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

your

liking?” Homosoto awkwardly searched for the vain compliment.

He pointed at the leather seating area in which they had first

discussed their plans. They sat in the same chairs they had the

last time they met.

Miles was taken aback by the warm reception, but since he was so

important to Homosoto, it was only fitting to be treated with

respect.

Miles returned the courtesy with the minimum required bow of the

head. It was a profitable game worth playing. “Very much so, Mr.

Homosoto. It was most relaxing . . .and I think you will be very

pleased with the results.” Miles smiled warmly, expecting to be

heavily complimented on his promise. Instead, Homosoto ignored

the business issue.

“I understand that Miss Marasee was most pleased . . .was she

not?” The implication was clear. For the first time, Miles saw

a glimmer of a dirty old man looking for the sordid details.

“I guess so. I was too busy working to pay attention.” Miles

tried to sluff off the comment.

“That is what she says. That you were too busy for her . . .or

to say goodbye and thank her for her attentions. Not an auspi-

cious beginning Mr. Foster.” Miles caught the derision in Homo-

soto’s voice and didn’t appreciate it one little bit.

“Listen. My affairs are my affairs. I am grateful for the

services, but I do like to keep my personal life just that. Per-

sonal.” Miles was polite, but firm. Homosoto nodded in under-

standing.

“Of course, Mr. Foster, I understand completely. It is merely

for the sake of the young woman that I mention it. There is no

offense intended. It is shall we say . . .a cultural

difference?”

Miles didn’t believe in the cultural difference to which he

referred, but he didn’t press the point. He merely nodded that

the subject was closed. A pregnant pause followed before Homo-

soto interrupted the silence.

“So, Mr. Foster. I really did not expect to see you for another

few weeks. I must assume that you have made some progress in

planning our future endeavors.” Homosoto wore a smile that

belied little of his true thoughts.

“You bet your ass, I did.” Homosoto winced at the colorful

language. It was Miles’ way of maintaining some control over the

situation. His dimples recessed even further as he enjoyed

watching Homosoto’s reaction. “It turned out to be simpler than

even I had thought.”

“Would you be so kind as to elaborate?”

“Gotcha.” Miles opened his briefcase and brought out a sheath of

papers with charts and scribbles all over them. “Basically the

technology is pretty simple. Here are the fundamental systems to

use in the attack, there are only four of them. After all,

there are no defenses, so that’s not a problem.”

“Problem?” Homosoto raised his eyes.

“Ok, not problem. As you can see here, putting the technical

pieces together is not the issue. The real issue is creating an

effective deployment of the tools we create.” Miles was matter

of fact and for the first time Homosoto saw Miles as the itiner-

ant professional he was capable of being. The challenge. Just as

Miles promised earlier, ‘give me a challenge, the new, the undone

and I will be the best.’ Miles was shining in his own excel-

lence, and his ego was gone, totally gone. His expertise took

over.

“I have labeled various groups that we will need to pull this

off.”

“Pull off? Excuse me . . .”

“Oh, sorry. Make it work? Have it happen?”

“Ah yes, So sorry.”

“Not at all.” Miles looked at Homosoto carefully. Was there a

mutual respect actually developing?

“As I said, we will have to have several groups who don’t even

know about each other’s existence. At NSA we call it contain-

ment, or need to know.”

Homosoto cursorily examined the printouts on the table in front

of him, but preferred to address Miles’ comments. “Could you

explain, please? I don’t see how one can build a car if you

don’t know what it’s going to look like when you’re done. You

suggest that each person or group functions without the knowledge

of the others? How can this be efficient?”

Miles smiled. For the first time he felt a bit of compassion for

Homosoto, as one would feel for the naive child asking why 1 plus

1 equals 2. Homosoto was used to the Japanese work ethic:

Here’s a beautiful picture of a car, and all 50,000 of us are

going to build it; you 5,000 build the engines, you 5,000 build

the body and so on. After a couple of years we’ll have built a

fabulous automobile that we have all shared as a common vision.

Homosoto had no idea of how to wage a war, although he apparently

afford it. Miles realized he could be in control after all, if he

only sold Homosoto on his abilities, and he was well on the way.

“You see, Mr. Homosoto, what we are trying to do requires that no

one, except a few key people like you and I, understand what is

going on. As we said in World War II, loose lips sink ships.”

Homosoto immediately bristled at the mention of the war. Miles

hardly noticed as he continued. “The point is, as I have it laid

out here, only a handful of people need to know what we are

trying to achieve. All of the rest have clearly defined duties

that they are expected to perform as we ask. Each effectively

works in a vacuum. Efficient, not exactly. Secure, yes. I

imagine you would like to keep this operation as secret as possi-

ble.”

Homosoto took immediate notice and bolted his response. “Hai! Of

course, secrecy is important, but how can we be sure of compli-

ance by our . . .associates?”

“Let me continue.” Miles referred back to the papers in front of

him. “The first group is called the readers, the second will be

dedicated to research and development.” Homosoto smiled at the

R&D reference. He could understand that. “Then there will be a

public relations group, a communications group, a software compa-

ny will be needed, another group I call the Mosquitoes and a

little manufacturing which I assume you can handle.” Miles

looked for Homosoto’s reaction.

“Manufacturing, very easy. I don’t fully understand the others,

but I am most impressed with your outline. You mentioned prob-

lem. Can you explain?” Homosoto had become a different person.

One who showed adolescent enthusiasm. He moved to the edge of

his seat.

“As with any well designed plan,” Miles boasted, “there are

certain situations that need to be addressed. In this case, I

see several.” Miles was trying to hook Homosoto onto the prover-

bial deck.

“I asked for problem.” Homosoto insisted.

“To properly effect this plan we will need two things that may

make it impossible.”

Homosoto met the challenge. “What do you need?”

Miles liked the sound of it. You. What do you need. “This

operation could cost as much as $50 million. Is that a problem?”

Homosoto looked squarely at Miles. “No problem. What is the

second thing you need?”

“We will need an army. Not an army with guns, but a lot of

people who will follow orders. That may be more important than

the money.”

Homosoto took a momentary repose while he thought. “How big an

army will you need?”

“My guess? Today? I would say that for all groups we will need

a minimum of 500 people. Maybe as many as a thousand.”

Homosoto suddenly laughed out loud. “You call that an army?

1000 men? An army? That is a picnic my friend.” Homosoto was

enjoying his own personal joke. “When you said army, Mr. Foster

I imagined tens of thousands of people running all around the

United States shooting their guns. A thousand people? I can give

you a thousand dedicated people with a single phone call. Is

that all you need?” He continued his laughter.

Miles was taken aback and had difficulty hiding his surprise. He

had already padded his needs by a factor of three. “With a few

minor specialties and exceptions, yes. That’s it. If we follow

this blue print.” He pointed at the papers spread before them.

Homosoto sat back and closed his eyes in apparent meditation.

Miles watched and waited for several minutes. He looked out the

expanse of windows over Tokyo patiently as Homosoto seemed to

sleep in the chair across from him. Homosoto spoke quietly with

his eyes still closed.

“Mr. Foster?”

“Yes?” Miles was ready.

“Do you love you country?” Homosoto’s eyelids were still.

Miles had not expected such a question.

“Mr. Foster? Did you hear the question?”

“Yes, I did.” He paused. “I’m thinking.”

“If you need to think, sir, then the answer is clear. As you

have told me, you hold no allegiance. Your country means nothing

to you.”