Since the author also requests remuneration, we would ask these

W >> Winn Schwartau >> Since the author also requests remuneration, we would ask these

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"I grant you I'm no Mother Teresa. I'm a businessman, and I have
to make money for my investors. But in the files that I received
were exact copies of my personal files that no one, and I mean
no one has access to. They were my own notes, ideas in progress.
Nothing concrete, just work in progress. But someone, somehow
has gotten a hold of it all. And, by my thinking, there's no way
to have gotten it without first killing me, and I'm here. So how
did they get it? That's what I need to know." Dobbs paused.
"And then, I need to stop them." His soliloquy was over.

"Who else is affected?" Duncan asked. The question made Dobbs
pause too obviously. The answer was clear. Dobbs wasn't alone.

"I only speak for myself. No one else." Dobbs rose from the
chair. "It's eminently clear. There's not a damned thing you can
do. Good day." Dobbs left the room abruptly leaving Tyrone with
plenty of time to think.

****************************************************************

Chapter 8

Monday, September 21
New York

14 Dead As Hospital Computer Fails
by Scott Mason

Fourteen patients died as a result of a massive computer failure
this weekend at the Golda Meier Medical Center on 5th. Avenue.

According to hospital officials, the Meditrix Life Support Moni-
tors attached to many of the hospital's patients were accidental-
ly disconnected from the nurses stations and the hospital's main
computer. Doctors and nurses were unaware of any malfunction
because all systems appeared to operating correctly.

The LSM's are connected to a hospital wide computer network that
connects all hospital functions in a central computer. Medical
records, insurance filings and treatments as well as personnel
and operations are coordinated through the Information Systems
department.

Golda Meier Medical Center leads the medical field in the used of
technologically advanced techniques, and has been applying an
artificial intelligence based Expert System to assist in diagno-
sis and treatment. Much of the day to day treatment of patients
is done with the LSM continually measuring the condition of
patient, and automatically updating his records. The Expert
System then determines what type of treatment to recommend.
Unless there is a change in the patient's condition that warrants
the intervention of a doctor, drugs and medicines are prescribed
by the computer.

According to computer experts who were called in to investigate,
the Expert System began misprescribing medications and treatments
early Saturday morning. Doctors estimate that over 50%, about
300, of the hospital's patients received incorrect treatment.
Of those 14 died and another 28 are in critical condition.

Until this weekend, the systems were considered foolproof. The
entire computer system of Golda Meier Medical Center has been
disconnected until a more intensive investigation is completed.

In response to the news, the Jewish Defense League is calling the
incident, "an unconscionable attack against civilized behavior
and the Jewish community in particular." They have called for a
full investigation into the episode.

No group or individuals have yet taken credit for the crime. The
AMA has petitioned the Drug and Food Administration to look into
the matter.

Gerald Steinmetz, chief counsel for the Center, said in inter-
views that he had already been contacted by attorney's represent-
ing the families of the some of the victims of this tragedy. He
anticipates extended legal entanglements until such time that the
true cause can be determined and blame can accurately assigned.
The hospital denies any wrong doing on its or its staff's part.

This is Scott Mason, determined to stay healthy.

* * * * *

December, 4 Years Ago
Tokyo, Japan

Miles Foster arrived at Narita Airport as another typhoon shat-
tered the coast of Japan. It was the roughest plane ride he had
ever taken; and after 2 weeks of pure bliss. Boy, that Homosoto
sure knows how to show a guy a good time.

After their first meeting at the OSO World Bank Building, Miles
had flown to Tahiti and spent 18 delightful days at the outer
resort of Moorea, courtesy of OSO Industries, with all of the
trimmings. He was provided with a private beach house containing
every modern amenity one could want. Including two housekeepers
and a cook. Only one of the housekeepers knew how to keep house.
The other knew how to keep Miles satisfied.

Marasee was a Pacific Islander who was well schooled in advanced
sexual techniques. At barely 5 feet tall and 96 pounds, her long
silken black hair was as much as sexual tool as her hands and
mouth. Her pristine dark complexion and round face caused Miles
to think that he was potentially guilty of crimes against a
minor, but after their first night together, he relented that
Marasee knew her business very well.

"Mr. Homosoto-San," she purred in delicately accented English,
"wants you to concentrate on your work." She caressed his shoul-
ders and upper body as she spoke. "He knows that a man works
best when he has no worries. It is my job to make sure that you
are relaxed. Completely relaxed. Do you understand?"

Her eyes longed for an affirmative answer from Miles. At first
he was somewhat baffled. Homosoto had indeed sent him on this
trip, vacation, to work, undisturbed. But Miles thought that he
would have to fend for himself for his physical pleasures. He
was used to finding ways to satisfy his needs.

"Homosoto-San says that you must be relaxed to do very serious
business. Whenever you need relaxation, I am here."

The food was as exquisite as was Marasee. He luxuriated in the
eternally perfect weather, the beach, the waves and he even
ventured under water on a novice scuba dive. But, as he knew, he
was here to concentrate on his assigned task, so he tried to
limit his personal activities to sharing pleasure with Marasee.

In just a few days, a relaxed Miles felt a peace, a solace that
he had never known before. He found that his mind was at a
creative high. His mind propelled through the problems of the
war plans, and the solutions appeared. His brain seemed to
function independent of effort. As he established goals, the
roads to meet them appeared magically before him, in absolute
clarity. He was free to explore each one in its entirety, from
beginning to end, undisturbed.

If a problem confounded him, he found that merely forgetting
about it during an interlude with Marasee provided him with the
answer. The barriers were broken, the so-called 'walls of de-
fense' crumbled before as he created new methods of penetration
no one had ever thought of before.

As his plan coalesced into a singular whole, he began to experi-
ence a euphoria, a high that was neither drug nor sexually in-
duced. He could envision, all at once, the entire grand strate-
gy; how the myriad pieces effortlessly fit together and evolved
into a picture perfect puzzle. Miles became able to manipulate
the attack scenarios in his mind and make slight changes in one
that would have far reaching implications in another portion of
the puzzle. He might change only one slight aspect, yet see
synergistic ramifications down a side road. This new ability,
gained from total freedom to concentrate and his newfound worry
free life, gave Miles new sources of pleasure and inspiration.

As his plans came together, Miles yearned for something outside
of his idyllic environment. His strategies grew into a concrete
reality, one which he knew he could execute, if Homosoto wasn't
feeding him a line of shit. And, for the $100,000 Homosoto gave
him to make plans, he was generally inclined to believe that this
super rich, slightly eccentric but obviously dangerous man was
deadly serious.

As the days wore on, Miles realized that, more than anything in
his life, even more than getting laid, he wanted to put his plan
to the test. If he was right, of which he was sure, in a few
short years he would be recognized as the most brilliant computer
scientist in the world. In the whole damn world.

His inner peace, the one which fed his creativity, soon was
overtaken by the unbridled ego which was Miles Foster's inner
self. The prospect of success fostered new energies and Miles
worked even harder to complete the first phase of his task. To
the occasional disappointment of Marasee, Miles would embroil
himself in the computer Homosoto provided for the purpose.
Marasee had been with many men, she was an expert, but Miles gave
her as much pleasure as she to him. As his work further absorbed
him, she rued the day her assignment would be over.

Miles left Tahiti for Tokyo without even saying goodbye to Mara-
see.

The ritualistic scanning and security checks before Miles got
onto the living room elevator at the OSO Building in Tokyo evi-
denced that Homosoto had not told anyone else how important Miles
was. Even though he recognized the need for secrecy in their
endeavors, Miles was irked by the patronizing, almost rude treat-
ment he received when he was forced to pass the Sumo scrutiny.

The elevator again opened into the grand white gallery on the
66th floor.

"Ah . . .so good to see you again Mr. Foster. Homosoto-San is
anxious to see you." A short Japanese manservant escorted Miles
to the doors of Homosoto's office. The briefest of taps invited
the bellow of "Hai!" from its inner sanctum.

Homosoto was quick to rise from his techo-throne and greeted
Miles as if they were long lost friends.

"Mr. Foster . . .it is so good to see you. I assume everything
was satisfactory? You found the working conditions to 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."

"I wouldn't quite put it that way . . ." Miles said defensively.
He couldn't let this opportunity escape.

"You hold your personal comfort as your primary concern, do you
not? You want the luxuries that the United States offers, but
you don't care where or how you get them? Is that not so? You
want your women, your wine, your freedom, but you will take it at
any expense. I do not think I exaggerate. Tell me Mr. Foster,
if I am wrong."

Miles realized he was being asked to state his personal alle-
giances in mere seconds. Not since he was in the lower floors of
the NSA being interrogated had he been asked to state his convic-
tions. He knew the right answer there, but here, he wasn't quite
sure. The wrong answer could blow it. But, then again, he was
$110,000 ahead of the game for a few weeks work.

"I need to ask you a question to answer yours." Miles did not
want to be backed into a corner. "Mr. Homosoto. Do you want me
to have allegiance to my country or to you?"

Homosoto was pleased. "You debate well, young man. It is not so
much that I care if you love America. I want, I need to know what
you do love. You see, for me, I love Japan and my family. But
much of my family was taken from me in one terrible instant, a
long time ago. They are gone, but now I have my wife, my chil-
dren and their children. I learned, that if there is nothing
else, you must have family. That must come first, Mr. Foster.
Under all conditions, family is first. All else is last. So my
allegiance shifted, away from country, to my family and my be-
liefs. I don't always agree with my government, and there are
times I will defy their will. I can assure you, that if we embark
upon this route, neither I nor you will endear ourselves to our
respective governments. Does that matter to you?"

Miles snickered. "Matter? After what they did to me? Let me
tell you something. I gave my country most of my adult life. I
could have gone to work with my family . . .my associates . . ."

"I am aware of your background Mr. Foster," Homosoto interrupted.

"I'm sure you are. But that's neither here nor there. I could
have been on easy street. Plug a few numbers and make some bucks
for the clan." The colloquialism escaped Homosoto, but he got
the gist of it. "But I said to myself, 'hey, you're good.
Fixing roulette wheels is beneath you.' I needed, I still need
the diversion, the challenge, so I figured that the Feds would
give me the edge I needed to make something of myself." Miles
was turning red around his neck.

"The NSA had the gear, the toys for me to play with, and they
promised me the world. Create, they said, lead America's tech-
nology into the 21st. century. What a pile of shit. Working at
the NSA is like running for President. You're always trying to
sell yourself, your ideas. They don't give a shit about how good
your ideas are. All they care is that you're asshole buddies
with the powers that be. To get something done there, you need a
half dozen committees with their asses greased from here to
eternity for them to say maybe. Do you know the difference
between ass kissing and having your head up your ass?"

"If I understand your crudities, I assume this is an American
joke, then, no Mr. Foster, I do not know the difference."

"Depth perception." Miles looked for a reaction to his anatomi-
cal doublette. There was none other than Homosoto's benign smile
indicating no comprehension. "OK, never mind, I'll save it. At
any rate, enough was enough. I gotta do something with my life."
Miles had said his piece.

"In other words, money is your motivation?"

"Money doesn't hurt, sure. But, I need to do what I believe.
Not that that means hurting my country, but if they don't listen
to what makes sense, maybe it's best that they meet their worst
enemy to get them off of their keesters." Miles was on a roll.

"Keesters?" Homosoto's naivete was amusing.

"Oops!" Miles exclaimed comically. "Butts, asses, fannies?" He
patted his own which finally communicated the intention.

"Ah yes." Homosoto agreed. "So you feel you could best serve
your country by attacking it?"

Miles only thought for a few seconds. "I guess you could put it
that way. Sure."

"Mr. Foster, or should I say General Foster?" Miles beamed at
the reference. "We shall march to success."

"Mr. Homosoto," Miles broke the pagential silence. "I would like
to ask you the same question. Why?"

"I was wondering when you were going to ask me that Mr. Foster,"
Homosoto said with his grin intact. "Because, Mr. Foster, I am
returning the favor."

****************************************************************

Chapter 9

September, 1982
South East Iraq

Ahmed Shah lay in a pool of his own blood along with pieces of
what was once another human being.

The pain was intolerable. His mind exploded as the nerve endings
from the remains of his arms and legs shot liquid fire into his
cerebral cortex. His mind screamed in sheer agony while he
struggled to stay conscious. He wasn't sure why, but he had to
stay awake . . .can't pass out . . .sleep, blessed
sleep . . .release me from the pain . . .Allah! Oh take me
Allah . . .I shall be a martyr fighting for your holy
cause . . .in your name . . . for the love of Islam . . .for the
Ayatollah . . .take me into your arms and let me live for eter-
nity in your shadow . . .

The battle for Abadan, a disputed piece of territory that was a
hub for Persian Gulf oil distribution had lasted days. Both Iran
and Iraq threw waves of human fodder at each other in what was
referred to in the world press as " . . .auto-genocide . . ."
Neither side reacted to the monumental casualties that they
sustained. The lines of reinforcements were steady. The dead
bodies were thick on the battlefield; there was no time to col-
lect them and provide a proper burial. New troops had as much
difficulty wading through the obstacle courses made of human
corpses as staying alive.