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

He could not believe that he had more securi-

ty in his house than a bank with assets of over $10 Billion. The

bottom window showed Kirk’s next message.

WHAD’YA THINK?

Pretty stupid

WHAT?

That the bank doesn’t have better control

VIVE LE HACKER!!!

* Wednesday, December 2 New York City

“Doug,” Scott came into the office breathlessly, “we have to see

Higgins. I gotta great . . .”

“Hey, I thought you were gonna come in late today? Wire in the

copy?” He looked at the New York clock on the wall. It was

9:15. Scott broke the promise he made to himself to come in

late.

“Yeah, well, I underslept.” He brandished a thick file of

computer printouts. “Before I write this one, I want Higgins and

every other lawyer God put on this green Earth to go over it.”

“Since when did you get so concerned with pre-scrutiny. As I

remember, it was only yesterday that you threatened to nuke

Higgins’ house and everyone he ever met.” Doug pretended to be

condescending. Actually, the request was a great leap forward

for Scott and every other reporter. Get pre-lawyered, on the

approach, learn the guidelines, and maybe new rules before plow-

ing ahead totally blind.

“Since I broke into a bank last night!” Scott threw the folder

down on Doug’s desk. “Here. I’m going to Rosie’s for a choles-

terol fix. Need a picker upper.”

When Scott came back from a breakfast of deep fried fat and pan

grilled grease he grabbed his messages at the front desk. Only

one mattered:

Higgins. 11:00. Be there. Doug.

Still the boss, thought Scott.

Higgins’ job was to approve controversial material, but it gener-

ally didn’t surround only one reporter, on so many different

stories within such a short time span.

“Good to see you, Mason,” snorted Higgins.

“Right. Me too,” he came back just as sarcastically. “Doug.”

He acknowledged his editor with only slightly more civility.

“John, the boy’s been up all night,” Doug conciliated to Higgins.

He called all his reporters boys. “And Scott, lighten up.” He

was serious.

“Sure, Doug,” he nodded.

Higgins began. “O.K., Scott, what is it this time? Doug said you

broke into a bank, and I haven’t had time to go over these.” He

held up the thick file of printouts. “In 25 words or less.”

The legal succinctness annoyed Scott.

“Simple. I tied in with a hacker last night, ‘round midnight.

He had the passwords to get into the First State computers, and

well, he showed me around. Showed me how much damage can actual-

ly be done by someone at a keyboard. The tour lasted almost 2

hours.”

“That’s it?” Asked Higgins.

“That’s it? Are you kidding? Let me tell you a few things in 25

words or more!” Scott was tired and the lack of sleep made him

irritable.

“I did a little checking before I went on this excursion. You

bank at First, don’t you, John?”

It was a setup question. “Yes,” Higgins said carefully.

“I thought so. Here let me have that file. Gimme a minute,” he

said flipping pages. “Here it is, and yes, correct me if I say

anything that you don’t agree with.” His curtness and accusato-

ry sound put both Higgins and Doug off. Where was he going?

“John W. Higgins, social security number, 134-66-9241. Born Rock-

ville, Maryland, June 1, 1947. You currently have $12,435.16 in

your checking account, $23,908.03 in savings . . .”

Higgins’ jaw and pen dropped simultaneously. Doug saw the shock

on his face while Scott continued.

“Your mortgage at 115 Central Park West is $2,754.21. Your

portfolio is split between, let’s see, CD’s, T-Bills, the bank

acts as your broker, and you have three safety deposit boxes,

only one to which your wife, Helen Beverly Simons, has access.

You make a deposit every two weeks . . .”

“Stop! How the hell do you know . . .”

“Jeez you make that much? Can I be a lawyer too, huh? Please Mr.

Higgins?”

Higgins threw his chair back and stormed around his desk to grab

the papers from Scott. Scott held them away.

“Let me see those!” Higgins demanded.

“Say please. Say pretty please.”

“Scott!” Doug decided enough was enough. Scott had made his

point. “Cool it. Let him have them.”

“Sure, boss!” He grinned widely at Doug who could not, for

reasons of professional conduct, openly condone Scott’s perform-

ance, no matter how effective it was.

Higgins looked at the top pages from where Scott was reading. He

read them intently, looking from one to the other. Slowly, he

walked back to his desk, and sat down, nearly missing the chair

because he was so engrossed.

Without looking up he spoke softly. “This is unbelievable.

Unbelievable. I can’t believe that you have this.” Suddenly he

spoke right to Scott. “You know this is privileged information,

you can’t go telling anyone about my personal finances. You do

know that, right?” The concern was acute.

“Hey, I don’t really give a damn what you make, but I needed to

shake the tree. This is serious shit.”

“Scott, you’ve got my total, undivided attention now. The

floor’s yours. You have up to 100 words.” Humor wasn’t Higgins’

strong point, or his weak point, or any point, but Scott appreci-

ated the gesture. Doug could relax, too. A peace treaty, for

now.

“Thanks, John.” Scott was sincere. “As you know I’ve been run-

ning a few stories on hackers, computer crimes, what have you.”

Higgins rolled his eyes. He remembered. “A few weeks ago I got

a call from Captain Kirk. He’s a hacker.”

“What do you know about him?” Higgins was again taking notes.

The tape recorder was nowhere to be seen.

“Not much, yet, but I have a few ideas. I would hazard to guess

that he is younger. Maybe in his late ‘20’s, not from New York,

maybe the Coast, and has a sense of responsibility.”

“How do know this?”

“Well, I don’t know, I guessed from our conversations.”

“Why didn’t you just ask?”

“I did. But, he wants his anonymity. It’s the things he says,

the way he says them. The only reason I know he’s a he is be-

cause he called me on the phone first.”

“When did you speak to him?” Higgins inquired.

“Only once. After that it’s been over computer.”

“So it could be anyone really?”

“Sure, but that doesn’t matter. It’s what he did. First, we

entered the computer . . .”

“What do you mean we?” Higgins shot Scott a disapproving stare.

“We. Like him and me. He tied my computer to his so I could

watch what he was doing. So, he gets into the computer . . .”

“How?”

“With the passwords. There were three.”

“How did he get them?”

“From another hacker I assume. That’s another story.” The con-

stant interruptions exasperated Scott. “Let me finish, then grill

me. O.K.?”

Higgins nodded. Sure.

“So, once we were in, he could do anything he wanted. The com-

puter thought he was the Systems Administrator, the head honcho

for all the bank’s computer operations. So we had free reign.

The first place we went was to Account Operations. That’s where

the general account information on the bank’s customers is kept.

I asked him for information on you. Within seconds I knew a lot

about you.” Higgins frowned deeply. “From there, he asked for

detailed information on your files; credit cards, payment histo-

ry, delinquencies, loans on cars, IRA’s, the whole shooting

match.”

“I have to interrupt here, Scott,” Higgins said edgily. “Could

he, or you have made changes, to, ah . . .my account?”

“We did!”

“You made changes? What changes?” Higgins was aghast.

“We took all your savings and invested them in a new startup fast

food franchise called Press Rat and Wharthog Sandwiches, Inc.”

“You have got be kidding.” Scott saw the sweat drops at Higgins’

hairline.

“Yeah, I am. But he did show me how easy it is to make adjust-

ments in account files. Like pay off loans and have them disap-

pear, invoke foreclosures, increase or decrease balances, whatev-

er we wanted to do.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“That’s not the half of it. Not even a millionth of it. See, we

went through lots of accounts. The bank computer must hold

hundreds of thousands of account records, and we had access to

them all. If we had wanted to, we could have erased them all, or

zeroed them out, or made everyone rich overnight.”

“Are you telling me,” Higgins spoke carefully, “that you and

this . . .hacker, illegally entered a bank computer and changed

records and . . .”

“Whoah!” Scott held up his hands to slow Higgins down. “We left

everything the way it was, no changes as far as I could tell.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not. I wasn’t in the driver’s seat. I went along for

the ride.”

“What else did you do last night, Scott?” Higgins sounded re-

signed to more bad news. The legal implications must have been