Terminal Compromise, Winn Schwartau [sight word books txt] 📗

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.

<<<<<>>>>>

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.

<<<<<>>>>>

“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.