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

too much for him to handle.

“We poked around transfer accounts, where they wire money from

one bank to another and through the Fed Reserve. Transaction

accounts, reserves, statements, credit cards. Use your imagina-

tion. If a bank does it, we saw it. The point is, John, I need

to know two things.”

John Higgins sat back, apparently exhausted. He knew what was

coming, at least half of it. His expression told Scott to ask

away. He could take it.

“First, did I do anything illegal, prosecutable? You know what I

mean. And, can I run with it? That’s it.”

Higgins’ head leaned back on the leather head rest as he began to

speak deliberately. This was going to be a lawyer’s non-answer.

Scott was prepared for it.

“Did you commit a crime?” Higgins speculated. “My gut reaction

says no, but I’m not up on the latest computer legislation. Did

you, at any time, do anything to the bank’s computers?”

“No. He had control. I only had a window.”

“Good, that helps.” The air thickened with anticipation as Doug

and Scott both waited for words of wisdom. “I could make a good

argument that you were a reporter, with appropriate credentials,

interviewing an individual, who was, coincidentally, at the same

time, committing a crime. That is, if what he did was a crime.

I don’t know the answer to that yet.

“There have been countless cases where a reporter has witnessed

crimes and reported on them with total immunity. Yes, the more I

think about it, consider this.” Higgins seemed to have renewed

energy. The law was his bible and Scott was listening in the

congregation. “Reporters have often gone into hostage situations

where there is no doubt that a crime is in progress, to report on

the condition of the hostages. That’s O.K.. They have followed

drug dealers into crack houses and filmed their activities.”

Higgins thought a little more. “Sure, that’s it. The arena

doesn’t change the rules. You said you couldn’t affect the

computers, right?” He wanted a confirmation.

“Right. I just watched. And . . .asked him to do certain

things.”

“No you didn’t! Got that? You watched, nothing else!” Higgins

cracked sharply at Scott. “If anyone asks, you only watched.”

“Gotcha.” Scott recognized the subtle difference. He did not

want to be an aider or abettor of a crime.

“So, that makes it easy. If you were in the hackers home, watch-

ing him over his shoulder, that would be no different from watch-

ing him over a computer screen.” He sounded confident. “I

guess.” He sounded less confident. “There is very little case

history on this stuff, so, if it came to it, we’d be in an inter-

esting position to say the least. But, to answer your question,

no, I don’t think that you did anything illegal.”

“Great. So I can write the story and . . .” Scott made a

forgone conclusion without his lawyers advice. There was no way

Higgins would let him get away with that.

“Hold your horses. You say write a story, and based upon what I

know so far, I think you can, but with some rules.”

“What kind of rules?” Skepticism permeated Scott’s slow re-

sponses.

“Simple ones. Are you planning on printing the passwords to

their computers?”

“No, not at all. Why?”

“Because, that is illegal. No doubt about it. So, good, rule

one is easy. Two, I want to read over this entire file and have

a review of everything before it goes to bed. Agreed?” Higgins

looked at Doug who had not contributed much. He merely nodded,

of course that would be fine.

“Three, no specifics. No names of people you saw, nothing exact.

We do not want to be accused of violation of privacy in any way,

shape or form.”

“That’s it?” Scott was pleasantly surprised. What seemed like

common sense to him was a legal spider web that Higgins was re-

quired to think through.

“Almost. Lastly, was this interview on the record?”

Damn good question, Scott thought. “I dunno. I never asked, it

didn’t seem like a regular interview, and since I don’t know

Kirk’s real name, he’s not the story. It was what he did that is

the story. Does it matter?”

“If the shit hits the fan it might, but I think we can get around

it. Just be careful what you say, so I don’t have to redline 90%

of it. Fair enough?”

Scott was pleased beyond control. He stood to thank Higgins.

“Deal. Thanks.” Scott began to turn.

“Scott?” Higgins called out. “One more thing.”

Oh no, he thought, the hammer was dropping. He turned back to

Higgins. “Yeah?”

“Good work. You’re onto something. Keep it up and keep it

clean.”

“No problem.” Scott floated on air. “No, problem at all.”

Back at his desk, Scott called Hugh Sidneys. He still worked at

State First, as far as he knew, and it was time to bring him out

of the closet, if possible.

“Hugh?” Scott said affably. “This is Scott Mason, over at the

Times?”

“Yeah? Oh, hello,” Sidneys said suspiciously. “What do you

want?”

“Hugh, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“I think you know. Would you like to talk here on the phone, or

privately?” Sometimes leaving the mark only two options, neither

particularly attractive, would keep him within those bounds.

Sidneys was an ideal person for this tact.

The pregnant pause conveyed Sidney’s consternation. The first

person to speak would lose, thought Scott. Hugh spoke.

“Ah, I think it would be . . .ah better . . .if we

spoke . . .at . . .”

“How about the same place?” Scott offered.

“OK,” Hugh was hesitant. “I guess so . . .when?”

“Whenever you want. No pressure.” Scott released the tension.

“I get off at 5, how about . . .?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Yes ma’am. This is Scott Mason. I’m a reporter for the Times.

I will only take a few seconds of his time. Is he in?” Scott

used his kiss-the-secretary’s-ass voice. Better then being

aggressive unless it was warranted.

“I’ll check, Mr. Mason,” she said. The phone went on hold.

After a very few seconds, the Muzak was replaced with a gruff

male voice.

“Mr. Mason? I’m Francis MacMillan. How may I help you?” He

conveyed self assuredness, vitality and defensiveness.

“I won’t take a moment, sir.” Scott actually took several sec-

onds to make sure his question would be formed accurately. He

probably only had one chance. “We have been researching an

article on fraudulent investment practices on the part of various

banks; some fall out from the S&L mess.” He paused for effect.

“At any rate, we have received information that accuses First

State of defrauding it’s investors. In particular, we have

records that show a complicated set of financial maneuvers that

are designed to drain hundreds of millions of dollars from the

assets of First State. Do you have any comment?”

Total silence. The quality of fiber phone lines made the silence

all the more deafening.

“If you would like some specifics, sir, I can provide them to

you,” Scott said adding salt to the wound. “In many cases, sir,

you are named as the person responsible for these activities. We

have the documents and witnesses. Again, we would like a comment

before we go to print.”

Again Scott was met with silence. Last try.

“Lastly, Mr. MacMillan, we have evidence that your bank’s comput-

ers have been invaded by hackers who can alter the financial

posture of First State. If I may say so, the evidence is quite

damning.” Scott decided not to ask for a comment directly. The

question was no longer rhetorical, it was implicit.

If feelings could be transmitted over phone wires, Scott heard

MacMillan’s nerve endings commence a primal scream. The phone

explosively hung up on Scott.

Thursday, December 3 First State Bank, New York

Francis MacMillan, President of First State Savings and Loan,

bellowed at the top of his lungs. Three Vice Presidents were in

his office before 7:00 A.M.

“Who the fuck’s in charge of making sure the damned computers are

safe?”

The V.P. of Data processing replied. “It’s Jeanne Fineman,

sir.”

“Fire him.”

“Jeanne is a woman . . .”

“Fire them both. I want them out of here in 10 minutes.” McMil-

lan’s virulent intensity gave his aides no room for dissent.

“Sir, why, it’s almost Christmas, and it wasn’t her fault . . .”

“And no bonus. Make sure they never work near banks, or comput-

ers ever again! Got that?” Everyone nodded in shock.

“Al?” McMillan shouted. “Buy back our stock, quietly. When

the market hears this we’re in for a dump. No one will believe

us when we respond, and it will take us a day to get out an

answer.”