Chapter 30

Monday, March 22 National Security Agency

He had two separate offices, each with a unique character. One ultra modern and sleek, the other befitting a country gentleman. The two were connected by a large anteroom that also provided immediate access and departure by a private elevator and escape stairs. He could hold two meetings at once as was occasionally required in his position as DIRNSA, Director, National Security Agency. Each office had its own secretary and private entrance, selected for use depending upon whom was expected.

The meeting in the nouveau office was winding down to a close and the conversation had been reduced to friendly banter. Marvin Jacobs had brought in three of his senior advisors who were coordinating the massive analytical computing power of the NSA with the extraordinary volume of raw data that all of the 5ESS switches downloaded daily.

Since they had been assigned to assist the FBI, the NSA had been hunting down the locations of the potential conspirators with the assistance of the seven Baby Bells and Bell Laboratories in Princeton, New Jersey. The gargantuan task was delicately bal- ancing a fine line between chaos and stagnancy; legality and amorality.

As they spoke, Jacobs heard a tone emit from his computer and he noticed that Office-2 had a Priority Visitor.

"Gentlemen," Marvin Jacobs said as he stood. "It seems that my presence is required for a small matter. Would you mind enter- taining yourselves for a few minutes?" His solicitous nature and political clout demanded that his visitors agree without hesita- tion.

He walked over to a door by the floor to ceiling bookshelf and let himself in, through the gracious ante-room by the commode and into his heavy wood and leather office. He immediately saw the reason for the urgency.

"Miles, Miles Foster, my boy! How are you?" Marvin Jacobs walked straight to Miles, vigorously shook his hand and gave him a big friendly bear hug.

Miles smiled from ear to ear. "It's been cold out there. Glad to be home." He looked around the room and nodded appreciative- ly. "You've been decorating again."

"Twice. You haven't been in this office for, what is it, five years?" Jacobs held Miles by the shoulders. "My God it's good to see you. You don't look any the worse for wear."

"I had a great boss, treated me real nice," Miles said.

"Come here, sit down," Marvin said ushering Miles over to a thickly padded couch. "If you don't already know it, this coun- try owes you a debt of thanks."

"I know," Miles said, even though he had been paid over three million dollars by Homosoto.

"A drink, son?" At fifty-five, the red faced paunch bellied Jacobs looked old enough to be Miles' father, even though they were only fifteen years apart.

"Glenfiddich on the rocks." Miles felt comfortable. Totally comfortable and in control of the situation.

"Done." DIRNSA Jacobs pressed a button which caused a hidden bar to be exposed from a mirror paneled wall. The James Bondish tricks amused Miles. "Excuse me," he said to Miles. "Let me get rid of my other appointments." Jacobs handed Miles the drink and leaned over his desk speaking into telephone. "Uh, Miss Gree- ley, cancel my dates for the rest of the day, would you please?"

"Of course, sir." The thin female voice came across the speaker phone clearly.

"And my regrets to the gentlemen in One."

"Yessir." The intercom audibly clicked off.

"So," Marvin asked, "how does it feel to be both the goat and the hero?"

"Hey, I fixed it, just like we planned, didn't I?" Miles said arrogantly, but his deep dimples said he was joking. "I remember everything you taught me," he bragged. "Lesson One: If you really want to fix something, first you gotta fuck it up so bad everyone takes notice. Well, how'd I do?" Miles still grinned, his dimples radiating a star pattern across his cheeks. Jacobs approved whole heartedly.

"You were a natural. From day one."

"Homosoto thought that fuck-it to fix-it was entirely too weird at first, so I quit calling it that." Miles fondly remembered those early conversations. "As you said, it takes a disaster to motivate Americans, and we gave them one."

"I'm glad you see it that way," Marvin said obligingly. "It occurred to me that you might have gotten soft on me."

"Not a chance." Miles countered. "How many men get to lead armies, first of all. And I may be the first, ever, to lead an invasion of my own country with my government's approval. This was a sanctioned global video game. I should thank you for the opportunity."

"That's a hell of a way to look at it, my boy. You show a lot of courage." Marvin drank to Miles' health. "It takes men of courage to run a country, and that's what we do; run the country." Miles had heard many of Marvin's considerable and conservative speeches before, but this one was new. After over five years, that was to be expected.

"It doesn't make a damn bit of difference who the President is. The Government stays the same regardless of who's elected every 4 years." Marvin continued as Miles listened reverently.

"The American public thinks that politicians run the country; they think that they vote for the people who make the policies, who set the tone of the government, but they are so wrong. So wrong." Marvin shook his head side to side. "And it's probably just as well that they never find out for sure." He held Miles' attention. Marv walked around the room drink in hand, gesturing with his hands and arms.

"The hundreds of thousands of Government employees, the ones that are here year after year after year, we are the ones who make policy. It's the mid-grade manager, the staff writer, the polit- ical analysts who create the images, the pictures that the White House and Capital Hill see.

"This town, the United States is run by lifers; people who have dedicated their lives to the American way of life. The military controls more than any American wants to know. State Department, Justice, HUD; each is its own monolithic bureaucracy that does not change direction overnight because of some election in Bum- fuck, Iowa. It takes four years to find your way through the corridors, and by then, odds are you'll be packing back to Maine, or Georgia or California or wherever you came from." Marvin Jacob's vitriolic oration was grinding on Miles, but he had to listen to his boss.

"So when this country gets into trouble, someone has to do some- thing about it. God knows the politicians won't. This country was in real trouble and someone had to fix it. In this case it was me. It's been a decade since the first warnings about how vulnerable our computers, our economy, shit, our National Securi- ty were. The reports came out, and Congress decided to ignore them. Sure, they built up the greatest armaments in the history of civilization, sold the future for a few trillion, but they ne- glected to protect their investment." Jacobs angrily poured himself another drink.

"I couldn't let that happen, so I decided that I needed to expose the weaknesses in our systems before somebody else did." Marvin spoke proudly. "And what better way than to fuck it up beyond all recognition. FUBAR. At least this way we were in charge, and we were able to pick the damage. Thanks to you. Lessons tend to be painful, and I guess we're paying for some of our past sins." He drank thirstily.

"Did those sins mean that I would have to be arrested by the FBI? I couldn't say a thing; not the truth. They'd never have be- lieved me." Miles shuddered at the thought. "For a moment, I thought you might leave me to rot in jail."

"Hey," Marvin said happily. "Didn't our people get you out, just like I promised? Less than an hour." He sounded proud of his efforts. "Besides, most of them were bullshit charges. Not worth the effort to prosecute."

"I never underestimate the power of the acronym," Miles said about the NSA, CIA and assorted lettered agencies. "There was a lot of not so quiet whispering when it was released that the charges were dropped by the Federal Prosecutor. Think that was smart, so soon? Maybe we should have waited a couple of months."

Jacobs looked up sharply at Miles' criticism of his actions but spoke with understanding. "We needed to get the cameras off of you and onto the real problem; it was the right thing to do. Your part is over. You started the war. Now it's up to me to stop it. It could not have gone any smoother. Yes," he re- flected. "It's time for us to take over. You have performed magnificently. We couldn't ask for any more."

Miles sipped at his drink accepting the reasoning and asked, "I've wondered about a few things, since the beginning."

"Now's as good a time as any," Marv said edging himself behind his desk. "I'd imagine you have a lot of holes to fill in."

"How did you get Homosoto to cooperate? He seemed to fall right into place."

"It was almost too easy," Jacobs commented casually. "We had a number of candidates. You'd be surprised how many people with money and power hold grudges against Uncle Sam," he snickered. "It's hard to believe, but true."

"Meaning, if it wasn't him, it would have been someone else?"

"Exactly. There's no shortage of help in the revenge business. There are still many hibakusha, survivors of Hiroshima and Naga- saki, who still want revenge on us for ending the war and saving so may lives. Ironic, isn't it? That someone like Homosoto is twisted enough to help us, just to fuel his own hatred," Marvin Jacobs asked rhetorically.

"But he didn't know he was helping, did he?" Miles asked.

"Of course not. Then he would have been running the show, and this was my production. No, it worked out just fine."

Jacobs paused for more liquor and continued. "Then we have a few European industrialists, ex-Nazis who are available . . .the KGB, GRU, Colombian cartel members. The list of assets is long. Where's there's money, there's help, and most of them prefer the Yankee dollar to any other form of payment. They forget that by hurting us they also hurt the world's largest economy, as well as everybody else's and then the fiscal dominoes start falling uncontrollably."

"You mean you bought him?" Miles asked.

"Oh, no! You can't buy a billionaire, but you can influence his actions, if he thinks that it's his idea. It just so happens that he was the first one to bite. Health problems and all."

"What problems?"

"In all likelihood it's from the radiation, the Bomb; his doctors gave him a couple of years to live. Inoperable form of leukemia."

"I didn't know . . ."

"No one did. He insisted on complete secrecy. He had not picked a successor to run OSO, and in some ways he denied the reality."

"Excuse my tired old brain, but you're talking Spook-Speak. How did you know . . .?"

"Old habits . . ." Marvin agreed. "As you well know, from your employ here, we have assets in every major company in the world. Especially those companies that buy and sell elected officials in Washington. OSO and Homosoto are quite guilty of bribing their way into billions of dollars of contracts. Our assets, you see, can work in two directions. They let us know what's going on from the inside and give us a leg up on the G2. Then, we can plant real or false information when needed. The Cold Economic War."

"So you told Homosoto what to do?" Miles followed closely.

"Not in so many words." Marvin wasn't telling all, and Miles knew it. "We knew that through our assets we gave Homosoto and several others the idea that U.S. computers were extremely frag- ile. Back in 1983 the DoD and CIA prepared classified reports saying that computer terrorism was going to be the international crime of choice in the last decade of the century. Then the NRC, NSC and DIA issued follow-up reports that agreed with the origi- nal findings. We saw to it that enough detail reached Tokyo to show just how weak we were."

Jacobs continued to tell Miles how the NSA effected the unwitting recruitment of Homosoto. "That, a well timed resignation on your part, and advertising your dissatisfaction with the government made you the ideal person to launch the attack." Marvin smiled widely holding his drink in the air, toasting Miles.

Miles responded by raising his glass. "And then a suicide, how perfect." Jacobs did not return the salute, and Miles felt sudden iciness. "Right? Homosoto's suicide." Jacobs still said nothing. "Marv? It was a suicide, wasn't it?"

"Miss Perkins was of great help, too," Marvin said ignoring Miles questions.

"Perky? What's she got to do with this?" Miles demanded.

"Oh? You really don't know?" Marvin was genuinely shocked. "I guess she was better than we thought. I thought you knew." He looked down to avoid Miles's eyes. "Didn't you think it odd . . .?"

"That she introduced me to Homosoto?" Miles asked acrimoniously.

"She didn't."

"Of course she did," Miles contradicted.

"We have a tape of the conversation," Marv disagreed. "All she did was ask you if you would work for a foreigner and under what circumstances. Perkins' job was to prep you for Homosoto or whoever else we expected to contact you. An admirable job, huh Miles?" Marvin Jacobs seemed proud of her accomplishments, and given the stunned gaping expression on Miles' face, he beamed even more. Miles didn't say a word, but his glazed eyes said loud and clear that he felt defiled.

"I'm sorry Miles," Marvin said compassionately. "I really as- sumed you knew that she was a toy. You certainly treated her that way." No reaction. "If it helps any, she was on Homosoto's payroll. She was a double."

Miles jerked his head back and then let out a long laugh. "Well, fuck me dead. Goddamn, she was good! Had me going. Not a fuck- ing clue." Miles stood from his chair and laughed and smiled at Marvin. "What a deal. I get blow jobs courtesy of the American taxpayer and you get paid to watch."

"Miles, we know how you felt for her . . ."

"Bullshit," Miles said quickly. "That's fucking bullshit." He pounded on the desk.

"She's already on another assignment," Marvin said calmly.

Miles couldn't completely hide the dejection, the feeling of loss, no matter how loudly he denied it. "Fuck her!" Miles exclaimed. He walked over to the high tech bar and made himself another strong drink. Perfect drink to get dumped by. "Another?" he asked Marvin who handed Miles his glass for a refill.

"As I was saying," Marvin said, "this country owes you a thanks, beyond any medals or awards, and unfortunately, there is no way we can publicly express our appreciation." Marvin sat down with his drink and addressed Miles.

"Hey," Miles said holding his hands in front of him. "I knew that going into the deal. I did my job, for my country, and maybe I lose some face, but I didn't do this for fame. Retiring in style, maybe the Alps is a nice consolation prize." The pain, so evident seconds ago about Stephanie, was gone. Miles gloated in his achievement.

A low warble came from the phone on Marvin's desk. He read a message that appeared on the small message screen attached to the phone and struck a few keys in response. At that moment, the double doors from the Office-2 reception opened and in came Tyrone Duncan and two other FBI agents. Miles turned to see who was interrupting their meeting. It was the same man who had arrested him a few weeks before.

Miles gulped deeply and felt his heart skip a beat. 'What the hell is going on', he thought. He quickly glanced at Jacobs. His pulse and respiration increased to the point of skin sweat and near hyper-ventilation.

Tyrone spoke to the Director. "Mr. Jacobs, we are here to see Mr. Foster." Jacobs gestured to Miles in the deep chair across from the marble desk.

Miles' mind raced. What was Marv doing? And Duncan again?

"Mr. Foster," Tyrone Duncan said. Miles looked up. "You are under arrest for violation of the espionage and sedition laws of the United States of America. In addition, you are charged with violating the Official Secrets Act and . . ." Tyrone read off 94 federal crimes including racketeering and 61 assorted counts of conspiracy.

As Tyrone read the extended list of charges, Miles shook to his core, turned to Marvin in abject terror. His face cried out, 'please, help me.' Jacobs watched with indifference as Tyrone continued with the new charges.

"You have the right to remain silent . . ." Tyrone read Miles his Miranda rights as he lifted him from the chair to put on the cuffs.

"Marv!" Miles shouted in panic. "This is a joke, and it's not funny . . .Marv . . .Jesus Fucking Christ!" Miles struggled like an animal. He thought he was free. "I'm the fucking fish food. Aren't I? Marv," he shouted even louder. "Aren't I?"

"It seems to me that you've dug your own grave, son. I can't tell you how disappointed I am in your actions." Jacobs played the role perfectly.

"You fucking liar! The President doesn't even know about what I did for you? Does he?" Miles was screaming as Tyrone and another agent restrained him by the arms. "Why not? You told me that this project had approval from the highest level."

"Are you mad?" Marvin sounded like a caring parent admonishing a misbehaving lad who knew no better. "Do you think that he would have approved of such a plan? Ruin his own country? Is that why you went to Homosoto? Because we said you were crazy?"

"You told me he approved it!" Miles screamed at Marvin. "You lied! About that, about Stephanie, what else have you lied to me about?"

Jacobs sat silently as Tyrone turned the handcuffed Miles toward the door.

"Why don't you just admit it? I'm the fucking fall guy for your scheme, aren't I?" Miles shouted. "Admit it goddamnit, admit it!"

Jacobs looked down at his desk and shook his head from side to side as if he were terribly disappointed.

"I'll get you, I will get you for this," Miles shrieked. "I trusted you, like a father and then you fuck me. Fucked me like every other dumb shit that works here." His vicousness intensi- fied. "Suck my dick!" he shouted with finality.

Tyrone tugged at Miles to keep him from the Director's desk. "Is there anything else Director Jacobs?"

"Yes, Agent Duncan, here." Jacobs opened a drawer and pulled out a large envelope, marked with Miles' name. Miles stared at it, eyes bulging with fear. Tyrone looked questioningly at Marvin.

"I believe you will find enough in there to put Mr. Foster in Tokyo with Mr. Homosoto at the time he died." Tyrone took the package. "I think the Tokyo Police would be most interested in making a possible case for murder."

Miles screamed, "scum bucket! You're fucking nuts." His vicious verbal assaults were aimed directly at Marvin who ignored them. "You know I had nothing to do . . .goddamn you! I spend five years of my life helping my country and you . . ."

"I think very few would agree that what you've done can be con- sidered helpful."

"I will get even! Even, do you hear!" Miles' voice was getting hoarse from the outrageous tirade.

DIRNSA Marvin Jacobs raised his right hand to Tyrone indicating that Miles was dismissed. Miles continued bellowing at Marvin and Tyrone and the two other agents tried to keep him in tow. When they had left, and the door closed behind them, Jacobs pushed a button on his phone and spoke casually.

"Miss Greeley? Could you please get me a 2:00 P.M. tee off time?"

****************************************************************

Epilogue

The Year After

The newspaper headlines during the first year of the attack revealed as much about the effects of the attacks on American society, its politics and economy as could any biased editorial. They ironically and to the dismay of many of those in the govern- ment, echoed the pulse of the country, regardless of the politi- cal leaning of the Op-Ed pages.

Foster Indicted By Federal Grand Jury Faces 1800 Years If Convicted Washington Post

Economy Loses $300 Billion in First 6 Months $1 Trillion Loss Possible Tampa Tribune

Senator Urges Sanctions Against Japanese Washington Post

NSA Admits Its Own Computers Sick New York City Times

NASA Launch Stopped By Faulty Computers Orlando Sentinal

McMillan Indicted - Skips Country Employee's Testimony Crucial New York Post

Credit Card Usage Down 84% Retailers In Slump Chicago Sun-Times

OSO Denied Access to Government Contracts Investigation Expected to Take Years Los Angeles Times

Most Companies Go Unprotected Do Nothing In Spite of Warnings USA Today

Commercial Tempest Program Kicks Off Safe Computers Begin Shipping Houston Mirror

Secret Service Stops Freedom BBS Software Company Built Viruses Tampa Tribune

New York Welfare Recipients Suffer No Payments For 3 Months: 3rd Night of Riots Village Voice

Allied Corporation Loses 10,000 Computers Viruses Smell of Homosoto Dallas Herald

ACLU Sues Washington Class Action Privacy Suit First of a Kind Time Magazine

3rd. Quarter Leading Indicators Dismal Deep Recession Predicted If 4th. Qtr. Is Worse Wall Street Journal

Supreme Court Rules on Privacy 4th Amendment Protects E-Mail San Diego Union

Waves of VCR Failures Plague Manufacturers OSO Integrated Circuits Blamed San Jose Register

Mail Order Ouch! Thousands of Dead Computers Kill Sales Kansas City Address

Chicago Traffic SNAFU New York Tie Up Remembered Chicago Sun Times

Homosoto Worked For Extraterrestrials Full Scale Alien Invasion Imminent National Enquirer

* * * * *

Power to the People by Scott Mason

The last few months have taught me, and this country, a great deal about the technology that has been allowed to control our lives. Computers, mainframes, mini computers, or millions of personal computers - they do in fact control and monitor our every activity, for better or for worse. A marriage of conven- ience?

Now, though, it appears to be for worse.

I am reminded of the readings of Edgar Cayce and the stories that surround the myth of Atlantis. According to Cayce and legend, Atlantis was an ancient ante-deluvian civilization that developed a fabulous technology which achieved air flight, levitation, advanced medical techniques and harnessed the sun's energy.

However, the power to control the technology which had exclusive- ly been controlled by the high priests of Atlantis was lost and access to the technology was handed to the many peoples of that ancient culture. Through a series of unintentional yet reckless events, the Atlanteans lost control of the technology, and de- spite the efforts of the Priests, their cities and cultures were destroyed, eventually causing Atlantis to sink to the bottom of the depths of the Atlantic Ocean.

Believing in the myth of Atlantis is not necessary to understand that the distribution of incredible computing power to 'everyman' augers a similar fate to our computerized society. We witnessed our traffic systems come a halt, bringing grid lock to small rural communities. Our banks had to reconstruct millions upon millions of transactions in the best possible attempt at recon- ciliation. The defensive readiness of our military was in ques- tion for some time before the Pentagon was satisfied that they had cleansed their computers.

The questions that arise are clearly ones to which there are no satisfying responses. Should 'everyman' have unrestrained access to tools that can obviously be used for offensive and threatening purposes? Is there a level of responsibility associated with computer usage? If so, how is it gauged? Should the businessman be subject to additional regulations to insure security and privacy? Are additional laws needed to protect the privacy of the average citizen? What guarantees do people have that infor- mation about them is only used for its authorized purpose?

Should 'everyman' have the ability to pry into anyone's personal life, stored on hundreds of computers?

One prominent group calling themselves FYI, Freeflow of Your Information, represented by the ACLU, represents one distinct viewpoint that we are likely to hear much of in the coming months. They maintain that no matter what, if any, restrictive mandates are placed on computer users, both are an invasion of privacy and violation of free speech have occurred. "You can't regulate a pencil," has become their informal motto emblazoned across t-shirts on campuses everywhere.

While neither group has taken any overt legal action, FYI is formidably equipped to launch a prolonged court battle. Accord- ing to spokesmen for FYI, "the courts are going to have to decide whether electronic free speech is covered by the First Amendment of the Constitution. If they find that it is not, there will be a popular uprising that will shake the foundation of this coun- try. A constitutional crisis of the first order."

With threats of that sort, it is no wonder that most advocates of protective and security measures for computers are careful to avoid a direct confrontation with the FYI.

* * * * *

Foster Treason Trials Begin Jury Selection to Take 3 Months Associated Press

Unemployment Soars to 9.2% Worst Increase Since 1930 Wall Street Journal

SONY's Threat Soon Own New York New York Post

Homosoto Hackers Prove Elusive FBI says, "I doubt we'll catch many of them." ISPN

Hard Disk Manufacturers Claim 1 Year Backlog Extraordinary Demand To Replace Dead Disks San Jose Citizen Register

Security Companies Reap Rewards Fixing Problems Can Be Profitable Entrepreneur

Auto Sales Down 34% Automotive Week

92% Distrust Computers Neilson Ratings Service

Compaq Introduces 'Tamper Free' Computers Info World

IBM Announces 'Trusted' Computers PC Week

Dow Jones Slides 1120 Points Wall Street Journal

Senator Nancy Investigates Gov't Security Apathy Washington Times

Hollywood Freeway Halts Computer Causes 14 Hour Traffic Jam Los Angeles Times

* * * * *

A Day In The Life: Without Computers by Scott Mason.

As bad as a reformed smoker, but without the well earned battle scars, I have been, upon occasion, known to lightly ridicule those who profess the necessity of computers to enjoy modern life. I have been known as well to spout statistics; statistics that show the average homemaker today spends more time homemaking than her ancestor 100 or 200 years ago. I have questioned the logic of laziness that causes us to pull out a calculator rather than figure 10% of any given number.

I have been proven wrong.

Last Saturday I really noticed the effects of the Foster Plan more than any time since it began. I must confess that even though I have written about hackers and computer crime, it is axiomatically true that you don't notice it till it's gone. Allow me to make my point.

Have you recently tried to send a fax? The digital phone lines have been scrupulously pruned, and therefore busy most of the time.

The check out lines at the supermarket have cob webs growing over the bar code price scanner. The system that I used when I was a kid, as a delivery boy for Murray and Mary Meyers Meat Market, seems to be back in vogue; enter the cost of the item in the cash register and check for mistakes when the receipt is produced.

I haven't found one store in my neighborhood that still takes credit cards. Have you noticed the near disdain you receive when you try to pay with a credit card? Its real and perceived value has been flushed right down the toilet.

Not that they don't trust my well known face and name, but my credit cards are as suspect as are everybody's. Even check cashing is scarce. Seems like the best currency is that old time stand-by, cash. If you can make it to the bank. The ATM at my corner has been rented out to a flower peddler.

All of this is happening in reasonably affluent Westchester County. And in impoverished East Los Angeles and in Detroit and Miami and Boston and Atlanta and Dallas as well as a thousand Oshkosh's. America is painfully learning what life is like without automation.

* * * * *

OSO Puts Up Foster Defense Costs Effort At Saving Face Miami Herald

Hackers Hacked Off Accuse Government of Complicity Atlanta Constitution

Microwaves Go Haywire Timers Tick Too Long Newsday

1 Million School Computers Sit Idle Software Companies Slow to Respond Newsweek

Federal Computer Tax Bill Up For Vote John and Jane Doe Scream 'No'! San Diego Union

Cable Shopping Network Off Air 6 Months Clearwater Sun

Bankruptcies Soar 600% Money Magazine

Banking At Home Programs On Hold Unreliable Communications Blamed Computers In Banking

Slow Vacation Travel Closes Resorts But Disneyland Still Happiest Place on Earth San Diego Tribune

* * * * *

Hacker Heroes By Scott Mason

I have occasionally wreaked verbal havoc upon the hacker communi- ty as a whole, lumping together the good and the bad. The per- formance of hackers in recent months has contributed as much to the defense of the computers of this country as has the govern- ment itself.

An estimated one million computer users categorize themselves or are categorized as hackers. After the Homosoto bomb was dropped on America, a spontaneous underground ad hoc hacker effort began to help protect the very systems that many of them has been violating only the day before. The thousands of bulletin boards that normally display new methods of attacking computers, invad- ing government networks, stealing telephone service, phreaking computers and causing electronic disruptions, are now competing for recognition.

Newspapers interested in providing the most up to date informa- tion on fighting Homosoto's estimated 8000 viruses, and methods of making existing computers more secure have been using hacker BBS's as sources.

* * * * *

Foster Defense Coming to An End Foster won't take stand New York City Times

AIDS Patients Sue CDC For Releasing Names Actors, Politicians and Leaders on Lists Time Magazine

FBI Arrests 15 Fosterites Largest Single Net Yet Miami Herald

Congress Passes Strongest Computer Bill Yet Washington Post

American Express Declares Bankruptcy United Press International

No New Passports For Travelers 3 Month Department Hiatus Till System Repaired Boston Globe

138 Foreign Nationals Deported Homosoto Complicity Cited San Francisco Chronicle

National Identification Cards Debated George Washington Law Review

* * * * *

Ex Foster Girl Friend Key Prosecution Witness by Scott Mason

A long time girl friend of Homosoto associate Miles Foster testi- fied against her former lover in the Federal Prosecutor's treason case against him today. Stephanie Perkins, an admitted high class call girl, testified that she had been hired to provide services to Mr. Foster on an 'as-needed' basis.

Over a period of four years, Ms. Perkins says she was paid over $1 Million by a '. . .man named Alex . . .' and that she was paid in cash at a drop in Chevy Chase, Maryland.

She stated that her arranged ralationship with Mr. Foster 'was not entirely unpleasant,' but she would have picked someone 'less egotistical and less consumed with himself.'

"I was supposed to report his activities to Alex, and I saw a lot of the conversations on the computer."

"Did Foster work for Homosoto?" "Yes." "What did he do?" "Built viruses, tried to hurt computers." "Did you get paid to have sex with Mr. Foster?" "Yes." "How many times?" "A few hundred, I guess." "So you liked him?" "He was all right, I guess. He thought I liked him." "Why is that?" "It was my job to make him think so." "Why?" "So I could watch him." "What do you do for a living now?" "I'm retired."

* * * * *

Prosecution Witnesses Nail Foster Defense Listens to Plea Bargain Offer Newsday

50% Of Americans Blame Japan - Want Revenge Rocky Mountain News

La Rouche Calls For War On Japan Extremist Views Speak Loud Los Angeles Time

12% GNP Reduction Estimated Rich and Poor Both Suffer USA Today

Soviets Ask For Help Want To Avoid Similar Fate London Telegraph

International Monetary Fund Ponders Next Move Christian Science Monitor

* * * * *

Security: The New Marketing Tool by Scott Mason

American business always seems to turn a problem into a profit, and the current computer confidence crisis is no different.

In spontaneous cases of simultaneous marketing genius, banks are attempting to garner new customers as well as retain their exist- ing customers. As many banks continue to have unending difficul- ties in protecting their computers, the Madison Avenue set has found a theme that may set the tone of banking for years to come.

Bank With Us: Your Money Is Safer. Third Federal Savings and Loan

Your Money Is Protected - Completely, Mid South Alliance Bank

Banks have taken to advertising the sanctity of their vaults and the protective measures many organizations have hastily installed since the Foster Plan was made public. In an attempt to win customers, banks have installed extra security measures to insure that the electronic repositories that store billions of dollars are adequately protected; something that banks and the ABA openly admit has been overlooked until recently.

The new marketing techniques of promoting security are not the exclusive domain of the financial community. Insurance compa- nies, private lending institutions, police departments, hospitals and most major corporations are announcing their intentions to secure their computers against future assaults.

* * * * *

Foster GUILTY! Plea Deal Falls Apart Sentencing Hearing Date Set New York Post

University Protests "Closed Computing" Insist Freedom on Information Critical For Progress US News and World Report

Fifty New Viruses Appear Daily Complacency Still Biggest Threats Tampa Tribune

NSA/ITSEC Agreement Near International Security Standards Readied Federal Computer Week

Justice Department Leads Fight Against Organized Computer Crime Baltimore Sun

Novell Networks Now Secure Government Computer News

OSO Offers Reparations: Directors Resign Wall Street Journal

American and Delta Propose Merger Nashville Tennessean

Citizen Groups Promote Safe Computing St. Paul Register

April 15 IRS Deadline Extended 90 Days Washington Post

49 States Propose Interstate Computer Laws Harvard Law Review

Courts Work Overtime on Computer Cases Christian Science Monitor

AT&T Plans New Encryption For Voice Communications

Microsoft Announces Secure DOS Admits Earlier Versions "Wide Open" PC Week

3500 Foster Viruses Identified: 5000 To Go Info World

National Computer Security Plan Cost: $500 Billion Wall Street Journal

An End Is In Sight Says NSA Public Skeptical New York City Times

Foster Receives Harsh Penalty: 145 Years Appeal Process Begins, Foster Remains in Custody Washington Post

* * * * *

The press is often criticized for 'grand standing' and 'sensa- tionalizing' otherwise insignificant events into front page news, but in this case the government said little about the media's handling of the situation. In fact, privately, the White House was pleased that the media, albeit loudly and crassly, was a key element in getting the message to the American public:

Secure Your Computers Or Else.

Everyone agreed with that.

* * * * *

December 17 Overlooking Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands

"You must feel pretty good. Pulitzer Prize. Half of the writing awards for last year, nomination for Man of the Year."

"The steaks are burning." The hype had been too much. Scott alone had to carry forward the standard. He had become expected to lead a movement of protest and dissent. Despite his pleas, his neutrality as a reporter was in constant danger of compro- mise.

"It's kind of strange talking to a living legend."

Scott's deeply tanned body and lighter hair was quite a contrast to the sickly paleness of New Yorkers in winter. "Get the sprit- zer, water the coals and then fuck yourself."

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Tyrone scanned the exquisite view from the estate sized homestead overlooking Charlotte Amalie Harbor on St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands. The safe enclosed harbor housed three cruise ships, but the hundreds of sailboats in the clear Caribbean dominated the seascape.

After the last year, Scott had decided to finally take time off for a proper honeymoon. He and Sonja elected to spend an extend- ed holiday on St. Thomas, in a rented house with a cook and a maid and a diving pool and a satellite dish and all of the lux- uries of stateside living without the residual headaches.

Their head over heels romance surprised no one but themselves and they both preferred to let the past stay a part of the past. Scott decided quickly to take Sonja at her word. Her past was her past, and he had to not let it bother him or they would have no future. Even if he was one of her jobs for a short while.

Scott's name was in constant demand as a result of his expos of Homosoto and the hackers. Fame was something Scott had not wanted specifically. He had imagined himself the great transla- tor, making the cacophony of incomprehensible technical polysyl- labics intelligible to 'everyman'. He had not planned for fame; merely another demand on his time, his freedom and his creativi- ty.

"What I wanted was a break." Scott poked at the steaks. In the pool Arlene Duncan and Sonja kicked their feet and chattered aimlessly. The perfect respite. The Times made Scott the most generous tenure offers in a generation of writers, and Scott recognized the fairness of the offers. It was not now, nor had it ever been a question of money, though.

"What's next?"

"The book, I suppose. The Trial of Miles Foster."

"And then back to the Times?"

"Maybe, maybe. I haven't given it much thought," Scott said watering down the coals to reduce the intensity of the barbecue inferno he had created. "I promised to help out once in a while. Officially they call it a sabbatical."

"How long do you think you can hold out on this rock before going nuts?"

"We've managed pretty well, so far." Scott said admiring his bride whose phenomenal physical beauty was tightly wrapped in the high French cut one piece bathing suit that Scott insisted she wear in honor of their more conservative guests. Tyrone, he was sure, would not have minded Sonja's nudity, but Arlene would have been on the next flight to Boston and her parents.

"Three months so far, and nine months to go. I think I can take it," he said staring at Sonja and motioning to the view.

Tyrone silently conveyed understanding for Scott's choice of an island retreat to get away from it all. But Tyrone's choices demanded his presence within driving distance of civilization.

"So the bureau wasn't too upset about your leaving?" Scott changed the subject.

"I guess not," Tyrone said laughing. "I was approaching mandato- ry anyway and I'd become too big a pain in their asses. Using your hackers didn't endear me to too many of the Director's staff."

"What about your friend?"

"You mean Bob Burnson?"

"Yeah, the guy we met at Ebbett's . . ."

"He got his promotion right after I left. I guess I was holding him back," Tyrone said with tongue in cheek. "On the other hand, I could have stayed and really made his life miserable. We're both at peace. Best of all? Still friends."

"I have to say, though, I never thought you'd go through with it," said Scott turning the steaks. "You and the Bureau, a thirty year affair."

"Not quite thirty . . ."

"Whatever. You've certainly built up a practice and a half in six months."

"Yeah," chuckled Tyrone. "Like you, I never planned on becoming a big player . . .Christ. Who ever thought that Computer Law would be the next Cabbage Patch Doll of the courts?" Tyrone saw the smirk in Scott's face. "O.K., you did. Yes, you predicted a mess in the courts. Yes, you did Mr. Wisenheimer. I just saw it as a neat little extension of constitutional law and then whammo! All of sudden, computer litigation is the hip place to be. Every type of lawsuit you predicted is somewhere in the legal system - SEC suits, copyright suits, privacy suits, theft of data, theft of service."

"Sounds like everyone who was scared to admit they had a problem in the past is going balls to the wall."

"The Japanese lawyers are living their worst nightmare: OSO Industries is up to top of its colon with lawsuits, including one asking for OSO to be denied any access to the American market for 100 years."

Scott whistled long and loud, then laughed. "And that's fun?"

"You're goddamned right, it's fun," Ty asserted, popping another beer from the poolside cooler. "It's a shit load more interest- ing that rotting here," he spread his arms to embrace the lush beauty from their 1500 foot high aerie. "How much sun and peace and quiet and sex and water and beach can one man take?" He spoke loudly, like a Southern Spiritual Minister. "Too much scuba diving and swimming and sailing and sunsets and black starry nights can be bad for your health. This is a goddamned Hedonist's Heaven." He brought his hands to his side and gave a resigned sigh. "I guess if you can stomach this kind of life."

"Jealous?" Scott asked gently. He knew about Arlene's reticence to try anything new, out of the ordinary. She was very pleased with her life in Westchester. She felt that knowing someone who lived in Paradise whom she could visit once a year was new-ness enough.

"No, man," Tyrone said genuinely, speaking as himself again. "I got exactly what I wanted." He cocked his head at the pool, where Arlene seemed more relaxed than she had in years. "Can't you see? She's miserable, but she's mine. Scott, you've lived your fantasy, made a difference. Now, it's my turn."

Scott looked over at Arlene. "Hey, shit for brains," he said to Tyrone. "She's no slouch. It's what the hell she's doing with you I never understood." Scott lunged at Tyrone's attention- getting sized abdomen with the steak fork.

"Nice and juicy," retorted Tyrone, patting his prominent stomach.

"You're not my type. I like mine lean. I cut off the fat," Scott barbed. Before Tyrone could get in his jibe Scott called out, "Steaks' on. Outside black, inside mooing."

The girls smacked their lips in anticipation and sat in the elegant all weather PVC furniture. A red sailor's delight sun was mere inches above the horizon, setting to the west over Hassel and Water Islands which provide umbrage to Blue Beard's harbor of choice.

The men were providing all services this evening and the ladies were luxuriating in this rare opportunity. Little did they know, or little did they let on, that they knew the men enjoyed the opportunity to demonstrate their culinary skills without female interference. Beside, thought Scott, it was the maid's day off.

"Seriously, though," Tyrone said quietly as Scott piled the plates with steaks and potatoes. "I know you better than that. I don't see how you can do nothing. You don't know how to sit your ass still for ten minutes. It's not your personality. Don't you agree Arlene?"

"Yes dear," she said, still talking to Sonja.

"And that room you call your office, Jesus. You have more equip- ment in there than . . ."

"It looks like more than it is . . ." Scott downplayed the point. "Mainly communications. The local phone company is a joke, so I installed an uplink. No big deal."

"C'mon, man, I just can't see you sitting on the sidelines." Tyrone stressed the word 'you'. "Not with what's happening now? There must be a thousand stories out there . . ."

"And a thousand and one reporters. Too much noise, too busy for my liking. After the Homosoto story, if there's one luxury I've learned to live with, it's that I can pick and choose what I do." Scott spoke much too reserved for the Scott Mason Tyrone knew.

"Aha! So you are up to something. I knew it. I gave you one, maybe two months, but I never figured you'd last three."

They carried the four plates laden with steaks and potatoes over to the table where their spouses waited. Fresh beers awaited their much appreciated efforts.

"I do get a little itchy and I read a lot." Tyrone glared at Scott with disbelief. "No really, just a little research," laughed Scott in mock defense. "O.K., I received a call, and it sounded kind of interesting, so I've been looking into it."

"Poking around, here and there and everywhere?"

"Kinda, just following up a few leads."

"Just a few?"

"Well, maybe more than a few," Scott admitted.

"When did this little project begin?" Tyrone asked accusingly. He suspected Scott was hiding a detail or two.

"It's not really a project . . ."

"Don't skirt the issue. When?"

Scott lowered his head. "Two weeks after we got here."

Tyrone stifled what might otherwise have become a volcanic roar of laughter. "Two weeks? Ha!" Tyrone needled. "You only lasted two weeks? How did Sonja feel about that?" He looked over Scott's at better half listen in.

"Ah, well, she sort of insisted . . ."

"You drove her nuts? In two weeks?" Sonja shook her head vigor- ously in agreement but kept speaking to Arlene Duncan.

"Kind of; semi-sorta-kinda-maybe." Scott grinned impishly. "But, yeah, I have been working on something." He couldn't keep it to himself.

"Dare I ask?"

"Off the record?" Scott sounded insistent.

"This is a twist. How about attorney-client privilege?" Tyrone asked. Scott didn't disagree. "Good," said Tyrone. "Give me a dollar. That's my yearly fee."

Scott complied, finding a soaking wet dollar bill in his swim- ming trunks. He laid it next to Tyrone's plate.

"Well?" Tyrone asked with great interest.

"Well, I discovered we never developed the A-Bomb to end World War II."

"Excuse me?"

"Someone gave it to us."

****************************************************************

THE END

We appreciate your support of NOVEL-ON-THE-NET Shareware. De- pending upon the success of this venture, Inter.Pact will bring you more electronically published works.

If you haven't already, help us make that decision an easy one.

We love to hear from people world-wide and discuss the issues we have brought up in "Terminal Compromise."

INTER.PACT Press 11511 Pine St. Seminole, FL 34642

Fon: 813-393-6600 Fax: 813-393-6361 [email protected] [email protected]

T H A N K Y O U !