was a stunning buxom brunette,
|
||
wearing an invisible g-string and bra. She oozed sexuality with
|
||
her beckoning lips and fingers when she spotted the Spook's
|
||
interest. In the first floor window above the brunette were two
|
||
perfectly voluptuous poster blondes, in matching transparent
|
||
peignoirs. They too, saw the Spook, and attempted to seduce him
|
||
to their doorway. Scott was impressed that the ladies were so
|
||
attractive.
|
||
|
||
"Some sweet meat, huh?" Said the Spook ogling his choices. "Well
|
||
are you or aren't you?" He asked with finality. "I'm all systems
|
||
go. You get first choice: 2 from window A or 1 from window B.
|
||
What'll it be?"
|
||
|
||
Scott responded immediately. "I got a safer way. There are five
|
||
billion people on the planet, and at any given time at least a
|
||
million have to be having sex. So all I have to do is tune into
|
||
the Planetary Consciousness, the ultimate archetype, and have an
|
||
orgasm anytime I want."
|
||
|
||
"You're a sick mother," laughed the Spook. "Transcendental group
|
||
sex. At least I can tell the difference between pussy and pray-
|
||
ing." He asked Scott again to pick a girl.
|
||
|
||
"I have to pass. It's just not my thing." Spook glared at him
|
||
askance. "No really, go ahead. I'm a bit tired, I just arrived
|
||
this morning." He had forgotten to take his 3 hour afternoon nap
|
||
and it was close to 6 in the morning body time. "I'll see you at
|
||
the conference tomorrow. All right?"
|
||
|
||
"Fuckin' A!" The Spook beamed. "I get 'em all." He motioned to
|
||
the girls that he would like to hire all three of them, at once.
|
||
They indicated that that would be a fine idea. "Listen, I don't
|
||
mean to be rude, but . . ." the Spook said to Scott as he pro-
|
||
ceeded up the stairs to meet the female triumvirate. He turned
|
||
briefly in the open doorway with two of the girls tugging at his
|
||
clothes. "Scott! What happens if the medium or the message gets
|
||
sick? Think about it." The door closed behind the Spook as the
|
||
girls shed their clothes.
|
||
|
||
"Medium? Jeez you are really fucked," laughed Scott. "Pervert!"
|
||
He called out as the window curtains closed.
|
||
|
||
Scott got directions to the Eureka! from a live sex show sales-
|
||
man. For all the walking he and the Spook had done, miles and
|
||
miles, it was odd that they had ended up only a few blocks away
|
||
from the hotel. Ah, but that would figure, thought Scott. The
|
||
Sex Starved Spook was staying at the Europa around the corner
|
||
from Sin Street. Scott rolled a joint of his own to enjoy for
|
||
the pleasant evening promenade home along the canals. Spook,
|
||
what a character. In one breath, perfectly rational, but then
|
||
the Jekyll and Hyde hormone hurricane. Wow.
|
||
|
||
What Scott Mason could never have imagined, indeed quite the
|
||
opposite, was that the Spook was unable to respond to the three
|
||
very attentive ladies he had hired for that very purpose. Noth-
|
||
ing. No matter what stimuli they effected, the Spook's brain
|
||
could not command his body to respond. His confusion alternated
|
||
with embarrassment which made the problem only worse. Never
|
||
before had the Spook had such a problem. Never. One of the
|
||
ladies spoke to him kindly. "Hey, it happens to everyone once in
|
||
a while." At hearing that he jumped up, removed the loose condom
|
||
and zipped his pants while screaming, "Not to me. It doesn't
|
||
happen to me!"
|
||
|
||
Scott did not know that the Spook bolted into the street and
|
||
started running, in panic, away from the scene of his most pri-
|
||
vate of failures. He ran all the way, in fact beating Scott to
|
||
his hotel. He was driven by the terror of the first sexual
|
||
failure in his life. The Spook felt emasculated as he sought a
|
||
rationalization that would allow him to retain a shred of digni-
|
||
ty.
|
||
|
||
He was used to commanding women, not being humiliated by them.
|
||
What was wrong? Women fell all over him, but why this? This of
|
||
all things? The Spook fell asleep on the top of his bed with his
|
||
clothes on.
|
||
|
||
Scott did not know that he would not be seeing the Spook tomor-
|
||
row.
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Wednesday, January 6
|
||
Washington, D.C.
|
||
|
||
"Eight more!" exclaimed Charlie Sorenson into Martin Templer's
|
||
face. "What the hell is going on?" The private office on twenti-
|
||
eth and "L" Street was well guarded by an efficient receptionist
|
||
who believed she worked for an international import export firm.
|
||
Consulting offices were often easier for senior intelligence
|
||
officials to use for clandestine, unrecorded meetings than one's
|
||
own office. In the interest of privacy, naturally.
|
||
|
||
The two NSA and CIA agents from "P" Street held their clandestine
|
||
meeting in a plain, windowless office meagerly furnished with a
|
||
desk, a couple of chairs and a file cabinet.
|
||
|
||
Charlie turned his back on Templer and sighed. "I'm sorry,
|
||
Marty. It's not you." He paced to the other side of the small
|
||
confining room. "I'm getting pressure from all sides. That
|
||
damned FBI guy is making a nuisance of himself. Asking too many
|
||
questions. The media smells a conspiracy and the Director is
|
||
telling me to ignore it." Sorenson stood in front of Templer.
|
||
"And, now, no, it's not bad enough, but 8 more of the mothers go
|
||
off. Shit!" He slammed his fist onto the desk.
|
||
|
||
"We can explain one to the Pentagon, but nine?" Martin asked
|
||
skeptically.
|
||
|
||
"See what I mean?" Sorenson pointed.
|
||
|
||
Sorenson and Templer attended the ECCO and CERT roundups twice a
|
||
week since they began after the first EMP-T explosion.
|
||
|
||
"These are the Sats?" Templer leaned over to the desk. Corners
|
||
of several high resolution satellite photographs sneaked out from
|
||
a partially open folder. Sorenson opened the folder and spread
|
||
the photos across the surface. They weren't optical photographs,
|
||
but the familiar map shapes of the central United States were
|
||
visible behind swirls and patterns of a spectrum of colors. The
|
||
cameras and computer had been instructed to look at selected
|
||
bandwidths, just as infrared vision lets one see at night. In
|
||
this case, though, the filters excluded everything but frequen-
|
||
cies of the electromagentic spectrum of interest.
|
||
|
||
"Yeah," Sorenson said, pointing at one of the photos. "This is
|
||
where we found the first one." On one of the photos, where an
|
||
outline of the United States was visible, a dot of fuzzy light
|
||
was visible in the Memphis, Tennessee area.
|
||
|
||
"That's an EMP-T bomb?" asked Templer.
|
||
|
||
"The electromagnetic signature, in certain bandwidths is the same
|
||
as from a nuclear detonation." Sorenson pulled another photo
|
||
out. It was a computer enhanced blowup of the first satellite
|
||
photo. The bridges across the Mississippi were clearly visible.
|
||
The small fuzzy dot from the other photograph became a larger
|
||
fuzzy cloud of white light.
|
||
|
||
"I didn't know we had geosyncs over us, too," Templer said light-
|
||
ly.
|
||
|
||
"Officially we don't," Sorenson said seriously. Then he showed
|
||
his teeth and said, "unofficially we have them everywhere."
|
||
|
||
"So who was hit?"
|
||
|
||
"Here?" He pointed at Memphis. "Federal Express. A few hours
|
||
ago. They're down. Can't say when they'll be back in business.
|
||
Thank God no one was killed. They weren't so lucky in Texas."
|
||
|
||
Sorenson pulled a couple more photographs and a fuzzy dot and
|
||
it's fuzzy cloud mate were clearly visible in the Houston area.
|
||
"EDS Computers," said Sorenson. "Six dead, 15 injured. They do
|
||
central processing for hundreds of companies. Every one, gone.
|
||
And then here." He scattered more photos with the now recogniz-
|
||
able fuzzy white dots.
|
||
|
||
"Mid-State Farm Insurance, Immigration and Naturalization, Na-
|
||
tional Bank, General Inter-Dynamics, CitiBank, and the Sears mail
|
||
order computers." Sorenson spoke excitedly as he listed the
|
||
latest victims of the magnetic cardiac arrest that their computer
|
||
systems, and indeed, their entire organization suffered.
|
||
|
||
"Press?"
|
||
|
||
"Like stink on shit."
|
||
|
||
"What do they know?"
|
||
|
||
"Too much."
|
||
|
||
"What can we do?"
|
||
|
||
"Get to the bottom of this before Mason does."
|
||
|
||
****************************************************************
|
||
|
||
Chapter 19
|
||
|
||
Thursday, January 7
|
||
Amsterdam, Holland
|
||
|
||
The following morning Scott awoke without telephone intervention
|
||
by the front desk. He felt a little on the slow side, an observa-
|
||
tion he attributed to either the time difference, not the jet
|
||
lag, or the minor after effect of copius cannabis consumption.
|
||
The concierge called a cab and Scott told the driver where he
|
||
thought he was going. Ya, no problem, it's a short ride.
|
||
|
||
To Scott's surprise he found himself passing by the same sex
|
||
emporium where he had left the Spook last evening. Scott reminded
|
||
himself to ask Spook how it went. The taxi stopped in front of
|
||
an old building that had no signs of use. It was number 44, but
|
||
just in case, Scott asked the driver to wait a moment. He walked
|
||
up the door and finding no bell, rapped on the heavy wooden door.
|
||
|
||
"Ya?" A muffled voice asked through the door.
|
||
|
||
"Is Jon there? This is Scott Mason." Scott knowingly looked at
|
||
the cab driver.
|
||
|
||
"Who?"
|
||
|
||
Scott looked at the number again and then remembered what Jon had
|
||
told him. "Sorry. This is Repo Man. Kirk said you'd expect
|
||
me."
|
||
|
||
"Ah, ya! Repo Man." The door opened and Scott happily waved off
|
||
the cab. "Welcome, please, come in." Scott entered a dark
|
||
chamber as the door closed behind him. "I am Clay, that's French
|
||
for key."
|
||
|
||
Wonderful, thought Scott. "Thanks for the invite. Is Jon here?"
|
||
|
||
"Everyone is here."
|
||
|
||
"I thought it didn't begin until eleven," Scott said looking at
|
||
his watch.
|
||
|
||
"Ah, ya, well," the Dutch accented Clay said. "It is difficult
|
||
to stop sometimes. We have been here all night."
|
||
|
||
Scott followed Clay up a darkened flight of steps. At mid land-
|
||
ing Clay opened a door and suddenly the dungeon-like atmosphere
|
||
vanished. Inside the cavernous room were perhaps 200 people,
|
||
mostly men, excitedly conversing and huddling over computers of
|
||
every imaginable model. The high ceiling was liberally dressed
|
||
with fluorescent tubing which accentuated the green hues from
|
||
many of the computer monitors. The walls were raw brick and the
|
||
sparse decorations were all computer related. Windows at the two
|
||
ends of the building added enough daylight to take some of the
|
||
edge off of the pallid green aura.
|
||
|
||
"What should I do?" Asked Scott looking around the large room
|
||
which was probably overcrowded by modern safety counts.
|
||
|
||
"The Flying Dutchman said he will see you a little later," Clay
|
||
said. "Many of our members know Repo Man is a reporter, and you
|
||
are free to look and ask anything. Please enjoy yourself." Clay
|
||
quickly disappeared into the congregation.
|
||
|
||
Scott suddenly felt abandoned and wished he could disappear.
|
||
Like those dreams where you find yourself stark naked in a public
|
||
place. He felt that his computer naivete was written all over
|
||
his face and he would be judged thus, so instead he tried to
|
||
ignore it by perusing the walls. He became amused at the selec-
|
||
tion of art, poster art, Scotch taped to the brick.
|
||
|
||
The first poster had Daffy Duck, or reasonable facsimile thereof,
|
||
prepared to bring a high speed sledgehammer in contact with a
|
||
keyboard. "Hit any key to continue," was the simple poster's
|
||
message. Another portrayed a cobweb covered skeleton sitting
|
||
behind a computer terminal with a repairman standing over him
|
||
asking a pertinent question. "System been down long?"
|
||
|
||
One of the ruder posters consisted of Ronald Reagan with a super-
|
||
imposed hand making a most obscene manual gesture. The poster was
|
||
entitled, "Compute This!"
|
||
|
||
Scott viewed the walls as if in an art gallery, not a hackers
|
||
convention. He openly laughed when he saw a poster from the
|
||
National Computer Security Center, a working division of the
|
||
National Security Agency. A red, white and blue Uncle Sam,
|
||
finger pointing, beckoned, "We want YOU! to secure your
|
||
computer." In an open white space on the poster someone wrote
|
||
in, "Please list name and date if you have already cracked into
|
||
an NSA computer." Beneath were a long list of Hacker Handles
|
||
with the dates they had entered the super secret agency's comput-
|
||
ers. Were things really that bad, Scott asked himself.
|
||
|
||
"Repo Man?"
|
||
|
||
Scott turned quickly to see a large, barrel chested, red haired
|
||
man with an untamed beard in his early forties approach him
|
||
rapidly. The man was determined in his gait. Scott answered,
|
||
"Yes . . .?
|
||
|
||
"Ya, I'm the Flying Dutchman," he said hurriedly in a large boom-
|
||
ing voice. "Welcome." He vigorously shook Scott's hand with a
|
||
wide smile hidden behind the bushy red face. "You enjoyed Am-
|
||
sterdam last night, ya?" He expected a positive answer. Sex was
|
||
no crime here.
|
||
|
||
"Well," Scott blushed. "I must say it was a unique experience,"
|
||
he said carefully so as not to offend Holland's proud hosts.
|
||
"But I think the Spook had more fun than I did."
|
||
|
||
The Flying Dutchman's hand went limp. "Spook? Did you say
|
||
Spook?" His astonishment was clear.
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, why?" Scott asked.
|
||
|
||
"The Spook? Here? No one has seen him in years."
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, well he's alive and well and screwing his brains out with
|
||
three of Amsterdam's finest," Scott said with amusement. "What's
|
||
the big deal?"
|
||
|
||
"The Spook, ya this is goot," the Flying Dutchman said clapping
|
||
his hands together with approval. "He was the greatest phreak
|
||
of his day. He retired years ago, and has only been seen once or
|
||
two times maybe. He is a legend."
|
||
|
||
"A phreak?"
|
||
|
||
"Oh, ya, ya. A phreak," he said speaking rapidly. "Before home
|
||
computers, in the 1960's and 1970's, hacking meant fighting the
|
||
phone company. In America you call it Ma Bell, I believe. Cap-
|
||
tain Crunch was the epitome of phone phreaks."
|
||
|
||
These names were a bit much, thought Scott, but might add a
|
||
sense of levity to his columns. "Captain Crunch?" Scott asked
|
||
with skepticism.
|
||
|
||
"Ya, Captain Crunch. He blew the plastic whistle from a Captain
|
||
Crunch cereal box into the phone," the Flying Dutchman held an
|
||
invisible whistle to his lips. "And it opened up an inside line
|
||
to make long distance calls. Then he built and sold Blue Boxes
|
||
which recreated the tones to make free calls."
|
||
|
||
"Phreaking and computer hacking, they're the same?"
|
||
|
||
"Ya, ya, especially for the older hackers." The Flying Dutchman
|
||
patted himself on the stomach. "You see hacking, some call it
|
||
cracking, is taking a system to its limit. Exploring it, master-
|
||
ing the machine. The phones, computers, viruses, it's all hack-
|
||
ing. You understand?"
|
||
|
||
"Spook called hacking a technique for investigating new spontane-
|
||
ously generated lifeforms. He said a network was a living being.
|
||
We got into quite an argument about it." Scott sounded mildly
|
||
derisive of the theory.
|
||
|
||
The Dutchman crossed his arms, grinned wide and rocked back and
|
||
forth on his heels. "Ya, ya. That sounds like the Spook.
|
||
Cutting to the heart of the issue. Ya, you see, we all have our
|
||
reasons why we hack, but ya, Spook is right. We forget sometimes
|
||
that the world is one giant computer, with thousands and millions
|
||
of arms, just like the brain. The neurons," he pointed at his
|
||
head, "are connected to each other with synapses. Just like a
|
||
computer network."
|
||
|
||
The Flying Dutchman's explanation was a little less ethereal than
|
||
the Spook's and Scott found himself anticipating further enlight-
|
||
enment.
|
||
|
||
"The neuron is a computer. It can function independently, but
|
||
because it's capacity is tiny, a neuron is really quite limited
|
||
in what it can achieve alone. The synapse is like the network
|
||
wire, or phone company wiring. It connects the neurons or com-
|
||
puters together." The Dutchman spoke almost religiously as he
|
||
animatedly drew wires and computers in the air to reinforce the
|
||
concept. "Have you heard of neural networks?"
|
||
|
||
"Absolutely," Scott said. "The smart chips that can learn."
|
||
|
||
"Ya, exactly. A neural network is modeled after the brain, too.
|
||
It is a very large number of cells, just like the brain's cells,
|
||
that are only connected to each other in the most rudimentary
|
||
way."
|
||
|
||
"Like a baby's brain?" Scott offered.
|
||
|
||
"Ya, ya, just like a baby. Very good. So like the baby, the
|
||
neural net grows connections as it learns. The more connections
|
||
it makes, the smarter it gets."
|
||
|
||
"Both the baby and the network?"
|
||
|
||
"Ya," Dutchman laughed. "So as the millions of neural connec-
|
||
tions are made, some people learn skills that others don't and
|
||
some computers are better suited to certain tasks than others.
|
||
And now there's a global neural network growing. Millions more
|
||
computers are added and we connect them together, until any
|
||
computer can talk to any other computer. Ya, the Spook is very
|
||
much right. The Network is alive, and it is still learning."
|
||
|
||
Scott was entering a world where the machines, the computers,
|
||
were personified, indeed imbued with a life of their own by their
|
||
creators and their programmers. A highly complex world where
|
||
inter-relatedness is infinitely more important than the specific
|
||
function. Connections are issue. Didn't Spook remind him that
|
||
the medium is the message?
|
||
|
||
But where, questioned Scott, is the line between man and machine?
|
||
If computers are stupid, and man must program them to give them
|
||
the appearance of intelligence, then the same must be true of the
|
||
Network, the global information network. Therefore, when a piece
|
||
of the Network is programmed to learn how to plan for future
|
||
Network expansion and that piece of the Network calls another
|
||
computer on the Network to inquire as to how it is answering the
|
||
same problem for different conditions, don't man and machine
|
||
merge? Isn't the Network acting as an extension of man? But
|
||
then, a hammer is a tool as well, and no one calls a hammer a
|
||
living being.
|
||
|
||
Unto itself it is not alive, Scott reasoned. The Network merely
|
||
emulates the growth patterns and behavior of the cranial highway
|
||
system. He was ready to concede that a network was more alive
|
||
than a hammer, but he could not bring himself to carry the analo-
|
||
gy any further yet.
|
||
|
||
"That gives me a lot to think about," Scott assured the Dutchman.
|
||
|
||
"Ya, ya, it does. Do you understand quantum physics?"
|
||
|
||
What the hell would make him ask that question, thought Scott.
|
||
"I barely passed Quantum 101, the math was too far out for me,
|
||
but, yes," he laughed kindly, "I do remember the basics. Very
|
||
basic."
|
||
|
||
"Goot. In the global Network there is no way to predict where
|
||
the next information packet will be sent. Will it start here,"
|
||
the Dutchman motioned to his far left, "or here? There's no way
|
||
to know. All we can say, just as in physics, is that there is a
|
||
probability of data being transferred between any two points.
|
||
Chance. And we can also view the Network in operation as both a
|
||
wave and a particle."
|
||
|
||
"Wait," stopped Scott. "You've just gone over my head, but I get
|
||
the point, I think. You and your associates really believe that
|
||
this global Network is an entity unto itself and that it is
|
||
growing and evolving on its own as we speak?"
|
||
|
||
"Ya, exactly. You see, no one person is responsible for the
|
||
Network, its growth or its care. Like the brain, many different
|
||
regions control their own piece of the Network. And, the Network
|
||
can still function normally even if pieces of it are disconnect-
|
||
ed. The split brain studies."
|
||
|
||
"And you're the caretakers for the Network?" doubted Scott.
|
||
|
||
"No. As I said we all have our reasons. The common denominator
|
||
is that we treat the Network as an incredibly powerful organism
|
||
about which we know very, very little. That is our function - to
|
||
learn."
|
||
|
||
"What is it that you do? For a living?"
|
||
|
||
"Ah, ya. I am Professor of Technological Sociology at the Uni-
|
||
versity of Amsterdam. The original proposal for my research came
|
||
from personal beliefs and concerns; about the way the human race
|
||
has to learn to cope in the face of great technology leaps. NATO
|
||
is funding the research."
|
||
|
||
"NATO," exclaimed Scott. "They fund hacking?"
|
||
|
||
"No," laughed the Dutchman. "They know that hacking is necessary
|
||
to gather the raw data my research requires, so they pretend not
|
||
to notice or care. What we are trying to do is predict what the
|
||
Baby, the global Network will look and act like when it grows
|
||
up."
|
||
|
||
"Isn't crystal ball gazing easier?"
|
||
|
||
"Ya, it may be," the Dutchman agreed. "But now, why don't you
|
||
look around? I am sure you will find it most educational."
|
||
|
||
The Dutchman asked again about the Spook. "Is he really here in
|
||
Amsterdam?" Yup! "And he said he'd be here today?" Yup! "The
|
||
Spook, at the conference? He hasn't made an appearance in years."
|
||
Well, that's what he told me, he'd be here.
|
||
|
||
Scott profusely thanked his host and assured him that yes, he
|
||
would ask for anything he needed. Thank you. Kirk had been
|
||
vindicated, thought Scott who had expected a group of pimply
|
||
faced adolescents with nerd shirts to be bouncing around like
|
||
Spring Break in Fort Lauderdale.
|
||
|
||
Scott slowly explored the tables loaded with various types of
|
||
computer gear. IBM clones were the most common, but an assort-
|
||
ment of older machines, a CP/M or two, even a Commodore PET
|
||
proved that expensive new equipment was not needed to become a
|
||
respected hacker. Scott reminded himself that this group was the
|
||
elite of hackerdom. These were the Hacker's Hackers.
|
||
|
||
In his discussions with Kirk, Scott figured he would see some of
|
||
the tools of the trade. But he had no idea of the level of
|
||
sophistication that was openly, and perhaps, illegally, being
|
||
demonstrated. Then again, maybe that's why they hold their
|
||
Hacker Ho Downs in Amsterdam.
|
||
|
||
Scott learned something very critical early on.
|
||
|
||
"Once you let one of us inside your computer, it's all over. The
|
||
system is ours." The universal claim by hackers.
|
||
|
||
Scott no longer had any trouble accepting that. "So the securi-
|
||
ty guy's job," one short balding middle aged American hacker
|
||
said, "is to keep us out. I'm a cracker." What's that? "The
|
||
cracker is kind of like a safecracker, or lock picker. It's my
|
||
job to figure out how to get into the computers." Scott had to
|
||
stifle a giggle when he found out that this slight man's handle
|
||
was appropriately Waldo.
|
||
|
||
Waldo went on to explain that he was a henpecked CPA who needed a
|
||
hobby that would bore his wife to tears. So he locked himself in
|
||
the basement, far away from her, and got hooked on computers. He
|
||
found that rummaging through other computers was an amusing
|
||
alternative to watching Honeymooner reruns while his wife
|
||
kvetched. After a while, he said he discovered that he had a
|
||
talent for cracking through the front doors of computers. On the
|
||
professional hacker circuit that made Waldo a valuable commodity.
|
||
The way it works, he explained, was that he would trade access
|
||
codes for outlines of the contents of the computers. If he
|
||
wanted to look further, he maintained a complete indexing system
|
||
on the contents of thousands of computers world wide. He admit-
|
||
ted it was the only exciting part of his life. "The most fun a
|
||
CPA has," he said calmly, "is cutting up client's credit cards.
|
||
But me," he added proudly, "I've been in and out of the IRS
|
||
computers more times than Debbie did it in Dallas."
|
||
|
||
"The IRS computers? You've been in there?"
|
||
|
||
"Where else does a CPA go, but to the scene of the crime." Waldo
|
||
laughed at his joke. "At first it was a game, but once I got
|
||
into the IRS backplane, which connects the various IRS districts
|
||
together, the things I found scared me. No one is in control
|
||
over there. No one. They abuse taxpayers, basically honest
|
||
taxpayers who are genuinely in trouble and need some understand-
|
||
ing by their government. Instead they are on the receiving end of
|
||
a vicious attack by a low level government paper slave who gets
|
||
his thrills by seizing property. The IRS is immune from due
|
||
process." Scott immediately thought of Tyrone and his constitu-
|
||
tional ravings the other night.
|
||
|
||
"The IRS's motto is, 'guilty until we cash the check'. And IRS
|
||
management ignores it. Auditors are on a quota basis, and if
|
||
they don't recover their allotted amounts of back taxes, they can
|
||
kiss their jobs goodbye." The innocent looking Waldo, too, had
|
||
found a cause, a raison d'<1B> tre, for hacking away at government
|
||
computers.
|
||
|
||
"You know that for a fact?" Asked Scott. This alone was a major
|
||
story. Such a policy was against everything the Constitution
|
||
stood for. Waldo nodded and claimed to have seen the internal
|
||
policy memoranda. Who was in charge? Essentially, said Waldo,
|
||
no one. It was anarchy.
|
||
|
||
"They have the worst security of any agency that should by all
|
||
rights have the best. It's a crime against American citizens.
|
||
Our rights and our privacy have shriveled to nothing." Waldo,
|
||
the small CPA, extolled the virtues of fighting the system from
|
||
within. From within he could battle the computers that had
|
||
become the system.
|
||
|
||
"Have you ever, shall I say, fixed files in the IRS computers?"
|
||
|
||
"Many times," Waldo said proudly. "For my clients who were being
|
||
screwed, sometimes I am asked to help. It's all part of the
|
||
job," he said of his beloved avocation.
|
||
|
||
"How many systems have you cracked?" Asked Scott, visibly im-
|
||
pressed.
|
||
|
||
"I am," Waldo said modestly, "the best. I have cracked 1187
|
||
systems in 3 years. 1040 was my personal goal for a while, then
|
||
1099, but it's kind of open ended now."
|
||
|
||
"That's almost one a day?"
|
||
|
||
"You could look at it like that, but sometimes you can get into
|
||
10 or twenty in one day. You gotta remember," Waldo said with
|
||
pride, "a lot of homework goes into this. You just don't decide
|
||
one day to crack a system. You have to plan it."
|
||
|
||
"So how do you do it?"
|
||
|
||
"O.K., it's really pretty simple. D'you speak software?"
|
||
|
||
"Listen, you make it real simple, and I won't interrupt. OK?"
|
||
|
||
"Interrupt. Hah! That's a good one. Here, let me show you on the
|
||
computer," Waldo said as he leaned over to peck at the keyboard.
|
||
"The first step to getting into computers is to find where they
|
||
are located, electronically speaking, O.K.?" Scott agreed that
|
||
you needed the address of the bank before you could rob it.
|
||
|
||
"So what we do is search for computers by running a program, like
|
||
an exchange autodialer. Here, look here," Waldo said pointing at
|
||
the computer screen. "We select the area code here, let's say
|
||
203, that's Connecticut. Then we pick the prefix, the first
|
||
three numbers, that's the local exchange. So let's choose 968,"
|
||
he entered the numbers carefully. "That's Stamford. By the way,
|
||
I wrote this software myself." Waldo spoke of his software as a
|
||
proud father would of his first born son. Scott patted him on
|
||
the back, urging him to continue.
|
||
|
||
"So we ask the computer to call every number in the 203-968 area
|
||
sequentially. When the number is answered, my computer records
|
||
whether a voice, a live person answered, or a computer answered
|
||
or if it was a fax machine." Scott never had imagined that
|
||
hacking was so systematic.
|
||
|
||
"Then, the computer records its findings and we have a complete
|
||
list of every computer in that area," Waldo concluded.
|
||
|
||
"That's 10,000 phone calls," Scott realized. "It must cost a
|
||
fortune and take forever?"
|
||
|
||
"Nah, not a dime. The phone company has a hole. It takes my
|
||
program less than a second to record the response and we're off
|
||
to the next call. It's all free, courtesy of TPC," Waldo
|
||
bragged.
|
||
|
||
"TPC?" Questioned Scott.
|
||
|
||
"The Phone Company," Waldo chuckled.
|
||
|
||
"I don't see how you can do the entire country that way, 10,000
|
||
calls at a shot. In New York there must be ten million phones."
|
||
|
||
"Yes," agreed Waldo, "it is a never ending job. Phone numbers
|
||
change, computers come and go, security gets better. But you
|
||
have to remember, there are a lot of other people out there doing
|
||
the same thing, and we all pool our information. You could ask
|
||
for the number to almost any computer in the world, and someone
|
||
in our group, somewhere, will have the number and likely the
|
||
passwords."
|
||
|
||
"Jesus . . ."
|
||
|
||
"I run my program at night, every night, when I sleep. On a good
|
||
night, if the calls are connected quickly enough, I can go
|
||
through about a thousand phone numbers. I figure roughly a month
|
||
per prefix."
|
||
|
||
"I am amazed, simply amazed. Truly impressed," said Scott. "You
|
||
know, you always kind of imagine these things are possible, but
|
||
until it stares you in the face it's black magic."
|
||
|
||
"You wanna know the best part?" Waldo said teasingly. "I get
|
||
paid for it, too." Waldo crouched over and spoke to Scott secre-
|
||
tively. "Not everyone here approves, but, I sell lists to junk
|
||
fax mail-order houses. They want the fax lists. On a good night
|
||
I can clear a couple hundred while my modem does the dialing."
|
||
|
||
The underground culture of Scott's day, demonstrating against the
|
||
war, getting gassed while marching by George Washington Universi-
|
||
ty, getting thrown out of a Nixon rally at Madison Square Garden
|
||
seemed so innocent in comparison. He continued to be in awe of
|
||
the possible applications for a technology not as benign as its
|
||
creators had intended.
|
||
|
||
Scott met other hackers; they were proud of the term even with
|
||
the current negative connotations it carried. He saw how system-
|
||
ic attacks against the front door to computers were the single
|
||
biggest challenge to hackers; the proverbial chase before the
|
||
catch, the romance to many.
|
||
|
||
At another tabletop laden with computers Scott learned that there
|
||
are programs designed to try passwords according to certain
|
||
rules. Some try every possible combination of letters and num-
|
||
bers, although that is considered an antique method of brute
|
||
force. More sophisticated hackers use advanced algorithms which
|
||
try to open the computer with 'likely' passwords. <MI>It was all
|
||
very scientific, the approach to the problem<D>, thought Scott.
|
||
|
||
He met communications gurus who knew more about the switching
|
||
networks inside the phone company than AT&T engineers. They had
|
||
complete diagrams and function calls and source code for even the
|
||
latest software revisions on the 4ESS and the new 5ESS switches.
|
||
"Once you're into the phone computers," one phone phreak ex-
|
||
tolled, "you have an immense amount of power at your fingertips.
|
||
Incredible. Let me give you an example."
|
||
|
||
The speaker was another American, one that Scott would have
|
||
classified as an ex-Berkeley-hippie still living in the past.
|
||
His dirty shoulder length hair capped a skinny frame which held
|
||
his jeans up so poorly that there was no question where the sun
|
||
didn't shine.
|
||
|
||
"You know that the phone company is part of the Tri-Lateral
|
||
Commission, working with Kissinger and the Queen of England to
|
||
control the world. Right?" His frazzled speech was matched by
|
||
an annoying habit of sweeping his stringy hair off his face every
|
||
few words. "It's up to us to stop them."
|
||
|
||
Scott listened politely as Janis, (who adopted the moniker from
|
||
his favorite singer) rewrote history with tortured explanations
|
||
of how the phone company is the hidden seat of the American
|
||
government, and how they have been lying to the public for dec-
|
||
ades. And the Rockefellers are involved too, he assured Scott.
|
||
|
||
"They could declare martial law, today, and take over the coun-
|
||
try. Those who control the communications control the power," he
|
||
oracled. "Did you know," he took Scott into his confidence,
|
||
"that phones are always on and they have computers recording
|
||
everything you say and do in your own home. That's illegal!"
|
||
Janis bellowed. Not to mention crazy, thought Scott.
|
||
|
||
One of Janis' associates came over to rescue Scott. "Sorry, he's
|
||
a little enthusiastic and has some trouble communicating on the
|
||
Earthly plane." Alva, as he called himself, explained coherent-
|
||
ly that with some of the newer security systems in place, it is
|
||
necessary to manipulate the phone company switches to learn
|
||
system passwords.
|
||
|
||
"For example, when we broke into a Bell computer that used CI-
|
||
CIMS, it was tough to crack. But now they've added new security
|
||
that, in itself, is flawless, albeit crackable," Alva explained.
|
||
"Once you get past the passwords, which is trivial, the system
|
||
asks you three unique questions about yourself for final identi-
|
||
fication. Pretty smart, huh?" Scott agreed with Alva, a voice
|
||
of apparent moderation. "However, we were already in the phone
|
||
switch computer, so we programmed in forwarding instructions for
|
||
all calls that dialed that particular computer. We then inter-
|
||
cepted the call and connected it to our computer, where we emu-
|
||
late the security system, and watched the questions and answers
|
||
go back and forth. After a few hours, you have a hundred differ-
|
||
ent passwords to use. There are a dozen other ways to do it, of
|
||
course."
|
||
|
||
"Of course," Scott said sarcastically. Is nothing sacred? Not
|
||
in this world it's not. All's fair in love, war and hacking.
|
||
|
||
The time flew as Scott learned what a tightly knitted clique the
|
||
hackers were. The ethos 'honor among thieves' held true here as
|
||
it did in many adolescent societies, most recently the American
|
||
Old West. As a group, perhaps even a subculture, they were
|
||
arduously taming new territory, each with their own vision of a
|
||
private digital homestead. Each one taking on the system in
|
||
their own way, they still needed each other, thus they looked
|
||
aside if another's techno-social behavior was personally dis-
|
||
tasteful. The Network was big enough for everyone. A working
|
||
anarchy that heralded the standard of John Paul Jones as their
|
||
sole commandment: Don't Tread On Me.
|
||
|
||
He saw tapping devices that allowed the interception of computer
|
||
data which traveled over phone lines. Line Monitors and Sniffers
|
||
were commercially available, and legal; equipment that was nomi-
|
||
nally designed to troubleshoot networks. In the hands of a hack-
|
||
er, though, it graduated from being a tool of repair to an
|
||
offensive weapon.
|
||
|
||
Small hand held radios were capable of listening in to the in-
|
||
creasingly popular remote RF networks which do not require wires.
|
||
Cellular phone eavesdropping devices permitted the owner to scan
|
||
and focus on the conversation of his choice. Scott examined the
|
||
electronic gear to find a manufacturer's identification.
|
||
|
||
"Don't bother, my friend," said a long haired German youth of
|
||
about twenty.
|
||
|
||
"Excuse me?"
|
||
|
||
"I see you are looking for marks, yes?"
|
||
|
||
"Well, yes. I wanted to see who made these . . ."
|
||
|
||
"I make them, he makes them, we all make them," he said almost
|
||
giddily. "This is not available from Radio Shack," he giggled.
|
||
"Who needs them from the establishment when they are so easy to
|
||
build."
|
||
|
||
Scott knew that electronics was indeed a garage operation and
|
||
that many high tech initiatives had begun in entrepreneur's
|
||
basements. The thought of home hobbyists building equipment
|
||
which the military defends against was anathema to Scott. He
|
||
merely shook his head and moved on, thanking the makers of the
|
||
eavesdropping machines for their demonstrations.
|
||
|
||
Over in a dimly lit corner, dimmer than elsewhere, Scott saw a
|
||
number of people fiddling with an array of computers and equip-
|
||
ment that looked surprisingly familiar. As he approached he
|
||
experienced an immediate rush of d<1B> ja vu. This was the same
|
||
type of equipment that he had seen on the van before it was blown
|
||
up a couple of months ago. Tempest busting, he thought.
|
||
|
||
The group was speaking in German, but they were more than glad to
|
||
switch to English for Scott's benefit. They sensed his interest
|
||
as he poked around the assorted monitors and antennas and test
|
||
equipment.
|
||
|
||
"Ah, you are interested in Van Eck?" asked one of the German
|
||
hackers. They maintained a clean cut appearance, and through
|
||
discussion Scott learned that they were funded as part of a
|
||
university research project in Frankfurt.
|
||
|
||
Scott watched and listened as they set up a compelling demonstra-
|
||
tion. First, one computer screen displayed a complex graphic
|
||
picture. Several yards away another computer displayed a foggy
|
||
image that cleared as one of the students adjusted the antenna
|
||
attached to the computer.
|
||
|
||
"Aha! Lock!" one of them said, announcing that the second comput-
|
||
er would now display everything that the first computer did. The
|
||
group played with color and black and white graphics, word proc-
|
||
essing screens and spreadsheets. Each time, in a matter of
|
||
seconds, they 'locked' into the other computer successfully.
|
||
|
||
Scott was duly impressed and asked them why they were putting
|
||
effort into such research. "Very simple," the apparent leader of
|
||
the Frankfurt group said. "This work is classified in both your
|
||
country and mine, so we do not have access to the answers we
|
||
need. So, we build our own and now it's no more classified. You
|
||
see?"
|
||
|
||
"Why do you need it?"
|
||
|
||
"To protect against it," they said in near unison. "The next
|
||
step is to build efficient methods to fight the Van Eck."
|
||
|
||
"Doesn't Tempest do that?"
|
||
|
||
"Tempest?" the senior student said. "Ha! It makes the computer
|
||
weigh a thousand pounds and the monitor hard to read. There are
|
||
better ways to defend. To defend we must first know how to
|
||
attack. That's basic."
|
||
|
||
"Let me ask you something," Scott said to the group after their
|
||
lengthy demonstration. "Do you know anything about electromag-
|
||
netic pulses? Strong ones?"
|
||
|
||
"Ya. You mean like from a nuclear bomb?"
|
||
|
||
"Yes, but smaller and designed to only hurt computers."
|
||
|
||
"Oh, ya. We have wanted to build one, but it is beyond our
|
||
means."
|
||
|
||
"Well," Scott said smugly, "someone is building them and setting
|
||
them off."
|
||
|
||
"Your stock exchange. We thought that the American government
|
||
did it to prove they could."
|
||
|
||
An hour of ensuing discussion taught Scott that the technology
|
||
that the DoD and the NSA so desperately spent billions to keep
|
||
secret and proprietary was in common use. To most engineers, and
|
||
Scott could easily relate, every problem has an answer. The
|
||
challenge is to accomplish the so-called impossible. The engi-
|
||
neer's pride.
|
||
|
||
Jon, the Flying Dutchman finally rescued Scott's stomach from
|
||
implosion. "How about lunch? A few of the guys want to meet
|
||
you. Give you a heavy dose of propaganda," he threatened.
|
||
|
||
"Thank God! I'm famished and haven't touched the stuff all day.
|
||
Love to, it's on me," Scott offered. He could see Doug having a
|
||
cow. How could he explain a thousand dollar dinner for a hundred
|
||
hungry hackers?
|
||
|
||
"Say that too loud," cautioned the bearded Dutchman, "and you'll
|
||
have to buy the restaurant. Hacking isn't very high on the pay
|
||
scale."
|
||
|
||
"Be easy on me, I gotta justify lunch for an army to my boss, or
|
||
worse yet, the beancounters." Dutchman didn't catch the idiom.
|
||
"Never mind, let's keep it to a small regiment, all right?"
|
||
|
||
He never figured out how it landed on his shoulders, but Scott
|
||
ended up with the responsibility of picking a restaurant and
|
||
successfully guiding the group there. And Dutchman had skipped
|
||
out without notifying anyone. Damned awkward, thought Scott. He
|
||
assumed control, limited though it was, and led them to the only
|
||
restaurant he knew, the Sarang Mas. The group blindly and happi-
|
||
ly followed. They even let him order the food, so he did his
|
||
very best to impress them by ordering without looking at the
|
||
menu. He succeeded, with his savant phonetic memory, to order
|
||
exactly what he had the night prior, but this time he asked for
|
||
vastly greater portions.
|
||
|
||
As they were sating their pallets, and commenting on what a
|
||
wonderful choice this restaurant was, Scott popped the same
|
||
question to which he had previously been unable to receive a
|
||
concise answer. Now that he had met this bunch, he would ask
|
||
again, and if lucky, someone might respond and actually be com-
|
||
prehensible.
|
||
|
||
"I've been asking the same question since I got into this whole
|
||
hacking business," Scott said savoring goat parts and sounding
|
||
quite nonchalant. "And I've never gotten a straight answer. Why
|
||
do you hack?" He asked. "Other than the philosophical credo of
|
||
Network is Life, why do you hack?" Scott looked into their eyes.
|
||
"Or are you just plain nosy?"
|
||
|
||
"I bloody well am!" said the one called Pinball who spoke with a
|
||
thick Liverpudlian accent. His jeans were in tatters, in no
|
||
better shape than his sneakers. The short pudgy man was mid-
|
||
twenty-ish and his tall crewcut was in immediate need of reshap-
|
||
ing.
|
||
|
||
"Nosy? That's why you hack?" Asked Scott in disbelief.
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, that's it, mate. It's great fun. A game the size of
|
||
life." Pinball looked at Scott as if to say, that's it. No
|
||
hidden meaning, it's just fun. He swallowed more of the exqui-
|
||
site food.
|
||
|
||
"Sounds like whoever dies with the most hacks wins," Scott said
|
||
facetiously.
|
||
|
||
"Right. You got it, mate." Pinball never looked up from his food
|
||
while talking.
|
||
|
||
Scott scanned his luncheon companions for reaction. A couple of
|
||
grunts, no objection. What an odd assortment, Scott thought. At
|
||
least the Flying Dutchman had been kind enough to assemble an
|
||
English speaking group for Scott's benefit.
|
||
|
||
"We each have our reasons to hack," said the one who called
|
||
himself Che2. By all appearance Che2 seemed more suited to a BMW
|
||
than a revolutionary cabal. He was a well bred American, dressed
|
||
casually but expensively. "We may not agree with each other, or
|
||
anyone, but we have an underlying understanding that permits us
|
||
to cooperate."
|
||
|
||
"I can tell you why I hack," said the sole German representative
|
||
at the table who spoke impeccable English with a thick accent "I
|
||
am a professional ethicist. It is people like me who help gov-
|
||
ernments formulate rules that decide who lives and who dies in
|
||
emergency situations. The right or wrong of weapons of mass
|
||
destruction. Ethics is a social moving target that must con-
|
||
stantly be re-examined as we as a civilized people grow and
|
||
strive to maintain our innate humanity."
|
||
|
||
"So you equate hacking and ethics, in the same breath?" Scott
|
||
asked.
|
||
|
||
"I certainly do," said the middle aged German hacker known as
|
||
Solon. "I am part of a group that promotes the Hacker Ethic. It
|
||
is really quite simple, if you would be interested." Scott urged
|
||
him to continue. "We have before us, as a world, a marvelous
|
||
opportunity, to create a set of rules, behavior and attitudes
|
||
towards this magnificent technology that blossoms before our
|
||
eyes. That law is the Ethic, some call it the Code." Kirk had
|
||
called it the Code, too.
|
||
|
||
"The Code is quite a crock," interrupted a tall slender man with
|
||
disheveled white hair who spoke with an upper crust, ever so
|
||
proper British accent. "Unless everybody follows it, from A to
|
||
Zed, it simply won't work. There can be no exceptions. Other-
|
||
wise my friends, we will find ourselves in a technological Lord
|
||
of the Flies."
|
||
|
||
"Ah, but that is already happening," said a gentleman in his mid-
|
||
fifties, who also sported a full beard, bushy mustache and long
|
||
well kept salt and pepper hair to his shoulders. "We are already
|
||
well on the road to a date with Silicon Armageddon. We didn't do
|
||
it with the Bomb, but it looks like we're sure as hell gonna do
|
||
it with technology for the masses. In this case computers."
|
||
Going only by 'Dave', he was a Philosophy Professor at Stanford.
|
||
In many ways he spoke like the early Timothy Leary, using tech-
|
||
nology instead of drugs as a mental catalyst. Scott though of
|
||
Dave as the futurist in the group.
|
||
|
||
"He's right. It is happening, right now. Long Live the Revolu-
|
||
tion," shouted Che2. "Hacking keeps our personal freedoms alive.
|
||
I know I'd much prefer everyone knowing my most intimate secrets
|
||
than have the government and TRW and the FBI and the CIA control
|
||
it and use only pieces of it for their greed-sucking reasons. No
|
||
way. I want everyone to have the tools to get into the Govern-
|
||
ment's Big Brother computer system and make the changes they see
|
||
fit."
|
||
|
||
Scott listened as his one comment spawned a heated and animated
|
||
discussion. He wouldn't break in unless they went too far
|
||
afield, wherever that was, or he simply wanted to join in on the
|
||
conversation.
|
||
|
||
"How can you support freedom without responsibility? You contra-
|
||
dict yourself by ignoring the Code." Solon made his comment with
|
||
Teutonic matter of factness in between mouthfuls.
|
||
|
||
"It is the most responsible thing we can do," retorted Che2. "It
|
||
is our moral duty, our responsibility to the world to protect our
|
||
privacy, our rights, before they are stripped away as they have
|
||
been since the Republicans bounced in, but not out, over a decade
|
||
ago." He turned in his chair and glared at Scott. Maybe thirty
|
||
years old, Che2 was mostly bald with great bushes of curly dark
|
||
brown hair encircling his head. The lack of hair emphasized his
|
||
large forehead which stood over his deeply inset eyes. Che2
|
||
called the Boston area his home but his cosmopolitan accent
|
||
belied his background.
|
||
|
||
The proper British man known as Doctor Doctor, DRDR on the BBS's,
|
||
was over six foot five with an unruly frock of thick white hair
|
||
which framed his ruddy pale face. "I do beg your pardon, but
|
||
this so violates the tenets of civilized behavior. What this
|
||
gentleman proposes is the philosophical antithesis of common
|
||
sense and rationality. I suggest we consider the position that
|
||
each of us in actual fact is working for the establishment, if I
|
||
may use such a politically pass<1B> descriptor." DRDR's comment
|
||
hushed the table. He continued. "Is it not true that security
|
||
is being installed as a result of many of our activities?"
|
||
|
||
Several nods of agreement preceded a small voice coming from the
|
||
far end of the table. "If you want to call it security." A
|
||
small pre-adolescent spoke in a high pitched whine.
|
||
|
||
"What do you mean . . .I'm sorry, I don't know what to call you,"
|
||
asked Scott.
|
||
|
||
"GWhiz. The security is a toy."
|
||
|
||
GWhiz spoke unpretentiously about how incredibly simple it is to
|
||
crack any security system. He maintained that there are theoret-
|
||
ical methods to crack into any, and he emphasized any, computer.
|
||
"It's impossible to protect a computer 100%. Can't be done. So
|
||
that means that every computer is crackable." He offered to
|
||
explain the math to Scott who politely feigned ignorance of
|
||
decimal points. "In short, I, or anyone, can get into any
|
||
computer they want. There is always a way."
|
||
|
||
"Isn't that a scary thought?" Scott asked to no one in particu-
|
||
lar.
|
||
|
||
Scott learned from the others that GWhiz was a 16 year old high
|
||
school junior from Phoenix, Arizona. He measured on the high-end
|
||
of the genius scale, joined Mensa at 4 and already had in hand
|
||
scholarships from Westinghouse, Mellon, CalTech, MIT, Stanford
|
||
to name a few. At the tender age of 7 he started programming and
|
||
was now fluent in eleven computer languages. GWhiz was regarded
|
||
with an intellectual awe from hackers for his theoretical analy-
|
||
ses that he had turned into hacking tools. He was a walking
|
||
encyclopedia of methods and techniques to both protect and attack
|
||
computers. To GWhiz, straddling the political fence by arming
|
||
both sides with the same weapons was a logical choice. Scott
|
||
viewed it as a high tech MAD - Mutual Assured Destruction, com-
|
||
puter wise.
|
||
|
||
"Don't you see," said the British DRDR, continuing as if there
|
||
had been no interruption. "The media portrays us as security
|
||
breaking phreaks, and that's exactly what we are. And that works
|
||
for the establishment as well. We keep the designers and securi-
|
||
ty people honest by testing their systems for free. What a great
|
||
deal, don't you think? We, the hackers of the world, are the
|
||
Good Housekeeping Seal of security systems by virtue of the fact
|
||
that either we can or we cannot penetrate them. If that's not
|
||
working for the system, I don't know what is."
|
||
|
||
"DRDR's heading down the right path," Dave the futurist spoke
|
||
up. "Even though he does work for GCHQ."
|
||
|
||
"GCHQ?" Scott asked quickly.
|
||
|
||
"The English version of your NSA," said Pinball, still engrossed
|
||
in his food.
|
||
|
||
"I do not!" protested DRDR. "Besides, what difference would it
|
||
make if I did?" He asked more defensively.
|
||
|
||
"None, none at all," agreed Dave. "The effect is the same.
|
||
However, if you are an MI-5 or MI-6 or whatever, that would show
|
||
a great deal of unanticipated foresight on the part of your
|
||
government. I wish ours would think farther ahead than today's
|
||
headlines. I have found that people everywhere in the world see
|
||
the problem as one of hackers, rather than the fundamental issues
|
||
that are at stake. We hackers are manifestations of the problems
|
||
that technology has bequeathed us. If any of our governments
|
||
were actually responsive enough to listen, they would have a
|
||
great deal of concern for the emerging infrastructure that
|
||
doesn't have a leader. Now, I'm not taking a side on this one,
|
||
but I am saying that if I were the government, I would sure as
|
||
all hell want to know what was going on in the trenches. The U.S.
|
||
especially."
|
||
|
||
Everyone seemed to agree with that.
|
||
|
||
"But they're too caught up in their own meaningless self-sustain-
|
||
ing parasitic lives to realize that a new world is shaping around
|
||
them." When Che2 spoke, he spoke his mind, leaving no doubt as
|
||
to how he felt. "They don't have the smarts to get involved and
|
||
see it first hand. Which is fine by me, because, as you said,"
|
||
he said pointing at DRDR, "it doesn't matter. They wouldn't
|
||
listen to him anyway. It gives us more time to build in de-
|
||
fenses."
|
||
|
||
"Defenses against what?" asked Scott.
|
||
|
||
"Against them, of course," responded Che2. "The fascist military
|
||
industrial establishment keeps us under a microscope. They're
|
||
scared of us. They have spent tens of billions of dollars to
|
||
construct huge computers, built into the insides of mountains,
|
||
protected from nuclear attack. In them are data bases about you,
|
||
and me, and him and hundreds of millions of others. There are a
|
||
lot of these systems, IRS, the Census Department has one, the
|
||
FBI, the DIA, the CIA, the NSA, the OBM, I can go on." Che2's
|
||
voice crescendo'd and he got more demonstrative as the importance
|
||
he attributed to each subject increased. "These computers con-
|
||
tain the most private information about us all. I for one, want
|
||
to prevent them from ever using that information against me or
|
||
letting others get at it either. Unlike those who feel that the
|
||
Bill of Rights should be re-interpreted and re-shaped and re-
|
||
packaged to feed their power frenzy, I say it's worked for 200
|
||
years and I don't want to fix something if it ain't broke."
|
||
|
||
"One needs to weigh the consequences of breaking and entering a
|
||
computer, assay the purpose, evaluate the goal against the possi-
|
||
ble negatives before wildly embarking through a foreign computer.
|
||
That is what we mean by the Code." Solon spoke English with
|
||
Teutonic precision and a mild lilt that gave his accented words
|
||
additional credibility. He sounded like an expert. "I believe,
|
||
quite strongly, that it is not so complicated to have a major
|
||
portion of the hacker community live by the Code. Unless you are
|
||
intent on damage, no one should have any trouble with the simple
|
||
Credo, 'leave things as you found them'. You see, there is
|
||
nothing wrong with breaking security as long as you're accom-
|
||
plishing something useful."
|
||
|
||
"Hold on," interrupted Scott. "Am I hearing this right? You're
|
||
saying that it's all right to break into a computer as long as
|
||
you don't do any damage, and put everything right before you
|
||
leave?"
|
||
|
||
"That's about it. It is so simple, yet so blanketing in its
|
||
ramifications. The beauty of the Code, if everyone lived by it,
|
||
would be a maximization of computer resources. Now, that is
|
||
good for everyone."
|
||
|
||
"Wait, I can't stand this, wait," said Scott holding his hands
|
||
over his head in surrender. He elicited a laugh from everyone
|
||
but Che2. "That's like saying, it's O.K. for you to come into my
|
||
house when I'm not there, use the house, wash the dishes, do the
|
||
laundry, sweep up and split. I have a real problem with that.
|
||
That's an invasion of my privacy and I would personally resent
|
||
the shit out of it." Scott tried this line of reasoning again as
|
||
he had with Kirk.
|
||
|
||
"Just the point," said DRDR. "When someone breaks into a house
|
||
it's a civil case. But this new bloody Computer Misuse Act makes
|
||
it a felony to enter a computer. Parliament isn't 100% perfect,"
|
||
he added comically. DRDR referred to the recent British attempts
|
||
at legislative guidelines to criminalize certain computer activi-
|
||
ties.
|
||
|
||
"As you should resent it." Dave jumped in speaking to Scott.
|
||
"But there's a higher purpose here. You resent your house being
|
||
used by an uninvited guest in your absence. Right?" Scott a-
|
||
greed. "Well, let's say that you are going to Hawaii for a
|
||
couple of weeks, and someone discovers that your house is going
|
||
to be robbed while you're gone. So instead of bothering you, he
|
||
house sits. Your house doesn't get robbed, you return, find
|
||
nothing amiss, totally unaware of your visitor. Would you rather
|
||
get robbed instead?"
|
||
|
||
"Well, I certainly don't want to get robbed, but . . . I know
|
||
what it is. I'm out of control and my privacy is still being
|
||
violated. I don't know if I have a quick answer." Scott looked
|
||
and sounded perplexed.
|
||
|
||
"Goot! You should not have a quick answer, for that answer is
|
||
the core, the essence of the ultimate problem that we all inves-
|
||
tigate every day." Solon gestured to their table of seven. "That
|
||
question is security versus freedom. Within the world of acade-
|
||
mia there is a strong tendency to share everything. Your ideas,
|
||
your thoughts, your successes and failures, the germs of an idea
|
||
thrown away and the migration of a brainstorm into the tangible.
|
||
They therefore desire complete freedom of information exchange,
|
||
they do not wish any restrictions on their freedom to interact.
|
||
However, the Governments of the world want to isolate and re-
|
||
strict access to information; right or wrong, we acknowledge
|
||
their concern. That is the other side, security with minimal
|
||
freedom. The banks also prefer security to freedom, although
|
||
they do it very poorly and give it a lot, how do you say, a lot
|
||
of lip service?"
|
||
|
||
Everyone agreed that describing a bank's security as lip service
|
||
was entirely too complimentary, but for the sake of brevity they
|
||
let it go uncontested.
|
||
|
||
"Then again, business hasn't made up its mind as to whether they
|
||
should bother protecting information assets or not. So, there
|
||
are now four groups with different needs and desires which vary
|
||
the ratio of freedom to security. In reality, of course, there
|
||
will be hundreds of opinions," Solon added for accuracy's sake.
|
||
"Mathematically, if there is no security, dividing by 0 results
|
||
in infinite freedom. Any security at all and some freedom is
|
||
curtailed. So, therein the problem to be solved. At what cost
|
||
freedom? It is an age old question that every generation must
|
||
ask, weigh and decide for itself. This generation will do the
|
||
same for information and freedom. They are inseparable."
|
||
|
||
Scott soaked in the words and wanted to think about them later,
|
||
at his leisure. The erudite positions taken by hackers was
|
||
astonishing compared to what he had expected. Yes, some of the
|
||
goals and convictions were radical to say the least, but the
|
||
arguments were persuasive.
|
||
|
||
"Let me ask you," Scott said to the group. "What happens when
|
||
computers are secure? What will you do then?"
|
||
|
||
"They won't get secure," GWhiz said. "As soon as they come up
|
||
with a defense, we will find a way around it."
|
||
|
||
"Won't that cycle ever end?"
|
||
|
||
"Technology is in the hands of the people," commented Che2.
|
||
"This is the first time in history when the power is not concen-
|
||
trated with a select few. The ancients kept the secrets of
|
||
writing with their religious leaders; traveling by ship in the
|
||
open sea was a hard learned and noble skill. Today, weapons of
|
||
mass destruction are controlled by a few mad men who are no
|
||
better than you or I. But now, computers, access to information,
|
||
that power will never be taken away. Never!"
|
||
|
||
"It doesn't matter." Dave was viewing the future in his own
|
||
mind. "I doubt that computers will ever be secure, but instead,
|
||
the barrier, the wall, the time and energy it takes to crack into
|
||
them will become prohibitive for all but the most determined.
|
||
Anyway, there'll be new technology to explore."
|
||
|
||
"Like what?" Asked Scott.
|
||
|
||
"Satellites are pretty interesting. They are a natural extension
|
||
of the computer network, and cracking them will be lots easier in
|
||
a couple of years." DRDR saw understanding any new technology as
|
||
apersonal challenge.
|
||
|
||
"How do you crack a satellite? What's there to crack?"
|
||
|
||
"How about beaming your own broadcasts to millions of people
|
||
using someone else's satellite?" DRDR speculated. "It's been
|
||
done before, and as the equipment gets cheaper, I can assure you
|
||
that we'll be seeing many more political statements illegally
|
||
being made over the public airwaves. The BBC and NBC will have
|
||
their hands full. In the near future, I see virtual realities
|
||
as an ideal milieu for next generation hackers."
|
||
|
||
"I agree," said Solon. "And with virtual realities, the ethical
|
||
issues are even more profound than with the Global Network."
|
||
|
||
Scott held up his hands. "I know what _I_ think it is, but
|
||
before you go on, I need to know how you define a virtual reali-
|
||
ty." The hackers looked at each until Dave took the ball.
|
||
|
||
"A virtual reality is fooling the mind and body into believing
|
||
something is real that isn't real." Scott's face was blank.
|
||
"Ever been to Disneyland?" Dave asked. Scott nodded. "And
|
||
you've ridden Star Tours?" Scott nodded again. "Well, that's a
|
||
simple virtual reality. Star Tours fools your body into thinking
|
||
that you are in a space ship careening through an asteroid belt,
|
||
but in reality, you are suspended on a few guy wires. The
|
||
projected image reinforces the sensory hallucination."
|
||
|
||
"Now imagine a visual field, currently it's done with goggles,
|
||
that creates real life pictures, in real time and interacts with
|
||
your movements."
|
||
|
||
Scott's light bulb went off. "That's like the Holo-Deck on Star
|
||
Trek!"
|
||
|
||
"That is the ultimate in virtual reality, yes. But before we can
|
||
achieve that, imagine sitting in a virtual cockpit of a virtual
|
||
car, and seeing exactly what you would see from a race car at the
|
||
Indy 500. The crowds, the noises, and just as importantly, the
|
||
feel of the car you are driving. As you drive, you shift and the
|
||
car reacts, you feel the car react. You actually follow the
|
||
track in the path that you steer. The combination of sight,
|
||
sound and hearing, even smell, creates a total illusion. In
|
||
short, there is no way to distinguish between reality and delu-
|
||
sion."
|
||
|
||
"Flight simulators for the people," chimed in Che2.
|
||
|
||
"I see the day when every Mall in America will have Virtual
|
||
Reality Parlors where you can live out your fantasies. No more
|
||
than 5 years," Dave confidently prognosticated.
|
||
|
||
Scott imagined the Spook's interpretation of virtual realities.
|
||
He immediately conjured up the memory of Woody Allen's Orgasma-
|
||
tron in the movie Sleeper. The hackers claimed that computer
|
||
generated sex was less than ten years away.
|
||
|
||
"And that will be an ideal terrain for hackers. That kind of
|
||
power over the mind can be used for terrible things, and it will
|
||
be up to us to make sure it's not abused." Che2 maintained his
|
||
position of guardian of world freedom.
|
||
|
||
As they finished their lunch and Scott paid the check, they
|
||
thanked him vigorously for the treat. They might be nuts, but
|
||
they were polite, and genuine.
|
||
|
||
"I'm confused about one thing," Scott said as they left the
|
||
restaurant and walked the wide boulevard. "You all advocate an
|
||
independence, an anarchy where the individual is paramount, and
|
||
the Government is worse than a necessary evil. Yet I detect
|
||
disorganization, no plan; more like a leaf in a lake, not knowing
|
||
where it will go next." There were no disagreements with his
|
||
summary assessment.
|
||
|
||
"Don't any of you work together? As a group, a kind of a gang?
|
||
It seems to me that if there was an agenda, a program, that you
|
||
might achieve your aims more quickly." Scott was trying to avoid
|
||
being critical by his inquisitiveness.
|
||
|
||
"Then we would be a government, too, and that's not what we want.
|
||
This is about individual power, responsibility. At any rate, I
|
||
don't think you could find two of us in enough agreement on
|
||
anything to build a platform." As usual, Solon maintained a
|
||
pragmatic approach.
|
||
|
||
"Well," Scott mused out loud. "What would happen if a group, like
|
||
you, got together and followed a game plan. Built a hacker's
|
||
guide book and stuck to it, all for a common cause, which I
|
||
realize is impossible. But for argument's sake, what would
|
||
happen?"
|
||
|
||
"That would be immense power," said Che2. "If there were enough,
|
||
they could do pretty much what they wanted. Very political."
|
||
|
||
"I would see it as dangerous, potentially very dangerous," com-
|
||
mented DRDR. He pondered the question. "The effects of synergy
|
||
in any endeavor are unpredictable. If they worked as group, a
|
||
unit, it is possible that they would be a force to be reckoned
|
||
with."
|
||
|
||
"There would be only one word for it," Dave said with finality.
|
||
"They could easily become a strong and deadly opponent if their
|
||
aims are not benevolent. Personally, I would have to call such a
|
||
group, terrorists."
|
||
|
||
"Sounds like the Freedom League," Pinball said off handedly.
|
||
|
||
Scott's head jerked toward Pinball. "What about the Freedom
|
||
League?" he asked pointedly.
|
||
|
||
"All I said is that this political hacking sounds like the Free-
|
||
dom League," Pinball said innocently. "They bloody well go on
|
||
for a fortnight and a day about how software should be free to
|
||
anyone that needs it, and that only those that can afford it
|
||
should pay. Like big corporations."
|
||
|
||
"I've heard of Freedom before," piped Scott.
|
||
|
||
"The Freedom League is a huge BBS, mate. They have hundreds of
|
||
local BBS's around the States, and even a few across the pond in
|
||
God's country. Quite an operation, if I say."
|
||
|
||
Pinball had Scott's full attention. "They run the BBS's, and
|
||
have an incredible shareware library. Thousands of programs, and
|
||
they give them all away."
|
||
|
||
"It's very impressive," Dave said giving credit where credit was
|
||
due. "They prove that software can be socially responsible.
|
||
We've been saying that for years."
|
||
|
||
"What does anybody know about this Freedom League?" Scott asked
|
||
suspiciously.
|
||
|
||
"What's to know? They've been around for years, have a great
|
||
service, fabulous BBS's, and reliable software."
|
||
|
||
"It just sounds too good to be true," Scott mused as they made
|
||
it back to the warehouse for more hours of education.
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
Until late that night, Scott continued to elicit viewpoints and
|
||
opinions and political positions from the radical underground
|
||
elements of the 1990's he had traveled 3000 miles to meet. Each
|
||
encounter, each discussion, each conversation yielded yet another
|
||
perspective on the social rational for hacking and the invasion
|
||
of privacy. Most everyone at the InterGalactic Hackers Confer-
|
||
ence had heard about Scott, the Repo Man, and knew why he was
|
||
there. He was accepted as a fair and impartial observer, thus
|
||
many of them made a concerted effort to preach their particular
|
||
case to him. By midnight, overload had consumed Scott and he made
|
||
a polite exit, promising to return the following day.
|
||
|
||
Still, no one had heard from or seen the Spook.
|
||
|
||
Scott walked back to his hotel through the Red Light District and
|
||
stopped to purchase a souvenir or two. The sexually explicit T-
|
||
Shirts would have both made Larry Flynt blush and be banned on
|
||
Florida beaches, but the counterfeit $1 bills, with George Wash-
|
||
ington and the pyramid replaced by closeups of impossible oral
|
||
sexual acts was a compelling gift. They were so well made, that
|
||
without a close inspection, the pornographic money could easily
|
||
find itself in the till at a church bake sale.
|
||
|
||
There was a message waiting for Scott when he arrived at the
|
||
Eureka! It was from Tyrone and marked urgent. New York was 6
|
||
hours behind, so hopefully Ty was at home. Scott dialed USA
|
||
Connect, the service that allows travelers to get to an AT&T
|
||
operator rather than fight the local phone system.
|
||
|
||
"Make it good." Tyrone answered his home phone.
|
||
|
||
"Hey, guy. You rang?" Scott said cheerily.
|
||
|
||
"Shit, it's about time. Where the hell have you been?" Tyrone
|
||
whispered as loud as he could. It was obvious he didn't want
|
||
anyone on his end hearing. "You can thank your secretary for
|
||
telling me where you were staying." Tyrone spoke quickly.
|
||
|
||
"I'll give her a raise," lied Scott. He didn't have a secretary.
|
||
The paper used a pool for all the reporters. "What's the panic?"
|
||
|
||
"Then you don't know." Tyrone caught himself. "Of course you
|
||
didn't hear, how could you?"
|
||
|
||
"How could I hear what?"
|
||
|
||
"The shit has done hit the fan," Tyrone said drawling his words.
|
||
"Two more EMP-T bombs. The Atlanta regional IRS office and a
|
||
payroll service in New Jersey. A quarter million folks aren't
|
||
getting paid tomorrow. And I'll tell you, these folks is mighty
|
||
pissed off."
|
||
|
||
"Christ," Scott said, mentally chastising himself for not having
|
||
been where the action was.
|
||
|
||
What lousy timing.
|
||
|
||
"So dig this. Did you know that the Senate was having open
|
||
subcommittee hearings on Privacy and Technology Protection?"
|
||
|
||
"No."
|
||
|
||
"Neither do a lot of people. It's been a completely underplayed
|
||
and underpromoted effort. Until yesterday that is. Now the eyes
|
||
of millions are watching. Starting tomorrow."
|
||
|
||
"Tomorrow?" Scott yelled across the Atlantic. "That's the eighth.
|
||
Congress doesn't usually convene until late January . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Used to," Ty said. "The Constitution says that Congress shall
|
||
meet on January third, after the holidays. Since the Gulf War
|
||
Congress has returned in the first week. 'Bout time they did
|
||
something for their paychecks."
|
||
|
||
"Damn," Scott thought out loud.
|
||
|
||
"I knew that would excite you," Tyrone said sarcastically. "And
|
||
there's more. Congressman Rickfield, you know who he is?" asked
|
||
Tyrone.
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, sure. Long timer on the Hill. Got as many enemies as he
|
||
does friends. Wields an immense amount of power," Scott re-
|
||
called.
|
||
|
||
"Right, exactly. And that little weasel is the chair."
|
||
|
||
"I guess you're not on his Christmas list," Scott observed.
|
||
|
||
"I really doubt it," Tyrone said. "But that's off the record.
|
||
He's been a Southern racist from day one, a real Hoover man.
|
||
During the riots, in the early '60's, he was not exactly a propo-
|
||
nent of civil rights. In fact that slime ball made Wallace look
|
||
like Martin Luther King." Tyrone sounded bitter and derisive in
|
||
his description of Rickfield. "He has no concept what civil
|
||
rights are. He makes it a black white issue instead of one of
|
||
constitutional law. Stupid bigots are the worst kind." The
|
||
derision in Ty's voice was unmistakable.
|
||
|
||
"Sounds like you're a big fan."
|
||
|
||
"I'll be a fan when he hangs high. Besides my personal and
|
||
racial beliefs about Rickfield, he really is a low life. He, and
|
||
a few of his cronies are one on the biggest threats to personal
|
||
freedom the country faces. He thinks that the Bill of Rights
|
||
should be edited from time to time and now's the time. He scares
|
||
me. Especially since there's more like him."
|
||
|
||
It was eminently clear that Tyrone Duncan had no place in this
|
||
life for Merrill Rickfield.
|
||
|
||
"I know enough about him to dislike him, but on a crowded subway
|
||
he'd just be another ugly face. Excuse my ignorance . . ." Then
|
||
it hit him. Rickfield. His name had been in those papers he had
|
||
received so long ago. What had he done, or what was he accused
|
||
of doing? Damn, damn, what is it? There were so many. Yes, it
|
||
was Rickfield, but what was the tie-in?
|
||
|
||
"I think you should be there, at the hearings," Tyrone suggested.
|
||
|
||
"Tomorrow? Are you out of your mind? No way," Scott loudly
|
||
protested. "I'm 3000 miles and 8 hours away and it's the middle
|
||
of the night here," Scott bitched and moaned. "Besides, I only
|
||
have to work one more day and then I get the weekend to
|
||
myself . . . aw, shit."
|
||
|
||
Tyrone ignored Scott's infantile objections. He attributed them
|
||
to jet lag and an understandable urge to stay in Sin City for a
|
||
couple more days. "Hollister and Adams will be there, and a
|
||
whole bunch of white shirts in black hats, and Troubleaux . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Troubleaux did you say?"
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, that's what it says here . . ."
|
||
|
||
"If he's there, then it becomes my concern, too."
|
||
|
||
"Good, glad you thought of it," joked Tyrone. "If you catch an
|
||
early flight, you could be in D.C. by noon." He was right,
|
||
thought Scott. The time difference works in your favor in that
|
||
direction.
|
||
|
||
"You know," said Scott, "with what I've found out here, today
|
||
alone, maybe. "Jeeeeeesus," Scott said cringing in indecision.
|
||
|
||
"Hey! Get your ass back here, boy. Pronto." Tyrone's friendly
|
||
authority was persuasive. "You know you don't have any choice."
|
||
The guilt trip.
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, yeah, yeah."
|
||
|
||
Scott called his office and asked for Doug. He got the voice
|
||
mail instead, and debated about calling him at home. Nah, He
|
||
thought, I'll just leave a message. This way I'll just get
|
||
yelled at once.
|
||
|
||
"Hi, Doug? Scott here. Change in plans. Heard about EMP-T. I'm
|
||
headed to Washington tomorrow. The story here is better than I
|
||
thought and dovetails right into why I'm coming back early. I
|
||
expect to be in D.C. until next Tuesday, maybe Wednesday. I'll
|
||
call when I have a place. Oh, yeah, I learned a limerick here you
|
||
might like. The Spook says the kids around here say it all the
|
||
time. 'Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow.
|
||
And everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go. It
|
||
followed her to school one day and a big black dog fucked it.'
|
||
That's Amsterdam. Bye."
|
||
|
||
****************************************************************
|
||
|
||
Chapter 20
|
||
|
||
Friday, January 8
|
||
Washington, D.C.
|
||
|
||
The New Senate Office Building is a moderately impressive struc-
|
||
ture on the edge of one of the worst sections of Washington.
|
||
Visitors find it a perpetual paradox that the power seat of the
|
||
Western World is located within a virtual shooting gallery of
|
||
drugs and weapons. Scott arrived at the NSOB near the capitol,
|
||
just before lunchtime. His press identification got him instant
|
||
access to the hearing room and into the privileged locations
|
||
where the media congregated. The hearings were in progress and
|
||
as solemn as he remembered other hearings broadcast on late night
|
||
C-SPAN.
|
||
|
||
He caught the last words of wisdom from a government employee who
|
||
worked for NIST, the National Institute of Standards and Technol-
|
||
ogy. The agency was formerly known as NBS, National Bureau of
|
||
Standards, and no one could adequately explain the change.
|
||
|
||
The NIST employee droned on about how seriously the government,
|
||
and more specifically, his agency cared about privacy and infor-
|
||
mation security, and that ". . .the government was doing all it
|
||
could to provide the requisite amount of security commensurate
|
||
with the perceived risk of disclosure and sensitivity of the
|
||
information in question." Scott ran into a couple of fellow
|
||
reporters who told him he was lucky to show up late. All morn-
|
||
ing, the government paraded witnesses to read prepared statements
|
||
about how they were protecting the interests of the Government.
|
||
|
||
It was an intensive lobbying effort, they told Scott, to shore up
|
||
whatever attacks might be made on the government's inefficient
|
||
bungling in distinction to its efficient bungling. To a man, the
|
||
witnesses assured the Senate committee that they were committed
|
||
to guaranteeing privacy of information and unconvincingly assur-
|
||
ing them that only appropriate authorized people have access to
|
||
sensitive and classified data.
|
||
|
||
Seven sequential propagandized statements went unchallenged by
|
||
the three senior committee members throughout the morning, and
|
||
Senator Rickfield went out of his way to thank the speakers for
|
||
their time, adding that he was personally convinced the Govern-
|
||
ment was indeed doing more than necessary to obviate such con-
|
||
cerns.
|
||
|
||
The underadvertised Senate Select Sub Committee on Privacy and
|
||
Technology Protection convened in Hearing Room 3 on the second
|
||
floor of the NSOB. About 400 could be accommodated in the huge
|
||
light wood paneled room on both the main floor and in the balcony
|
||
that wrapped around half of the room. The starkness of the room
|
||
was emphasized by the glare of arc and fluorescent lighting.
|
||
|
||
Scott found an empty seat on a wooden bench directly behind the
|
||
tables from which the witnesses would speak to the raised wooden
|
||
dais. He noticed that the attendance was extraordinarily low; by
|
||
both the public and the press. Probably due to the total lack of
|
||
exposure.
|
||
|
||
As the session broke for lunch, Scott asked why the TV cameras?
|
||
He thought this hearing was a deep dark secret. A couple of
|
||
fellow journalists agreed, and the only reason they had found out
|
||
about the Rickfield hearings was because the CNN producer called
|
||
them asking if they knew anything about them. Apparently, Scott
|
||
was told, CNN received an anonymous call, urging them to be part
|
||
of a blockbuster announcement. When CNN called Rickfield's
|
||
office, his staffers told CNN that there was no big deal, and
|
||
that they shouldn't waste their time. In the news business, that
|
||
kind of statement from a Congressional power broker is a sure
|
||
sign that it is worth being there. Just in case. So CNN assigned
|
||
a novice producer and a small crew to the first day of the hear-
|
||
ings. As promised, the morning session was an exercise in termi-
|
||
nal boredom.
|
||
|
||
The afternoon session was to begin at 1:30, but Senator Rickfield
|
||
was nowhere to be found, so the Assistant Chairperson of the
|
||
committee, Junior Senator Nancy Deere assumed control. She was a
|
||
44 year old grandmother of two from New England who had never
|
||
considered entering politics. Nancy Deere was the consummate
|
||
wife, supporter and stalwart of her husband Morgan Deere, an up
|
||
and coming national politician who had the unique mixture of
|
||
honesty, appeal and potential. She had spent full time on the
|
||
campaign trail with Morgan as he attempted to make the transition
|
||
from state politics to Washington. Morgan Deere was heavily
|
||
favored to win after the three term incumbent was named a co-
|
||
conspirator in the rigging of a Defense contract. Despite the
|
||
pending indictments, the race continued with constant pleadings
|
||
by the incumbent that the trumped up charges would shortly be
|
||
dismissed. In the first week after the Grand Jury was convened,
|
||
the voter polls indicated that Deere led with a 70% support
|
||
factor.
|
||
|
||
Then came the accident. On his way home from a fund raising
|
||
dinner, Morgan Deere's limousine was run off an icy winter road
|
||
by a drunk driver. Deere's resulting injuries made it impossible
|
||
for him to continue the campaign or even be sure that he would
|
||
ever be able to regain enough strength to withstand the brutality
|
||
of Washington politics.
|
||
|
||
Within days of the accident, Deere's campaign manager announced
|
||
that Nancy Deere would replace her husband. Due to Morgan's
|
||
local popularity, and the fact that the state was so small that
|
||
everyone knew everyone else's business, and that the incumbent
|
||
was going to jail, and that the elections were less than two
|
||
weeks away, there was barely a spike in the projections. No one
|
||
seemed to care that Nancy Deere had no experience in politics;
|
||
they just liked her.
|
||
|
||
What remained of the campaign was run on her part with impeccable
|
||
style. Unlike her opponent who spent vast sums to besmirch her
|
||
on television, Nancy's campaign was largely waged on news and
|
||
national talk shows. Her husband was popular, as was she, and
|
||
the general interest in her as a woman outweighed the interest in
|
||
her politics. The state's constituency overwhelmingly endorsed
|
||
her with their votes and Senator Nancy Deere, one of the few
|
||
woman ever to reach that level as an elected official, was on her
|
||
way to Washington.
|
||
|
||
Nancy Deere found that many of the professional politicians
|
||
preferred to ignore her; they were convinced she was bound to be
|
||
a one termer once the GOP got someone to run against her. Others
|
||
found her to be a genuine pain in the butt. Not due to her
|
||
naivete, far from that, she adeptly acclimated to the culture and
|
||
the system. Rather, she was a woman and she broke the rules. She
|
||
said what she felt; she echoed the sentiments of her constituency
|
||
which were largely unpopular politically. Nancy Deere didn't
|
||
care what official Washington thought; her state was behind her
|
||
with an almost unanimous approval and it was her sworn duty to
|
||
represent them honestly and without compromise. She had nothing
|
||
to lose by being herself. After more than a year in Washington,
|
||
she learned how the massive Washington machinery functioned and
|
||
why it crawled with a hurry up and wait engine.
|
||
|
||
In Rickfield's absence, at 1:40 P.M., Senator Nancy Deere called
|
||
the session to order. Her administrative demeanor gave no one
|
||
pause to question her authority. Even the other sole Congres-
|
||
sional representative on the sub-committee fell into step.
|
||
While Senator Stanley Paglusi technically had seniority, he sat
|
||
on the committee at Rickfield's request and held no specific
|
||
interest in the subject matter they were investigating. He
|
||
accepted the seat to mollify Rickfield and to add to his own
|
||
political resume.
|
||
|
||
"Come to order, please," she announced over the ample sound
|
||
system. The voluminous hearing room reacted promptly to the
|
||
authoritative command that issued forth from the petite auburn
|
||
haired Nancy Deere who would have been just as comfortable auc-
|
||
tioning donated goods at her church. She noticed that unlike the
|
||
morning session, the afternoon session was packed. The press pool
|
||
was nearly full and several people were forced to stand. What
|
||
had changed, she asked herself.
|
||
|
||
After the procedural formalities were completed, she again
|
||
thanked those who had spoken to the committee in the morning, and
|
||
then promised an equally informative afternoon. Nancy, as she
|
||
liked to be called on all but the most formal of occasions intro-
|
||
duced the committee's first afternoon witness.
|
||
|
||
"Our next speaker is Ted Hammacher, a recognized expert on the
|
||
subject of computer and information security. During 17 years
|
||
with the Government, Mr. Hammacher worked with the Defense Inves-
|
||
tigatory Agency and the National Security Agency as a DoD liai-
|
||
son. He is currently a security consultant to industry and the
|
||
government and is the author of hundreds of articles on the
|
||
subject." As was required, Nancy Deere outlined Hammacher's
|
||
qualifications as an expert, and then invited him to give his
|
||
opening statement.
|
||
|
||
The television in Rickfield's office was tuned to C-SPAN which
|
||
was broadcasting the hearings as he spoke into the phone.
|
||
|
||
"Only a couple more and then I'm off to spend my days in the
|
||
company of luscious maidens on the island of my choice," he
|
||
bragged into the phone. The Senator listened intently to the
|
||
response. "Yes, I am aware of that, but it doesn't change the
|
||
fact that I'm calling it quits. I cannot, I will not, continue
|
||
this charade." He listened quietly for several minutes before
|
||
interjecting.
|
||
|
||
"Listen, General, we've both made enough money to keep us in
|
||
style for the rest of our lives, and I will not jeopardize that
|
||
for anything. Got it?" Again he listened. "I don't know about
|
||
you, but I do not relish the idea of doing ten to twenty regard-
|
||
less of how much of a country club the prison is. It is still a
|
||
prison." He listened further.
|
||
|
||
"That's it, I've had it! Don't make me use that file to impli-
|
||
cate you, the guys over at State and our Import . . .hey!" Rick-
|
||
field turned to Ken Boyers. "Who started the afternoon session?"
|
||
He pointed at the TV.
|
||
|
||
"It looks like Senator Deere," Ken said.
|
||
|
||
"Deere? Where does that goddamned bitch get off . . ?" He remem-
|
||
bered the phone. "General? I have to go, I've got a suffragette
|
||
usurping a little power, and I have to put her back in her place.
|
||
You understand. But, on that other matter, I'm out. Done. Fini-
|
||
to. Do what you want, but keep me the fuck out of it." Rick-
|
||
field hung up abruptly and stared at the broadcast. "Some house-
|
||
broken homemaker is not going to make me look bad. Goddamn it,
|
||
Ken," Rickfield said as he stood up quickly. "Let's get back out
|
||
there."
|
||
|
||
"Thank you, Senator Deere, and committee members. I am honored
|
||
to have a chance to speak to you here today. As a preface to my
|
||
remarks, I think that a brief history of security and privacy
|
||
from a government perspective may be in order. One of the reasons
|
||
we are here today is due to a succession of events that since the
|
||
introduction of the computer have shaped an ad hoc anarchism, a
|
||
laissez-faire attitude toward privacy and security. Rather than
|
||
a comprehensive national policy, despite the valiant efforts of a
|
||
few able Congressmen, the United States of America has allowed
|
||
itself to be lulled into technical complacency and indifference.
|
||
Therefore, I will, if the committee agrees, provide a brief
|
||
chronological record."
|
||
|
||
"I for one would be most interested," said Senator Deere. "It
|
||
appeared that this morning our speakers assumed we were more
|
||
knowledgeable that we are. Any clarifications will be most
|
||
welcome." The crowd agreed silently. Much of the history was
|
||
cloaked in secrecy.
|
||
|
||
The distinguished Ted Hammacher was an accomplished orator,
|
||
utilizing the best that Washington diplomatic-speak could muster.
|
||
At 50 years old, his short cropped white hair capped a proper
|
||
military bearing even though he had maintained a civilian status
|
||
throughout his Pentagon associations. "Thank you madam
|
||
chairman." He glanced down at the well organized folder and
|
||
turned a page.
|
||
|
||
"Concerns of privacy can be traced back thousands of years with
|
||
perhaps the Egyptian pyramids as the first classic example of a
|
||
brute force approach towards privacy. The first recorded at-
|
||
tempts at disguising the contents of a written message were in
|
||
Roman times when Julius Caesar encoded messages to his generals
|
||
in the field. The Romans used a simple substitution cipher where
|
||
one letter in the alphabet is used in place of another. The
|
||
cryptograms found in the Sunday paper use the same techniques.
|
||
Any method by which a the contents of a message is scrambled is
|
||
known as encryption."
|
||
|
||
The CNN producer maintained the sole camera shot and his atten-
|
||
tion on Ted Hammacher. He missed Senator Rickfield and his aid
|
||
reappear on the dais. Rickfield's eyes penetrated Nancy Deere
|
||
who imperceptibly acknowledged his return. "You should not over-
|
||
step your bounds," Rickfield leaned over and said to her. "You
|
||
have five years to go. Stunts like this will not make your time
|
||
any easier."
|
||
|
||
"Senator," she said to Rickfield as Hammacher spoke. "You are
|
||
obviously not familiar with the procedures of Senate panel proto-
|
||
col. I was merely trying to assist the progress of the hearings
|
||
in your absence, I assure you." Her coolness infuriated Rick-
|
||
field.
|
||
|
||
"Well, then, thank you," he sneered. "But, now, I am back. I
|
||
will appreciate no further procedural interference." He sat up
|
||
brusquely indicating that his was the last word on the subject.
|
||
Unaware of the political sidebar in progress, Hammacher contin-
|
||
ued.
|
||
|
||
"Ciphers were evolved over the centuries until they reached a
|
||
temporary plateau during World War II. The Germans used the most
|
||
sophisticated message encoding or encryption device ever devised.
|
||
Suitably called the Enigma, their encryption scheme was nearly
|
||
uncrackable until the Allies captured one of the devices, and
|
||
then under the leadership of Alan Turing, a method was found to
|
||
regularly decipher intercepted German High Command orders. Many
|
||
historians consider this effort as being instrumental in bringing
|
||
about an end to the war.
|
||
|
||
"In the years immediately following World War II, the only per-
|
||
ceived need for secrecy was by the military and the emerging
|
||
intelligence services, namely the OSS as it became the modern
|
||
CIA, the British MI-5 and MI-6 and of course our opponents on the
|
||
other side. In an effort to maintain a technological leadership
|
||
position, the National Security Agency funded various projects to
|
||
develop encryption schemes that would adequately protect govern-
|
||
ment information and communications for the foreseeable future.
|
||
|
||
"The first such requests were issued in 1972 but it wasn't until
|
||
1974 that the National Bureau of Standards accepted an IBM pro-
|
||
posal for an encryption process known as Lucifer. With the
|
||
assistance of the NSA who is responsible for cryptography, the
|
||
Data Encryption Standard was approved in November of 1976. There
|
||
was an accompanying furor over the DES, some saying that the NSA
|
||
intentionally weakened it to insure that they could still decrypt
|
||
any messages using the approved algorithm.
|
||
|
||
"In 1982 a financial group, FIMAS endorsed a DES based method to
|
||
authenticate Electronic Funds Transfer, or EFT. Banks move
|
||
upwards of a trillion dollars daily, and in an effort to insure
|
||
that all monies are moved accurately and to their intended desti-
|
||
nations, the technique of Message Authentication Coding was
|
||
introduced. For still unknown reasons it was decided that en-
|
||
crypting the contents of the messages, or transfers, was unneces-
|
||
sary. Thus, financial transactions are still carried out with
|
||
no protection from eavesdropping."
|
||
|
||
"Excuse me, Mr. Hammacher, I want to understand this," interrupt-
|
||
ed Senator Deere. "Are you saying that, since 1976, we have had
|
||
the ability to camouflage the nation's financial networks, yet as
|
||
of today, they are still unprotected?" Rickfield looked over at
|
||
Nancy in disgust but the single camera missed it.
|
||
|
||
"Yes, ma'am, that's exactly the case," replied Hammacher.
|
||
|
||
"What does that mean to us? The Government? Or the average citi-
|
||
zen?"
|
||
|
||
"In my opinion it borders on insanity. It means that for the
|
||
price of a bit of electronic equipment, anyone can tap into the
|
||
details of the financial dealings of banks, the government and
|
||
every citizen in this country."
|
||
|
||
Senator Deere visibly gulped. "Thank you, please continue."
|
||
|
||
"In 1984, President Reagan signed National Security Decision
|
||
Directive 145. NSDD-145 established that defense contractors and
|
||
other organizations that handle sensitive or classified informa-
|
||
tion must adhere to certain security and privacy guidelines. A
|
||
number of advisory groups were established, and to a minimal
|
||
extent, the recommendations have been implemented, but I must
|
||
emphasize, to a minimal extent."
|
||
|
||
"Can you be a little more specific, Mr. Hammacher?" Asked Senator
|
||
Deere.
|
||
|
||
"No ma'am, I can't. A great deal of these efforts are classified
|
||
and by divulging who is not currently in compliance would be a
|
||
security violation in itself. It would be fair to say, though,
|
||
that the majority of those organizations targeted for additional
|
||
security measures fall far short of the government's intentions
|
||
and desires. I am sorry I cannot be more specific."
|
||
|
||
"I understand completely. Once again," Nancy said to Hammacher,
|
||
"I am sorry to interrupt."
|
||
|
||
"Not at all, Senator." Hammacher sipped from his water glass.
|
||
"As you can see, the interest in security was primarily from the
|
||
government, and more specifically the defense community. In
|
||
1981, the Department of Defense chartered the DoD Computer Secu-
|
||
rity Center which has since become the National Computer Security
|
||
Center operating under the auspices of the National Security
|
||
Agency. In 1983 they published a series of guidelines to be used
|
||
in the creation or evaluation of computer security. Officially
|
||
titled the Trusted Computer Security Evaluation Criteria, it is
|
||
popularly known as the Orange Book. It has had some minor
|
||
updates since then, but by and large it is an outdated document
|
||
designed for older computer architectures.
|
||
|
||
"The point to be made here is that while the government had an
|
||
ostensible interest and concern about the security of computers,
|
||
especially those under their control, there was virtually no
|
||
overt significance placed upon the security of private industry's
|
||
computers. Worse yet, it was not until 1987 that any proposed
|
||
criteria were developed for networked computers. So, as the
|
||
world tied itself together with millions of computers and net-
|
||
works, the Government was not concerned enough to address the
|
||
issue. Even today, there are no secure network criteria that are
|
||
universally accepted."
|
||
|
||
"Mr. Hammacher." Senator Rickfield spoke up for the first time.
|
||
"You appear to have a most demeaning tone with respect to the
|
||
United States Government's ability to manage itself. I for one
|
||
remain unconvinced that we are as derelict as you suggest.
|
||
Therefore, I would ask that you stick to the subject at hand, the
|
||
facts, and leave your personal opinions at home."
|
||
|
||
Nancy Deere as well as much of the audience listened in awe as
|
||
Rickfield slashed out at Hammacher who was in the process of
|
||
building an argument. Common courtesy demanded that he be per-
|
||
mitted to finish his statement, even if his conclusions were
|
||
unpopular or erroneous.
|
||
|
||
Hammacher did not seem fazed. "Sir, I am recounting the facts,
|
||
and only the facts. My personal opinions would only be further
|
||
damning, so I agree, that I will refrain." He turned a page in
|
||
his notebook and continued.
|
||
|
||
"Several laws were passed, most notably Public Law 100-235, the
|
||
Computer Security Act of 1987. This weak law called for enhanced
|
||
cooperation between the NSA and NIST in the administration of
|
||
security for the sensitive but unclassified world of the Govern-
|
||
ment and the private sector. Interestingly enough, in mid 1990
|
||
it was announced, that after a protracted battle between the two
|
||
security agencies, the NCSC would shut down and merge its efforts
|
||
with its giant super secret parent, the NSA. President Bush
|
||
signed the Directive effectively replacing Reagan's NSDD-145.
|
||
Because the budgeting and appropriations for both NSA and the
|
||
former NCSC are classified, there is no way to accurately gauge
|
||
the effectiveness of this move. It may still be some time before
|
||
we understand the ramifications of the new Executive Order.
|
||
|
||
"To date every state has some kind of statute designed to punish
|
||
computer crime, but prosecutions that involve the crossing of
|
||
state lines in the commission of a crime are far and few between.
|
||
Only 1% of all computer criminals are prosecuted and less than 5%
|
||
of those result in convictions. In short, the United States has
|
||
done little or nothing to forge an appropriate defense against
|
||
computer crime, despite the political gerrymandering and agency
|
||
shuffling over the last decade. That concludes my opening re-
|
||
marks." Hammacher sat back in his chair and finished the water.
|
||
He turned to his lawyer and whispered something Scott couldn't
|
||
hear.
|
||
|
||
"Ah, Mr. Hammacher, before you continue, I would like ask a few
|
||
questions. Do you mind?" Senator Nancy Deere was being her
|
||
usual gracious self.
|
||
|
||
"Not at all, Senator."
|
||
|
||
"You said earlier that the NSA endorsed a cryptographic system
|
||
that they themselves could crack. Could you elaborate?" Senator
|
||
Nancy Deere's ability to grasp an issue at the roots was uncanny.
|
||
|
||
"I'd be pleased to. First of all, it is only one opinion that
|
||
the NSA can crack DES; it has never been proven or disproven.
|
||
When DES was first introduced some theoreticians felt that NSA
|
||
had compromised the original integrity of IBM's Lucifer encryp-
|
||
tion project. I am not qualified to comment either way, but the
|
||
reduction of the key length, and the functional feedback mecha-
|
||
nisms were less stringent than the original. If this is true,
|
||
then we have to ask ourselves, why? Why would the NSA want a
|
||
weaker system?"
|
||
|
||
A number of heads in the hearing room nodded in agreement with
|
||
the question; others merely acknowledged that it was NSA bashing
|
||
time again.
|
||
|
||
Hammacher continued. "There is one theory that suggests that the
|
||
NSA, as the largest eavesdropping operation in the world wanted
|
||
to make sure that they could still listen in on messages once
|
||
they have been encrypted. The NSA has neither confirmed or
|
||
denied these reports. If that is true, then we must ask our-
|
||
selves, if DES is so weak, why does the NSA have the ultimate say
|
||
on export control. The export of DES is restricted by the Muni-
|
||
tions Control, Department of State, and they rely upon DoD and
|
||
the NSA for approval.
|
||
|
||
"The export controls suggest that maybe NSA cannot decrypt DES,
|
||
and there is some evidence to support that. For example, in
|
||
1985, the Department of Treasury wanted to extend the validation
|
||
of DES for use throughout the Treasury, the Federal Reserve
|
||
System and member banks. The NSA put a lot of political muscle
|
||
behind an effort to have DES deaffirmed and replaced with newer
|
||
encryption algorithms. Treasury argued that they had already
|
||
adapted DES, their constituents had spent millions on DES equip-
|
||
ment for EFT and it would be entirely too cumbersome and expen-
|
||
sive to make a change now. Besides, they asked, what's wrong
|
||
with DES? They never got an answer to that question, and thus
|
||
they won the battle and DES is still the approved encryption
|
||
methodology for banks. It was never established whether DES was
|
||
too strong or too weak for NSA's taste.
|
||
|
||
"Later, in 1987, the NSA received an application for export of a
|
||
DES based device that employed a technique called infinite en-
|
||
cryption. In response to the frenzy over the strength or weakness
|
||
of DES, one company took DES and folded it over and over on
|
||
itself using multiple keys. The NSA had an internal hemorrhage.
|
||
They forbade this product from being exported from the United
|
||
States in any form whatsoever. Period. It was an extraordinary
|
||
move on their part, and one that had built-in contradictions. If
|
||
DES is weak, then why not export it? If it's too strong, why
|
||
argue with Treasury? In any case, the multiple DES issue died
|
||
down until recently, when NSA, beaten at their own game by too
|
||
much secrecy, developed a secret internal program to create a
|
||
Multiple-DES encryption standard with a minimum of three sequen-
|
||
tial iterations.
|
||
|
||
"Further embarrassment was caused when an Israeli mathematician
|
||
found the 'trap door' built into DES by the NSA and how to decode
|
||
messages in seconds. This quite clearly suggests that the gov-
|
||
ernment has been listening in on supposedly secret and private
|
||
communications.
|
||
|
||
"Then we have to look at another event that strongly suggests
|
||
that NSA has something to hide."
|
||
|
||
"Mr. Hammacher!" Shouted Senator Rickfield. "I warned you about
|
||
that."
|
||
|
||
"I see nothing wrong with his comments, Senator," Deere said,
|
||
careful to make sure that she was heard over the sound system.
|
||
|
||
"I am the chairman of this committee, Ms. Deere, and I find Mr.
|
||
Hammacher's characterization of the NSA as unfitting this forum.
|
||
I wish he would find other words or eliminate the thought alto-
|
||
gether. Mr. Hammacher, do you think you are capable of that?"
|
||
|
||
Hammacher seethed. "Senator, I mean no disrespect to you or this
|
||
committee. However, I was asked to testify, and at my own ex-
|
||
pense I am providing as accurate information as possible. If you
|
||
happen to find anything I say not to your liking, I do apologize,
|
||
but my only alternative is not to testify at all."
|
||
|
||
"We accept your withdrawal, Mr. Hammacher, thank you for your
|
||
time." A hushed silence covered the hearing room. This was not
|
||
the time to get into it with Rickfield, Nancy thought. He has
|
||
sufficiently embarrassed himself and the media will take care of
|
||
the rest. Why the hell is he acting this way? He is known as a
|
||
hard ass, a real case, but his public image was unblemished. Had
|
||
the job passed him by?
|
||
|
||
A stunned and incensed Hammacher gathered his belongings as his
|
||
lawyer placated him. Scott overheard bits and pieces as they
|
||
both agreed that Rickfield was a flaming asshole. A couple of
|
||
reporters hurriedly followed them out of the hearing room for a
|
||
one on one interview.
|
||
|
||
"Is Dr. Sternman ready?" Rickfield asked.
|
||
|
||
A bustle of activity and a man spoke to the dais without the
|
||
assistance of a microphone. "Yessir, I am."
|
||
|
||
Sternman was definitely the academic type, Scott noted. A crum-
|
||
pled ill fitting brown suit covering a small hunched body that
|
||
was no more than 45 years old. He held an old scratched brief-
|
||
case and an armful of folders and envelopes. Scott was reminded
|
||
of the studious high school student that jocks enjoy tripping
|
||
with their feet. Dr. Sternman busied himself to straighten the
|
||
papers that fell onto the desk and his performance received a
|
||
brief titter from the crowd.
|
||
|
||
"Ah, yes, Mr. Chairman," Sternman said. "I'm ready now." Rick-
|
||
field looked as bored as ever.
|
||
|
||
"Thank you, Dr. Sternman. You are, I understand, a computer
|
||
virus expert? Is that correct?"
|
||
|
||
"Yessir. My doctoral thesis was on the subject and I have spent
|
||
several years researching computer viruses, their proliferation
|
||
and propagation." Rickfield groaned to himself. Unintelligible
|
||
mumbo jumbo.
|
||
|
||
"I also understand that your comments will be brief as we have
|
||
someone else yet to hear from today." It was as much a command
|
||
as a question.
|
||
|
||
"Yessir, it will be brief."
|
||
|
||
"Then, please, enlighten us, what is a virus expert and what do
|
||
you do?" Rickfield grinned menacingly at Dr. Les Sternman, Pro-
|
||
fessor of Applied Theoretical Mathematics, Massachusetts Insti-
|
||
tute of Technology.
|
||
|
||
"I believe the committee has received an advance copy of some
|
||
notes I made on the nature of computer viruses and the danger
|
||
they represent?" Rickfield hadn't read anything, so he looked at
|
||
Boyers who also shrugged his shoulders.
|
||
|
||
"Yes, Dr. Sternman," Nancy Deere said, "and we thank you for
|
||
your consideration." Rickfield glared at her as she politely
|
||
upstaged him yet again. "May I ask, though, that you provide a
|
||
brief description of a computer virus for the benefit of those
|
||
who have not read your presentation?" She stuck it to Rickfield
|
||
again.
|
||
|
||
"I'd be happy to, madam Chairwoman," he said nonchalantly. Rick-
|
||
field's neck turned red at the inadvertent sudden rise in Senator
|
||
Deere's stature. For the next several minutes Sternman solemnly
|
||
described what a virus was, how it worked and a history of their
|
||
attacks. He told the committee about Worms, Trojan Horses, Time
|
||
Bombs, Logic Bombs, Stealth Viruses, Crystal Viruses and an
|
||
assorted family of similar surreptitious computer programs.
|
||
Despite Sternman's sermonly manner, his audience found the sub-
|
||
ject matter fascinating.
|
||
|
||
"The reason you are here, Dr. Sternman, is to bring us up to
|
||
speed on computer viruses, which you have done with alacrity, and
|
||
we appreciate that." Rickfield held seniority, but Nancy Deere
|
||
took charge due to her preparation. "Now that we have an under-
|
||
standing of the virus, can you give us an idea of the type of
|
||
problems that they cause?"
|
||
|
||
"Ah, yes, but I need to say something here," Sternman said.
|
||
|
||
"Please, proceed," Rickfield said politely.
|
||
|
||
"When I first heard about replicating software, viruses, and this
|
||
was over 15 years ago, I, as many of my graduate students did,
|
||
thought of them as a curious anomaly. A benign subset of comput-
|
||
er software that had no anticipated applications. We spent
|
||
months working with viruses, self cloning software and built
|
||
mathematical models of their behavior which fit quite neatly in
|
||
the domain of conventional set theory. Then an amazing discovery
|
||
befell us. We proved mathematically that there is absolutely no
|
||
effective way to protect against computer viruses in software."
|
||
|
||
Enough of the spectators had heard about viruses over the past
|
||
few years to comprehend the purport of that one compelling state-
|
||
ment. Even Senator Rickfield joined Nancy and the others in
|
||
their awe. No way to combat viruses? Dr. Sternman had dropped
|
||
a bombshell on them.
|
||
|
||
"Dr. Sternman," said Senator Deere, "could you repeat that?
|
||
|
||
"Yes, yes," Sternman replied, knowing the impact of his state-
|
||
ment. "That is correct. A virus is a piece of software and
|
||
software is designed to do specific tasks in a hardware environ-
|
||
ment. All software uses basically the same techniques to do its
|
||
job. Without all of the technicalities, if one piece of software
|
||
can do something, another piece of software can un-do it. It's
|
||
kind of a computer arms race.
|
||
|
||
"I build a virus, and you build a program to protect against that
|
||
one virus. It works. But then I make a small change in the
|
||
virus to attack or bypass your software, and Poof! I blow you
|
||
away. Then you build a new piece of software to defend against
|
||
both my first virus and my mutated virus and that works until I
|
||
build yet another. This process can go on forever, and frankly,
|
||
it's just not worth the effort."
|
||
|
||
"What is not worth the effort, Doctor?" Asked Nancy Deere. "You
|
||
paint a most bleak picture."
|
||
|
||
"I don't mean to at all, Senator." Dr. Sternman smiled soothing-
|
||
ly up at the committee and took off his round horn rim glasses.
|
||
"I wasn't attempting to be melodramatic, however these are not
|
||
opinions or guesses. They are facts. It is not worth the effort
|
||
to fight computer viruses with software. The virus builders will
|
||
win because the Virus Busters are the ones playing catch-up."
|
||
|
||
"Virus Busters?" Senator Rickfield mockingly said conspicuously
|
||
raising his eyebrows. His reaction elicited a wave of laughter
|
||
from the hall.
|
||
|
||
"Yessir," said Dr. Sternman to Rickfield. "Virus Busters.
|
||
That's a term to describe programmers who fight viruses. They
|
||
mistakenly believe they can fight viruses with defensive software
|
||
and some of them sell some incredibly poor programs. In many
|
||
cases you're better off not using anything at all.
|
||
|
||
"You see, there is no way to write a program that can predict the
|
||
potential behavior of other software in such a way that it will
|
||
not interfere with normal computer operations. So, the only way
|
||
to find a virus is to already know what it looks like, and go out
|
||
looking for it. There are several major problems with this
|
||
approach. First of all, the virus has already struck and done
|
||
some damage. Two it has already infected other software and will
|
||
continue to spread. Three, a program must be written to defeat
|
||
the specific virus usually using a unique signature for each
|
||
virus, and the vaccine for the virus must be distributed to the
|
||
computer users.
|
||
|
||
"This process can take from three to twelve months, and by the
|
||
time the virus vaccine has been deployed, the very same virus has
|
||
been changed, mutated, and the vaccine is useless against it. So
|
||
you see, the Virus Busters are really wasting their time, and
|
||
worst of all they are deceiving the public." Dr. Sternman com-
|
||
pleted what he had to say with surprising force.
|
||
|
||
"Doctor Sternman," Senator Rickfield said with disdain, "all of
|
||
your theories are well and good, and perhaps they work in the
|
||
laboratory. But isn't it true, sir, that computer viruses are an
|
||
overblown issue that the media has sensationalized and that they
|
||
are nothing more than a minor inconvenience?"
|
||
|
||
"Not really, Senator. The statistics don't support that conclu-
|
||
sion," Dr. Sternman said with conviction. "That is one of the
|
||
worst myths." Nancy Deere smiled to herself as the dorky college
|
||
professor handed it right to a United States Senator. "The
|
||
incidence of computer viruses has been on a logarithmic increase
|
||
for the past several years. If a human disease infected at the
|
||
same rate, we would declare a medical state of emergency."
|
||
|
||
"Doctor," implored Rickfield. "Aren't you exaggerating . . .?"
|
||
|
||
"No Senator, here are the facts. There are currently over 5000
|
||
known computer viruses and strains that have been positively
|
||
identified. Almost five thousand, Senator." The good Doctor
|
||
was a skilled debater, and Rickfield was being sucked in by his
|
||
attack on the witness. The figure three thousand impressed
|
||
everyone. A few low whistles echoed through the large chamber.
|
||
Stupid move Merrill, though Nancy.
|
||
|
||
"It is estimated, sir, that at the current rate, there will be
|
||
over 100,000 active viruses in five years," Dr. Sternman dryly
|
||
spoke to Rickfield, "that every single network in the United
|
||
States, Canada and the United Kingdom is infected with at least
|
||
one computer virus. That is the equivalent of having one member
|
||
of every family in the country being sick at all times. That is
|
||
an epidemic, and one that will not go away. No sir, it will not."
|
||
Sternman's voice rose. "It will not go away. It will only get
|
||
worse."
|
||
|
||
"That is a most apoplectic prophesy, Doctor. I think that many
|
||
of us would have trouble believing the doom and gloom you por-
|
||
tend." Rickfield was sloughing off the Doctor, but Sternman was
|
||
here to tell a story, and he would finish.
|
||
|
||
"There is more, Senator. Recent reports show that over 75% of
|
||
the computers in the People's Republic of China are infected with
|
||
deadly and destructive software. Why? The look on your face
|
||
asks the question. Because, almost every piece of software in
|
||
that country is bootleg, illegal copies of popular programs.
|
||
That invites viruses. Since vast quantities of computers come
|
||
from the Pacific Rim, many with prepackaged software, new comput-
|
||
er equipment is a source of computer viruses that was once con-
|
||
sidered safe. Modem manufacturers have accidentally had viruses
|
||
on their communications software; several major domestic software
|
||
manufacturers have had their shrink-wrapped software infected.
|
||
|
||
"If you recall in 1989, NASA brought Virus Busters to Cape Kenne-
|
||
dy and Houston to thwart a particular virus that threatened a
|
||
space launch. A year later as everyone remembers, NASA computers
|
||
were invaded forcing officials to abort a flight. The attacks go
|
||
on, and they inflict greater damage than is generally thought.
|
||
|
||
"Again, these are our best estimates, that over 90% of all viral
|
||
infections go unreported."
|
||
|
||
"Doctor, 90%? Isn't that awfully high?" Nancy asked.
|
||
|
||
"Definitely, yes, but imagine the price of speaking out. I have
|
||
talked to hundreds of companies, major corporations, that are
|
||
absolutely terrified of anyone knowing that their computers have
|
||
been infected. Or they have been the target of any computer
|
||
crime for that matter. They feel that the public, their custom-
|
||
ers, maybe even their stockholders, might lose faith in the
|
||
company's ability to protect itself. So? Most viral attacks go
|
||
unreported.
|
||
|
||
"It's akin to computer rape." Dr. Sternman had a way with words
|
||
to keep his audience attentive. Years of lecturing to sleeping
|
||
freshman had taught him a few tricks. "A computer virus is
|
||
uninvited, it invades the system, and then has its way with it.
|
||
If that's not rape, I don't know what is."
|
||
|
||
"Your parallels are most vivid," said a grimacing Nancy Deere.
|
||
"Let's leave that thought for now, and maybe you can explain the
|
||
type of damage that a virus can do. It sounds to me like there
|
||
are thousands of new diseases out there, and every one needs to
|
||
be isolated, diagnosed and then cured. That appears to me to a
|
||
formidable challenge."
|
||
|
||
"I could not have put it better, Senator. You grasp things
|
||
quickly." Sternman was genuinely complimenting Nancy. "The
|
||
similarities to the medical field cannot go unnoticed if we are
|
||
to deal with the problem rationally and effectively. And like a
|
||
disease, we need to predict the effects of the infection. What
|
||
we have found in that area is as frightening.
|
||
|
||
"The first generation of viruses were simple in their approach.
|
||
The designers correctly assumed that no one was looking for them,
|
||
and they could enter systems without any deterrence. They erase
|
||
files, scramble data, re-format hard drives . . .make the comput-
|
||
er data useless.
|
||
|
||
"Then the second generation of viruses came along with the
|
||
nom-de-guerre stealth. These viruses hid themselves more elabo-
|
||
rately to avoid detection and had a built in self-preservation
|
||
instinct. If the virus thinks it's being probed, it self de-
|
||
structs or hides itself even further.
|
||
|
||
"In addition, second generation viruses learned how to become
|
||
targeted. Some viruses have been designed to only attack a
|
||
competitor's product and nothing else."
|
||
|
||
"Is that possible?" Asked Nancy Deere.
|
||
|
||
"It's been done many times. Some software bugs in popular soft-
|
||
ware are the result of viral infections, others may be genuine
|
||
bugs. Imagine a virus who sole purpose is to attack Lotus 123
|
||
spreadsheets. The virus is designed to create computational
|
||
errors in the program's spreadsheets. The user then thinks that
|
||
Lotus is to blame and so he buys another product. Yes, ma'am, it
|
||
is possible, and occurs every day of the week. Keeping up with
|
||
it is the trick.
|
||
|
||
"Other viruses attack on Friday the 13th. only, some attack only
|
||
at a specified time . . .the damage to be done is only limited by
|
||
imagination of the programmers. Third generation viruses were
|
||
even more sophisticated. They were designed to do damage not
|
||
only to the data, but to the computer hardware itself. Some were
|
||
designed to overload communications ports with tight logical
|
||
loops. Others were designed to destroy the hard disk by directly
|
||
overdriving the disk or would cause amonitor to self-destruct.
|
||
There is no limit to the possibilities.
|
||
|
||
"You sound as though you hold their skills in high regard, Doc-
|
||
tor." Rickfield continued to make snide remarks whenever possi-
|
||
ble.
|
||
|
||
"Yessir, I do. Many of them have extraordinary skills, that are
|
||
unfortunately misguided. They are a new breed of bored
|
||
criminal."
|
||
|
||
"You mentioned earlier Doctor, that there were over 5000 known
|
||
viruses. How fast is the epidemic, as you put it, spreading?"
|
||
Senator Nancy Deere asked while making prolific notes throughout.
|
||
|
||
"For all intents and purposes Senator, they spread unchecked.
|
||
There is a certain amount of awareness of the problem, but it is
|
||
only superficial. The current viral defenses include signature
|
||
identification, cyclic redundancy checks and intercept verifica-
|
||
tion, but the new viruses can combat those as a matter of rule.
|
||
If the current rate of viral infection continues, it will be a
|
||
safe bet that nearly every computer in the country will be in-
|
||
fected ten times over within three years."
|
||
|
||
Dr. Arnold Sternman spent the next half hour answering insightful
|
||
questions from Nancy Deere, and even Puglasi became concerned
|
||
enough to ask a few. Rickfield continued with his visceral
|
||
comments to the constant amazement of the gallery and spectators.
|
||
Scott could only imagine the raking Rickfield would receive in
|
||
the press, but being Friday, the effects will be lessened.
|
||
Besides, it seemed as if Rickfield just didn't give a damn.
|
||
|
||
Rickfield dismissed and perfunctorily thanked Dr. Sternman. He
|
||
prepared for the next speaker, but Senator Deere leaned over and
|
||
asked him for a five minute conclave. He was openly reluctant,
|
||
but as she raised her voice, he conceded. In a private office
|
||
off to the side, Nancy Deere came unglued.
|
||
|
||
"What kind of stunt are you pulling out there, Senator?" She
|
||
demanded as she paced the room. "I thought this was a hearing,
|
||
not a lynching."
|
||
|
||
Rickfield slouched in a plush leather chair and appeared uncon-
|
||
cerned. "I am indeed sorry," he said with the pronounced drawl
|
||
of a Southern country gentleman, "that the young Senatoress finds
|
||
cross examination unpleasant. Perhaps if we treated this like a
|
||
neighborhood gossip session, it might be easier."
|
||
|
||
"Now one damned minute," she yelled while pointing a finger right
|
||
at Rickfield. "That was not cross-examination; it was harassment
|
||
and I for one am embarrassed for you. And two, do not, I repeat,
|
||
do not, ever patronize me. I am not one of your cheap call
|
||
girls." She could not have knocked Rickfield over any harder
|
||
with a sledgehammer.
|
||
|
||
"You bitch!" Rickfield rose to confront her standing nine inches
|
||
taller. "You stupid bitch. You have no idea what's at stake.
|
||
None. It's bigger than you. At this rate I can assure you, you
|
||
will never have an ear in Washington. Never. You will be deaf,
|
||
dumb and blind in this town. I have been on this Hill for thirty
|
||
years and paid my dues and I will not have a middle aged June
|
||
Cleaver undermine a lifetime of work just because she smells her
|
||
first cause."
|
||
|
||
Undaunted, Nancy stood her ground. "I don't know what you're up
|
||
to Senator, but I do know that you're sand bagging these hear-
|
||
ings. I've raised four kids and half a neighborhood, plus my
|
||
husband talked in his sleep. I learned a lot about politicians,
|
||
and I know sand bagging when I see it. Now, if you got stuck
|
||
with these hearings and think they're a crock, that's fine. I
|
||
hear it happens to everyone. But, I see them as important and I
|
||
don't want you to interfere."
|
||
|
||
"You are in no position to ask for anything."
|
||
|
||
"I'm not asking. I'm telling." Where did she get the gumption,
|
||
she asked herself. Then it occurred to her;<MI> I'm not a
|
||
politician, I want to see things get fixed.<D> "I will take
|
||
issue with you, take you on publicly, if necessary. I was Presi-
|
||
dent of the PTA for 8 years. I am fluent in dealing with bitches
|
||
of every size and shape. You're just a bastard."
|
||
|
||
****************************************************************
|
||
|
||
Chapter 21
|
||
|
||
Friday, January 8
|
||
Washington, D.C.
|
||
|
||
As the hour is late, I am tempted to call a recess until tomorrow
|
||
morning," Senator Merrill Rickfield said congenially from the
|
||
center seat of the hearing room dais. His blow up with Nancy
|
||
left him in a rage, but he ably disguised the anger by replacing
|
||
it with overcompensated manners.
|
||
|
||
"However," he continued, "I understand that we scheduled someone
|
||
to speak to us who has to catch a plane back to California?"
|
||
Rickfield quickly glanced about the formal dais to espy someone
|
||
who could help him fill in the details. Ken Boyers was engrossed
|
||
in conversation and had to be prodded to respond. "Ken," Rick-
|
||
field whispered while covering the microphone with his hand. He
|
||
leaned over and behind his seat. "Is that right, this True Blue
|
||
guy flew in for the day and he's out tonight?"
|
||
|
||
Ken nodded. "Yes, it was the only way we could get him."
|
||
|
||
"What makes him so bloody important?" Rickfield acted edgy.
|
||
|
||
"He's one of the software industry's leading spokesman. He owns
|
||
dGraph," Ken said, making it sound like he was in on a private
|
||
joke.
|
||
|
||
"So fucking what? What's he doing here?" Rickfield demanded.
|
||
Keeping it to a whisper was hard.
|
||
|
||
"Industry perspective. We need to hear from all possible view-
|
||
points in order to . . ." Ken explained.
|
||
|
||
"Oh, all right. Whatever. If this goes past five, have someone
|
||
call my wife and tell her I'll see her tomorrow." Rickfield sat
|
||
back and smiled a politician-hiding-something smile.
|
||
|
||
"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, a little scheduling confusion.
|
||
I guess there's a first time for anything." Rickfield's chuckle
|
||
told those-in-the-know that it was time to laugh now. If Rick-
|
||
field saw someone not laughing at one of his arthritic jokes, he
|
||
would remember. Might cost a future favor, so it was simpler to
|
||
laugh. The mild titter throughout the hall that followed gave
|
||
Rickfield the few seconds he needed to organize himself.
|
||
|
||
"Yes, yes. Page 239. Everyone there?" Rickfield scanned the
|
||
other committee members and aides flipping pages frantically to
|
||
find the proper place.
|
||
|
||
"We now have the pleasure of hearing from Pierre, now correct me
|
||
if I say this wrong, Trewww-Blow?" Rickfield looked up over his
|
||
glasses to see Pierre seated at the hearing table. "Is that
|
||
right?" Scott had been able to keep his privileged location for
|
||
the busier afternoon session by occupying several seats with his
|
||
bags and coat. He figured correctly that he would be able to
|
||
keep at least one as the room filled with more people than had
|
||
been there for the morning session.
|
||
|
||
"Troubleaux, yes Senator. Very good." Pierre had turned on 110%
|
||
charm. Cameras from the now busy press pool in front of the
|
||
hearing tables strobe-lit the room until every photographer had
|
||
his first quota of shots. Troubleaux was still the computer
|
||
industry's Golden Boy; he could do no wrong. Watching the reac-
|
||
tion to Pierre's mere presence, Senator Rickfield instantly
|
||
realized that True Blue here was a public relations pro, and
|
||
could be hard to control. What was he gonna say anyway? Indus-
|
||
try perspective my ass. This hearing was as good as over before
|
||
it started until the television people showed up, Rickfield
|
||
thought to himself with disgust.
|
||
|
||
"Mr. Trew-Blow flew in extra special for this today," Rickfield
|
||
orated. "And I'm sure we are all anxious to hear what he has to
|
||
say." His Southern twang rang of boredom. Scott, who was sit-
|
||
ting not 6 feet from where Pierre and the others testified,
|
||
overheard Troubleaux's attorney whisper, "sarcastic bastard."
|
||
|
||
Rickfield continued. "He is here to give us an overview of the
|
||
problems that software manufacturers face. So, unless anyone has
|
||
any comments before Mr. Trew-Blow, I will ask him to read his
|
||
opening statement."
|
||
|
||
"I do, Mr. Chairman," Senator Nancy Deere said. She said it
|
||
with enough oomph to come across more dynamic on the sound system
|
||
than did Rickfield. Political upstaging. Rickfield looked
|
||
annoyed. He had had enough of her today. One thing after anoth-
|
||
er, and all he wanted was to get through the hearings as fast as
|
||
possible, make a "Take No Action" recommendation to the Committee
|
||
and retire after election day. Mrs. Deere was making that goal
|
||
increasingly difficult to reach.
|
||
|
||
"I recognize the Junior Senator." He said the word 'Junior' as
|
||
if it was scrawled on a men's room wall. His point was lost on
|
||
nobody, and privately, most would agree that it was a tasteless
|
||
tactic.
|
||
|
||
"Thank you, Mr. Chairman," Senator Nancy Deere said poising
|
||
herself. "I, too, feel indeed grateful, and honored, to have
|
||
Mr. Troubleaux here today. His accomplishments over the last few
|
||
years, legendary in some circles I understand, have been in no
|
||
way inconsequential to the way that America does business. By no
|
||
means do I wish to embarrass Mr. Troubleaux, and I do hope he
|
||
will forgive me." Pierre gave Nancy a forgiving smile when she
|
||
glanced at him. "However, I do feel it incumbent upon this
|
||
committee to enter into the record the significant contributions
|
||
he has made to the computer industry. If there are no objec-
|
||
tions, I have prepared a short biography." No one objected.
|
||
|
||
"Mr. Troubleaux, a native Frenchman, came to the United States
|
||
at age 12 to attend Julliard School of Music on scholarship.
|
||
Since founding dGraph, Inc. with the late Max Jones, dGraph and
|
||
Mr. Troubleaux have received constant accolades from the business
|
||
community, the software industry and Wall Street." It sounded
|
||
more to Scott that she was reading past achievements before she
|
||
handed out a Grammy.
|
||
|
||
"Entrepreneur of the Year, 1984, 1985, 1986, 1988, Cupertino
|
||
Chamber of Commerce. Entrepreneur Year of the Year, California
|
||
State Trade Association, 1987. Technical Achievement of the
|
||
Year, IEEE, 1988 . . ."
|
||
|
||
Senator Deere read on about Pierre the Magnificent and the house
|
||
that dGraph built. If this was an election for sainthood, Pierre
|
||
would be a shoo-in. But considering the beating that Rickfield
|
||
had inflicted on a couple of earlier speakers, it looked like
|
||
Nancy was trying to bolster Pierre for the upcoming onslaught.
|
||
|
||
". . .and he has just been appointed to the President's Council
|
||
on Competitive Excellence." She closed her folder. "With that
|
||
number of awards and credentials, I dare say I expect to be
|
||
inundated with insights. Thank you Mr. Chairman."
|
||
|
||
"And, we thank you," Rickfield barbed, "for that introduction.
|
||
Now, if there are no further interruptions," he glared at Nancy,
|
||
"Mr. Trew-Blow, would you care to read your prepared statement.
|
||
|
||
"No, Senator," Pierre came back. A hush descended over the
|
||
entire room. He paused long enough to increase the tension in
|
||
the room to the breaking point. "I never use prepared notes. I
|
||
prefer to speak casually and honestly. Do you mind?" Pierre
|
||
exaggerated his French accent for effect. After years of public
|
||
appearances, he knew how to work and win a crowd. The cameras
|
||
again flashed as Pierre had just won the first round of verbal
|
||
gymnastics.
|
||
|
||
"It is a bit unusual, not to have an advanced copy of your state-
|
||
ments, and then . . ." Rickfield stopped himself in mid sentence.
|
||
"Never mind, I'm sorry. Please, Mr. Trew-Blow, proceed."
|
||
|
||
"Thank you, Mr. Chairman." Pierre scanned the room to see how
|
||
much of it he commanded. How many people were actually listening
|
||
to what he was going to say, or were they there for the experi-
|
||
ence and another line item on a resume? This was his milieu. A
|
||
live audience, and a TV audience as an extra added bonus. But he
|
||
had planned it that way.
|
||
|
||
He never told anyone that he was the one who called the TV sta-
|
||
tions to tell them that there would be a significant news devel-
|
||
opment at the Rickfield hearings. If he concentrated, Pierre
|
||
could speak like a native American with a Midwest twang. He gave
|
||
CNN, NBC, CBS and ABC down home pitches on some of the dirt that
|
||
might come out. Only CNN showed up. They sent a junior producer.
|
||
So what, everyone has to start somewhere. And this might be his
|
||
big break.
|
||
|
||
"Mr. Chairman, committee members," his eyes scanned the dais as
|
||
he spoke. "Honored guests," he looked around the hall to insure
|
||
as many people present felt as important as possible, "and inter-
|
||
ested observers, I thank you for the opportunity to address you
|
||
here today." In seconds he owned the room. Pierre was a capti-
|
||
vating orator. "I must plead guilty to the overly kind remarks
|
||
by Senator Deere, thank you very much. But, I am not feigning
|
||
humility when I must lavish similar praises upon the many dedi-
|
||
cated friends at dGraph, whom have made our successes possible."
|
||
|
||
Mutual admiration society, thought Scott. What a pile of D.C.
|
||
horseshit, but this Pierre was playing the game better than the
|
||
congressional denizens. As Pierre spoke, the corners of his
|
||
mouth twitched, ever so slightly, but just enough for the observ-
|
||
er to note that he took little of these formalities seriously.
|
||
The lone TV camera rolled.
|
||
|
||
"My statement will be brief, Mr. Chairman, and I am sure, that
|
||
after it is complete you will have many questions," Pierre said.
|
||
His tone was kind, the words ominous.
|
||
|
||
"I am not a technical person, instead, I am a dreamer. I leave
|
||
the bits and bytes to the wizards who can translate dreams into
|
||
a reality. Software designers are the alchemists who can in fact
|
||
turn silicon into gold. They skillfully navigate the development
|
||
of thoughts from the amorphous to the tangible. Veritable art-
|
||
ists, who like the painter, work from tabula rasa, a clean slate,
|
||
and have a picture in mind. It is the efforts of tens of thou-
|
||
sands of dedicated software pioneers who have pushed the fron-
|
||
tiers of technology to such a degree that an entire generation
|
||
has grown up in a society where software and digital interaction
|
||
are assimilated from birth.
|
||
|
||
"We have come to think, perhaps incorrectly, in a discreet quan-
|
||
tized, digital if you will, framework. To a certain extent we
|
||
have lost the ability to make a good guess." Pierre paused.
|
||
"Think about a watch, with a second hand. The analog type. When
|
||
asked for the time, a response might be 'about three-thirty', or
|
||
'it's a quarter after ', or 'it's almost ten.' We approximate
|
||
the time.
|
||
|
||
"With a digital watch, one's response will be more accurate;
|
||
'one- twenty-three," or '4 minutes before twelve,' or 'it's nine
|
||
thirty-three.' We don't have to guess anymore. And that's a
|
||
shame. When we lose the ability to make an educated guess, take
|
||
a stab at, shoot from the hip, we cease using a valuable creative
|
||
tool. Imagination!
|
||
|
||
"By depending upon them so completely, we fall hostage to the
|
||
machines of our creation; we maintain a constant reliance upon
|
||
their accuracy and infallibility. I am aware of the admitted
|
||
parallel to many science fiction stories where the scientists'
|
||
machines take over the world. Those tales are, thankfully, the
|
||
products of vivid imaginations. The technology does not yet
|
||
exist to worry about a renegade computer. HAL-9000 series com-
|
||
puters are still far in the future. As long as we, as humans,
|
||
tell the computer to open the pod bay doors, the pod bay doors
|
||
will open." Pierre elicited a respectful giggle from the stand-
|
||
ing room only crowd, many of whom came solely to hear him speak.
|
||
Rickfield doodled.
|
||
|
||
"Yet, there is another viewpoint. It is few people, indeed, who
|
||
can honestly claim to doubt the answer displayed on their calcu-
|
||
lator. They have been with us for over 20 years and we instinc-
|
||
tively trust in their reliability. We assume the computing
|
||
machine to be flawless. In many ways, theoretically it is per-
|
||
fect. But when man gets involved he fouls it up. Our fingers are
|
||
too big for the digital key pad on our wristwatch-calculator-
|
||
timer-TV. Since we can't approximate the answer, we have lost
|
||
that skill, we can't guess, it becomes nearly impossible to know
|
||
if we're getting the right answer.
|
||
|
||
"We trust our computers. We believe it when our spreadsheet
|
||
tells us that we will experience 50% annual growth for five
|
||
years. We believe the automatic bank teller that tells us we are
|
||
overdrawn. We don't question it. We trust the computer at the
|
||
supermarket. As far as I know, only my mother adds up her gro-
|
||
ceries by hand while still at the check-out counter."
|
||
|
||
While the image sank in for his audience, Pierre picked up the
|
||
glass of ice water in front of him and sipped enough to wet his
|
||
whistle. The crowd ate him up. He was weaving a web, drawing a
|
||
picture, and only the artist knew what the climax would be.
|
||
|
||
"Excuse me." Pierre cleared his throat. "We as a people believe
|
||
a computer printout is the closest thing to God on earth. Di-
|
||
vinely accurate, piously error-free. Computerized bank state-
|
||
ments, credit card reports, phone bills, our life is stored away
|
||
in computer memories, and we trust that the information residing
|
||
there is accurate. We want, we need to believe, that the ma-
|
||
chines that switch the street lights, the ones that run the
|
||
elevator, the one that tells us we have to go to traffic court,
|
||
we want to believe that they are right.
|
||
|
||
"Then on yet another hand, we all experience the frustration of
|
||
the omnipresent complaint, 'I'm sorry the computer is down. Can
|
||
you call back?'" Again the audience emotionally related to what
|
||
Pierre was saying. They nodded at each other and in Pierre's
|
||
direction to indicate concurrence.
|
||
|
||
"I, as many of us have I am sure, arrived at a hotel, or an
|
||
airport, or a car rental agency and been told that we don't have
|
||
a reservation. For me there is an initial embarrassment of
|
||
having my hand slapped by the computer terminal via the clerk.
|
||
Then, I react strongly. I will raise my voice and say that I
|
||
made a reservation, two days ago. I did it myself. Then the
|
||
clerk will say something like, 'It's not in the computer'. How
|
||
do you react to that statement?
|
||
|
||
"Suddenly your integrity is being questioned by an agglomeration
|
||
of wire and silicon. Your veracity comes into immediate doubt.
|
||
The clerk might think that you never even made a reservation.
|
||
You become a liar because the computer disagrees with you. And
|
||
to argue about it is an exercise in futility. The computer
|
||
cannot reason. The computer has no ability to make a judgment
|
||
about you, or me. It is a case of being totally black or white.
|
||
And for the human of the species, that value system is unfathoma-
|
||
ble, paradoxical. Nothing is black and white. Yes, the computer
|
||
is black and white. Herein again, the mind prefers the analog,
|
||
the continuous, rather than the digitally discreet.
|
||
|
||
"In these cases, the role is reversed, we blame the computer for
|
||
making errors. We tend to be verbally graphic in the comments we
|
||
make about computers when they don't appear to work the way we
|
||
expect them to. We distrust them." Pierre gestured with his
|
||
arms to emphasize his point. The crescendo had begun.
|
||
|
||
"The sociological implications are incredible. As a people we
|
||
have an inherent distrust of computers; they become an easy
|
||
scapegoat for modern irritations. However, the balancing side of
|
||
the scale is an implicit trust in their abilities. The inherent
|
||
trust we maintain in computers is a deeply emotional one, much as
|
||
a helpless infant trusts the warmth of contact with his parents.
|
||
Such is the trust that we have in our computers, because, like
|
||
the baby, without that trust, we could not survive."
|
||
|
||
He let the words sink in. A low rumbling began throughout the
|
||
gallery and hall. Pierre couldn't hear any of the comments, but
|
||
he was sure he was starting a stink.
|
||
|
||
"It is our faith in computers that lets us continue. The reli-
|
||
gious parallels are obvious. The evangelical computer is also the
|
||
subject of fiction, but trust and faith are inextricably meshed
|
||
into flavors and degrees. A brief sampling of common everyday
|
||
items and events that are dependent on computers might prove
|
||
enlightening.
|
||
|
||
"Without computers, many of lifes' simple pleasures and conven-
|
||
iences would disappear. Cable television. Movies like Star
|
||
Wars. Special effects by computer. Magic Money Cards. Imagine
|
||
life without them." A nervous giggle met Pierre's social slam.
|
||
"Call holding. Remember dial phones? No computers needed.
|
||
CD's? The staple diet of teenage America is the bread and
|
||
butter of the music industry. Mail. Let's not forget the Post
|
||
Office and other shippers. Without computers Federal Express
|
||
would be no better than the Honest-We'll-Be-Here-Tomorrow Cargo
|
||
Company."
|
||
|
||
"Oh, and yes," Pierre said dramatically. "Let's get rid of the
|
||
microwave ovens, the VCR's and video cameras. I think I've made
|
||
my point."
|
||
|
||
"I wish you would, Mr. Trew-Blow," Senator Rickfield caustically
|
||
interjected. "What is the point?" Rickfield was making no
|
||
points taking on Pierre Troubleaux. He was too popular.
|
||
|
||
"Thank you, Senator, I am glad you asked. I was just getting
|
||
there." Pierre's sugary treatment was an appropriate slap in
|
||
Rickfield's face.
|
||
|
||
"Please continue." The Senator had difficulty saying the word
|
||
'please'.
|
||
|
||
"Yes sir. So, the prognostications made over a decade ago by the
|
||
likes of Steve Jobs, that computers would alter the way we play,
|
||
work and think have been completely fulfilled. Now, if we look
|
||
at those years, we see a multi-billion dollar industry that has
|
||
made extraordinary promises to the world of business. Computer-
|
||
ize they say! Modernize! Get with the times! Make your opera-
|
||
tion efficient! Stay ahead of the competition! And we listened
|
||
and we bought.
|
||
|
||
"With a projected life cycle of between only three and five
|
||
years, technology progresses that fast, once computerized, forev-
|
||
er computerized. To keep up with the competitive Jones', main-
|
||
taining technical advantages requires upgrading to subsequent
|
||
generations of computers. The computer salespeople told us to
|
||
run our businesses on computers, send out Social Security checks
|
||
by computer, replace typewriters with word processors and bank at
|
||
home. Yet, somewhere in the heady days of phenomenal growth
|
||
during the early 1980's, someone forgot. Someone, or more than
|
||
likely most of Silicon Valley forgot, that people were putting
|
||
their trust in these machines and we gave them no reason to. I
|
||
include myself and my firm among the guilty.
|
||
|
||
"Very simply, we have built a culture, an economic base, the
|
||
largest GNP in the world on a system of inter-connected comput-
|
||
ers. We have placed the wealths of our nations, the backbone of
|
||
the fabric of our way of life, we have placed our trust in com-
|
||
puters that do not warrant that trust. It is incredible to me
|
||
that major financial institutions do not protect their computer
|
||
assets as well as they protect their cash on hand.
|
||
|
||
"I find it unbelievable that the computers responsible in part
|
||
for the defense of this country appear to have more open doors
|
||
than a thousand churches on Sunday. It is incomprehensible to me
|
||
that privacy, one of the founding principles of this nation, has
|
||
been ignored during the information revolution. The massive data
|
||
bases that contain vast amounts of personal data on us all have
|
||
been amply shown to be not worthy of trust. All it takes is a
|
||
home computer and elbow grease and you, or I, or he," Pierre
|
||
pointed at various people seated around the room, "can have a
|
||
field day and change anybody's life history. What happens if the
|
||
computer disagrees with you then?
|
||
|
||
"It staggers the imagination that we have not attempted any
|
||
coherent strategy to protect the lifeblood of our society. That,
|
||
ladies and gentlemen is a crime. We spend $3 trillion on weapons
|
||
in one decade, yet we do not have the foresight to protect our
|
||
computers? It is a crime of indifference by business leaders. A
|
||
crime against common sense by Congress who passes laws and then
|
||
refuses to fund their enactment. Staggeringly idiotic. Pardon
|
||
me." Pierre drained the water from his glass as the tension in
|
||
the hearing room thickened.
|
||
|
||
"We live the paradox of simultaneously distrusting computers and
|
||
being required to trust them and live with them. We are all
|
||
criminals in this disgrace. Maybe dGraph more than most. Permit
|
||
me to explain my involvement." The electricity in the room
|
||
crackled and the novice CNN producer instructed the cameraman to
|
||
get it right.
|
||
|
||
"Troubleaux!" A man's gruff accented voice elongated the sylla-
|
||
bles as he shouted from the balcony in the rear. A thousands
|
||
eyes jerked to the source of the sound up above. Troubleaux
|
||
himself turned in his seat to see a middle aged dark man, wearing
|
||
a turban, pointing a handgun in his direction. Scott saw the
|
||
weapon and wondered which politician was the target. Who was too
|
||
pro-Israel this week? He immediately thought of Rickfield. No,
|
||
he didn't have a commitment either way. He only rode the wave of
|
||
popular sentiment.
|
||
|
||
Pierre too, wondered who was the target of a madman's suicide
|
||
attack. It had to be suicide, there was no escape.
|
||
|
||
Scott's mind raced through a thousand thoughts during that first
|
||
tenth of a second, not the endless minutes he later remembered.
|
||
In the next split second, Scott realized, more accurately he
|
||
knew, that Pierre was the target. The would-be victim.
|
||
|
||
As the first report from the handgun echoed through the cavernous
|
||
chamber Scott was mid-leap at Pierre. Hell of a way to grab an
|
||
exclusive, he thought. He fell into Pierre as the second shot
|
||
exploded. Scott painfully caught the edge of the chair with his
|
||
shoulder while pushing Pierre over sideways. They crumpled into
|
||
a heap on the floor when the third shot fired.
|
||
|
||
Scott glanced up at the turbanned man vehemently mouthing words
|
||
to an invisible entity skyward. The din from the panic in the
|
||
room made it impossible to hear. Still brandishing the pistol,
|
||
the assailant began to take aim again, at Scott and Pierre.
|
||
Scott attempted to wiggle free from the tangle of Pierre's limbs
|
||
and the chairs around them. He struggled to extricate himself
|
||
but found it impossible.
|
||
|
||
A fourth shot discharged. Scott cringed, awaiting the worst but
|
||
instead heard the bullet ricochet off a metal object above him.
|
||
Scott's adrenal relief was punctuated by a loud and heavy sigh.
|
||
He noticed that the assailant's shooting arm had been knocked
|
||
upwards by a quick moving Capital policeman who violently threw
|
||
himself at the turbanned man so hard that they both careened
|
||
forward to the edge of the balcony. The policeman grabbed onto a
|
||
bench which kept him from plummeting twenty feet below. His
|
||
target was hurtled over the edge and landed prone on two wooden
|
||
chairs which collapsed under the force. The shooting stopped.
|
||
|
||
Scott groaned from discomfort and pain as he slowly began to pull
|
||
away from Pierre. Then he noticed the blood. A lot of blood.
|
||
He looked down at himself to see that his white pullover shirt,
|
||
the one with Mickey Mouse instead of an alligator over the breast
|
||
pocket, was wet with red. As was his jacket. His left hand had
|
||
been on the floor, in a pool of blood that was oozing out of the
|
||
back of Pierre's head. Scott tried to consciously control his
|
||
physical revulsion to the body beneath him and the overwhelming
|
||
urge to regurgitate.
|
||
|
||
Then Pierre's body moved. His chest heaved heavily and Scott
|
||
pulled himself away completely. Pierre had been hit with at
|
||
least two bullets, one exiting from the front of his chest and
|
||
one stripping away a piece of skull exposing the brain. Grue-
|
||
some.
|
||
|
||
"He's alive! Get a doctor!" Scott shouted. He lifted himself up
|
||
to see over the tables. The mad shuffle to the exits continued.
|
||
No one seemed to pay attention.
|
||
|
||
"Hey! Is there a doctor in the house?"
|
||
|
||
Scott looked down at Pierre and touched the veins in his neck.
|
||
They were pulsing, but not with all of life's vigor. "Hey,"
|
||
Scott said quietly, "you're gonna be all right. We got a doctor
|
||
coming. Don't worry. Just hang in there." Scott lied, but 40
|
||
years of movies and television had preprogrammed the sentiments.
|
||
|
||
"Drtppheeough . . ." Scott heard Pierre gurgle.
|
||
|
||
"What? What did you say?" Scott leaned his ear down closer to
|
||
Pierre's mouth.
|
||
|
||
"DGOEROUGH."
|
||
|
||
"Take it easy," Scott said to comfort the badly injured Pierre
|
||
Troubleaux.
|
||
|
||
"Nooo . . ." Pierre's limp body made a futile attempt at move-
|
||
ment. Scott held him back.
|
||
|
||
"Hey, Pierre . . .you don't mind if I call you Pierre?" Scott
|
||
adapted a mock French accent.
|
||
|
||
"Noo, DNGRAAAAPHJG . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Good. Why don't you just lay back and wait. The doctor'll be
|
||
here in a second . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Sick . . ." Pierre managed to get out one word.
|
||
|
||
"Sick? Sick? Yeah, yeah, you're sick," Scott agreed sympathet-
|
||
ically.
|
||
|
||
"DGRAF, sick." The effort caused Pierre to pant quickly.
|
||
|
||
"Dgraf, sick? What does that mean?" Scott asked.
|
||
|
||
"Sick. DGraph sick." Pierre's voice began to fade. "Sick. Don't
|
||
use it. Don't use . . ."
|
||
|
||
"What do you mean don't use it? DGraph? Hey!" Scott lightly
|
||
shook Pierre. "You still with us? C'mon, what'd you say? Tell
|
||
me again? Sick?"
|
||
|
||
Pierre's body was still.
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
The bullshit put out by the Government was beyond belief, thought
|
||
Miles. How could they sit there and claim that all was well? It
|
||
was common knowledge that computer security was dismal at best
|
||
throughout both the civilian and military agencies. With the
|
||
years he spent at NSA he knew that security was a political
|
||
compromise and not a fiscal or technical reality. And these guys
|
||
lied through their teeth. Oh, well, he thought, that would all
|
||
change soon.
|
||
|
||
The report issued by the National Research Council in November of
|
||
1990 concurred with Miles' assessment. Security in the govern-
|
||
ment was a disaster, a laughable travesty if it weren't for the
|
||
danger to national security. The report castigated the results
|
||
of decades of political in-fighting between agencies competing
|
||
for survival and power.
|
||
|
||
He and Perky spent the day watching the hearings at Miles' high
|
||
rise apartment. They had become an item in certain circles that
|
||
Miles traveled and now they spent a great deal of time together.
|
||
After several on-again off-again attempts at a relationship
|
||
consisting of more than just sex, they decided not to see each
|
||
other for over a year. That was fine by Miles; he had missed the
|
||
freedom of no commitments.
|
||
|
||
At an embassy Christmas party months later, they ran into each
|
||
other and the old animal attraction between them was re-released.
|
||
They spent the weekend in bed letting their hormones loose to run
|
||
rampant on each other. The two had been inseparable since. She
|
||
was the first girl, woman, who was able to tolerate Miles' in-
|
||
flated egoand his constant need for emotional gratification.
|
||
|
||
Perky had little idea, by design, of the work that Miles was
|
||
doing for Homosoto. She knew he was a computer and communica-
|
||
tions wizard, but that was all. Prying was not her concern.
|
||
During his angry outbursts venting frustration with Homosoto's
|
||
pettiness, Perky supported him fully, unaware of his ultimate
|
||
goal.
|
||
|
||
Perky found the testimony by Dr. Sternman to be educational; she
|
||
actually began to understand some of the complicated issues
|
||
surrounding security and privacy. In many ways it was scary, she
|
||
told Miles. He agreed, saying if were up to him, things would
|
||
get a lot worse before they get any better. She responded to his
|
||
ominous comment with silence until Pierre Troubleaux began his
|
||
testimony.
|
||
|
||
As well known as Bill Gates, as charismatic as Steve Jobs,
|
||
Pierre Troubleaux was regarded as a sexy, rich and eligible
|
||
bachelor ready for the taking. Stephanie Perkins was more
|
||
stirred by his appearance and bearing than his words, so she
|
||
joined Miles in rapt attention to watch his orations on live
|
||
television.
|
||
|
||
When the first shot rang out their stunned confusion echoed the
|
||
camera's erratic framing. As the second shot came across the TV,
|
||
Perky sprang up and shouted, "No!" Tears dripped from the cor-
|
||
ners of her eyes.
|
||
|
||
"Miles! What's happening? They're shooting him . . ."
|
||
|
||
"I don't know ." A third shot and then the image of Scott and
|
||
Pierre crumbling. "Holy shit, it's an assassination!"
|
||
|
||
"Miles, what's going on here?" Stephanie cried.
|
||
|
||
"This is fucking nuts . . .he's killing him . . ." Miles stared
|
||
at the screen and spoke in a dull monotone. "I can't believe
|
||
this is happening, it's not part of the plan . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Miles, Miles!" She screamed, desperately trying to get his
|
||
attention. "Who? Miles! Who's killing him? What plan?"
|
||
|
||
"Fucking Homosoto, that yellow skinned prick . . ."
|
||
|
||
"Homosoto?" She stopped upon hearing the name.
|
||
|
||
Miles leapt up from the couch and raced over to the corner of the
|
||
room with his computers. He pounced on the keyboard of the
|
||
NipCom computer and told it to dial Homosoto's number in Japan.
|
||
That son of a bitch better be there. Answer, damn it.
|
||
|
||
<<<<<<AUTOCRYPT CONVERSATION>>>>>>
|
||
|
||
Homosoto!!!!!
|
||
|
||
The delay seemed interminable as Miles waited for him to get on
|
||
line. Perky followed him over to the computer and watched as he
|
||
made contact. She knew that Miles and Homosoto spoke often over
|
||
the computer, too often for Miles' taste. Homosoto whined to
|
||
Miles almost every day, about one thing or another, and Miles
|
||
complained to her about how irritating his childish interference
|
||
was. But throughout it all, Perky had never been privy to their
|
||
conversations. She had stayed her distance, until this time.
|
||
|
||
Miles had been in rages before; she had become unwillingly accus-
|
||
tomed to his furious outbursts. Generally they were unfocused
|
||
eruptions; a sophomoric way of releasing pent up energy and frus-
|
||
tration. But this time, Miles' face clearly showed fear. Steph-
|
||
anie saw the dread. "Miles! What does Homosoto have to do with
|
||
this? Miles, please!" She pleaded with him to include her. The
|
||
screen finally responded.
|
||
|
||
MR. FOSTER. AN UNEXPECTED PLEASURE.
|
||
|
||
You imperial mother fucker.
|
||
|
||
EXPLAINATION, PLEASE.
|
||
|
||
You're a fucking murderer.
|
||
|
||
I TAKE EXCEPTION TO THAT.
|
||
|
||
Take exception to this, Jack! What the hell did you kill him
|
||
for?
|
||
|
||
I ASSUME YOU HAVE BEEN WATCHING TELEVISION.
|
||
|
||
Aren't we the Einstein of Sushi land.
|
||
|
||
YOUR MANNERS.
|
||
|
||
You killed him! Why?
|
||
|
||
Stephanie read the monitor and wept quietly as the conversation
|
||
scrolled before her. She placed her hands on Miles' shoulders in
|
||
an effort to feel less alone.
|
||
|
||
IT WAS A NECESSARY EVIL. HE COULD NOT BE PERMITTED TO SPEAK.
|
||
NOT YET.
|
||
|
||
So you killed him?
|
||
|
||
ONE OF MY PEOPLE GOT A LITTLE OVER ZEALOUS. IT IS REGRETTABLE,
|
||
BUT NECESSARY.
|
||
|
||
It is not necessary to kill anyone. Nowhere in the plan does it
|
||
call for murder! That was part of our deal.
|
||
|
||
THE WINDS BLOW. CONDITIONS CHANGE.
|
||
|
||
The wind blows up your ass!
|
||
|
||
THAT DOES NOT CHANGE THE FACT THAT HE WAS GOING TO TELL WHAT HE
|
||
KNEW.
|
||
|
||
What the hell does he know?
|
||
|
||
DGRAPH. THAT'S THE PROGRAM WE INFECTED.
|
||
|
||
DGraph? That's impossible. That's the most popular program in
|
||
the world. How did you infect it?
|
||
|
||
I BOUGHT IT.
|
||
|
||
You own dGraph? I thought that Data Tech owned them.
|
||
|
||
OSO OWNS DATA TECH. YOU DID NOT LISTEN TO YOUR OWN ADVICE. I
|
||
BOUGHT IT AFTER YOU VISITED ME FOR THE SECOND TIME. IT SEEMED
|
||
PRUDENT. WE ALSO BOUGHT A HALF DOZEN OTHER SMALL, PROMISING
|
||
SOFTWARE COMPANIES, JUST AS YOU SUGGESTED. VERY GOOD PLAN.
|
||
|
||
And Troubleaux knows?
|
||
|
||
OF COURSE. HE HAD INCENTIVE.
|
||
|
||
So you try to kill him?
|
||
|
||
HE LOST HIS INCENTIVE. IT WAS NECESSARY. HE WAS GOING TO TELL
|
||
AND, AS YOU SAID, SECRECY IS PARAMOUNT. YOUR WORDS.
|
||
|
||
Yes, secrecy, but not murder. I can't be part of that.
|
||
|
||
BUT YOU ARE MR. FOSTER. I HOPE THAT THIS IS AN ISOLATED INCIDENT
|
||
THAT WILL NOT BE REPEATED.
|
||
|
||
It had damn well better be.
|
||
|
||
DO NOT FORGET MR. FOSTER THAT YOU HAVE A SIZABLE PAYMENT COMING.
|
||
I WOULD HATE TO SEE YOU LOSE THAT WHEN THINGS ARE SO CLOSE.
|
||
|
||
<<<<<<CONNECTION TERMINATED>>>>>>
|
||
|
||
"Son of a bitch," Miles said out loud. "Son of a bitch."
|
||
|
||
"What's going on? Miles?" Perky followed him back to the couch
|
||
in front of the TV and sat close with her arm around him. She
|
||
was still crying softly.
|
||
|
||
"It's gonna start. That's amazing." He blankly stared forward.
|
||
|
||
"What's gonna start? Miles, did you kill someone?"
|
||
|
||
"Oh, no!" He turned to her in sincerity. "That bastard Homosoto
|
||
did. Jesus, I can't believe it."
|
||
|
||
"What are you involved in? I thought you were a consultant."
|
||
|
||
"I was. Tomorrow I will be a very rich retired consultant." He
|
||
pulled her hands into his and spoke warmly. "Listen, it's better
|
||
that your don't know what's going on, much better. But I promise
|
||
you, I promise you, that Homosoto is behind it, not me. I
|
||
couldn't ever kill anyone. You need to believe that."
|
||
|
||
"Miles, I do, but you seem to know more than . . ."
|
||
|
||
"I do, and I can't say anything. Trust me," he said as he
|
||
brought her close to him. "This will all work out for the best.
|
||
I promise you. Look at me," he said and pulled up her chin so she
|
||
gazed directly into his eyes. "I have a lot invested in you,
|
||
and this project. More than you could ever know, and now that it
|
||
is nearly over, I can put more time into you. After all, you
|
||
bear some of the responsibility." Miles' loving attitude was a
|
||
contradiction from his usual self centered pre-occupation.
|
||
|
||
"Me?" She asked.
|
||
|
||
"Who got me involved with Homosoto in the first place?" he said
|
||
glaring at her.
|
||
|
||
"I guess I did, but . . ."
|
||
|
||
"I know, I'm kidding," he said squeezing her closer. "I'm not
|
||
blaming you for anything. I didn't know he could resort to
|
||
murder, and if I did, I never would have gotten involved in the
|
||
first place."
|
||
|
||
"Miles, I love you." That was the first time in their years of
|
||
on-again off-again contact that she told him how she felt. Now
|
||
she had to decide if she would tell him that he was just another
|
||
assignment, and that in all likelihood she had just lost her job,
|
||
too. "I really do love you."
|
||
|
||
* * * * *
|
||
|
||
"The last goddamned time this happened was in the 1950's when
|
||
Puerto Rican revolutionaries started a shoot-em-up in the old
|
||
gallery," the President shouted.
|
||
|
||
Phil Musgrave and Quinton Chambers listened to the angry Presi-
|
||
dent. His tirade began minutes after he summoned them both to
|
||
his office. They were as frustrated and upset as he was, but it
|
||
was their job to listen until the President had blown off enough
|
||
steam.
|
||
|
||
"I am well aware a democracy, a true democracy is subject to
|
||
extremist activists, but," the President sighed, "this is getting
|
||
entirely out of hand. What is it about this computer stuff that
|
||
stirs up so much emotion?" He waited for an answer.
|
||
|
||
"I'm not sure that computers are to blame, sir," said Phil.
|
||
"First of all, the assailant used a ceramic pistol. No way for
|
||
our security to detect it without a physical search and that
|
||
wouldn't go over well with anyone." The brilliant Musgrave was
|
||
making a case for calm rationality in the light of the live
|
||
assassination attempt. "Second, at this point there is no con-
|
||
nection between Troubleaux and his attacker. We're not even 100%
|
||
sure that Troubleaux was the target."
|
||
|
||
"That's a crock Phil," asserted the President. "It doesn't take
|
||
a genius to figure out that there is an obvious connection be-
|
||
tween this computer crap and the Rickfield incident. I want to
|
||
know what it is, and I want to know fast."
|
||
|
||
"Sir," Chambers said quietly. "We have the FBI and the CIA
|
||
investigating, but until the perpetrator regains consciousness,
|
||
which may be doubtful because his spine was snapped in the fall,
|
||
we won't know too much."
|
||
|
||
The President frowned. "Does it seem odd to you that Mason, the
|
||
Times reporter was there with Troubleaux at the exact time he got
|
||
shot?"
|
||
|
||
"No sir, just a coincidence. It seems that computer crime has
|
||
been his hot button for a while," Musgrave said. "I don't think
|
||
he's involved at all."
|
||
|
||
"I'm not suggesting that," the President interrupted. "But he
|
||
does seem to be where the action is. I think it would be prudent
|
||
if we knew a bit more of his activities. Do I need to say more?"
|
||
|
||
"No sir. Consider it done."
|
||
|
||
****************************************************************
|
||
|
||
Getting good. Can't put it down, huh? Is is 4 AM yet?
|
||
|
||
Hope you're enjoying it. Hate to mention it, but have you
|
||
thought about actually sending us a couple of bucks you mean to
|
||
send, but keep forgetting.
|
||
|
||
Now's as good a time as any.
|
||
|
||
|
||
INTER.PACT Press
|
||
11511 Pine St.
|
||
Seminole, FL 34642
|
||
|
||
All contents are (C) 1991, 1992, 1993 Inter.Pact
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Thanks again.
|
||
|
||
The concluding chapters of "Terminal Compromise" are in the file
|
||
TERMCOMP.4
|
||
|