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

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friends, holding many of the same global views and fears, if not

paranoias. When Allied Dynamics began losing Congressional

support for an advanced jet helicopter project, Young went to

Rickfield for help. After all, Allied was headquartered in

Rickfield’s home state, and wouldn’t it be a great boon to the

economy? The recession was coming to an end and that meant jobs.

Rickfield was unaware, initially, that Allied had an arrangement

with General Young to donate certain moneys to certain charities,

in certain Swiss bank accounts if certain spending programs were

approved. Only when Rickfield offered some later resistance to

the Allied projects did Young feel the need to share the wealth.

After 25 years in Congress, and very little money put away to

show for it, Rickfield was an easy target.

Rickfield’s recruitment by Young, on Allied’s behalf, had yielded

the Senator more than enough to retire comfortably on the island

paradise of his choice. Yet, Rickfield found an uncontrolled

desire for more; considerations was his word for it, just as he

had grown used to wielding power and influence in the nation’s

capital. Rickfield was hooked, and Credite Suisse was the cer-

tain Swiss bank in question. Ken Boyers was involved as well,

almost from the start. They both had a lot to lose.

“No, I must assume that you are not a fool, and I know for a fact

I am not one, so on that one point we do agree.” Political

pausing often allowed your opponent to hang himself with addi-

tional oration. Rickfield found the technique useful, especial-

ly on novices. “Please continue.”

“Thank you.” Sir George said with a hint of patronization. “To

be brief, Senator, I want you to keep your money, I think that

dedicated civil servants like yourself are grossly underpaid and

underappreciated. No sir, I do not wish to deny you the chance

to make your golden years pleasant after such a distinguished

career.”

“Then what is it. What do you want from me?” The Senator was

doodling nervously while Ken paced the room trying to figure out

what was being said at the other end of the phone.

“I’m glad you asked,” said Sir George. “Beginning next month you

are chairing a sub-committee that will be investigating the

weaknesses and potential threats to government computer systems.

As I remember it is called the Senate Select Sub-Committee on

Privacy and Technology Containment. Is that right?”

“Yes, the dates aren’t firm yet, and I haven’t decided if I will

chair the hearings or assign it to another committee member. So

what?”

“Well, we want you to drag down the hearings. Nothing more.”

Sire George stated his intention as a matter of fact rather than

a request.

Rickfield’s face contorted in confusion. “Drag down? Exactly

what does that mean, to you, that is?”

“We want you to downplay the importance of security for govern-

ment computers. That there really is no threat to them, and

that government has already met all of its obligations in balance

with the new world order, if you will. The threats are mere

scare tactics by various special interest groups and government

agencies who are striving for long term self preservation.” Sir

George had practiced his soliloquy before calling Senator Rick-

field.

“What the hell for?” Rickfield raised his voice. “Security?

Big deal! What’s it to you?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss our reasons. Suffice it to say,

that we would be most pleased if you see to it that the hearings

have minimal substance and that no direct action items are deliv-

ered. I believe that term you Americans so eloquently use is

stonewall, or perhaps filibuster?”

“They’re not the same things.”

“Fine, but you do understand nonetheless. We want these hearings

to epitomize the rest of American politics with procrastination,

obfuscation and procedural gerrymandering.” Sir George had

learned quite a bit about the political system since he had moved

to the States.

“And to what aim?” Rickfield’s political sense was waving red

flags.

“That’s it. Nothing more.”

“And in return?” The Senator had learned to be direct in mat-

ters of additional compensation since he had hooked up with the

earthy General.

“I will assure you that the details of your arrangements with

Allied Dynamics will remain safe with me.”

“Until the next time, right? This is blackmail?”

“No. Yes.” Sir George answered. “Yes, it is blackmail, but

without the usual messiness. And no, there will be no next time.

For, as soon as the hearings are over, it would be most advisable

for you to take leave of your position and enjoy the money you

have earned outside of your paycheck.”

“And, if I don’t agree to this?” Rickfield was looking at his

options which seemed to be somewhere between few and none. Maybe

he only had one.

“That would be so unfortunate.” Sir George smiled as he spoke.

“The media will receive a two page letter, it is already pre-

pared I can assure you, detailing your illegal involvements with

Allied, General Young and Mr. Boyers.”

“What’s in it for you? You don’t want any money?” The confusion

in Rickfield’s mind was terribly obvious, and he was sliding on a

logical Mobius loop.

“No Senator, no money. Merely a favor.”

“I will let you know what I decide. May I have your number?”

“I do not need to contact you again. Your answer will be evident

when the hearings begin. Whatever course you pursue, we will

make an appropriate response.”

“Scott!” A woman called across the noisy floor. “Is your phone

off the hook?”

“Yeah, why?” He looked up and couldn’t match the voice with a

person.

“You gotta call.”

“Who is it? I’m busy.”

“Some guy from Brooklyn sounds like. Says he got a package for

you?”

Holy shit. It’s Vito! Scott’s anonymous caller. The one who

had caused him so much work, so much research without being able

to print one damn thing.

Not yet.

“Yeah, OK. It’s back on.” The phone rang instantly and Scott

rushed to pick it up on the first ring.

“Yeah, Scott Mason here.” He sounded hurried.

“Yo! Scott. It’s me, your friend, rememba?” No one could

forget the accent that sounded more fake than real. He had been

nicknamed Vito for reference purposes by Scott.

“Sure do, fella,” Scott said cheerily. “That bunch of shit you

sent me was worthless. Garbage.”

“Yeah, well, we may have fucked up a little on that. Didn’t

count on youse guys having much in the ethics department if youse

know what I mean.” Vito laughed at what he thought was a pretty

good joke. “So, we all screw up, right? Now and again? Never

mind that, I got something real good, something youse really

gonna like.”

“Sure you do.”

“No, really, dig this. I gotta list of names that . . . ”

“Great another list. Just what I need. Another list.”

“Whad’ar’ya, a wise guy? Youse wanna talk or listen?” Scott

didn’t answer. “That’s better, cause youse gonna like this.

Some guy named Faulkner, big shit banker from La La Land is

borrowing money from the mob to pay off a blackmailer. Another

guy, right here in New York Shitty, a Wall Street big shot called

Henson, him too. Another one named Dobbs, same thing. All being

blackballed by the same guys. Youse want more?”

“I’m writing, quiet. Faulkner, Henson and Dobbs, right?”

“That’s whad’I said, yeah.”

“So how come you know so much?”

“That’s my job. I deal in information. Pretty good, huh?”

“Maybe. I gotta check it out. That last stuff was . . .”

“Hey!” Vito interrupted, “I told youse ‘bout that. Eh, paysan,

what’s a slip up among friends, right?”

“I’ll ignore that. Gimme a couple of days, I’ll call you.”

“Like hell you will. I’ll call you. You’ll see, this is good

stuff. No shit. All right? Two days.”

Click.

* Monday, December 14 Washington, D.C.

The FBI runs a little known counter intelligence operation from

the middle of a run down Washington, D.C. neighborhood on Half

Street. Getting in and out is an exercise in evasive not to

mention defensive driving. The South East quadrant of Washing-

ton, D.C. is vying for the drug capital of the nation, and per-

haps has the dubious distinction of having the highest murder

rate per capita in the United States. Since the CI division of

the FBI is a well kept secret, its location was strategically

chosen to keep the casual passerby from stopping in for a chat.

Besides, there was no identification on the front of the build-

ing.

Most Americans think that the CIA takes care of foreign spies,

but their agents are limited to functioning on foreign land. On

the domestic front the FBI Counter Intelligence Group is assigned

to locate and monitor alien intelligence activities. For exam-

ple, CI-3 is assigned to focus on