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

of spontaneity

demanding instant gratification. Cash machines addressed that

cultural personality perfectly. Now it was gone.

Dennis Melbourne knew that it was time to begin on the MOST

network. Then the American Express network. And he would get

rich in the process. Ahmed Shah paid him very well. 25% of the

take.

* Friday, January 22 New York City

“We had to take out the part about the airlines,” Higgins said in

response to Scott’s question about the heavy editing. To Hig-

gins’ and Doug’s surprise, Scott understood; he didn’t put up a

stink.

“I wondered about that,” Scott said reflecting back on the last

evening. “Telling too much can be worse than not telling enough.

Whatever you say, John.”

“We decided to let the airlines and the FAA and the NTSB make the

call.” Higgins and Scott had come to know and respect each other

quite well in the last few weeks. They didn’t agree on every-

thing, but as the incredible story evolved, Higgins felt more

comfortable with less conservative rulings and Scott relinquished

his non-negotiable pristine attitude. At least they disagreed

less often and less loudly. Although neither one would admit it,

each made an excellent sounding board for the other – a valuable

asset on a story this important.

Higgins continued. “The airlines are treating it as a bomb

scare. Seriously, but quietly. They have people going through

the systems, looking for whatever it is you people look for.”

Higgins’ knowledge of computers was still dismal.

“Scott, let me ask you something.” Doug broke into the conversa-

tion that like all the others, took place in Higgins’ lawyer-like

office. They occurred so often that Scott had half seriously

convinced Higgins’ secretary that he wouldn’t attend unless there

were fresh donuts and juice on the coffee table. When Higgins

found out, he was mildly annoyed, but nonetheless, in the spirit

of camaraderie, he let the tradition continue. “Children will be

children,” he said.

“How much damage could be done if the Spook’s telling the truth?”

Doug asked.

“Oh, he’s telling the truth,” Scott said somberly. “Don’t for-

get, I know this guy. He said that the effects would take weeks

and maybe months to straighten out. And the airline assault

would start Monday.”

“Why is he being so helpful?” Higgins asked.

“He wants to establish credibility. He says he wants to help

now, but first he wants to be taken seriously.”

“Seriously? Seriously? He’s a terrorist!” shouted Higgins. “No

damn different than someone who throws a bomb into a crowded

subway. You don’t negotiate with terrorists!” He calmed him-

self, not liking to show that degree of emotion. “But we want

the story . . .” he sighed in resignation. Doug and Scott agreed

in unison.

“Personally, it sounds like a macho ego thing,” commented Doug.

“So what?” asked Higgins. “Motivation is independent of premedi-

tation.”

“Legally speaking . . .” Doug added. He wanted to make sure

than John was aware that there were other than purely legal

issues on the table.

“As I was saying,” Scott continued. “The reservation computers

are the single most important item in running the nation’s air-

lines. They all interact and talk to each other, and create

billing, and schedule planes; they interface on line to the

OAG . . .they’re the brains. They all use Fault Tolerant equip-

ment, that’s spares of everything, off site backup of all records

- I’ve checked into it. Whatever he’s planned, it’ll be a doo-

sey.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” Higgins added with indifference.

“Legally it’s unsubstantiated hearsay. But with the computer

transcripts of all your conversations, if anything happens, I’d

say you’d have quite a scoop.”

“That’s what he wants! And we can’t warn anybody?”

“That’s up to the airlines, the FAA, not us.” The phone on Hig-

gins disk emitted two short warbles. He spoke into the phone.

“Yeah? Who? Whooo?” He held the phone out to Scott and curled

his lips. “It’s for you. The White House.” Scott glanced over

at Doug who raised his bushy white eyebrows.

Scott picked up the phone on the end table by the leather couch;

the one that Scott seemed to have made a second home. “Hello?”

he asked hesitantly. “Yes? Well, I could be in

Washington . . .” Scott looked over to Doug for advice. “The

President?” Doug shook his head, yes. Whatever it is, go. “I’d

be happy to,” he said reading his watch. “A few hours?” He

waited a few seconds. “Yes, I know the number. Off the record?

Fine. Thank you.”

“Well?” asked Higgins.

“The President himself wants to have a little chat with me.”

* Friday, January 22 The White House

Only the President, Musgrave and Henry Kennedy were there to meet

Scott. They did not want to overwhelm him, merely garner his

cooperation. Scott rushed by cab to the White House from Nation-

al Airport, and used the Press Gate even though he had an ap-

pointment with The Man. He could have used the Visitor’s En-

trance. Scott was whisked by White House aides through a

“Private” door in the press room to the surprise of the regular

pool reporters who wondered who dared to so underdress. Defi-

nitely not from Washington.

Scott was running on short notice, so he was only wearing his

work clothes: torn blue jeans, a sweatshirt from the nude beach

he and Sonja had visited and Reeboks that needed a wash. January

was unusually warm, so he got away with wearing his denim jacket

filled with a decade of patches reflecting Scott’s evolving

political and social attitudes. He was going to have to bring a

change of clothes to the office from now on.

Before he had a chance to apologize for his appearance, at least

he was able to shave the three day old stubble on the train, the

President apologized for the suddenness and hoped it wasn’t too

much of an inconvenience. Kennedy and Musgrave kept their smirks

to themselves, knowing full well from the very complete dossier

on Scott Mason, that he was having a significant intimate rela-

tionship with one Sonja Lindstrom, here in Washington. Very

convenient was more like it, they thought.

The President sat Scott down on the Queen Anne and complimented

him on his series of articles on computer crime. He said that

Scott was doing a fine job awakening the public to the problem,

and that more people should care, and how brave he was to jump in

front of flying bullets, and on and on and on. Due to Henry and

Phil’s political savvy and professional discipline, neither of

their faces showed that they both wanted to throw up on the spot.

This was worse than kissing babies to get elected. But the

President of the United States wanted a secret favor from a

journalist, so some softening, some schmoozing was in order.

“Well, let me get right to the point,” the President said a half

hour later after two cups of coffee and endless small talk with

Scott. He, too, had wondered what the President wanted so much

that the extended foreplay was necessary. “I understand Scott,

that you have developed quite a rapport with this Spook fellow.”

He held up a copy of the New York paper headlines blaring:

Computer Terrorism – Exclusive.

Aha! So that’s what they want! They want me to turn him in. “I

consider myself to be very lucky, right place, right time and

all. Yessir.” Scott downplayed his position with convincing

humility. “It seems as if he has selected me as his mouthpiece.”

“All we want, in fact, all we can ask,” Musgrave said, “is for

you to give us information before it’s printed.” Scott’s eyes

shot up in defense, protest at the ready. “No, no,” Mugrave

added quickly. “Nothing confidential. We know that Miles Foster

is the Spook, but we can’t prove it without giving away away too

many of our secrets.” Scott knew they were referring to their own

electronic eavesdropping habits that would be imprudent in a

court. “Single handedly he is capable of bringing down half of

the government’s computers. We need to know as much as we can as

fast as we can. So, whatever you print, we’d like an early copy

of it. That’s all.”

Scott’s mind immediately traveled back to the first and only time

an article of his was pulled. At the AG’s request. Of course it

finally got printed, but why the niceties now? They can take

what they want, but instead they ask? Maybe they don’t want to

get caught fiddling around with the Press too much. Such activi-

ties snagged Nixon, not saying that the President was Nixon-

esque, but politics is politics. What do I get in return? He