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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After several weeks of pounding the high risk financial community
of the San Francisco Bay area, Max was despondent. Damn it, he
thought. Why don't they understand. I outline the entire
theory and they don't get it. Jeez, it's so easy to use. So
easy to use. Then the light bulb lit in his mind. Call Pierre.
I need Pierre. Call Pierre in New York.

"Pierre, it's Max." Max sounded quite excited.

"How's the Coast."

"Fine, Fine. You'll find out tomorrow. You're booked on American
#435 tomorrow."

"Max, I can't go to California. I have so much work to do."

"Bullshit. You owe me. Or have I forgotten to bill you for the
engine?" He was calling in a favor.

"Hey, it was my idea. You didn't even understand what I was
talking about until . . ."

"That's the whole point, Pierre. I can't explain the engine to
these Harvard MBA asswipes. It was your idea and you got me to
understand. I just need you to get some of these investors to
understand and then we can have a company and make some money
selling engines." Max's persistence was annoying, but Pierre knew
that he had to give in. He owed it to Max.

The new presentations Max and Pierre put on went so well that
they had three offers for start up financing within a week. And,
it was all due to Pierre. His genial personality and ability to
convey the subtleties of a complex piece of software using actual
demonstrations from his music were the touchy-feely the investors
wanted. It wasn't that he was technical; he really wasn't. But
Pierre had an innate ability to recognize a problem, theoretical-
ly, and reduce it to its most basic components. And the Engine
was so easy to use. All you had to do was . . .

It worked. The brainy unintelligible technical wizard and char-
ismatic front man. And the device, whatever it was, it seemed to
work.

The investors installed their own marketing person to get sales
going and Pierre was asked to be President. At first he said he
didn't want to. He didn't know how to run a company. That
doesn't matter, the investors said. You are a salable item. A
person whom the press and future investors can relate to. We
want you to be the image of the company. Elegance, suave, upper
class. All that European crap packaged for the media. Steve Jobs
all over again.

Pierre relented, as long as he could continue his music.

Max's engine was renamed dGraph by the marketing folks and the
company was popularly known as DGI. Using Byte, Personal Comput-
ing, Popular Computing and the myriad computer magazines of the
early 1980's, dGraph was made famous and used by all serious
computer users.

DGraph could interface with the data from other programs, dBase
II, 123, Wordstar and then relate it in ways never fathomed.
Automatically. Users could assign their own language of, at that
time, several hundred words, to describe the third dimension of
data. Or, they could do it in pictures. While the data on the
screen was being manipulated, the computer, unbeknownst to the
operator, was constantly forming and updating relationships
between the data. Ready to be called upon at any time.

As the ads said, "dGraph for dData."

As success reigned, the demand upon Pierre's time increased so
that he had little time for his music. By 1986 he lived a virtu-
al fantasy. He was on the road, speaking, meeting with writers,
having press conferences every time a new use for dGraph was
announced. He was adored by the media. He swam in the glory of
the attention by the women who found his fame and image an
irresistible adjunct to his now almost legendary French accent
and captivating eyes.

Pierre and Max were the hottest young entrepreneurs in Silicon
Valley; the darlings of the VC community. And the company spar-
kled too. It was being run by professionals and Max headed up
the engineering group. As new computers appeared on the market,
like the IBM AT, additional power could be effectively put into
the Engine and Voila! a new version of dGraph would hit the
market to the resounding ring of an Instant Hit on Softsel's Top
40.

Max, too, liked his position. He was making a great deal of
money, ran his own show with the casualness of his former hippie
days, yet could get on the road with Pierre any time he needed a
break. Pierre got into the act hook, line and sinker and Max
acted the role of genius behind 'The Man'. That gave Max the
freedom to avoid the microscope of the press yet take a twirl in
the fast lane whenever he felt the urge.

The third round of funding for DGI came from an unexpected
place. Normally when a company is as successful as DGI, the
original investors go along for the ride. That's how the VC's
who worked with Lotus, Compaq, Apple and other were getting
filthy stinking rich. The first two rounds went as they had
planned, the third didn't.

"Mr. Troubleaux," Martin Fisk, Chairman of Underwood Investments
said to Pierre in DGI's opulent offices. "Pierre, there is only
one way to say this. Our organization will no longer be involved
with DGI. We have sold our interest to a Japanese firm who has
been trying to get into the American computer field."

"What will that change? Anything?" Pierre was nonplused by the
announcement.

"Not as far as you're concerned. Oh, they will bring in a few of
their own people, satisfy their egos and protect their invest-
ment, that's entirely normal. But, they especially want you to
continue on as President of DGI. No, no real changes."

"What about Max?" Pierre had true concern for his friend.

"He'll remain, in his present capacity. Essentially the finan-
cial people will be reporting to new owners that's all."

"Are we still going to go public? That's the only way I'm gonna
make any real money."

Martin was flabbergasted. Pierre wasn't in the least interested
as to why the company changed hands. He only wanted to know
about the money, how much money he would make and when. Pierre
never bothered to ask, nor was it offered, that Underwood would
profit over 400 percent on their original investment. The Japa-
nese buyer was paying more than the company was worth now. They
had come in offering an amount of money way beyond what an open-
ing offer should have been. Underwood did a search on the Japa-
nese company and its American subsidiary, Data Tech. They were
real, like $30 Billion real and did were expanding into the
information processing field through acquisitions, primarily in
the United States.

Underwood sold it's 17% stake in DGI for $350 Million, more than
twice its true value. They sold quickly and quietly. Even though
Pierre and Max should have had some say in the transfer, Under-
wood controlled the board of directors and technically didn't
need the founder's consensus. Not that it overtly appeared to
mattered to Pierre. Max gave the paper transfer a cursory exami-
nation, at least asked the questions that were meaningless to the
transformed Pierre, and gave the deal his irrelevant blessings.

After the meeting with the emissaries from DGI's new owner, OSO
Industries, Pierre and Max were confident that nothing would
change for them. They would each continue in their respective
roles. The day to day interference was expected to be minimal,
but the planned public offering would be accelerated. That
suited Pierre just fine; he would make out like a bandit.

Several days before the date of issue, Pierre received a call
from Tokyo.

"Mr. Troubleaux?" The thick Japanese accent mangled his name so
badly Pierre cringed.

"Yes, this is Pierre Troubleaux," he said exaggerating his French
accent. The Japanese spoke French as well as a hair-lipped
stutterer could recite "Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled
peppers."

"I wish to inform you, sir, that the Chairman of OSO is to visit
your city tomorrow and participate in your new successes. Would
this be convenient?"

Pierre had only one possible response to the command performance
he was being 'invited' to. Since OSO had bought into DGI,
Pierre was constantly mystified by the ritualism associated with
Japanese business. They could say "Yes!" a hundred times in a
meeting, yet everyone present understood that the speakers really
meant "No Way, Jose!" There of course was the need for a quality
gift for any visitor from Japan. Johnny Walker Black was the
expected gift over which each recipient would feign total sur-
prise. Pierre had received more pearl jewelry from the Japanese
than he could use for ten wives. But the ritual was preserved.

"Of course it will. I would be most honored. If you could
provide me with details of his flight I will see to it that he
receives appropriate treatment."

"Very good Mr. Troubleaux." Pierre stifled a smirk at the mispro-
nunciation. "Your trouble will not go unrewarded."

"Mr. Homosoto, it is so good of you to visit at this time. Very
auspicious, sir." Pierre was kissing some ass.

"Troubleaux-San," Homosoto's English had a touch of Boston
snobbery in it, "you have performed admirably, and we all look to
continued successes in the future. I expect, as I am sure you
do, that the revenues raised from your public stock offering will
provide your company with the resources to grow ten fold." It
was a statement that demanded an answer. Another Japanese quirk.

"Yessir, of course. As you know, Mr. Homosoto, I am not involved
in the day to day operations and the forecasting. My function is
more to inspire the troops and carry the standard, so to speak.
I will have to rely upon the expertise of others to give you the
exact answers you seek."

"That is not necessary, I have all I need to know about your
business and its needs. Your offer is most kind."

"Why do you call DGI my business? Aren't we in this together?
Partners?" Pierre clarified the idiom for the rotund bespecta-
cled Chairman of OSO Industries.

"Hai! Of course, my friend, we are partners, and you will be
very wealthy in a few days." That statement had the air of an
accusation more than good wishes. "There is one little thing,
though. It is so small that I don't wish to mention it."

Well then don't, thought Pierre. "Nothing is so small it should-
n't be mentioned. Please, proceed Homosoto-San. How may I
help?"

"That's it exactly!" Homosoto beamed. "I do need your help. Not
today, but in the future, perhaps a small favor."

"Anytime at all, sir. Whatever I can I will." Pierre was re-
lieved. Just some more Japanese business practices that escaped
him.

Homosoto leaned in towards Pierre. His demeanor had shifted to
one of a very serious man. "Mr. Troubleaux, how can I be sure
that you won't disappoint me? How can I be sure?"

The question threw Pierre for a loop. How can he be sure? I
don't know. Maybe this was only an Oriental game of mumbley peg
or chicken. "Sir, what would I need to do to convince you of my
willingness to comply?" When in doubt, ask.

Homosoto relaxed again, leaned back in the plush office chair and
smiled. "In my country, Mr., Troubleaux, honor is everything.
You have nothing, nothing without your honor. Every child, man
and woman in Japan knows that. We are raised with the focus of
growth being honor. During the war between our countries, so
many years ago, many found honor by making the supreme sacrifice.
Kamikaze pilots are of whom I am speaking of, Mr. Troubleaux."

Pierre's face must have given away the panic that instantly
struck him. Suicide? This guy is truly nuts.

"Do not worry, Mr. Troubleaux, I can see what you are thinking.
No. I only speak of kamikaze pilots to serve as example of
honor. The kind that brought honor to Japan in the face of
defeat. That is something Americans will never understand. But
then again you're not American are you?"

"I was born a Frenchman, but I naturalized over twenty years ago,
at the same time my parents did."

"Ah yes. I remember. Then honor does mean more to you than to
most Americans. That will be quite good. Now, for the future
favor. I require nothing of you today, other than the guarantee
of you honor. Is that agreeable to you, Mr. Troubleaux?" Homoso-
to was pushing with the facade of friendliness. Pierre's concern
was not alleviated. All the same, he reluctantly nodded his
assent.

"Very good. Now for the favor." Homosoto stood up and reached
inside his size 48, ill fitting suit. Pierre was amazed at how
much money the Japanese had, yet were apparently unable to ever
wear clothes that fit properly.

Homosoto handed a 5 1/4" floppy disk to Pierre. Pierre took it
carefully from Homosoto and looked at the label. The diskette
was marked only with:

FILE1.EXE to FILE93.EXE

He looked inquisitively at Homosoto, his eyes asking, Yeah, so?
What's this got to do with anything?

"I see now you are confused. It is so simple, really. Sometime
in the future, you will be instructed to add one of the files on
this disk onto the dGraph programs you sell. That's it. So sim-
ple. So I have your word Mr. Troubleaux? Honor among men."

Pierre's mind was racing. Put a file onto a program? What does
that do? What's on it? Does it help dGraph? No that can't be
it. What is it? Why so secret. What's with the honor bit?
From the Chairman of OSO, not a technician? One floppy disk?
Pierre smelled a fox in the chicken coup.

"Mr. Homosoto, sir. I mean no disrespect. But, I hardly know
what to think. I don't even know what this disk is. You are
asking me to promise something I don't understand. What if I
don't agree. At least until I know what I'm doing? I need to
know what's going on here." he said holding the disk up promi-
nently.

"I prefer to think, Mr. Troubleaux of what occurs as long as you
do agree to maintain the honor between us. It is so much more
pleasant." Homosoto edged towards the doors of Troubleaux's
office as he spoke.

"When you agree to act honorably, perform for me this small,
insignificant favor, Mr. Troubleaux, you will get to keep the $20
Million you make this Friday and you will be permitted to contin-
ue living. Good Afternoon." Homosoto closed the door behind him.

* * * * *

Alexander Spiradon was pleased. His students were doing well.
The other students from the New York computer school had already
checked in; they didn't have as far to travel as Sir George.
Everything was in place, not quite a year to the day since he and
Taki Homosoto had set their plans in action. Alex hadn't spoken
to Homosoto in a couple of months. It was now time to report to
Homosoto in Tokyo. It was 17 hours earlier there - Homosoto
would probably be at his desk. The modem dialed a local Brookline
number. The phone in Brookline subsequently dialed a number in
Dallas, Texas, which dialed another phone in Tacoma, Washington.
The Tacoma phone had the luxury of dialing the international
number for Homosoto's private computer.

Call forwarding services offered the ultimate in protection. Any
telephone tracing would take weeks, requiring the cooperation of
courts from every state where a forwarded phone was located.
Then, the State Department would have to coordinate with the
Japanese Embassy. An almost impossible task, if anyone had the
resources. It took about 45 seconds for the call to be complet-
ed.

<<<<<>>>>>
PASSWORD:

Alex entered his password, GESUNDHEIT and his forced response
from his own PRG card. His computer terminal paused. If he was
on satellite to Japan, or to Dallas or anywhere else, his signal
could travel a hundred thousand miles or more each time he sent a
character from his keyboard.

CRYPT KEY:

Alex Spiradon chose 43. Each communication he had with Homosoto
was also protected with full encryption. If someone was able to
isolate their conversations, all they would get would be sheer
garbage, a screen full of unintelligible symbols and random
characters. By choosing 43, Alex told his computer and Homosoto's
computer to use Crypt Key 43, one of over 100 secret keys that
both computers held in their memory. This cryptographic scheme,
using the U.S.'s Data Encryption Standard, DES, and ANSI standard
X9.17 was the same one that the Treasury Department and Federal
Reserve used to protect the transmission of over $1 trillion of
funds transfers daily.

<<<<<>>>>>

That was the signal for Alex to send the first words to Homosoto.

Good Morning, Homosoto-San.

AND TO YOU MY ESTEEMED PARTNER. YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO REPORT.

Yes. All is in place.

PLEASE CLARIFY . . .MY MEMORY IS NOT WHAT IT WAS.

Of course. The last of the Operators are in place. We call him
Sir George. That makes 8 altogether. San Francisco, (SF), New
York, (NY), Los Angeles, (LA), Boston, (BM), Atlanta, (AG) Chica-
go, (CI), Washington, (DC) and Dallas, (DT).

AND THEY CAN BE TRUSTED?

They are aware of the penalty. If not, we have others that will
replace them. Besides, you are rewarding them most handsomely for
their efforts.
SO I AM. I EXPECT RESULTS. AND THE OTHERS?

The Mail Men are waiting as well. Four of them in NY, DC, LA and
DT.

YOU SAY MAIL MEN. WHAT IS THAT TERM?

They will deliver our messages in writing to those who need
additional proof of our sincerity. They know nothing other than
they get paid, very well, to make sure that the addressees are in
receipt of their packages.

VERY GOOD. AND THEY TOO ARE RESPONSIBLE?

Yes. Elimination is a strong motivation. Besides, they know
nothing.

WHAT IF THEY READ THE CONTENTS?

That can only help. They do not know where the money comes from.
Most need the money more than their lives. My contacts make my
choices ideal. Death is . . .so permanent.

I AGREE. IT MAKES MEN HONORABLE, DOES IT NOT?

Most of the time, yes. There are always exceptions, and we are
prepared for that, too.

THE SEKIGUN-HA ARE AT YOUR DISPOSAL.

Thank you. The Ground Hogs, the first are in place.

HOW MANY AND WHERE.

Over 50 so far. I will keep recruiting. We have 11 in the long
distance phone companies and at AT&T, 3 at IBM, 14 in government
positions, 12 in major banks, a couple of insurance companies, 3
Hospitals are compromised . . .and a list of others. We will
keep the channels full, I promise.

HOW WILL THEY FUNCTION?

They will gain access to the information we need, and when we
call, they will perform. I will add more as we proceed. It
amazes me, these Americans. Anything for a buck.

DO NOT DISAPPOINT ME.

I will not. That is my promise. When will the information be
ready?

SOON. TOMORROW THE FIRST READER INFORMATION WILL BE SENT TO YOU.
CALLS MAY BEGIN IN DAYS. YOU ORGANIZE IT. THE GROUND HOGS ARE
NOT TO BE ACTIVATED FOR SEVERAL WEEKS. THEY ARE TO PERFORM THEIR
JOBS AS IF NOTHING IS WRONG. DO THEY UNDERSTAND?

Ground Hogs receive 2 paychecks. They understand their obliga-
tions. We pay 10 times their salary for their allegiance. The
Operators and Mail Men will start soon.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS ALLEGIANCE. DON'T YOU KNOW THAT YET?

Americans pay homage to the almighty dollar, and nothing else.
They will be loyal.

AS YOU ARE MOTIVATED MY FRIEND, I DO NOT FORGET THAT. BUT OTHERS
CAN OFFER MORE DOLLARS AND WE CAN BE FOUND. I CANNOT RISK THAT,
UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE RISK?

Completely. I am responsible for my people.

AND THEY ARE PREPARED FOR THEIR JOBS?

Yes. That is my responsibility, to insure the security of our
task. No one must know. I know my job.

DO IT WELL. I WILL LEAVE YOU.

<<<<< CONNECTION TERMINATED>>>>>>

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

Chapter 5

Monday, September 14
New York City

Doug! Doug!" Scott hollered across the city room. As in most
newspaper offices, the constant scurry of people bumping into
each other while reading and walking gave the impression of more
activity than there really was. Desks were not in any particular
pattern, but it wasn't totally chaotic either. Every desk had at
least one computer on it. Some two or three. Scott pushed back
into place those that he dislodged while running to McGuire's
desk.

Doug McGuire noticed the early hour, 8:39 A.M. on the one wall
clock that gave Daylight Savings Time for the East Coast. The
other dozen or so clocks spanned the time zones of the globe. It
wasn't like Scott to be his energetic youthful self before noon.

"Doug, I need you." Scott shouted from 3 desks away. "It'll just
take a minute."

Scott nearly dragged the balding, overweight, sometimes harsh 60
year old Doug McGuire across the newsroom. They abruptly halted
in front of Scott's desk. Boxes full of files everywhere; on the
floor, piled 3 or 4 high, on his desk. "Will you look at this.
Just look at this!" He stuck a single sheet of paper too close
into Doug's face. Doug pushed it away to read it out loud.

McGuire read from the page. "A Message from a Fan. Thanks." Doug
looked perplexed. He motioned at the paper hurricane on Scott's
desk. "So, what is this mess? Where did it come from?"

Scott spoke excitedly. "I got another delivery, about an hour
ago. I think it's from the same guy who sent the McMillan
stuff." He perused the boxes.

"Why do you say that?" Doug asked curiously.

"Because of what's in here. I haven't been able to go through
much of it, obviously, but I scanned through a few of the boxes.
There's dirt on almost every company in the Fortune 1000. Copies
of memoranda, false figures, confidential position statements,
the truth behind a lot of PR scandals, it goes on and on.
There's even a copy of some of the shredded Ollie North papers.
Or so they say they are. Who knows. But, God! There are notes
about behind the scene plays on mergers, who's screwing who to
get deals done . . .it's all here. A hundred years of stories
right here . . .".

"Let's see what we've got here." Doug was immediately hooked by
the treasure trove of potential in from of them coupled with
Scott's enthusiasm. The best stories come from the least likely
places. No reporter ever forgets the 3rd rate burglary at the
Watergate that brought down a President.

By late afternoon, Scott and several of the paper's researchers
had set up a preliminary filing system. They categorized the
hundred of files and documents and computer printouts by company,
alphabetically. The contents were amazing. Over 150 of the top
American corporations were represented directly, and thousands of
other by reference. In every case, there was a revelation of one
or more particularly embarrassing or illegal activities. Some
were documented accounts and histories of past events and others
that were in progress. Many of the papers were prognostications
of future events of questionable ethics or legality. It reminded
Scott of Jeanne Dixon style predictions.

From Wall Street's ivory tower deals where payoffs are called
consulting fees, and in banking circles where delaying transfers
of funds can yield millions of dollars in interest daily, from
industrial secrets stolen or purchased from such and such a
source, the laundry list was long. Plans to effect such a busi-
ness plan and how to disguise its true purposes from the ITC and
SEC. Internal, very upper level policies which never reach the
company's Employee Handbook; policies of discrimination, atti-
tude, and protective corporate culture which not only transcend
the law but in many cases, morality. The false books, the jim-
mied numbers . . .they were in the boxes too, but that was almost
accepted accounting practice as long as you didn't get caught.
But the depth of some of the figures was amazing. Like how one
computer company brought in Toshiba parts and sold them to the
government despite the ban on Toshiba components because of their
sale of precision lathes to the Soviets.

"Jesus," said Scott after a lengthy silence of intent reading.
"This nails everyone, even the Government."

There were well documented dossiers on how the EPA made unique
exclusions hundred of times over based upon the financial lobby-
ing clout of the particular offender. Or how certain elected
officials in Washington had pocketed funds from their PAC monies
or how defense contractors were advised in advance of the con-
tents of an upcoming billion dollar RFP.