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

they had expected to find that someone had stumbled

upon a way to make highly miniaturized nuclear weapons. The men

from the NSA knew they were wrong.

*

It took almost six weeks for the Stock Exchange to function at

its previous levels. Trading was reduced to paper and less than

10,000,000 shares daily for almost two weeks until the temporary

system was expanded with staff and runners. Daily trading never

was able to exceed 27,000,000 shares until the computers came

back on line.

The SEC and the Government Accounting Office released preliminary

figures indicating the shut down of the Exchange would cost the

American economy almost $50 Billion this year. Congress is

preparing legislation to provide emergency funding to those firms

that were adversely affected by the massive computer failure.

The Stock Exchange has said that it will institute additional

physical and computer security to insure that there is no repeat

of the unfortunate suicide assault.

* Sunday, November 8 Scarsdale, New York

“You never cease to amaze me,” Tyrone said as he entered Scott’s

ultra modern house. “You and this freaking palace. Just from

looking at you, I’d expect black lights, Woodstock posters and

sleeping bags.” He couldn’t recall if he had ever seen Scott

wear anything but jeans, t-shirts or sweat shirts and spotlessly

clean Reeboks.

Scott’s sprawling 8000 square foot free form geometric white on

white home sat on 2 acres at the end of a long driveway heavily

treed with evergreens so that seclusion was maintained all year

long. Featured in Architectural Digest, the designers made

generous use of glass brick inside and out. The indoor pool

boasted sliding glass walls and a retractable skylight ceiling

which gave the impression of outdoor living, even in the midst of

a harsh winter.

“They’re in the music room.” Scott proceeded to open a set of

heavy oak double doors. “Soundproof, almost,” he said cheerily.

A 72 inch video screen dominated one wall and next to it sat a

large control center with VCR’s, switchers and satellite tuner.

Scott’s audio equipment was as complex as Ty had ever seen and an

array of speaker systems flanked the huge television.

“Toys, you got the toys, don’t you?” joked Tyrone.

“The only difference is that they cost more,” agreed Scott. “You

wanna see a toy and a half? I invented it myself.”

“Not another one?” groaned Tyrone. “That idiot golf machine of

yours was . . .”

“Capable of driving 350 yards, straight as an arrow.”

“And as I remember, carving up the greens pretty good.” Scott

and his rolling Golf Gopher had been thrown off of several

courses already.

“A few modifications, that’s all,” laughed Scott.

Scott led Tyrone through the immense family-entertainment room

into a deep navy blue, white accented Euro-streamlined automated

kitchen. It was like no other kitchen he had ever seen. In

fact, other than the sinks and the extensive counters, there was

no indication that this room was intended for preparing food.

Scott flipped a switch and suddenly the deep blue cabinet doors

faded into a transparent tint baring the contents of the shelves.

The fronts of the stoves, refrigerator and freezer and other

appliances exposed their function and controls.

“Holy Jeez . . .” Ty said in amazement. Last month this had been

a regular high tech kitchen of the 80’s. Now it was the Jetsons.

“That’s incredible . . .you invented that?”

“No,” dismissed Scott. “That’s just a neat trick of LCD panels

built into the cabinets. This was my idea.” He pressed an

invisible switch and 4 ten inch openings appeared on the counter

top near the sink. “Combination trash compacter re-cycler.

Glass, plastic, aluminum, metal and paper. Comes out by the

garbage, ready to go to the center.”

“Lazy son of a bitch aren’t you?” Tyrone laughed loudly.

“Sure, I admit my idea of gardening is watching someone mow the

lawn.” Scott feigned offense. “But this is in the name of

Green. I bet if you had one, you’d use it and Arlene would get

off your ass.”

“No way,” Tyrone objected. “My marriage is too good to screw up.

It’s the only thing left we still fight about, and we both like

it just the way it is. Thanks, but no thanks. I’m old fashioned.”

Scott showed Tyrone how to use the kitchen and he found that no

matter what he wanted, there was button for it, a hidden drawer

or a disguised appliance. “I still buy dishwashers at Sears.

How the hell do you know how to use this stuff,” Ty said fumbling

with the automatic bottle opener which automatically dropped the

removed caps into the hole for the metal compactor.

Tyrone had come over to Scott’s house for a quiet afternoon of

Sunday football. An ideal time because Arlene had gone to Boston

for the weekend with his daughters. Freedom!

They made it to the Music Room with their beers as the kickoff

was midfield. “So how’s the promotion going?” Scott asked

Tyrone in half jest. Over the last few weeks, Ty had spent most

of his time in Washington and what little time was left with his

family.

“Promotion my ass. It’s the only way I can not get a promotion.”

Tyrone added somberly, “and it may be my last case.”

“What do you mean?” Scott asked.

“It’s gotten outta hand, totally out of hand. We have to spend

more time protecting the rights of the goddamned criminals than

solving crimes. That’s not what it should be about. At least

not for me.”

“You’re serious about this,” Scott said rhetorically.

“Hey, sooner or later I gotta call it quits,” Ty replied soberly.

“But this computer thing’s gonna make my decision easier.”

“That’s what I asked. How’s the promotion?”

“Let’s just say, more of the same but different. Except the

interagency crap is amazing. No one commits to anything, and

everything needs study and nothing gets done.” Tyrone sighed.

He had been in Washington working with NIST, NSA, DoD and every

other agency that thought it had a vested interest in computers

and their protection. Their coordination with CERT and ECCO was

a joke, even by government standards.

At the end of the first quarter, the 49’ers were holding a solid

10 point lead. Scott grabbed a couple more beers and began tell-

ing Tyrone about the incident at the Exchange. The New York

Police had taken over the case, declaring sovereignty over Wall

Street and its enclaves.

“They don’t know what they have, however,” Scott said immodestly.

“The talk was a small scale nuke . . .”

“The DOE smashed that but fast,” Scott interrupted. “What if I

told you that it was only the computers that were attacked? That

the deaths were merely incidental?”

Tyrone groaned as the 49’ers fumbled the ball. “I’d listen,” he

said noncommittally.

“It was a classified magnetic bomb. NSA calls them EMP-T.”

“Empty? The empty bomb?” Tyrone said skeptically. “Since when

does NSA design bombs?”

“Listen,” said Scott trying to get Ty’s attention away from the

TV. “Have you ever heard of C-Cubed, or C3?”

“No.” He stared at the San Francisco defense being crushed.

“Command, Control and Communications It’s a special government

program to deal with nuclear warfare.”

“Pleasant thought,” said Tyrone.

“Yeah, well, one result of a nuclear blast is a terrific release

of electromagnetic energy. Enough to blow out communications and

power lines for miles. That’s one reason that silos are hardened

- to keep the communications lines open to permit the President

or whoever’s still alive to shoot back.”

“Like I said,” Tyrone shuddered, “pleasant thought.” He stopped

suddenly at turned to Scott. “So it was a baby nuke?”

“No, it was EMP-T,” Scott said in such a way to annoy Ty.

“Electro Magnetic Pulse Transformer.” The confusion on Tyrone’s

face was clear. “Ok, it’s actually pretty simple. You know what

interference sounds like on the radio or looks like on a TV?”

“Sure. My cell phone snaps, crackles and pops all of the time.”

“Exactly. Noise is simply electromagnetic energy that interferes

with the signal. Right?” Scott waited for Tyrone to respond that

he understood so far.

“Good. Imagine a magnetic pulse so strong that it not only

interferes with the signal, but overloads the electronics them-

selves. Remember that electricity and magnetism are the same

force taking different forms.”

Tyrone shook his head and curled his mouth. “Right. I knew that

all the time.” Scott ignored him.

“The EMP-T bomb is an electromagnetic explosion, very very short,

only a few milliseconds, but incredibly intense.” Scott gestured

to indicate the magnitude of the invisible explosion. “That was

the bomb that went off at the Stock Exchange.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Tyrone asked with a hint of

professional derision. “That requires a big leap of faith . . .”

Scott leaned over to the side of the couch and picked up the two

items he had retrieved from the Exchange.

“This,” Scott said handing a piece of ceramic material to Ty, “is

superconducting material. Real new. It can superconduct at room

temperature. And this,” he handed