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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"Let me give you an example. When I was in defense electronics,
whenever someone built something we had to document, without
failure, it didn't work. Radar, navigation, communications, it
didn't matter. The engineers forever were releasing products that
failed on the first pass." Doug stopped rolling his head and
looked at Scott with a blank stare.

"We had these terrifically advanced products meant to defend our
country and they didn't work. So, we had to tell the engineers
what was wrong so they could figure it out. Our own engineers
and I got involved more times than we liked because the response
time from the contractors was for shit. They didn't care any
more. Since we hadn't designed it, we only saw the pieces that
were on the fritz, we had symptoms and had to figure out what
they meant in order to diagnose the failure so we could get the
designers to come up with a fix. The point is, we only had
shreds of evidence, little bits of technical information from
which to try to understand the complete system. That's exactly
what's going on here."

"So?" Doug said dead panned.

"So," Scott avoided getting incensed. "You're damn lucky you have
me around. I see a pattern, a trail, that leads I don't know
where, but I have to follow the trail. That's my job."

"What has Europe got to do with it?" Doug was softening.

"Oops, thanks! I almost forgot." Scott felt stupid for a second,
but he was without notes, he rationalized. "Kirk is my hacker
contact who I've been talking to over my computer. Gives me real
good stuff. He says there's a conference of hackers in Amsterdam
next week. It's a real private affair, and he got me an invite.
I think, no I know, there's something bigger going down; somehow
all of these pieces tie together and I need to find out how."

"That's it?" Scott looked disappointed at Doug's reaction.

"No, that's not it! You know that the Expos has been publishing
bits and pieces of the same stuff we haven't been publishing?"

Scott didn't know which of his arguments made the case, but Doug
certainly reacted to the competitive threat. "How much?"

"How much what?" Scott wasn't ready for the question.

"For Europe? How much play money will you need. You know I have
to sell this upstairs and they . . ."

"Airfare and a couple of nights plus food. That's it. If you
want," Scott readied the trump card he had never used at the
Times. "I'll pay for it myself, and submit it all when I come
back. Then, you make the call. I'll trust you."

"You really think it's that important?" Doug said.

"Absolutely. No question. Something's going on that smells
rotten, bad, and it includes the Government, but I have no idea
how." Scott spoke as if he was on a soapbox. He had shot his
wad. That was it. Anything more was a rehash of the same stuff
and it would have been worthless to say more. He shut up and
waited for Doug who enjoyed making his better reporters anxious
with anticipation.

"Have a good trip," Doug said nonchalantly. He leaned forward
to hunch over his desk, and ignoring Scott, he went back to
redlining another writer's story.

* * * * *

Tuesday, December 15
Scarsdale, New York

Kirk delivered on his word. In his E-Mail repository at the
Times, Scott found a message from Kirk. It was short, but all
Scott needed to hear. Never mind how Kirk broke into the comput-
ers.

Tues. 12/15 00:02:14.1
<< FREEDOM BBS >>

Repo Man,

When you arrive, call 602-356. It's an Amsterdam number. Jon
Gruptmann is your contact. I told him you were a reporter, but a
good one. I said you're working to preserve freedom of electronic
information and you were sick and tired of the police and media
beating up on hackers. He thinks you want to give the other side
of the story to the public.

Jon is one of the best in Holland and anywhere.
He agreed to meet and talk with you himself. He will show you
around. Have a good trip. Call me, oops, no can do.

Oh, Yes. Mona Lisa frowned. I will call you.

Kirk

<< TRANSMITTED BY THE FREEDOM BBS SERVICE >>

When Scott got home from work he checked his E-mail and found the
same message from Kirk, telling him to be on the line tonight.
The Mona Lisa frowned. That meant to Scott that someone was
interested enough in Kirk's activities, or alleged activities at
First State to break in and ruin his computers. And Da Vinci's.
Who was so scared of hackers, or of what they knew to go to these
lengths? How many have had their computers ravaged?

As anticipated, midnight brought Kirk calling.

WE'RE GOING AFTER THEM

After who?

FREEDOM. NEMO AND SOME PHREAKS PHRIENDS ARE GOING TO FIND OUT
WHAT'S GOING ON.

What's wrong?

DID YOU EVER TALK TO ANYONE AND FEEL THAT THINGS WEREN'T QUITE
RIGHT?

Sure.

WELL SO DO I. DA VINCI IS A STRAIGHT WHITE HAT HACKER. I HAD
HIM CHECKED OUT BY PHRIENDS. THEN I CALLED FREEDOM AND JOINED
UP. I GAVE THEM A BUNCH OF SOFTWARE AND I TOOK SOME. I ASKED TO
CHAT WITH THE SYSOP AND WE'VE BEEN TALKING DAILY. STRANGE GUY.

Strange? Over a computer?

YOU CAN TELL. HE SPOKE WITH AN ACCENT.

You're putting me on.

REALLY. EVER READ A VCR MANUAL TRANSLATED FROM THE JAPANESE?
THEY LEAVE OUT THE the's FROM EVERYTHING. IT HAS AN ACCENT. AND
THE WORD DUDE ESPECIALLY UPSET HIM.

Dude? Good reason to be suspicious.

THEN I HACKED HIS SYSTEM WHEN I KNEW HE WASN'T ON LINE. JUST TO
LOOK AROUND MIND YOU.

How can you do that?

BBS'S ONLY COME IN SO MANY FLAVORS. THEY'RE PRETTY EASY TO
CRACK, ESPECIALLY IF YOU HAVE A COPY TO WORK ON.

Ah hah!

I FOUND HUGE AREAS OF HIS COMPUTER NOT ASSIGNED TO THE BBS.

So?

A BBS COMPUTER IS DEDICATED TO ONE FUNCTION, BBS'ING. SO I POKED
AROUND AND FOUND ANOTHER COMPLETE BBS SYSTEM, NOT PART OF FREE-
DOM. TOO MUCH WAS ENCRYPTED, THOUGH, TO LEARN MUCH. BUT WE
WILL.

Don't get yourself into hot water again . . .

NOT TO WORRY. I'LL BECOME ONE OF THEM. PLAY THEIR GAMES. IT'S
EASY TO BE ANYONE YOU WANT. I WANT TO SEE WHAT'S GOING ON BEHIND
THE SCENES. SHOULDN'T TAKE LONG.

* * * * *

Friday, December 18
New York

U.S. Army on Virus Vigil!
by Scott Mason

In July of 1990, the United States Army joined the inner sanctum
of the Computer Hacker.

The Pentagon had finally realized that the computer is as essen-
tial to battlefield operations and communications as is the gun
and the radio.

Therefore, as the logic goes, why shouldn't the computers be
directly attacked as are other military targets. In keeping with
that line of thinking, the Army said, use computer viruses.
Viruses are those little gremlins which roam throughout a comput-
er system, hiding themselves in silicon gulches, waiting to
ambush mountains of megabytes and erase deserts of data. Perfect
for modern warfare.

The Army issued an RFP, (Request For Proposal) asking the private
sector to study and design computer viruses and other methods to
be used offensively against enemy computers. The half million
dollar contract was awarded to a Beltway Bandit, a small govern-
ment sub-contractor so named for their proximity to Interstate
495, which loops around Washington, D.C.

So, the Army is going into the hacking business, but this brings
up quite a few questions.

Question I. How long has the Government known that computer
viruses and other maladies could be used in a strategic militari-
ly offensive fashion? RFP's are always preceded by much internal
research and consultation with private industry. The Government
typically will have issued RFI's, (Requests For Information) and
RFQ's (Request For Quotes) and already have a darn good idea of
what's available and from whom.

Question II. Has the Government already sponsored such research?
The existence of the EMP-T Bomb has created quite a furor.

Question III. What if the Army created experimental computer
viruses and they get loose? Who is responsible for silicon based
biological warfare on desktop computers?

Question IV. Have any computer viral outbreaks actually been
Government projects gone out of control?

Question V. If the Government knew that civilian and military
computers could be systematically attacked and destroyed, why
haven't we done anything to defend ourselves against a similar
assault?

Last month's attack on the Stock Exchange by secret EMP-T bombs
prompted an investigation into such military capabilities, and
some surprising answers were uncovered.

In an attempt to get specific answers from various Government
agencies, I located a secretive group called OCTAG/0N. (Offensive
Computer Technology Applications Group/Zero-November). OCTAG/0N
is a highly classified interagency project whose sole function is
to develop methods to destroy or disable computers from great
distances.

According to a highly placed source at the Pentagon, OCTAG/0N
allegedly developed computer viruses that will destroy the ene-
my's hard disks. Successful deployment, to use Pentagon-ese, is
the hard part. "If we can get at their computers," an engineer
with OCTAG/0N said requesting anonymity, "we can stop them in-
stantly. Getting them there has been the problem. But now we
know how to get at their computers from great distances."

In the battlefield, for example, advanced tactical communications
groups explode small Magnetic Bombs (EMP-T) which emit very
strong electromagnetic pulses at certain frequencies. The EM
pulses destroy nearby computers, (RAM, ROM, EPROM, Magnetic
storage). Some computer systems are 'hardened' with extra
shielding as in the Tempest program. Other computers, such as
those in Air Force One, inside missile silos, or in the Pentagon
War Room are additionally protected by the secret C3I programs
which 'super-hardens' the computers against the intense magnetic
pulses associated with above ground nuclear explosions.

Intensely focussed energy beams of low power can totally disrupt
an unshielded computer as far away as three miles. Synchronized
Interference Techniques provide double duty to both listen in on
and jam air borne computer traffic. One of OCTAG/0N's pet tricks
is to broadcast a computer virus from a small antenna so that it
is caught by a computers communicating on the same frequency. So
simple, yet so devious.

In conversations with computer experts and the underground hacker
community, the existence of such high tech weaponry has been
confirmed, although the Department of Defense is still issuing a
predictable 'no comment'.

So, I have to ask again. Why hasn't our Government been helping
us protect ourselves against an apparently formidable computer
weapons complement? I hope "The Other Guys" aren't so well
armed.

This is Scott Mason, adding a chastity belt to my modem.

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

Chapter 17

Monday, December 28

A/K/A Software
by Scott Mason

The Christmas Virus is upon is. So is the anticipated New Years
Eve and New Year's Day Virus.

Seems like wherever I look, someone is making a virus to attack
my computer or celebrate a holiday.

Rather than another rash of warnings about the impending doom and
gloom faced by your computers, my editor asked me to find the
lighter side of computer viruses. I strongly objected, stating
that I found nothing amusing about them. They were a deadly and
cowardly form of terrorism that should be rewarded with behead-
ing.

However, there is one thing . . .

The geniuses who come up with the names for viral infections;
about as believable and laughable as a Batman comic.

I wonder what most of us would think if our doctor told us we had
the Ping Pong virus instead of strep throat. Or in spring time
we contracted the April Fool's Virus.

It is entirely within the realm of reason that America's comput-
ers go unprotected because of the sheer absurdity of the names we
attach to each one. Comical names create a comical situation, so
no one takes the issue seriously.

The Marijuana virus conjures up images of a stoned orgy, and why
would a computer care about that. The Fu Manchu virus conjures
up the Red Chinese Army crossing the Mississippi, which is clear-
ly not the case, so it is ignored.

Viruses know no national boundary. The Pakistani virus, the
Icelandic, the Israeli, Jerusalem A, Jerusalem B, Jerusalem C,
Lehigh, Alameda, Vienna, Czech, Rumanian - I found over 900
current and active viruses that are identified by their reputed
place of origin.

The Brain virus sounds more sinister than the Stoned Virus, and
Friday the 13th viruses are as popular as the movie sequels. The
Columbus Day Virus was actually dubbed by its authors as Data
Crime, and might have generated more concern if not for the nick-
nom-de-plume it inherited.

So to fulfill my editor's dream, I will list a few of the more
creative virus names. Some were chosen by the programmers,
others by the Virus Busters and others yet by the media. See
what you think each virus would do to your computer, or when it
will strike, merely from the name.

The Vatican Virus The Popeye Virus
The Garlic Virus The Scrooge Virus
Teenage Mutant Ninja Virus The Ides Virus
The Quaalude Virus The Amphetamine Virus
Super Virus The Tick Tock Virus
The String Virus The Black Hole Virus
The Stupid Virus Stealth

I have a few of my own suggestions for future virus builders.

The Jewish Sex Virus (Dials your mother-in-law during a romantic
interlude.)

The Ronald Reagan Virus (Puts your computer to sleep only in
important meetings.)

The Pee Wee Herman Virus (Garbage In Garbage Out)

The Donald Trump Virus (Makes all of your spread sheets go into
the red.)

Tomorrow, Viruses from Hell on Geraldo.

Namely, this is Scott Mason.

* * * * *

Tuesday, December 29
Washington, D.C.

"Why the hell do I have to find out what's going on in the world
from the goddamned papers and CNN instead of from the finest
intelligence services in the world?" The President snapped
sarcastically while sipping black coffee over his daily collec-
tion of U.S. and foreign papers.

The early morning ritual of coffee, newspapers and a briefing by
Chief of Staff Phil Musgrave provided the day with a smooth
start. Usually.

"I've been asking for weeks about this computer craziness. All I
get is don't worry, Mr. President," he said mimicking the classic
excuses he was sick and tired of hearing. "We have it taken care
of, Mr. President. No concern of yours, Mr. President, we have
everything under control. We temporarily have our thumbs up our
asses, Mr. President." Phil stifled a giggle behind his napkin.

"I'm sorry, Phil," the President continued, "but it irritates the
shit out of me. The damn media knowing more about what's hap-
pening than we do. Where the hell is that report I asked for?
The one on the bank hostage I've been requesting for a week?"
The President's mood portended a rough day for the inner circle.

"Sir, as I understand, it wasn't ready for your desk yet."

"Do the goddamned missiles have to land on the White House lawn
before we verify it's not one of our own?"

Phil knew better than to attempt any dissuasion when the Presi-
dent got into these moods. He took notes, and with luck it would
blow over in a couple of days. Today was not Phil's lucky day.

"I want a briefing. Two Hours."

"Gentlemen," the President said from behind his desk in the oval
office, "I'd like to read you something I had Brian put togeth-
er." The efficiency of the White House Press Office under the
leadership of Brian Packard was well known. The President had
the best rapport with the press that any President had in a
generation.

He slipped on his aviator style glasses and pulled the lobe of
his left ear while reading from his desk. "Let's start here.
Phone Company Invaded by Hackers; Stock Exchange Halted by Gov-
ernment Bomb; Computer Crime Costs Nation $12 Billion Annually;
Viruses Stop Network; Banks Lose Millions to Computer Embez-
zlers; Trojan Horse Defeats Government Computers; NASA Spending
Millions On Free Calls for Hackers." He looked for a reaction
from his four key associates: Phil, Quinton Chambers, Martin
Royce and Henry Kennedy. "If you don't know, these are headlines
from newspapers and magazines across the country."

The President read further from his notes. "Viruses Infect
Trans-Insurance Payments; Secret Service Computers Invaded; NSA
and NIST in Security Rift; FBI Wasting Millions on Computer
Blackmail Scheme; First National Bank Held Hostage; Sperm Bank
Computer Records Erased; IRS Returns of the Super Rich." The
President removed his glasses wanting answers.

"What is going on here, gentlemen?" the President asked directly.
"I am baffled that everyone else but me seems to know there's a
problem, and that pisses me off. Answers?"

He wondered who would be the first to speak up. Surprisingly, it
was Henry, who normally waited to speak last. "Sir, we have
active programs in place to protect classified computer systems."

"Then what are these about?" He waved a couple of sheets of
paper in the air.

"Of course we haven't fully implemented security everywhere yet,
but it is an ongoing concern. According to NSA, the rash of
recent computer events are a combination of anomalies and the
press blowing it all out of proportion."

"Do you believe Henry," the President asked, "that if there's
smoke, a reasonable man will assume that there is a fire nearby?"
Henry nodded obligingly. "And what would you think if there were
a hundred plumes of smoke rising?"

Henry felt stumped. "Jacobs assured me that he had everything
under control and . . ."

"As I recall Henry," the President interrupted, "you told me that
a couple of months ago when the papers found out about the EMP-T
bombs. Do you recall, Henry?"

"Yessir," he answered meekly.

"Then what happened?"

"We have to rely on available information, and as far as we know,
as far as we're being told, these are very minor events that have
been sensationalized by the media."

"It says here," the President again donned his glasses, "Defense
Contractors Live with Hackers; Stealth Program Uncovered in
Defense Department Computers; Social Security Computers At Risk.
Are those minor events?" He pointed the question at not only
Henry.

"There was no significant loss of information," Coletree rapidly
said. "We sewed up the holes before we were severely compro-
mised."

"Wonderful," the President said sarcastically. "And what ever
happened to that bank in Atlanta? Hiring Those kids?"

"If I may, sir?" Phil Musgrave filled the silence. "That was a
private concern, and we had no place to interfere - as is true in
most of these cases. We can only react if government property is
affected."

"What is being done about it? Now I mean."

"We have activated CERT and ECCO, independent computer crime
units to study the problem further." As usual, Phil was impecca-
bly informed. "Last years the Secret Service and FBI arrested
over 70 people accused of computer crimes. The state of Pennsyl-
vania over 500, California 300. Remember, sir, computer crimes
are generally the states' problems."

"I'm wondering if it shouldn't be our problem, too," the Presi-
dent pondered.

"There are steps in that direction, as well. Next week the
Senate hearings on Privacy and Technology Containment begin, and
as I understand it, they will be focusing on exactly this issue."

"Who's running the show?" the President asked with interest.

"Ah," Phil said ripping through his notes, "Rickfield, sir."

"That bigot? Christ. I guess it could be worse. We could have
ended up with Homer Simpson." The easing of tension worked to
the President's advantage, for a brief moment. "I want the whole
picture, the good and the bad, laid out for me." He scanned his
private appointment book. "Two weeks. Is that long enough to
find out why I'm always the last to know?"

* * * * *

Wednesday, December 30
New York

"Scott Mason," Scott said answering the phone with his mouth full
of hot pastrami on rye with pickles and mayonnaise.

"Scott? It's Tyrone." Tyrone's voice was quiet, just about a
whisper.

"Oh, hi." Scott continued to chew. Scott was unsuccessfully
trying not to sound angry.

Other than following Scott's articles in the paper, they had had
no contact since that eventful phone call a month ago. Since
then, Scott had made sure that they rode on different cars during
their daily commute into the city. It was painful for both of
them since they had been close friends, but Scott was morally
obligated, so he thought, to cut off their association after
Tyrone broke the cardinal rule of all journalists; keep your
sources protected. And, Tyrone had broken that maxim. Scott had
not yet learned that the Bureau made their own rules, and that
the gentleman's agreement of off-the-record didn't carry weight
in their venue.

"How have you been?" Tyrone said cordially. "Good bit of work
you been doing."

"Yeah, thanks, thanks," Scott said stiffly.

Tyrone had already determined that he needed Scott if his own
agency wouldn't help him. At least Scott wasn't bound by idiotic
governmental regulations that stifled rather than helped the
cause. Maybe there was hope for cooperation yet, if his little
faux pas could be forgiven.

"We need to talk. I've been meaning to call you." Though Tyrone
meant it, Scott thought it was a pile of warmed up FBI shit.

"Sure, let's talk." Scott's apparent indifference bothered
Tyrone.

"Scott, I mean it," he said sincerely. "I have an apology to
make, and I want to do it in person. Also, I think that we both
need each other . . .you'll understand when I tell you what's
been going on." Tyrone's deep baritone voice conveyed honesty
and a little bit of urgency. If nothing else, he had never known
or had any reason to suspect Tyrone of purposely misleading or
lying to him. And their friendship had been a good one. Plus,
the tease of a secret further enticed Scott into agreeing.

"Yeah, what the hell. It's Christmas." Scott's aloofness came
across as phony, but Tyrone understood the awkwardness and let it
pass.

"How 'bout we meet at The Oyster Bar, Grand Central, and get shit
faced. Merry Christmas from the Bureau."

The Oyster Bar resides on the second lower level of Grand Cen-
tral Station, located eighty feet beneath Park Avenue and 42nd.
Street. It had become a fairly chic restaurant bar in the '80's;
the seafood was fresh, and occasionally excellent. The patronage
of the bar ranged from the commuter who desperately quaffed down
two or three martinis to those who enjoyed the seafaring ambi-
ence. The weathered hardwood walls were decorated with huge
stuffed crabs, swordfish, lifesavers and a pot pourri of fishing
accouterments. The ceilings were bathed in worn fishing nets
that occasionally dragged too low for anyone taller than 6 feet.

Away from the bar patrons could dine or drink in privacy, with
dim ten watt lamps on each table to cut through the darkness.
Tyrone was sitting at such a table, drink in hand when Scott
craned his neck from the door to find his friend through the
crowd. He ambled over, and Tyrone stood to greet him. Scott was
cool, but willing to give it a try. As usual Tyrone was elegant-
ly attired, in a custom tailored dark gray pin stripe suit, a
fitted designer shirt and a stylish silk tie of the proper width.

Scott was dressed just fine as far as he was concerned. His
sneakers were clean, his jeans didn't have holes and the sweater
would have gained him admission to the most private ski parties
in Vermont. Maybe they were too different and their friendship
had been an unexplainable social aberration; an accident.

Scott's stomach tightened. His body memory recalled the time the
principal had suspended him from high school for spreading liquid
banana peel on the hall floors and then ringing the fire drill
alarm. The picture of 3000 kids and 200 teachers slipping and
sliding and crawling out of the school still made Scott smile.