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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By early 1988, Ahmed's army consisted of nearly 1000 fanatic
Muslims who would swallow a live grenade if the deed guaranteed
their place in martyrdom. And another several thousand who could
be led into battle under the right conditions. And more came and
joined as the ridiculous immigration policies continued un-
checked.

They were students, businessmen, flight attendants who were now
in the United States for prolonged periods of time. All walks of
life were included in his Army. Some were technicians or book-
keepers, delivery men, engineers, doctors; most disciplines were
represented. Since Ahmed had no idea when, if ever, he and his
army would be needed, nor for what purpose, recruiting a wide
range of talents would provide Allah with the best odds if they
were ever needed. They were all men. Not one woman in this man's
army, Ahmed thought.

The biggest problem, just as Farjani had predicted, was the
growing sense of unrest among the troops. The inner 12 had been
professionally trained to be patient. Wait for the right moment
to strike. Wait for orders. Do nothing. Do not disclose your
alliances or your allegiances to anyone. No one can be trusted.
Except your recruiter. Lead a normal life. Act like any Ameri-
can immigrant who flourishes in his new home. Do not, at all
costs, give yourself away. That much was crucial.

Periodically, the inner 12 would assign mundane, meaningless
tasks to various of their respective recruits. Americans called
it busy work. But, it kept interest alive, the belief in the
eventual victory of the Arab Nation against the American mon-
grels. It kept the life in their organization flowing, not
dulled by the prolonged waiting for the ultimate call: Jihad, a
holy war against America, waged from inside its own unprotected
borders. It was their raison d'<130>tre. The underlying gestalt
for their very existence.

* * * * *

February 6, 1988
New York City

"It is time." Ahmed could not believe the words - music to his
ears. It was not a long distance call; too clear. It had to be
local. The caller spoke in Ahmed's native tongue and conveyed an
excitement that immediately consumed him. He sat in his wheel-
chair at a computer terminal in an engineering lab at Columbia
University's Broadway campus. While he had hoped this day would
come, he also knew that politicians, even Iran's, promised a
glory that often was buried in diplomacy rather than action.
Praise be Allah.

"We are ready. Always for Allah." Ahmed was nearly breathless
with anticipation. His mind wandered. Were we at war? No, of
course not. The spineless United States would never have the
strength nor will to wage war against a United Arab State.

"That is good. For Allah." The caller agreed with Ahmed. "But
it is not the war you expect."

Ahmed was taken aback. He had not known what to expect, exactly,
but, over the months he had conjured many scenarios of how his
troops would be used to perform Allah's Will. His mind reeled.
"For whom do you speak?" Ahmed asked pointedly. There was a hint
of distrust in the question.

"Farjani said you would ask. He said, 'there hasn't been a war
on U.S. soil since 1812'. He said you would understand."

Ahmed understood. Only someone that was privy to their conversa-
tions would have known that. His heart quickened with anticipa-
tion. "Yes, I understand. With whom do I speak?" Ahmed asked
reverently.

"My name is of no consequence. I am only a humble servant of
Allah with a message. You are to follow instructions exactly,
without reservation."

"Of course. I, too, am but a servant of God. What are my in-
structions?" Ahmed felt like standing at parade attention if
only he had legs.

"This will not be our war. It will be another's. But our pur-
poses are the same. You will act as his army, and are to follow
his every request. As if Allah came to you and so ordered him-
self."

Ahmed beamed. He glowed with perspiration. Finally. The chance
to act. He would and his army would perform admirably. He lis-
tened carefully as the anonymous caller gave him his instruc-
tions. He noted the details as disbelief sank in. This is
Jihad? Yes, this is Jihad. You are expected to comply. I am
clear, but are you sure? Yes, I am sure. Then I will follow
orders. As ordered. Will we speak again? No, this is your task,
your destiny. The Arab Nation calls upon you now. Do you an-
swer? Yes, I answer. I will perform. We, our army will perform.

"Insha'allah."

"Yes, God willing."

Ahmed Shah put his teaching schedule on hold by asking for and
receiving an immediate sabbatical. He then booked and took a
flight to Tokyo three days later.

"I need an army, and I am told you can provide such services for
me. Is that so?" Homosoto asked Ahmed Shah though he already
knew the answer.

Ahmed Shah and Taki Homosoto were meeting in a private palace in
the outskirts of Tokyo. Ahmed wasn't quite sure to whom it
belonged, but he was following orders and in no way felt in
danger. The grounds were impeccable, a Japanese Versailles. The
weather was cool, but not uncomfortably so. Both men sat under
an arbor that would be graced with cherry blossoms in a few
months. Each carried an air of confidence, an assurity not meant
as arrogance, but rather as an assertion of control, power over
their respective empires.

"How large is you army?" Homosoto knew the answer, but asked
anyway.

"One thousand to the death. Three thousand to extreme pain,
another ten thousand functionaries." Ahmed Shah said with pride.

Homosoto laughed a convivial Japanese laugh, and lightly slapped
his knees. "Ah, comrade. To the death, so familiar, that is why
you are here, but, I hope that will not be necessary. You see,
this war will be one without bullets." Homosoto said waiting for
the volatile Arab's reaction.

This was exactly what Ahmed feared. A spineless war. How could
one afford to wage a war against America and not expect, indeed,
plan for, the death of some troops. There was no Arab transla-
tion for pussy-wimp, but the thought was there.

"How may I be of service?"

"The task is simple. I have need of information, much informa-
tion that will be of extreme embarrassment to the United States.
Their Government operates illegally, their companies control the
country with virtual impunity from law. It is time that they are
tried for their crimes." Homosoto tailored his words so that his
guest would acquire an enthusiasm similar to his.

"Yes," Ahmed agreed. "They need to learn a lesson. But, Mr.
Homosoto, how can that be done without weapons? I assume you
want to attack their planes, their businesses, Washington per-
haps?" Ahmed was hopeful for the opportunity to give his loyal
troops the action they desired.

"In a manner of speaking, yes, my friend. We shall strike where
they least expect it, and in a way in which they are totally
unprepared." Homosoto softened his speech to further his pitch
to gain Ahmed Shah's trust and unity. "I am well aware of the
types of training that you and your people have gone through.
However, you must be aware, that Japan is the most technically
advanced country in the world, and that we can accomplish things
is a less violent manner, yet still achieve the same goals. We
shall be much more subtle. I assume you have been informed of
that by your superiors." Homosoto waited for Ahmed's response.

"As you say, we have been trained to expect, even welcome death
in the struggle against our adversaries. Yet I recognize that a
joint effort may be more fruitful for all of us. It may be a
disappointment to some of my people that they will not be permit-
ted the honor of martyrdom, but they are expected to follow
orders. If they do not comply, they will die without the honor
they crave. They will perform as ordered."

"Excellent. That is as I hoped." Homosoto beamed at the de-
veloping understanding. "Let me explain. My people will provide
you with the weapons of this new war, a type of war never before
fought. These are technological weapons that do not kill the
enemy. Better, they expose him for what he is. It will be up to
your army to use these weapons and allow us to launch later
attacks against the Americans.

"There are to be no independent actions or activities. None
without my and your direction and approval. Can you abide by
these conditions?"

"At the request of my Government and Allah, I will be happy to
serve you in your war. Both our goals will be met." Ahmed
glowed at the opportunity to finally let his people do something
after so much waiting.

Homosoto arose and stood over Ahmed. "We will make a valuable
alliance. To the destruction of America." He held his water
glass to Ahmed.

Ahmed responded by raising his glass. "To Allah, and the cause!"

They both drank deeply from the Perrier. Homosoto had one more
question.

"If one or more off your men get caught, will they talk?"

"They will not talk."

"How can you be so sure?" Homosoto inquired naively.

"Because, if they are caught, they will be dead."

"An excellent solution."

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

Chapter 10

Tuesday, October 13
New York

COMPUTER ASSAULT CLAIMS VICTIMS
by Scott Mason

For the last few weeks the general press and computer media have
been foretelling the destruction to be caused by this year's
version of the dreaded Columbus Day Virus. AKA Data Crime, the
virus began exploding yesterday and will continue today, depend-
ing upon which version strikes your computer.

With all of the folderall by the TV networks and news channels,
and the reports of anticipated doom for many computers, I expect-
ed to wake up this morning and learn that this paper didn't get
printed, my train from the suburbs was rerouted to Calcutta and
Manhattan's traffic lights were out of order. No such luck.
America is up and running.

That doesn't mean that no one got struck by computer influenza,
though. There are hundreds of reports of widespread damage to
microcomputers everywhere.

The Bala Cynwyd, PA medical center lost several weeks of records.
Credit Card International was struck in Madrid, Spain and can't
figure out which customers bought what from whom. A few schools
in England don't know who their students are, and a University in
upstate New York won't be holding computer classes for a while.

William Murray of the Institute for Public Computing Confidence
in Washington, D.C., downplayed the incident. "We have had re-
ports of several small outbreaks, but we have not heard of any
particularly devastating incidents. It seems that only a few
isolated sites were affected."

On the other hand, Bethan Fenster from Virus Stoppers in McLean,
Virginia, maintains that the virus damage was much more wide-
spread. She says the outbreaks are worse than reported in the
press. "I personally know of several Fortune 100 companies that
will be spending the next several weeks putting their systems
back in order. Some financial institutions have been nearly shut
down because their computers are inoperable. It's the worst
(computer) virus outbreak I've ever seen."

Very few companies would confirm that they had been affected by
the Columbus Day Virus. "They won't talk to you," Ms. Fenster
said. "If a major company announced publicly that their comput-
ers were down due to criminal activity, there would be a certain
loss of confidence in that company. I understand that they feel
a fiduciary responsibility to their stockholders to minimize the
effects of this."

Despite Ms. Fenster's position, Forsythe Insurance, NorthEast
Airlines, Brocker Financial and the Internal Revenue Service all
admitted that they have had a 'major' disruption in their comput-
er services and expect to take two to six weeks to repair the
damage. Nonetheless, several of those companies hit, feel lucky.

"We only lost about a thousand machines," said Ashley Marie,
senior network manager at Edison Power. "Considering that we
have no means of protecting our computers at all, we could have
been totally put out of business." She said that despite the
cost to repair the systems, her management feels no need to add
security or protective measures in the future. "They believe
that this was a quirk, a one time deal. They're wrong," Ms.
Marie said.

Many small companies that said they have almost been put out of
business because they were struck by the Columbus Day Virus.
"Simply not true," commented Christopher Angel of the Anti-Virus
Brigade, a vigilante group who professes to have access to pri-
vate information on computer viruses. "Of all of the reports of
downed computers yesterday, less than 10% are from the Data
Crime. Anyone who had any sort of trouble is blaming it on the
virus rather than more common causes like hardware malfunction
and operator error. It is a lot more glamorous to admit being
hit by the virus that has created near hysteria over the last
month."

Whatever the truth, it seems to be well hidden under the guise of
politics. There is mounting evidence and concern that computer
viruses and computer hackers are endangering the contents of our
computers. While the effects of the Columbus Day Virus may have
been mitigated by advance warnings and precautionary measures,
and the actual number of infection sites very limited, computer
professionals are paying increasing attention to the problem.

This is Scott Mason, safe, sound and uninfected.

* * * * *

Wednesday, October 14
J. Edgar Hoover Building, FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.

The sweltering October heat wave of the late Indian summer pene-
trated the World War II government buildings that surrounded the
Mall and the tourist attractions. Window air conditioners didn't
provide the kind of relief that modern workers were used to. So,
shirtsleeves were rolled up, the nylons came off, and ties were
loose if present at all.

The streets were worse. The climatic changes that graced much of
North America were exaggerated in Washington. The heat was hot-
ter, the humidity wetter. Sweat was no longer a five letter
word, it was a way of life.

Union Station, the grand old train station near the Capitol
Building provided little relief. The immense volume of air to be
cooled was too much for the central air conditioners. They were
no match for mother nature's revenge on the planet for unforgiv-
ing hydrocarbon emissions. As soon as Tyrone Duncan detrained
from the elegant Metroliner he had ridden this morning from New
York's Penn Station, he was drenched in perspiration. He discov-
ered, to his chagrin, that the cab he had hailed for his ride to
headquarters had no air conditioning. The stench of the city,
and the garbage and the traffic fumes reminded him of home. New
York.

Tyrone showed his identification at the J. Edgar Hoover Building
wishing he had the constitution to wear a seersucker suit. There
is no way on God's earth a seersucker could show a few hours wear
as desperately as his $1200 Louis Boston did, he thought. Then,
there was the accompanying exhaustion from his exposure to the
dense Washington air. Duncan had not been pleased with the panic
call that forced him to Washington anyway. His reactions to the
effects of the temperature humidity index did not portend a good
meeting with Bob Burnson.

Bob had called Tyrone night before, at home. He said, we have a
situation here, and it requires some immediate attention. Would
you mind being here in the morning? Instead of a question, it
was an unissued order. Rather than fool around with hours of
delays at La Guardia and National Airport, Tyrone elected to take
the train and arrive in the nation's capitol just after noon. It
took, altogether just about the same amount of time, yet he could
travel in relative luxury and peace. Burnson was waiting for
him.

Bob Burnson held the title of National Coordinator for Tactical
Response for the FBI. He was a little younger that Duncan, just
over 40, and appeared cool in his dark blue suit and tightly
collared shirt. Burnson had an unlikely pair of qualities. He
was both an extraordinarily well polished politician and a astute
investigator. Several years prior, though, he decided that the
bureaucratic life would suit him just fine, and at the expense of
his investigative skills, he attacked the political ladder with a
vengeance.

Despite the differences between them, Burnson a willing compatri-
ot of the Washington machine and Duncan preferring the rigors of
investigation, they had developed a long distance friendship that
survived over the years. Tyrone was most pleased that he had a
boss who would at least give his arguments a fair listen before
being told that for this or that political reason, the Bureau had
chosen a different line of reasoning. So be it, thought Duncan.
I'm not a policy maker, just a cop. Tyrone sank into one of the
government issue chairs in Burnson's modern, yet modest office
ringed with large windows that can't open.

"How 'bout that Arctic Chill?" Burnson's short lithe 150 pound
frame showed no wear from the heat. "Glad you could make it."

"Shee . . .it man," Tyrone exhaled as he wiped his shiny wet
black face and neck. He was wringing wet. "Like I had a choice.
If it weren't for the company, I'd be at the beach getting a
tan." He continued to wipe his neck and head with a monogrammed
handkerchief.

"Lose a few pounds, and it won't hurt so bad. You know, I could
make an issue of it," Bob poked fun.

"And I'm outta here so fast, Hoover'll cheer from his grave," he
sweated. The reference to the FBI founder's legendary bigotry
was a common source of jokes in the modern bureau.

"No doubt. No doubt." Burnson passed by the innuendo. "Maybe
we'd balance the scales, too." He dug the knife deeper in refer-
ence to Tyrone's weight.

"That's two," said Duncan.

"Ok, ok," said Burnson feigning surrender. "How's Arlene and the
rest of the sorority?" He referred to the house full of women
with whom Tyrone had spent a good deal of his life.

"Twenty degrees cooler." He was half serious.

"Listen, since you're hear, up for a bite?" Bob tried.

"Listen, how 'bout we do business then grab a couple of cold
ones. Iced beer. At Camelot? That's my idea of a quality
afternoon." Camelot was the famous downtown strip joint on 18th
and M street that former Mayor Marion Berry had haunted and been
86'd from for unpublished reasons. It was dark and frequented by
government employees for lunch, noticeably the ones from Treas-
ury.

"Deal. If you accept." Bob's demeanor shifted to the officious.

"Accept what?" Tyrone asked suspiciously.

"My proposition."

"Is this another one of your lame attempts to promote me to an
office job in Capitol City?"

"Well, yes and no. You're being re-assigned." No easy way to
say it.

"To what?" exclaimed Tyrone angrily.

"To ECCO."

"What the hell is ECCO?"

"All in good time. To the point," Bob said calmly. "How much do
you know about this blackmail thing?"

"Plenty. I read the reports, and I have my own local problems.
Not to mention that the papers have picked it up. If it weren't
for the National Expos printing irresponsibly, the mainstream
press would have kept it quiet until there was some con-
firmation."

"Agreed," said Burnson. "They are being spoken to right now,
about that very subject, and as I hear it, they will have more
lawsuits on their doorstep than they can afford to defend. They
really blew it this time."

"What else?" Bob was listening intently.

"Not much. Loose, unfounded innuendo, with nothing to follow up.
Reminds me of high school antics or mass hysteria. Just like UFO
flaps." Tyrone Duncan dismissed the coincidences and the thought
of Scott's conspiracy theory. "But it does make for a busy day
at the office."

"Agreed, however, you only saw the reports that went on the wire.
Not the ones that didn't go through channels."

"What do you mean by that?" Duncan voiced concern at being out
of the loop.

"What's on the wire is only the tip of the iceberg. There's a
lot more."

"What else?"

"Senators calling the Director personally, asking for favors.
Trying to keep their secrets secret. A junior Midwest senator
has some quirky sexual habits. A Southern anti-pornography ball-
breaker happens to like little boys. It goes on and one. They've
all received calls saying that their secrets will be in the news-
papers' hands within days."

"Unless?" Duncan awaited the resolved threat.

"No unless, which scares them all senseless. It's the same story
everywhere. Highly influential people who manage many of our
countries' strategic assets have called their senators, and asked
them to insure that their cases are solved in a quiet and expedi-
ent political manner. Sound familiar?" Burnson asked Duncan.

"More than vaguely," Tyrone had to admit. "How many?"

"As of this morning we have 17 Senators asking the FBI to make
discreet investigations into a number of situations. 17! Not to
mention a couple hundred executive types with connections.
Within days of each other. They each, so far, believe that
theirs is an isolated incident and that they are the sole target
of such . . .threats is as good a word as any. Getting the
picture?"

Tyrone whistled to himself. "They're all the same?"

"Yes, and there's something else. To a man, each claimed that
there was no way the blackmailer could know what he knew. Impos-
sible." Burnson scratched his head. "Strange. Same story
everywhere. That's what got the Director and his cronies in on
this. And then me . . .and that's why you're here," Burnson
said with finality.

"Why?" Tyrone was getting frustrated with the roundabout dia-
tribe.

"We're pulling the blackmail thing to the national office and a
special task force will take over. A lot of folks upstairs want
to pull you in and stick you in charge of the whole operation,
but I told them that you weren't interested, that you like it the
way it is. So, I struck a deal." Burnson sounded proud.

Duncan wasn't convinced. "Deal? What deal? Since when do you
talk for me?" Tyrone didn't think to thank Bob for the front
line pass interference. Keep the politicos out of his hair.

"Have you been following any of the computer madness recently?"
Burnson spoke as though he expected Tyrone to know nothing of it.

"Can't miss it. From what I hear, a lot of people are getting
pretty spooked that they may be next."

"It gets more interesting than what the papers say," Bob said
while opening a desk drawer. He pulled out a large folder and
lay it across his desk. "We have experienced a few more computer
incidents than is generally known, and in the last several weeks
there has been a sudden increase in the number of attacks against
Government computers."

"You mean the INTERNET stuff and Congress losing it's mind?"
Tyrone laughed at the thought that Congress would now use their
downed computers as an excuse for not doing anything.

"Those are only the ones that have made it to the press. It's
lot worse." Bob scanned a few pages of the folder and para-
phrased while reading. "Ah, yes, the NPRP, National Pretrial
Reporting Program over at Justice . . .was hit with a series of
computer viruses apparently intentionally placed in VMS comput-
ers, whatever the hell those are." Bob Burnson was not computer
fluent, but he knew what the Bureau's computer could do.

"The Army Supply Center at Fort Stewart, Georgia had all of its
requisitions for the last year erased from the computer." Bob
chuckled as he continued. "Says here that they have had to pool
the guys' money to go to Winn Dixie to buy toilet paper and
McDonald's has offered a special GI discount until the system
gets back up."

"Ty," Bob said. " Some people on the hill have raised a stink
since their machines went down. Damn crybabies. So ECCO is being
activated."