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."
****************************************************************
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