Terminal Compromise by Winn Schwartau (my reading book .txt) 📖

>way to Scarsdale, but lacking the good sense God gave him, he

checked the messages on his phone machine. Doug called to find

out if Scott still worked for the paper and Ty called requesting,

almost pleading, that Scott call as soon as he got back. He had

to see him, post haste.

The call to Doug was simple. Yes, I’m back. The hackers are

real. They are a threat. Pierre is still alive, I have more

material than we can use. I did take notes, and my butt is sun-

burned. If there’s nothing else, I’m dead on my feet and I will

see you in the morning. Click.

Now he wanted to talk to Tyrone as much as it sounded like Ty

wanted to speak to him. Where was he? Probably at the office.

He dialed quickly. Tyrone answered with equal speed.

“Are you back?” Ty asked excitedly.

“Yeah, just got in. I need to talk to you . . .”

“Not as much as we do, buddy. Where are you now?”

“Home. Why?”

“I’ll see you in an hour. Wait there.” The FBI man was in

control. Where the hell else am I going to go, Scott thought.

Scott piddled around, making piles for his maid, unpacking and

puttering around the kitchen. Everything in the fridge needed

cooking, and there was not enough energy for that, so he decided

to take a shower. That might give him a few more hours before he

collapsed.

Exactly one hour later, as promised, Tyrone Duncan rang Scott’s

doorbell. They exchanged a few pleasantries and then plunged

into intense information exchange. They grabbed a couple of

beers and sat opposite each other in overstuffed chairs by

Scott’s wide fireplace.

“Boy have I learned a lot . . .” said Scott.

“I think you may be right,” said Tyrone.

“Of course I am. I did learn a lot,” Scott said with a confused

look on his face.

“No I mean about what you said.”

“I haven’t said anything yet. I think there’s a conspiracy.”

Scott winced to himself as he said the one word that was the bane

of many a reporter.

“I said I think you were right. And are right.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” Scott was more confused

then ever.

“Remember a few months back, on the train we were talking.”

“Of course we were talking.” Scott recognized the humor in the

conversation.

“No! I mean we were . . .shit. Shut up and listen or I’ll arrest

you!”

“On what charge?”

“CRS.”

“CRS?”

“Yeah, Can’t Remember Shit. Shut up!”

Scott leaned back in his chair sipping away. He had gotten to

Ty. Hooked him, reeled him in and watched him flop on the deck.

It pissed Ty off to no end to allow himself to be suckered into

Scott’s occasional inanity.

“When this whole blackmail thing started up there was no apparent

motivation,” Tyrone began. “One day you said that the motivation

might be a disruption of normal police and FBI operations. I

think you might be right. It’s looking more and more that the

blackmail stuff was a diversion.”

“What makes you think so now?” Scott asked.

“We had a ton of cases in the last few weeks, same victims as

before, who were being called again, but this time with demands.

They were being asked to cough up a lot of cash in a short time,

and stash it in a very public place. We had dozens of stakeouts,

watching the drop points for a pick up. It read like the little

bastards were finally getting greedy. You know what I mean?”

Scott nodded in agreement, thinking, where is this going?

“So we had a couple hundred agents tied up waiting for the bad

guys to show up. And you know what? No one showed. No one,

damn it. There must have been fifty million in cash sitting in

bus terminals, train stations, health clubs, you name it, and no

one comes to get any of it? There’s something wrong with that

picture.”

“And you think it’s a cover? Right?” Scott grinned wide. “For

what?”

Ty shrank back in mild sublimation. “Well,” he began, “that is

one small piece of the puzzle I haven’t filled in yet. But, I

thought you might be able to help with that.” Tyrone Duncan’s

eyes met Scott’s and said, I am asking as a friend as well as an

agent. Come on, we both win on this one.

“Stop begging, Ty. It doesn’t befit a member of the President’s

police force,” Scott teased. “Of course I was going to tell you.

You’re gonna read about it soon enough, and I know,” he said

half-seriously, “you won’t screw me again.”

Ouch, thought Tyrone. Why not pour in the salt while you’re at

it. “I wouldn’t worry. No one thinks there’s a problem. I keep

shouting and being ignored. It’s infinitely more prudent in the

government to fuck-up by non-action than by taking a position and

acting upon it. I’m on a solo.”

“Good enough,” Scott assured Ty. “‘Nother beer?” It felt good.

They were back – friends again.

“Yeah, It’s six o’clock somewhere,” Tyrone sighed. “So what’s

your news?”

“You know I went over to this Hacker’s Conference . . .”

“In Amsterdam.” added Tyrone.

“Right, and I saw some toys that you can’t believe,” Scott said

intently. “The term Hacker should be replaced with Dr. Hacker.

These guys are incredible. To them there is no such thing as a

locked door. They can get into and screw around with any comput-

er they want.”

“Nothing new there,” said Ty.

“Bullshit. They’re organized. These characters make up an entire

underground society, that admittedly has few rules, but it’s the

most coherent bunch of anarchists I ever saw.”

“What of it?”

“Remember that van, the one that blew up and.”

“How can I forget.”

“And then my Tempest article.”

“Yeah. I know, I’m sorry,” Tyrone said sincerely.

“Fuck it. It’s over. Wasn’t your fault. Anyway, I saw the

equipment in actual use. I saw them read computers with anten-

nas. It was absolutely incredible. It’s not bullshit. It

really works.” Scott spoke excitedly.

“You say it’s Tempest?”

“No, anti-Tempest. These guys have got it down. Regardless,

the stuff works.”

“So what? It works.”

“So, let’s say, if the hackers use these computer monitors to

find out all sorts of dirt on companies,” Scott slowly explained

as he organized his thoughts. “Then they issue demands and cause

all sorts of havoc and paranoia. They ask for money. Then they

don’t come to collect it. So what have they achieved?” Scott

asked rhetorically.

“They tied up one shit load of a lot of police time, I’ll tell

you that.”

“Exactly. Why?”

“Diversion. That’s where we started,” Ty said.

“But who is the diversion for?”

The light bulb went off in Tyrone’s head. “The hackers!”

“Right,” agreed Scott. “They’re the ones who are going to do

whatever it is that the diversion is covering. Did that make

sense?”

“No,” laughed Ty, “but I got it. Why would the hackers have to

be covering for themselves. Couldn’t they be working for someone

else?”

“I doubt it. This is one independent bunch of characters,” Scott

affirmed. “Besides, there’s more. What happened in D.C. . . .”

“Troubleaux,” interrupted Ty.

“Bingo. And there’s something else, too.”

“What?”

“I’ve been hearing about a computer system called the Freedom

League. Nothing specific, just that everything about it sounds

too good to be true.”

“It usually is.”

“And one other thing. If there is some sort of hacker plot, I

think I know someone who’s involved.”

“Did he admit anything?”

“No, nothing. But, well, we’ll see.” Scott hesitated and stut-

tered. “Troubleaux, he said something to me.”

“Excuse me?” Ty said with disbelief. “I thought his brains were

leaking out.”

“Thanks for reminding me; I had to buy a new wardrobe.”

“And a tan? Where’ve you been?”

“With, well,” Scott blushed, “that’s another story.”

“O.K., Romeo, how did he talk? What did he say?” Ty asked

doubtfully.

“He told me that dGraph was sick.”

“Who’s dGraph?”

“dGraph,” laughed Scott, “is how your secretary keeps your life

organized. It’s the most popular piece of software in the world.

Troubleaux founded the company. And I think I know what he

meant.”

“He’s a nerdy whiz kid, huh?” joked Tyrone

“Just the opposite. Mongo sex appeal to the ladies. No, his

partner was the . ” Scott stopped mid sentence. “Hey, I just

remembered something. Troubleaux had a partner, he founded the

company with him. A couple of days before they went public, his

partner died. Shook up the industry. Shortly thereafter Data

Tech bought them.”

“And you think there’s a connection?”

“Maybe, ah…I can’t remember exactly,” Scott said. “Hey, you

can find out.”

“How?”

“Your computers.”

“They’re at the office.”

Scott pointed to his computer and Tyrone shook his head violent-

ly. “I don’t know how to. ”

“Ty,” Scott said calmly. “Call your secretary. Ask her for the

number and your