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

I told them that you weren’t interested, that you like it the

way it is. So, I struck a deal.” Burnson sounded proud.

Duncan wasn’t convinced. “Deal? What deal? Since when do you

talk for me?” Tyrone didn’t think to thank Bob for the front

line pass interference. Keep the politicos out of his hair.

“Have you been following any of the computer madness recently?”

Burnson spoke as though he expected Tyrone to know nothing of it.

“Can’t miss it. From what I hear, a lot of people are getting

pretty spooked that they may be next.”

“It gets more interesting than what the papers say,” Bob said

while opening a desk drawer. He pulled out a large folder and

lay it across his desk. “We have experienced a few more computer

incidents than is generally known, and in the last several weeks

there has been a sudden increase in the number of attacks against

Government computers.”

“You mean the INTERNET stuff and Congress losing it’s mind?”

Tyrone laughed at the thought that Congress would now use their

downed computers as an excuse for not doing anything.

“Those are only the ones that have made it to the press. It’s

lot worse.” Bob scanned a few pages of the folder and para-

phrased while reading. “Ah, yes, the NPRP, National Pretrial

Reporting Program over at Justice . . .was hit with a series of

computer viruses apparently intentionally placed in VMS comput-

ers, whatever the hell those are.” Bob Burnson was not computer

fluent, but he knew what the Bureau’s computer could do.

“The Army Supply Center at Fort Stewart, Georgia had all of its

requisitions for the last year erased from the computer.” Bob

chuckled as he continued. “Says here that they have had to pool

the guys’ money to go to Winn Dixie to buy toilet paper and

McDonald’s has offered a special GI discount until the system

gets back up.”

“Ty,” Bob said. ” Some people on the hill have raised a stink

since their machines went down. Damn crybabies. So ECCO is being

activated.”

“What the hell is ECCO?” Tyrone asked again.

“ECCO stands for Emergency Computer Crisis Organization. It’s a

computer crisis team that responds to . . .well I guess, comput-

er crises.” Bob opened the folder again. “It was formed during

the, and I quote, ‘ . . .the panic that followed the first INTER-

NET Worm in November of 1988.’”

Tyrone’s mouth hung open. “What panic?”

“The one that was kept under absolute wraps,” Bob said, slightly

lowering his voice. “At first no one knew what the INTERNET

event was about. Who was behind it. Why and how it was happen-

ing. Imagine 10’s of thousands of computers stopping all at

once. It scared the shit out of the National Security Council,

remember we and the Russians weren’t quite friends then, and we

thought that military secrets were being funneled straight to the

Kremlin. You can’t believe some of the contingency plans I heard

about.”

“I had no idea . . .”

“You weren’t supposed to,” Bob added. “Very few did. At any

rate, right afterward DARPA established CERT, the Computer Emer-

gency Response Team at Carnegie Mellon, and DCA set up a Security

Coordination Center at SRI International to investigate problems

in the Defense Data Network. Livermore and the DOE got into the

act with Computer Incident Advisory Capability. Then someone

decided that the bureaucracy was still too light and it deserved

at least a fourth redundant, overlapping and rival group to

investigate on behalf of Law Enforcement Agencies. So, there we

have ECCO.”

“So what’s the deal?” asked Tyrone. “What do I have to do?”

“The Director has asked ECCO to investigate the latest round of

viruses and the infiltration of a dozen or so sensitive and

classified computers.” Bob watched for Ty’s reaction, but saw

none yet. He wondered how he would take the news. “This time, we

would like to be involved in the entire operation from start to

finish. Make sure the investigation is done right. We’d like to

start nailing some of the bastards on the Federal level. Besides

you have the legal background and we are treading on some very

new and untested waters.”

“I can imagine. So what’s our role?”

“Your role,” Bob emphasized ‘your’, “will be to liaison with the

other interested agencies.”

“Who else is playing?” asked Tyrone with trepidation.

“Uh, that is the one negative,” stammered Bob. “You’ve got NSA,

CIA, NIST, the NSC, the JCS and a bunch of others that don’t

matter. The only rough spot is the NSA/NIST connection. Every-

one else is there just to make sure they don’t miss anything.”

“What’s their problem?”

“Haven’t heard, huh?” laughed Bob. “The press hasn’t been kind.

They’ve been in such a pissing match for so long that computer

security work came to a virtual halt and I don’t want to spoil

the surprise, ah, you’ll see,” he added chuckling.

Tyrone sat back in the chair as he was cool enough now not to

stick to it, closed his eyes and rotated his head to work out the

kinks. Bob never had gotten used to Tyrone’s peculiar method of

deep thought; he found it most unnerving.

Bob’s intents were crystal clear, not that Tyrone minded. He

had no desire to move to D.C.; indeed he would have quit instead.

He wanted to stay with the Bureau and the action but in his

comfortable New York existence. Otherwise, no. But, if he could

get Bob off his back by this one favor. Sure it might not be

real action, watching computer jockies play with

themselves . . .but it might be an interesting change in pace.

“Yes, under a couple of condition.” Tyrone was suddenly a little

too agreeable and smug after his earlier hesitancy.

“Conditions? What conditions?” Bob’s suspicion was clear.

“One. I do it my way, with no, and I mean, absolutely no inter-

ference.” Duncan awaited a reply to his first demand.

“What else?”

“I get to use who I want to use, inside or outside the Bureau.”

“Outside? Outside? We can’t let this outside. The last thing

in the world we want is publicity.”

“You’re gonna get it anyway. Let’s do it right this time.”

“What do you mean by that?” Bob asked somewhat defensively.

“What I mean is,” Tyrone spoke up, sounding confident, “that the

press are already on this computer virus thing and hackers and

all. So, let’s not advertise it, but when it comes up, let’s

deal with it honest.”

“No way,” blurted out Bob. “They’ll make it worse than it is.”

“I have that covered. A friend of my works for a paper, and he

is a potential asset.”

“What’s the trade?”

“Not much. Half day leads, as long as he keeps it fair.”

“Anything else?” Bob asked, not responding to Ty.

“One last thing,” Tyrone said sitting up straighter. “After this

one, you promise to let me alone and work my golden years, the

way I want, where I want until my overdue retirement.”

“I don’t know if I can . . .”

“Then forget it,” interrupted Tyrone. “I’ll just quit.” It was

the penultimate threat and bluff and caught Bob off balance.

“Wait a minute. You can’t hold me hostage . . .”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing to me?” Touch<130>!

Bob sat back in thought. To an event, Duncan had been right on.

He had uncannily been able to solve, or direct the solution of a

crime where all others had failed. And, he always put the Bureau

in the best possible light. If he didn’t go with him now, lose

him for sure.

“And, I may need some discretionary funds.” Duncan was making a

mental list of those things he thought he needed. His sources of

information were the most valuable. Without them, it would be a

bad case of babysitting sissy assed bureaucrats staking out their

ground.

“Yes to the money. Ouch, but yes to hands off your promotion.

Maybe, to the reporter. It’s my ass, too, you know.”

“You called me,” Tyrone said calmly. “Remember?”

I can’t win this one, thought Bob. He’s never screwed up yet.

Not big time. As they say, with enough rope you either bring in

the gang or hang yourself. “I want results.” That’s all Bob

had to say. “Other than that, I don’t give a good goddamn what

you do,” Bob resigned.

“One more thing,” Tyrone slipped in.

“What is it?” Bob was getting exasperated.

“It happens out of New York, not here.”

“But . . .”

“No buts. Period.”

“Ok, New York, but you report here when I need you. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Tyrone agreeably. “Deal?”

“Yes, except no with the press, this reporter of yours. Agreed?”

“Whatever,” Tyrone told Bob.

From his hotel room, Tyrone Duncan called Scott Mason at his

home. It was after 11P.M. EST, and Ty was feeling no pain after

several hours of drinking and slipping $10 bills into garter

belts at Camelot.

“RCA, Russian Division,” Scott Mason answered his phone.

“Don’t do that,” Tyrone slurred. “That’ll trigger the monitors.”

“Oh, sorry, I thought you wanted the plans for the Stealth Bom-

ber . . .”

“C’mon, man,” Tyrone