Chapter 8

Monday, September 21

New York

14 Dead As Hospital Computer Fails

by Scott Mason

Fourteen patients died as a result of a massive computer failure

this weekend at the Golda Meier Medical Center on 5th. Avenue.

According to hospital officials, the Meditrix Life Support Moni-

tors attached to many of the hospital's patients were accidental-

ly disconnected from the nurses stations and the hospital's main

computer. Doctors and nurses were unaware of any malfunction

because all systems appeared to operating correctly.

The LSM's are connected to a hospital wide computer network that

connects all hospital functions in a central computer. Medical

records, insurance filings and treatments as well as personnel

and operations are coordinated through the Information Systems

department.

Golda Meier Medical Center leads the medical field in the used of

technologically advanced techniques, and has been applying an

artificial intelligence based Expert System to assist in diagno-

sis and treatment. Much of the day to day treatment of patients

is done with the LSM continually measuring the condition of

patient, and automatically updating his records. The Expert

System then determines what type of treatment to recommend.

Unless there is a change in the patient's condition that warrants

the intervention of a doctor, drugs and medicines are prescribed

by the computer.

According to computer experts who were called in to investigate,

the Expert System began misprescribing medications and treatments

early Saturday morning. Doctors estimate that over 50%, about

300, of the hospital's patients received incorrect treatment.

Of those 14 died and another 28 are in critical condition.

Until this weekend, the systems were considered foolproof. The

entire computer system of Golda Meier Medical Center has been

disconnected until a more intensive investigation is completed.

In response to the news, the Jewish Defense League is calling the

incident, "an unconscionable attack against civilized behavior

and the Jewish community in particular." They have called for a

full investigation into the episode.

No group or individuals have yet taken credit for the crime. The

AMA has petitioned the Drug and Food Administration to look into

the matter.

Gerald Steinmetz, chief counsel for the Center, said in inter-

views that he had already been contacted by attorney's represent-

ing the families of the some of the victims of this tragedy. He

anticipates extended legal entanglements until such time that the

true cause can be determined and blame can accurately assigned.

The hospital denies any wrong doing on its or its staff's part.

This is Scott Mason, determined to stay healthy.

* * * * *

December, 4 Years Ago

Tokyo, Japan

Miles Foster arrived at Narita Airport as another typhoon shat-

tered the coast of Japan. It was the roughest plane ride he had

ever taken; and after 2 weeks of pure bliss. Boy, that Homosoto

sure knows how to show a guy a good time.

After their first meeting at the OSO World Bank Building, Miles

had flown to Tahiti and spent 18 delightful days at the outer

resort of Moorea, courtesy of OSO Industries, with all of the

trimmings. He was provided with a private beach house containing

every modern amenity one could want. Including two housekeepers

and a cook. Only one of the housekeepers knew how to keep house.

The other knew how to keep Miles satisfied.

Marasee was a Pacific Islander who was well schooled in advanced

sexual techniques. At barely 5 feet tall and 96 pounds, her long

silken black hair was as much as sexual tool as her hands and

mouth. Her pristine dark complexion and round face caused Miles

to think that he was potentially guilty of crimes against a

minor, but after their first night together, he relented that

Marasee knew her business very well.

"Mr. Homosoto-San," she purred in delicately accented English,

"wants you to concentrate on your work." She caressed his shoul-

ders and upper body as she spoke. "He knows that a man works

best when he has no worries. It is my job to make sure that you

are relaxed. Completely relaxed. Do you understand?"

Her eyes longed for an affirmative answer from Miles. At first

he was somewhat baffled. Homosoto had indeed sent him on this

trip, vacation, to work, undisturbed. But Miles thought that he

would have to fend for himself for his physical pleasures. He

was used to finding ways to satisfy his needs.

"Homosoto-San says that you must be relaxed to do very serious

business. Whenever you need relaxation, I am here."

The food was as exquisite as was Marasee. He luxuriated in the

eternally perfect weather, the beach, the waves and he even

ventured under water on a novice scuba dive. But, as he knew, he

was here to concentrate on his assigned task, so he tried to

limit his personal activities to sharing pleasure with Marasee.

In just a few days, a relaxed Miles felt a peace, a solace that

he had never known before. He found that his mind was at a

creative high. His mind propelled through the problems of the

war plans, and the solutions appeared. His brain seemed to

function independent of effort. As he established goals, the

roads to meet them appeared magically before him, in absolute

clarity. He was free to explore each one in its entirety, from

beginning to end, undisturbed.

If a problem confounded him, he found that merely forgetting

about it during an interlude with Marasee provided him with the

answer. The barriers were broken, the so-called 'walls of de-

fense' crumbled before as he created new methods of penetration

no one had ever thought of before.

As his plan coalesced into a singular whole, he began to experi-

ence a euphoria, a high that was neither drug nor sexually in-

duced. He could envision, all at once, the entire grand strate-

gy; how the myriad pieces effortlessly fit together and evolved

into a picture perfect puzzle. Miles became able to manipulate

the attack scenarios in his mind and make slight changes in one

that would have far reaching implications in another portion of

the puzzle. He might change only one slight aspect, yet see

synergistic ramifications down a side road. This new ability,

gained from total freedom to concentrate and his newfound worry

free life, gave Miles new sources of pleasure and inspiration.

As his plans came together, Miles yearned for something outside

of his idyllic environment. His strategies grew into a concrete

reality, one which he knew he could execute, if Homosoto wasn't

feeding him a line of shit. And, for the $100,000 Homosoto gave

him to make plans, he was generally inclined to believe that this

super rich, slightly eccentric but obviously dangerous man was

deadly serious.

As the days wore on, Miles realized that, more than anything in

his life, even more than getting laid, he wanted to put his plan

to the test. If he was right, of which he was sure, in a few

short years he would be recognized as the most brilliant computer

scientist in the world. In the whole damn world.

His inner peace, the one which fed his creativity, soon was

overtaken by the unbridled ego which was Miles Foster's inner

self. The prospect of success fostered new energies and Miles

worked even harder to complete the first phase of his task. To

the occasional disappointment of Marasee, Miles would embroil

himself in the computer Homosoto provided for the purpose.

Marasee had been with many men, she was an expert, but Miles gave

her as much pleasure as she to him. As his work further absorbed

him, she rued the day her assignment would be over.

Miles left Tahiti for Tokyo without even saying goodbye to Mara-

see.

The ritualistic scanning and security checks before Miles got

onto the living room elevator at the OSO Building in Tokyo evi-

denced that Homosoto had not told anyone else how important Miles

was. Even though he recognized the need for secrecy in their

endeavors, Miles was irked by the patronizing, almost rude treat-

ment he received when he was forced to pass the Sumo scrutiny.

The elevator again opened into the grand white gallery on the

66th floor.

"Ah . . .so good to see you again Mr. Foster. Homosoto-San is

anxious to see you." A short Japanese manservant escorted Miles

to the doors of Homosoto's office. The briefest of taps invited

the bellow of "Hai!" from its inner sanctum.

Homosoto was quick to rise from his techo-throne and greeted

Miles as if they were long lost friends.

"Mr. Foster . . .it is so good to see you. I assume everything

was satisfactory? You found the working conditions to your

liking?" Homosoto awkwardly searched for the vain compliment.

He pointed at the leather seating area in which they had first

discussed their plans. They sat in the same chairs they had the

last time they met.

Miles was taken aback by the warm reception, but since he was so

important to Homosoto, it was only fitting to be treated with

respect.

Miles returned the courtesy with the minimum required bow of the

head. It was a profitable game worth playing. "Very much so, Mr.

Homosoto. It was most relaxing . . .and I think you will be very

pleased with the results." Miles smiled warmly, expecting to be

heavily complimented on his promise. Instead, Homosoto ignored

the business issue.

"I understand that Miss Marasee was most pleased . . .was she

not?" The implication was clear. For the first time, Miles saw

a glimmer of a dirty old man looking for the sordid details.

"I guess so. I was too busy working to pay attention." Miles

tried to sluff off the comment.

"That is what she says. That you were too busy for her . . .or

to say goodbye and thank her for her attentions. Not an auspi-

cious beginning Mr. Foster." Miles caught the derision in Homo-

soto's voice and didn't appreciate it one little bit.

"Listen. My affairs are my affairs. I am grateful for the

services, but I do like to keep my personal life just that. Per-

sonal." Miles was polite, but firm. Homosoto nodded in under-

standing.

"Of course, Mr. Foster, I understand completely. It is merely

for the sake of the young woman that I mention it. There is no

offense intended. It is shall we say . . .a cultural

difference?"

Miles didn't believe in the cultural difference to which he

referred, but he didn't press the point. He merely nodded that

the subject was closed. A pregnant pause followed before Homo-

soto interrupted the silence.

"So, Mr. Foster. I really did not expect to see you for another

few weeks. I must assume that you have made some progress in

planning our future endeavors." Homosoto wore a smile that

belied little of his true thoughts.

"You bet your ass, I did." Homosoto winced at the colorful

language. It was Miles' way of maintaining some control over the

situation. His dimples recessed even further as he enjoyed

watching Homosoto's reaction. "It turned out to be simpler than

even I had thought."

"Would you be so kind as to elaborate?"

"Gotcha." Miles opened his briefcase and brought out a sheath of

papers with charts and scribbles all over them. "Basically the

technology is pretty simple. Here are the fundamental systems to

use in the attack, there are only four of them. After all,

there are no defenses, so that's not a problem."

"Problem?" Homosoto raised his eyes.

"Ok, not problem. As you can see here, putting the technical

pieces together is not the issue. The real issue is creating an

effective deployment of the tools we create." Miles was matter

of fact and for the first time Homosoto saw Miles as the itiner-

ant professional he was capable of being. The challenge. Just as

Miles promised earlier, 'give me a challenge, the new, the undone

and I will be the best.' Miles was shining in his own excel-

lence, and his ego was gone, totally gone. His expertise took

over.

"I have labeled various groups that we will need to pull this

off."

"Pull off? Excuse me . . ."

"Oh, sorry. Make it work? Have it happen?"

"Ah yes, So sorry."

"Not at all." Miles looked at Homosoto carefully. Was there a

mutual respect actually developing?

"As I said, we will have to have several groups who don't even

know about each other's existence. At NSA we call it contain-

ment, or need to know."

Homosoto cursorily examined the printouts on the table in front

of him, but preferred to address Miles' comments. "Could you

explain, please? I don't see how one can build a car if you

don't know what it's going to look like when you're done. You

suggest that each person or group functions without the knowledge

of the others? How can this be efficient?"

Miles smiled. For the first time he felt a bit of compassion for

Homosoto, as one would feel for the naive child asking why 1 plus

1 equals 2. Homosoto was used to the Japanese work ethic:

Here's a beautiful picture of a car, and all 50,000 of us are

going to build it; you 5,000 build the engines, you 5,000 build

the body and so on. After a couple of years we'll have built a

fabulous automobile that we have all shared as a common vision.

Homosoto had no idea of how to wage a war, although he apparently

afford it. Miles realized he could be in control after all, if he

only sold Homosoto on his abilities, and he was well on the way.

"You see, Mr. Homosoto, what we are trying to do requires that no

one, except a few key people like you and I, understand what is

going on. As we said in World War II, loose lips sink ships."

Homosoto immediately bristled at the mention of the war. Miles

hardly noticed as he continued. "The point is, as I have it laid

out here, only a handful of people need to know what we are

trying to achieve. All of the rest have clearly defined duties

that they are expected to perform as we ask. Each effectively

works in a vacuum. Efficient, not exactly. Secure, yes. I

imagine you would like to keep this operation as secret as possi-

ble."

Homosoto took immediate notice and bolted his response. "Hai! Of

course, secrecy is important, but how can we be sure of compli-

ance by our . . .associates?"

"Let me continue." Miles referred back to the papers in front of

him. "The first group is called the readers, the second will be

dedicated to research and development." Homosoto smiled at the

R&D reference. He could understand that. "Then there will be a

public relations group, a communications group, a software compa-

ny will be needed, another group I call the Mosquitoes and a

little manufacturing which I assume you can handle." Miles

looked for Homosoto's reaction.

"Manufacturing, very easy. I don't fully understand the others,

but I am most impressed with your outline. You mentioned prob-

lem. Can you explain?" Homosoto had become a different person.

One who showed adolescent enthusiasm. He moved to the edge of

his seat.

"As with any well designed plan," Miles boasted, "there are

certain situations that need to be addressed. In this case, I

see several." Miles was trying to hook Homosoto onto the prover-

bial deck.

"I asked for problem." Homosoto insisted.

"To properly effect this plan we will need two things that may

make it impossible."

Homosoto met the challenge. "What do you need?"

Miles liked the sound of it. You. What do _you_ need. "This

operation could cost as much as $50 million. Is that a problem?"

Homosoto looked squarely at Miles. "No problem. What is the

second thing you need?"

"We will need an army. Not an army with guns, but a lot of

people who will follow orders. That may be more important than

the money."

Homosoto took a momentary repose while he thought. "How big an

army will you need?"

"My guess? Today? I would say that for all groups we will need

a minimum of 500 people. Maybe as many as a thousand."

Homosoto suddenly laughed out loud. "You call that an army?

1000 men? An army? That is a picnic my friend." Homosoto was

enjoying his own personal joke. "When you said army, Mr. Foster

I imagined tens of thousands of people running all around the

United States shooting their guns. A thousand people? I can give

you a thousand dedicated people with a single phone call. Is

that all you need?" He continued his laughter.

Miles was taken aback and had difficulty hiding his surprise. He

had already padded his needs by a factor of three. "With a few

minor specialties and exceptions, yes. That's it. If we follow

this blue print." He pointed at the papers spread before them.

Homosoto sat back and closed his eyes in apparent meditation.

Miles watched and waited for several minutes. He looked out the

expanse of windows over Tokyo patiently as Homosoto seemed to

sleep in the chair across from him. Homosoto spoke quietly with

his eyes still closed.

"Mr. Foster?"

"Yes?" Miles was ready.

"Do you love you country?" Homosoto's eyelids were still.

Miles had not expected such a question.

"Mr. Foster? Did you hear the question?"

"Yes, I did." He paused. "I'm thinking."

"If you need to think, sir, then the answer is clear. As you

have told me, you hold no allegiance. Your country means nothing

to you."

"I wouldn't quite put it that way . . ." Miles said defensively.

He couldn't let this opportunity escape.

"You hold your personal comfort as your primary concern, do you

not? You want the luxuries that the United States offers, but

you don't care where or how you get them? Is that not so? You

want your women, your wine, your freedom, but you will take it at

any expense. I do not think I exaggerate. Tell me Mr. Foster,

if I am wrong."

Miles realized he was being asked to state his personal alle-

giances in mere seconds. Not since he was in the lower floors of

the NSA being interrogated had he been asked to state his convic-

tions. He knew the right answer there, but here, he wasn't quite

sure. The wrong answer could blow it. But, then again, he was

$110,000 ahead of the game for a few weeks work.

"I need to ask you a question to answer yours." Miles did not

want to be backed into a corner. "Mr. Homosoto. Do you want me

to have allegiance to my country or to you?"

Homosoto was pleased. "You debate well, young man. It is not so

much that I care if you love America. I want, I need to know what

you do love. You see, for me, I love Japan and my family. But

much of my family was taken from me in one terrible instant, a

long time ago. They are gone, but now I have my wife, my chil-

dren and their children. I learned, that if there is nothing

else, you must have family. That must come first, Mr. Foster.

Under all conditions, family is first. All else is last. So my

allegiance shifted, away from country, to my family and my be-

liefs. I don't always agree with my government, and there are

times I will defy their will. I can assure you, that if we embark

upon this route, neither I nor you will endear ourselves to our

respective governments. Does that matter to you?"

Miles snickered. "Matter? After what they did to me? Let me

tell you something. I gave my country most of my adult life. I

could have gone to work with my family . . .my associates . . ."

"I am aware of your background Mr. Foster," Homosoto interrupted.

"I'm sure you are. But that's neither here nor there. I could

have been on easy street. Plug a few numbers and make some bucks

for the clan." The colloquialism escaped Homosoto, but he got

the gist of it. "But I said to myself, 'hey, you're good.

Fixing roulette wheels is beneath you.' I needed, I still need

the diversion, the challenge, so I figured that the Feds would

give me the edge I needed to make something of myself." Miles

was turning red around his neck.

"The NSA had the gear, the toys for me to play with, and they

promised me the world. Create, they said, lead America's tech-

nology into the 21st. century. What a pile of shit. Working at

the NSA is like running for President. You're always trying to

sell yourself, your ideas. They don't give a shit about how good

your ideas are. All they care is that you're asshole buddies

with the powers that be. To get something done there, you need a

half dozen committees with their asses greased from here to

eternity for them to say maybe. Do you know the difference

between ass kissing and having your head up your ass?"

"If I understand your crudities, I assume this is an American

joke, then, no Mr. Foster, I do not know the difference."

"Depth perception." Miles looked for a reaction to his anatomi-

cal doublette. There was none other than Homosoto's benign smile

indicating no comprehension. "OK, never mind, I'll save it. At

any rate, enough was enough. I gotta do something with my life."

Miles had said his piece.

"In other words, money is your motivation?"

"Money doesn't hurt, sure. But, I need to do what I believe.

Not that that means hurting my country, but if they don't listen

to what makes sense, maybe it's best that they meet their worst

enemy to get them off of their keesters." Miles was on a roll.

"Keesters?" Homosoto's naivete was amusing.

"Oops!" Miles exclaimed comically. "Butts, asses, fannies?" He

patted his own which finally communicated the intention.

"Ah yes." Homosoto agreed. "So you feel you could best serve

your country by attacking it?"

Miles only thought for a few seconds. "I guess you could put it

that way. Sure."

"Mr. Foster, or should I say General Foster?" Miles beamed at

the reference. "We shall march to success."

"Mr. Homosoto," Miles broke the pagential silence. "I would like

to ask you the same question. Why?"

"I was wondering when you were going to ask me that Mr. Foster,"

Homosoto said with his grin intact. "Because, Mr. Foster, I am

returning the favor."

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