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

This is so far from policy I think we could be shot.”

“You know nothing. Nothing.”

But Burnson and the FBI and the White House all knew they wanted

Foster. Tyrone instinctively knew as did Scott, that Miles

Foster was the Spook. Other than meager unsubstantiated circum-

stantial evidence, though, there was still no convincing legal

connection between Miles Foster and the Spook. Not enough of

one, anyway.

Miles Foster had done an extraordinary job of insulating himself

and his identity from his army.

There had to be another way.

* Monday, March 8 New York City Times Lawsuit Cites Virus by Scott Mason

Will stockholders of corporations soon require that all Corporate

assets be appropriately protected? Including those contained in

the computers? Many people see a strong possibility of a swell

of Wall Street investor demands to secure the computers of pub-

licly held companies. The SEC is planning on issuing a set of

preliminary regulations for firms under its aegis.

Last week, a group of 10,000 Alytech, Inc. stockholders filed the

first class action suit along this vein. They are suing the

current board of directors for ” . . .willful dereliction of

fiduciary responsibility in the adequate security and protection

of corporate information, data, communications and data process-

ing and communications equipment.” The suit continues to say

that the company, under the Directors’ leadership and guidance

knew and understood the threat to their computers, yet did noth-

ing to correct the situation.

Attorneys for the plaintiffs have said that they are in posses-

sion of a number of internal Alytech documents and memos which

spelled out security recommendations to their board of directors

upon which no action was taken.

Alytech was one of the many companies hit particularly hard by

the Computer War. The dGraph virus, the Lotus viruses and the

Novell viruses were among those that infected over 34,000 of the

company’s computers around the world; bringing the company to a

virtual halt for over two weeks. Immediately after getting their

computers back up and running, they were struck by several Free-

dom viruses which were designed to destroy the hard disks on the

computers.

As of this date, Alytech still has over 10,000 computers sitting

idly waiting for the much delayed shipments of hard disks re-

quired to repair the machines.

A spokesman for Alytech, Inc. says that the lawsuit is frivolous

and without merit.

A date of June 14 has been set for the courts to hear the first

of many rounds of motions.

* Sunday, March 21 Paris, France

Spring in Paris is more glorious than any reviewer can adequately

portray.

The clear air bristles with fresh anticipation like lovers on a

cool afternoon. Bicycles, free from a winter of hiding in ga-

rages, fill the streets and parks. All of Paris enjoys the first

stroll of the year.

Coats and jackets are prematurely shed in favor of t-shirts and

skimpy tank-tops and the cafes teem with alfresco activity. The

lucky low-season American tourist experiences firsthand the

French foreplay to summer.

Looking down to the streets from the ‘deuziemme tage’ of the

Eiffel Tower, only a hundred feet up, the sheer number of stroll-

ers, of pedestrian cruisers, of tourists and of the idly lazy

occupies the whole of one’s vista.

Martin Templer leaned heavily on the wrought iron railing of the

restaurant level, soaking up the tranquility of the perfect

Sunday afternoon. He gazed across the budding tree-lined Seine

toward the Champs Elyse and the Arc de Triumph; from Notre Dame

to the skyscrapered Ile de la Cit. He mentally noted the incon-

gruity between the aura of peace that Paris radiated with its

often violent history. He hoped nothing today would break that

spell.

A sudden slap on the back aroused Templer from his sun warmed

daydream. He turned his head in seeming boredom. “You’d make a

lousy pickpocket.”

“That’s why I avoided a life of crime.” Alexander Spiradon was

immaculately dressed, down to the properly folded silk handker-

chief in his suit jacket. “How are you today my friend? Did I

interrupt your reverie?”

Templer swung his London Fog over his shoulder. His casual

slacks and stylish light weight sweater contrasted severely with

Alex’s comfortable air of formality. “I don’t get here often.

Paris is a very special place,” Templer mused, turning from his

view of the city to face his old comrade.

“It is indeed,” agreed Alex. “Then why do you look so melan-

choly? Does Paris bring you memories of sadness?”

“I hope not,” Templer said, eyes down.

“You didn’t give me much notice,” Alex said good naturedly. “I

left the most beautiful woman in the world in a jacuzzi at St.

Moritz.”

“No, I’m sorry. I know I didn’t, but it was urgent. Couldn’t

wait.” A slight breeze caused Templer to shiver. He slowly put

on his tan rain coat and looked right into Alex’s eyes. “I’m

going to ask you straight.”

Alex confidently grinned. “Ask what?”

“Was Taki Homosoto a client of yours?” The biting words seemed

to have little impact on Alex.

“My clients trust me to keep their identities confidential.” The

expression on Alex’s face didn’t change.

“The guy’s dead. What the hell can it hurt?” Templer laughed.

“What’s he gonna do? Sue you for breach of contract?”

Alex didn’t say a word. He saw Templer laugh the confident laugh

of a chess player one move from checkmate and he realized how un-

comfortable a position this was for him. How do you behave when

you’re on the losing end of the stick? Alex was thinking like he

cared what Templer knew or thought. In reality, though, he

didn’t care any more about what anyone thought of him. He had

enough money, more than enough money, to lead a lavish lifestyle

without worry. So what did it matter. As friends nothing would

change between him and Martin. But professionally, that was a

different matter.

“I’d love to tell you, but, it’s a matter of ethics,” Alex said

happily. “You understand.”

“It really doesn’t matter,” laughed Templer. “Let’s walk. The

wind’s picking up.” They unconsciously joined in the spontane-

ous promenade of walkers who shuffle around the mid level of the

Tower to share in the ambience that only Paris offers.

“You know, I’m officially retired,” Alex said breathing in deep-

ly.

“I’m not surprised. Must have been a very profitable endeavor.”

“I saved a little and made prudent investments,” Alex lied and

Templer knew it. No need to push the point.

“How well did Sir George do? He wouldn’t tell us.”

Alex stopped in his tracks and glared at Martin with a blank

emotionless expression for several seconds until his deep set

brown eyes began to twinkle. A knowing smile and nod of recog-

nition of accomplishment followed, telling Martin he had hit a

home run. “You’re good. Very good.” They both began walking

again, as if on cue. “For future edification, how did you find

him?”

“Them. Sir George was the most helpful, though.”

“I remember him. Real character, kind of helpless but with the

gift of gab.” Alex seemed unconcerned that any of his network

had been discovered. “He talked?”

“Second rate criminal. Definitely deportable.”

“And you made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

“Something like that,” Templer said coyly. “Let’s just say he

prefers the vineyards of California to the prisons in England.”

Alex nodded in understanding. “How’d you find him?”

“Telephone records.”

“That’s impossible,” Alex said, shrugging off Martin’s answer.

“Never underestimate the power of silicon,” Martin said crypti-

cally.

“Computers? No way,” Alex said defiantly. “Every year there are

almost 40 billion calls made within the United States alone.

There’s no way to trace that many calls.”

“Who needs to trace?” Templer enjoyed the joust. Thus far.

“The phone company is kind enough to keep records of every call

made. Both local and long distance. They’re all rather com-

plete. From what number, to what number, if it’s forwarded, to

what number and at what time and for how long. They also tell us

if the calls were voice, fax, or other types of communications.

It even identifies telephone connections that use encryption.

Believe me, those are flagged right off.”

“You monitor every conversation? I thought it was just the

overseas calls. That’s incredible. Incredibly illegal.”

“But necessary. The threat of terrorism inside the United States

has reached unacceptable levels, and we had the capability. It

was just a matter of flipping the switch.”

“Since when can you do that?” Alex asked, stunned that he had

overlooked, or underestimated a piece of the equation.

“Since the phone company computers were connected to the Fort.

And, I guarantee you, it’s not something they want advertised,”

Martin said in a low voice. “Did you fuck up?” They had circled

the Tower twice and stopped back where they started, overlooking

the Seine.

Alex’s professional composure returned as they leaned over the

Tower’s