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

the

state or federal legislatures could deal with them. But, as

Miles continually reassured Homosoto, they were small timers with

no heinous motivation. They were mostly kids who played chicken

with computers instead of chasing cars or smoking crack. A far

better alternative, Miles offered.

Just kids having a little fun with the country’s most important

computer systems. No big deal. Right? How anyone can leave the

front door to their computer open, or with the keys lying around,

was beyond him. Fucking stupid.

His stream of consciousness was broken when his NipCom computer

announced that Homosoto was calling. Again. Shit. I bet some high

school kids changed their school grades and Homosoto thinks the

Rosenburgs are behind it. Paranoid gook.

<<<<<>>>>>

MR FOSTER

That’s me. What’s wrong.

NOTHING. ALL IS WELL.

That’s a change. Nobody fucking with your Ninten-

do, huh?

YOUR HUMOR ESCAPES ME, AT TIMES

S’pozed 2

WHAT?

Never Mind. What do you need?

WE ARE CLOSE

I know.

OF COURSE YOU DO. A BRIEF REPORT PLEASE.

Sure. Freedom is doing better than expected. Over a million now,

maybe a million and a half. The majors are sick, real sick.

Alex has kept my staff full, and we’re putting out dozens of

viruses a week. On schedule.

GOOD

I’m gonna be out for a few days. I’ll call when I

get back.

SHOULDN’T YOU STAY WHERE YOU CAN BE REACHED?

I carry a portable. I will check my computer, as I always do.

You have never had trouble reaching me.

THAT IS TRUE. WHERE DO YOU GO?

Amsterdam.

HOLLAND? WHY?

A hackers conference. I need a break anyway, so I thought I

might as well make it a working vacation. The top hackers get

together and stroke themselves, but I could pick something up.

Useful to us.

DO BE CAREFUL, YOU ARE VALUABLE. NO ONE CAN KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

No one does. No one. I use my BBS alias. Spook.

* San Francisco, California

Sir George Sterling checked his E-Mail for messages. There were

only 2, both from Alex. The one week holiday had been good for

Sir George. Well earned, he thought. In less than 3 months, he

had called over 1,700 people on the phone and let them in on his

little secrets, as he came to call them.

Every month Alex had forwarded money, regular like clockwork, and

Sir George had diligently followed instructions. To the letter.

Not so much in deference to the implicit threats issued him by

Alex, over computer and untraceable of course, but by the pros-

pect of continued income. He came to enjoy the work. Since he

was in America and his calls were to Americans, he had the oppor-

tunity to dazzle them with his proper and refined accent before

he let the hammer down with whatever tidbit of private informa-

tion he was told to share with them.

In the beginning Sir George had little idea of what the motiva-

tion behind his job was, and still, he wasn’t completely sure.

He realized each call he made contained the undercurrent of a

threat. But he never threatened anyone, his instructions were

explicit; never threaten. So therefore, he reasoned, he must

actually be making threats, no matter how veiled.

He rather enjoyed it all. Not hurting people, that wasn’t his

nature, but he savored impressing people with his knowledge and

noting their reactions for his daily reports back to Alex. In the

evenings Sir George searched out small American recreational

centers inaccurately referred to as pubs. In fact they were

disguised bars with darts and warm beer, but it gave Sir George

the chance to mingle and flash his assumed pedigree. When asked

what he did for a living, he truthfully said, “I talk to people.”

About what? “Whatever interests them.”

He became somewhat of a celebrated fixture at several ‘pubs’ in

Marin County where he found the atmosphere more to his liking; a

perfectly civilized provincial suburb of San Francisco where his

purchased affectations wore well on the locals who endlessly

commuted to their high tech jobs in Silicon Valley 40 miles to

the south.

Hawaii had been, as he said, “Quite the experience.” Alex had

informed him one day that he was to take a holiday and return

ready for a new assignment, one to which now he was ideally

suited. Sir George smiled to himself. A job well done, and

additional rewards. That was a first for George Toft of dreary

Manchester, England.

Since he did not have a printer, there was no way he would jeop-

ardize his livelihood for a comfort so small, he read his E-Mail

by copying the messages into Word Perfect, and then reading them

at his leisure. All E-Mail was encrypted with the Public Private

RSA algorithm, so he had to manually decrypt the messages with

his private key and save them unencrypted. When he was done, he

erased the file completely, to keep anyone else from discovering

the nature of his work. Alex’s first message was dated two days

before he returned from Hawaii. It was actually cordial, as far

as Alex could be considered cordial. After their first meeting

in Athens, Alex had taken on a succinct if not terse tone in all

communications.

Sir George:

Welcome back. I hope you had a most enjoyable holiday. It was

well deserved.

We now enter phase two of our operations. We place much faith in

your ability and loyalty. Please do not disrupt that confidence.

As in the past, you will be given daily lists of

people to call. They are some of the people whom you have called

before. As before, identify yourself and the nature of your

call. I am sure your last call was so disturbing to them, they

will take your call this time as well.

Then, once you have confirmed their identity,

give them the new information provided, and ask them to follow

the instructions given, to the letter. Please be your usual

polite self.

Alex

The second message was more Alex-like:

Sir George: If you have any problems with your new assignment, please call me to arrange your termination. Alex. *

“Hello? Are you there?” Sir George Sterling spoke with as much

elegance he could muster. “This is John Fullmaster calling again

for Robert Henson.” Sir George remembered the name but not the

specifics.

“One moment please,” Maggie said. “Mr. Henson?” She said after

dialing his intercom extension. “It’s John Fullmaster for you.

Line three”

“Who?”

“Mr. Fullmaster. He called once several months ago. Don’t you

remember?” He thought. Fullmaster. Fullmaster. Oh, shit. I

thought he was a bad dream. Goddamn blackmailer. Never did

figure how he knew about the Winston Ellis scam. Good thing

that’s been put to bed and over.

“All right, I’ll take it.” He punched up the third line.

“Yeah?” He said defiantly.

“Mr. Henson? This is John Fullmaster. I believe we spoke a

while back about some of your dealings? Do you recall?”

“Yes, I recall you bastard, but you’re too late. The deal closed

last month. So you can forget your threats. Fuck off and die.”

Henson used his best boardroom belligerence.

“Oh, I am sorry that you thought I was threatening you, I can

assure you I wasn’t.” Sir George oozed politeness.

“Bullshit. I don’t know how the blazes you learned anything

about my business, and I don’t really care . . .”

“I think you might care, sir, if you will allow me to speak for a

moment.” Sir George interjected. The sudden interruption caught

Henson off guard. He stood his ground in silence.

“Thank you.” Sir George waited for an acknowledgement which

never arrived, so he continued. “Winston Ellis is old news, Mr.

Henson, very old news. I read today, though, that Miller Pharma-

ceuticals is about to have its Anti-AIDS drug turned down by the

FDA. Apparently it still has too many side effects and may be

too dangerous for humans. I’m sure you’ve read the reports

yourself. Don’t you think it would be wise to tell your investors

before they sink another $300 Million into a black hole from

which there is no escape?” The aristocratic British accent

softened the harshness of the words, but not the auger of the

meaning.

Henson seethed. “I don’t know who you are,” he hissed, “but I

will not listen to this kind of crap. I won’t take it

from . . .”

“Sorry,” Sir George again interrupted, “but I’m afraid you will

listen. The instructions are as follows. I want $5 Million in

small bills in a silver Samsonite case to be placed into locker

number 235 at Grand Central Station, first level. You have 48

hours to comply. If you do not have the money there, we will

release these findings to the media and the SEC which will