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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Attorneys for the plaintiffs have said that they are in posses-
sion of a number of internal Alytech documents and memos which
spelled out security recommendations to their board of directors
upon which no action was taken.

Alytech was one of the many companies hit particularly hard by
the Computer War. The dGraph virus, the Lotus viruses and the
Novell viruses were among those that infected over 34,000 of the
company's computers around the world; bringing the company to a
virtual halt for over two weeks. Immediately after getting their
computers back up and running, they were struck by several Free-
dom viruses which were designed to destroy the hard disks on the
computers.

As of this date, Alytech still has over 10,000 computers sitting
idly waiting for the much delayed shipments of hard disks re-
quired to repair the machines.

A spokesman for Alytech, Inc. says that the lawsuit is frivolous
and without merit.

A date of June 14 has been set for the courts to hear the first
of many rounds of motions.

* * * * *

Sunday, March 21
Paris, France

Spring in Paris is more glorious than any reviewer can adequately
portray.

The clear air bristles with fresh anticipation like lovers on a
cool afternoon. Bicycles, free from a winter of hiding in ga-
rages, fill the streets and parks. All of Paris enjoys the first
stroll of the year.

Coats and jackets are prematurely shed in favor of t-shirts and
skimpy tank-tops and the cafes teem with alfresco activity. The
lucky low-season American tourist experiences firsthand the
French foreplay to summer.

Looking down to the streets from the 'deuziemme tage' of the
Eiffel Tower, only a hundred feet up, the sheer number of stroll-
ers, of pedestrian cruisers, of tourists and of the idly lazy
occupies the whole of one's vista.

Martin Templer leaned heavily on the wrought iron railing of the
restaurant level, soaking up the tranquility of the perfect
Sunday afternoon. He gazed across the budding tree-lined Seine
toward the Champs Elyse and the Arc de Triumph; from Notre Dame
to the skyscrapered Ile de la Cit. He mentally noted the incon-
gruity between the aura of peace that Paris radiated with its
often violent history. He hoped nothing today would break that
spell.

A sudden slap on the back aroused Templer from his sun warmed
daydream. He turned his head in seeming boredom. "You'd make a
lousy pickpocket."

"That's why I avoided a life of crime." Alexander Spiradon was
immaculately dressed, down to the properly folded silk handker-
chief in his suit jacket. "How are you today my friend? Did I
interrupt your reverie?"

Templer swung his London Fog over his shoulder. His casual
slacks and stylish light weight sweater contrasted severely with
Alex's comfortable air of formality. "I don't get here often.
Paris is a very special place," Templer mused, turning from his
view of the city to face his old comrade.

"It is indeed," agreed Alex. "Then why do you look so melan-
choly? Does Paris bring you memories of sadness?"

"I hope not," Templer said, eyes down.

"You didn't give me much notice," Alex said good naturedly. "I
left the most beautiful woman in the world in a jacuzzi at St.
Moritz."

"No, I'm sorry. I know I didn't, but it was urgent. Couldn't
wait." A slight breeze caused Templer to shiver. He slowly put
on his tan rain coat and looked right into Alex's eyes. "I'm
going to ask you straight."

Alex confidently grinned. "Ask what?"

"Was Taki Homosoto a client of yours?" The biting words seemed
to have little impact on Alex.

"My clients trust me to keep their identities confidential." The
expression on Alex's face didn't change.

"The guy's dead. What the hell can it hurt?" Templer laughed.
"What's he gonna do? Sue you for breach of contract?"

Alex didn't say a word. He saw Templer laugh the confident laugh
of a chess player one move from checkmate and he realized how un-
comfortable a position this was for him. How do you behave when
you're on the losing end of the stick? Alex was thinking like he
cared what Templer knew or thought. In reality, though, he
didn't care any more about what anyone thought of him. He had
enough money, more than enough money, to lead a lavish lifestyle
without worry. So what did it matter. As friends nothing would
change between him and Martin. But professionally, that was a
different matter.

"I'd love to tell you, but, it's a matter of ethics," Alex said
happily. "You understand."

"It really doesn't matter," laughed Templer. "Let's walk. The
wind's picking up." They unconsciously joined in the spontane-
ous promenade of walkers who shuffle around the mid level of the
Tower to share in the ambience that only Paris offers.

"You know, I'm officially retired," Alex said breathing in deep-
ly.

"I'm not surprised. Must have been a very profitable endeavor."

"I saved a little and made prudent investments," Alex lied and
Templer knew it. No need to push the point.

"How well did Sir George do? He wouldn't tell us."

Alex stopped in his tracks and glared at Martin with a blank
emotionless expression for several seconds until his deep set
brown eyes began to twinkle. A knowing smile and nod of recog-
nition of accomplishment followed, telling Martin he had hit a
home run. "You're good. Very good." They both began walking
again, as if on cue. "For future edification, how did you find
him?"

"Them. Sir George was the most helpful, though."

"I remember him. Real character, kind of helpless but with the
gift of gab." Alex seemed unconcerned that any of his network
had been discovered. "He talked?"

"Second rate criminal. Definitely deportable."

"And you made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

"Something like that," Templer said coyly. "Let's just say he
prefers the vineyards of California to the prisons in England."

Alex nodded in understanding. "How'd you find him?"

"Telephone records."

"That's impossible," Alex said, shrugging off Martin's answer.

"Never underestimate the power of silicon," Martin said crypti-
cally.

"Computers? No way," Alex said defiantly. "Every year there are
almost 40 billion calls made within the United States alone.
There's no way to trace that many calls."

"Who needs to trace?" Templer enjoyed the joust. Thus far.
"The phone company is kind enough to keep records of every call
made. Both local and long distance. They're all rather com-
plete. From what number, to what number, if it's forwarded, to
what number and at what time and for how long. They also tell us
if the calls were voice, fax, or other types of communications.
It even identifies telephone connections that use encryption.
Believe me, those are flagged right off."

"You monitor every conversation? I thought it was just the
overseas calls. That's incredible. Incredibly illegal."

"But necessary. The threat of terrorism inside the United States
has reached unacceptable levels, and we had the capability. It
was just a matter of flipping the switch."

"Since when can you do that?" Alex asked, stunned that he had
overlooked, or underestimated a piece of the equation.

"Since the phone company computers were connected to the Fort.
And, I guarantee you, it's not something they want advertised,"
Martin said in a low voice. "Did you fuck up?" They had circled
the Tower twice and stopped back where they started, overlooking
the Seine.

Alex's professional composure returned as they leaned over the
Tower's railing.

"I guess I wasn't as right as I usually am," he snickered.
Templer followed suit. "How many did you get?"

"How many are there?"

"That would be telling," Alex said coyly.

"I assume, then, that you would be averse to helping us out of
our current dilemma." Being friends with potential adversaries
made this part of the job all the more difficult.

"Well," Alex said turning his head toward Martin. "I guess I
could be talked into one more job, just one, if the price was
right."

Templer shook his head. "That's not the right answer."

Alex was taken off guard by the sullenness in Martin's voice.
"Right answer? There are no right and wrongs in our business.
Only shades of gray. You know that. We ride a fence, and the
winds blow back and forth. It's not personal."

Martin straightened up and put both hands deep into the pockets
of his London Fog. "Among the professionals, yes. But Sir
George and his cronies, and you by default, broke the rules.
Civilians are off limits. We were hoping that you would want to
help."

Alex ignored the second request. "I won't do it again. I prom-
ise," he said haughtily.

"Is there anything I can say that will make you reconsider?
Anything at all?" Martin implored.

"No," Alex said. "Unless we can discuss an equitable arrange-
ment."

Martin took his hands out of his pockets and said, "I don't think
that will work. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

Martin quickly moved his right hand up to Alex's neck and touched
it briefly. Alex reached up and slapped his neck as terror
overtook his face. He grabbed Martin's arm and twisted it with
his free hand to expose a small needle tipped dart projecting
from a ring on one finger. Templer wrested his arm free from
Alex's weakening clutch and tore off the ring, tossing it away
from the Tower.

Alex weakened further as he leaned both hands on the railing to
steady himself. His mouth gaped wide, intense fear and utter
disbelief competing for control of his facial muscles. Martin
ignored his collapsing adversary and walked deliberately to the
open elevator which provided escape down to street level. Before
the doors had closed, Templer saw a crowd converge over the
crumpled body of Alexander Spiradon.

Martin Templer crossed the Seine and performed evasive maneuvers
to make sure he was not being followed. The cleansing process
took about three hours. He flagged down a taxi and the most
uncooperative driver refused to acknowledge he understood that
the destination was the American Embassy on Gabriel. Only when
Templer flashed a 100 Franc note did the driver's English im-
prove.

Templer showed his CIA credentials to the Marine Sergeant at the
security desk, and told him he needed access to a secure communi-
cations channel to Washington.

After his identity was verified, Templer was permitted to send
his message. It was electronically addressed to his superiors at
CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia.

PLATO COULDN'T COME OUT AND PLAY.
UNFORTUNATE STROKE INTERRUPTED THE INTERVIEW.

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

Chapter 30

Monday, March 22
National Security Agency

He had two separate offices, each with a unique character. One
ultra modern and sleek, the other befitting a country gentleman.
The two were connected by a large anteroom that also provided
immediate access and departure by a private elevator and escape
stairs. He could hold two meetings at once as was occasionally
required in his position as DIRNSA, Director, National Security
Agency. Each office had its own secretary and private entrance,
selected for use depending upon whom was expected.

The meeting in the nouveau office was winding down to a close and
the conversation had been reduced to friendly banter. Marvin
Jacobs had brought in three of his senior advisors who were
coordinating the massive analytical computing power of the NSA
with the extraordinary volume of raw data that all of the 5ESS
switches downloaded daily.

Since they had been assigned to assist the FBI, the NSA had been
hunting down the locations of the potential conspirators with the
assistance of the seven Baby Bells and Bell Laboratories in
Princeton, New Jersey. The gargantuan task was delicately bal-
ancing a fine line between chaos and stagnancy; legality and
amorality.

As they spoke, Jacobs heard a tone emit from his computer and he
noticed that Office-2 had a Priority Visitor.

"Gentlemen," Marvin Jacobs said as he stood. "It seems that my
presence is required for a small matter. Would you mind enter-
taining yourselves for a few minutes?" His solicitous nature and
political clout demanded that his visitors agree without hesita-
tion.

He walked over to a door by the floor to ceiling bookshelf and
let himself in, through the gracious ante-room by the commode and
into his heavy wood and leather office. He immediately saw the
reason for the urgency.

"Miles, Miles Foster, my boy! How are you?" Marvin Jacobs
walked straight to Miles, vigorously shook his hand and gave him
a big friendly bear hug.

Miles smiled from ear to ear. "It's been cold out there. Glad
to be home." He looked around the room and nodded appreciative-
ly. "You've been decorating again."

"Twice. You haven't been in this office for, what is it, five
years?" Jacobs held Miles by the shoulders. "My God it's good
to see you. You don't look any the worse for wear."

"I had a great boss, treated me real nice," Miles said.

"Come here, sit down," Marvin said ushering Miles over to a
thickly padded couch. "If you don't already know it, this coun-
try owes you a debt of thanks."

"I know," Miles said, even though he had been paid over three
million dollars by Homosoto.

"A drink, son?" At fifty-five, the red faced paunch bellied
Jacobs looked old enough to be Miles' father, even though they
were only fifteen years apart.

"Glenfiddich on the rocks." Miles felt comfortable. Totally
comfortable and in control of the situation.

"Done." DIRNSA Jacobs pressed a button which caused a hidden bar
to be exposed from a mirror paneled wall. The James Bondish
tricks amused Miles. "Excuse me," he said to Miles. "Let me get
rid of my other appointments." Jacobs handed Miles the drink and
leaned over his desk speaking into telephone. "Uh, Miss Gree-
ley, cancel my dates for the rest of the day, would you please?"

"Of course, sir." The thin female voice came across the speaker
phone clearly.

"And my regrets to the gentlemen in One."

"Yessir." The intercom audibly clicked off.

"So," Marvin asked, "how does it feel to be both the goat and the
hero?"

"Hey, I fixed it, just like we planned, didn't I?" Miles said
arrogantly, but his deep dimples said he was joking. "I remember
everything you taught me," he bragged. "Lesson One: If you
really want to fix something, first you gotta fuck it up so bad
everyone takes notice. Well, how'd I do?" Miles still grinned,
his dimples radiating a star pattern across his cheeks. Jacobs
approved whole heartedly.

"You were a natural. From day one."

"Homosoto thought that fuck-it to fix-it was entirely too weird
at first, so I quit calling it that." Miles fondly remembered
those early conversations. "As you said, it takes a disaster to
motivate Americans, and we gave them one."

"I'm glad you see it that way," Marvin said obligingly. "It
occurred to me that you might have gotten soft on me."

"Not a chance." Miles countered. "How many men get to lead
armies, first of all. And I may be the first, ever, to lead an
invasion of my own country with my government's approval. This
was a sanctioned global video game. I should thank you for the
opportunity."

"That's a hell of a way to look at it, my boy. You show a lot of
courage." Marvin drank to Miles' health. "It takes men of
courage to run a country, and that's what we do; run the
country." Miles had heard many of Marvin's considerable and
conservative speeches before, but this one was new. After over
five years, that was to be expected.

"It doesn't make a damn bit of difference who the President is.
The Government stays the same regardless of who's elected every 4
years." Marvin continued as Miles listened reverently.

"The American public thinks that politicians run the country;
they think that they vote for the people who make the policies,
who set the tone of the government, but they are so wrong. So
wrong." Marvin shook his head side to side. "And it's probably
just as well that they never find out for sure." He held Miles'
attention. Marv walked around the room drink in hand, gesturing
with his hands and arms.

"The hundreds of thousands of Government employees, the ones that
are here year after year after year, we are the ones who make
policy. It's the mid-grade manager, the staff writer, the polit-
ical analysts who create the images, the pictures that the White
House and Capital Hill see.

"This town, the United States is run by lifers; people who have
dedicated their lives to the American way of life. The military
controls more than any American wants to know. State Department,
Justice, HUD; each is its own monolithic bureaucracy that does
not change direction overnight because of some election in Bum-
fuck, Iowa. It takes four years to find your way through the
corridors, and by then, odds are you'll be packing back to Maine,
or Georgia or California or wherever you came from." Marvin
Jacob's vitriolic oration was grinding on Miles, but he had to
listen to his boss.

"So when this country gets into trouble, someone has to do some-
thing about it. God knows the politicians won't. This country
was in real trouble and someone had to fix it. In this case it
was me. It's been a decade since the first warnings about how
vulnerable our computers, our economy, shit, our National Securi-
ty were. The reports came out, and Congress decided to ignore
them. Sure, they built up the greatest armaments in the history
of civilization, sold the future for a few trillion, but they ne-
glected to protect their investment." Jacobs angrily poured
himself another drink.

"I couldn't let that happen, so I decided that I needed to expose
the weaknesses in our systems before somebody else did." Marvin
spoke proudly. "And what better way than to fuck it up beyond
all recognition. FUBAR. At least this way we were in charge,
and we were able to pick the damage. Thanks to you. Lessons
tend to be painful, and I guess we're paying for some of our past
sins." He drank thirstily.

"Did those sins mean that I would have to be arrested by the FBI?
I couldn't say a thing; not the truth. They'd never have be-
lieved me." Miles shuddered at the thought. "For a moment, I
thought you might leave me to rot in jail."

"Hey," Marvin said happily. "Didn't our people get you out, just
like I promised? Less than an hour." He sounded proud of his
efforts. "Besides, most of them were bullshit charges. Not
worth the effort to prosecute."

"I never underestimate the power of the acronym," Miles said
about the NSA, CIA and assorted lettered agencies. "There was a
lot of not so quiet whispering when it was released that the
charges were dropped by the Federal Prosecutor. Think that was
smart, so soon? Maybe we should have waited a couple of months."

Jacobs looked up sharply at Miles' criticism of his actions but
spoke with understanding. "We needed to get the cameras off of
you and onto the real problem; it was the right thing to do.
Your part is over. You started the war. Now it's up to me to
stop it. It could not have gone any smoother. Yes," he re-
flected. "It's time for us to take over. You have performed
magnificently. We couldn't ask for any more."

Miles sipped at his drink accepting the reasoning and asked,
"I've wondered about a few things, since the beginning."

"Now's as good a time as any," Marv said edging himself behind
his desk. "I'd imagine you have a lot of holes to fill in."

"How did you get Homosoto to cooperate? He seemed to fall right
into place."

"It was almost too easy," Jacobs commented casually. "We had a
number of candidates. You'd be surprised how many people with
money and power hold grudges against Uncle Sam," he snickered.
"It's hard to believe, but true."

"Meaning, if it wasn't him, it would have been someone else?"

"Exactly. There's no shortage of help in the revenge business.
There are still many hibakusha, survivors of Hiroshima and Naga-
saki, who still want revenge on us for ending the war and saving
so may lives. Ironic, isn't it? That someone like Homosoto is
twisted enough to help us, just to fuel his own hatred," Marvin
Jacobs asked rhetorically.

"But he didn't know he was helping, did he?" Miles asked.

"Of course not. Then he would have been running the show, and
this was my production. No, it worked out just fine."

Jacobs paused for more liquor and continued. "Then we have a few
European industrialists, ex-Nazis who are available . . .the KGB,
GRU, Colombian cartel members. The list of assets is long.
Where's there's money, there's help, and most of them prefer the
Yankee dollar to any other form of payment. They forget that by
hurting us they also hurt the world's largest economy, as well as
everybody else's and then the fiscal dominoes start falling
uncontrollably."

"You mean you bought him?" Miles asked.

"Oh, no! You can't buy a billionaire, but you can influence his
actions, if he thinks that it's his idea. It just so happens
that he was the first one to bite. Health problems and all."

"What problems?"

"In all likelihood it's from the radiation, the Bomb; his doctors
gave him a couple of years to live. Inoperable form of
leukemia."

"I didn't know . . ."

"No one did. He insisted on complete secrecy. He had not picked
a successor to run OSO, and in some ways he denied the reality."

"Excuse my tired old brain, but you're talking Spook-Speak. How
did you know . . .?"

"Old habits . . ." Marvin agreed. "As you well know, from your
employ here, we have assets in every major company in the world.
Especially those companies that buy and sell elected officials in
Washington. OSO and Homosoto are quite guilty of bribing their
way into billions of dollars of contracts. Our assets, you see,
can work in two directions. They let us know what's going on
from the inside and give us a leg up on the G2. Then, we can
plant real or false information when needed. The Cold Economic
War."

"So you told Homosoto what to do?" Miles followed closely.

"Not in so many words." Marvin wasn't telling all, and Miles
knew it. "We knew that through our assets we gave Homosoto and
several others the idea that U.S. computers were extremely frag-
ile. Back in 1983 the DoD and CIA prepared classified reports
saying that computer terrorism was going to be the international
crime of choice in the last decade of the century. Then the NRC,
NSC and DIA issued follow-up reports that agreed with the origi-
nal findings. We saw to it that enough detail reached Tokyo to
show just how weak we were."

Jacobs continued to tell Miles how the NSA effected the unwitting
recruitment of Homosoto. "That, a well timed resignation on your
part, and advertising your dissatisfaction with the government
made you the ideal person to launch the attack." Marvin smiled
widely holding his drink in the air, toasting Miles.

Miles responded by raising his glass. "And then a suicide, how
perfect." Jacobs did not return the salute, and Miles felt
sudden iciness. "Right? Homosoto's suicide." Jacobs still said
nothing. "Marv? It was a suicide, wasn't it?"

"Miss Perkins was of great help, too," Marvin said ignoring Miles
questions.

"Perky? What's she got to do with this?" Miles demanded.

"Oh? You really don't know?" Marvin was genuinely shocked. "I
guess she was better than we thought. I thought you knew." He
looked down to avoid Miles's eyes. "Didn't you think it
odd . . .?"

"That she introduced me to Homosoto?" Miles asked acrimoniously.

"She didn't."

"Of course she did," Miles contradicted.

"We have a tape of the conversation," Marv disagreed. "All she
did was ask you if you would work for a foreigner and under what
circumstances. Perkins' job was to prep you for Homosoto or
whoever else we expected to contact you. An admirable job, huh
Miles?" Marvin Jacobs seemed proud of her accomplishments, and
given the stunned gaping expression on Miles' face, he beamed
even more. Miles didn't say a word, but his glazed eyes said
loud and clear that he felt defiled.