"Of course it will. I would be most honored. If you could provide me with details of his flight I will see to it that he receives appropriate treatment."
"Very good Mr. Troubleaux." Pierre stifled a smirk at the mispro- nunciation. "Your trouble will not go unrewarded."
"Mr. Homosoto, it is so good of you to visit at this time. Very auspicious, sir." Pierre was kissing some ass.
"Troubleaux-San," Homosoto's English had a touch of Boston snobbery in it, "you have performed admirably, and we all look to continued successes in the future. I expect, as I am sure you do, that the revenues raised from your public stock offering will provide your company with the resources to grow ten fold." It was a statement that demanded an answer. Another Japanese quirk.
"Yessir, of course. As you know, Mr. Homosoto, I am not involved in the day to day operations and the forecasting. My function is more to inspire the troops and carry the standard, so to speak. I will have to rely upon the expertise of others to give you the exact answers you seek."
"That is not necessary, I have all I need to know about your business and its needs. Your offer is most kind."
"Why do you call DGI my business? Aren't we in this together? Partners?" Pierre clarified the idiom for the rotund bespecta- cled Chairman of OSO Industries.
"Hai! Of course, my friend, we are partners, and you will be very wealthy in a few days." That statement had the air of an accusation more than good wishes. "There is one little thing, though. It is so small that I don't wish to mention it."
Well then don't, thought Pierre. "Nothing is so small it should- n't be mentioned. Please, proceed Homosoto-San. How may I help?"
"That's it exactly!" Homosoto beamed. "I do need your help. Not today, but in the future, perhaps a small favor."
"Anytime at all, sir. Whatever I can I will." Pierre was re- lieved. Just some more Japanese business practices that escaped him.
Homosoto leaned in towards Pierre. His demeanor had shifted to one of a very serious man. "Mr. Troubleaux, how can I be sure that you won't disappoint me? How can I be sure?"
The question threw Pierre for a loop. How can he be sure? I don't know. Maybe this was only an Oriental game of mumbley peg or chicken. "Sir, what would I need to do to convince you of my willingness to comply?" When in doubt, ask.
Homosoto relaxed again, leaned back in the plush office chair and smiled. "In my country, Mr., Troubleaux, honor is everything. You have nothing, nothing without your honor. Every child, man and woman in Japan knows that. We are raised with the focus of growth being honor. During the war between our countries, so many years ago, many found honor by making the supreme sacrifice. Kamikaze pilots are of whom I am speaking of, Mr. Troubleaux."
Pierre's face must have given away the panic that instantly struck him. Suicide? This guy is truly nuts.
"Do not worry, Mr. Troubleaux, I can see what you are thinking. No. I only speak of kamikaze pilots to serve as example of honor. The kind that brought honor to Japan in the face of defeat. That is something Americans will never understand. But then again you're not American are you?"
"I was born a Frenchman, but I naturalized over twenty years ago, at the same time my parents did."
"Ah yes. I remember. Then honor does mean more to you than to most Americans. That will be quite good. Now, for the future favor. I require nothing of you today, other than the guarantee of you honor. Is that agreeable to you, Mr. Troubleaux?" Homoso- to was pushing with the facade of friendliness. Pierre's concern was not alleviated. All the same, he reluctantly nodded his assent.
"Very good. Now for the favor." Homosoto stood up and reached inside his size 48, ill fitting suit. Pierre was amazed at how much money the Japanese had, yet were apparently unable to ever wear clothes that fit properly.
Homosoto handed a 5 1/4" floppy disk to Pierre. Pierre took it carefully from Homosoto and looked at the label. The diskette was marked only with:
FILE1.EXE to FILE93.EXE
He looked inquisitively at Homosoto, his eyes asking, Yeah, so? What's this got to do with anything?
"I see now you are confused. It is so simple, really. Sometime in the future, you will be instructed to add one of the files on this disk onto the dGraph programs you sell. That's it. So sim- ple. So I have your word Mr. Troubleaux? Honor among men."
Pierre's mind was racing. Put a file onto a program? What does that do? What's on it? Does it help dGraph? No that can't be it. What is it? Why so secret. What's with the honor bit? From the Chairman of OSO, not a technician? One floppy disk? Pierre smelled a fox in the chicken coup.
"Mr. Homosoto, sir. I mean no disrespect. But, I hardly know what to think. I don't even know what this disk is. You are asking me to promise something I don't understand. What if I don't agree. At least until I know what I'm doing? I need to know what's going on here." he said holding the disk up promi- nently.
"I prefer to think, Mr. Troubleaux of what occurs as long as you do agree to maintain the honor between us. It is so much more pleasant." Homosoto edged towards the doors of Troubleaux's office as he spoke.
"When you agree to act honorably, perform for me this small, insignificant favor, Mr. Troubleaux, you will get to keep the $20 Million you make this Friday and you will be permitted to contin- ue living. Good Afternoon." Homosoto closed the door behind him.
* * * * *
Alexander Spiradon was pleased. His students were doing well. The other students from the New York computer school had already checked in; they didn't have as far to travel as Sir George. Everything was in place, not quite a year to the day since he and Taki Homosoto had set their plans in action. Alex hadn't spoken to Homosoto in a couple of months. It was now time to report to Homosoto in Tokyo. It was 17 hours earlier there Homosoto would probably be at his desk. The modem dialed a local Brookline number. The phone in Brookline subsequently dialed a number in Dallas, Texas, which dialed another phone in Tacoma, Washington. The Tacoma phone had the luxury of dialing the international number for Homosoto's private computer.
Call forwarding services offered the ultimate in protection. Any telephone tracing would take weeks, requiring the cooperation of courts from every state where a forwarded phone was located. Then, the State Department would have to coordinate with the Japanese Embassy. An almost impossible task, if anyone had the resources. It took about 45 seconds for the call to be complet- ed.
[[[CONNECTION]]]
PASSWORD:
Alex entered his password, GESUNDHEIT and his forced response from his own PRG card. His computer terminal paused. If he was on satellite to Japan, or to Dallas or anywhere else, his signal could travel a hundred thousand miles or more each time he sent a character from his keyboard.
CRYPT KEY:
Alex Spiradon chose 43. Each communication he had with Homosoto was also protected with full encryption. If someone was able to isolate their conversations, all they would get would be sheer garbage, a screen full of unintelligible symbols and random characters. By choosing 43, Alex told his computer and Homosoto's computer to use Crypt Key 43, one of over 100 secret keys that both computers held in their memory. This cryptographic scheme, using the U.S.'s Data Encryption Standard, DES, and ANSI standard X9.17 was the same one that the Treasury Department and Federal Reserve used to protect the transmission of over $1 trillion of funds transfers daily.
[[[TRANSMISSION ENCODED]]]
That was the signal for Alex to send the first words to Homosoto.
Good Morning, Homosoto-San.
AND TO YOU MY ESTEEMED PARTNER. YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO REPORT.
Yes. All is in place.
PLEASE CLARIFY . . .MY MEMORY IS NOT WHAT IT WAS.
Of course. The last of the Operators are in place. We call him Sir George. That makes 8 altogether. San Francisco, (SF), New York, (NY), Los Angeles, (LA), Boston, (BM), Atlanta, (AG) Chica- go, (CI), Washington, (DC) and Dallas, (DT).
AND THEY CAN BE TRUSTED?
They are aware of the penalty. If not, we have others that will repla
ce them. Besides, you are rewarding them most handsomely for their efforts. SO I AM. I EXPECT RESULTS. AND THE OTHERS?
The Mail Men are waiting as well. Four of them in NY, DC, LA and DT.
YOU SAY MAIL MEN. WHAT IS THAT TERM?
They will deliver our messages in writing to those who need additional proof of our sincerity. They know nothing other than they get paid, very well, to make sure that the addressees are in receipt of their packages.
VERY GOOD. AND THEY TOO ARE RESPONSIBLE?
Yes. Elimination is a strong motivation. Besides, they know nothing.
WHAT IF THEY READ THE CONTENTS?
That can only help. They do not know where the money comes from. Most need the money more than their lives. My contacts make my choices ideal. Death is . . .so permanent.
I AGREE. IT MAKES MEN HONORABLE, DOES IT NOT?
Most of the time, yes. There are always exceptions, and we are prepared for that, too.
THE SEKIGUN-HA ARE AT YOUR DISPOSAL.
Thank you. The Ground Hogs, the first are in place.
HOW MANY AND WHERE.
Over 50 so far. I will keep recruiting. We have 11 in the long distance phone companies and at AT&T, 3 at IBM, 14 in government positions, 12 in major banks, a couple of insurance companies, 3 Hospitals are compromised . . .and a list of others. We will keep the channels full, I promise.
HOW WILL THEY FUNCTION?
They will gain access to the information we need, and when we call, they will perform. I will add more as we proceed. It amazes me, these Americans. Anything for a buck.
DO NOT DISAPPOINT ME.
I will not. That is my promise. When will the information be ready?
SOON. TOMORROW THE FIRST READER INFORMATION WILL BE SENT TO YOU. CALLS MAY BEGIN IN DAYS. YOU ORGANIZE IT. THE GROUND HOGS ARE NOT TO BE ACTIVATED FOR SEVERAL WEEKS. THEY ARE TO PERFORM THEIR JOBS AS IF NOTHING IS WRONG. DO THEY UNDERSTAND?
Ground Hogs receive 2 paychecks. They understand their obliga- tions. We pay 10 times their salary for their allegiance. The Operators and Mail Men will start soon.
THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS ALLEGIANCE. DON'T YOU KNOW THAT YET?
Americans pay homage to the almighty dollar, and nothing else. They will be loyal.
AS YOU ARE MOTIVATED MY FRIEND, I DO NOT FORGET THAT. BUT OTHERS CAN OFFER MORE DOLLARS AND WE CAN BE FOUND. I CANNOT RISK THAT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE RISK?
Completely. I am responsible for my people.
AND THEY ARE PREPARED FOR THEIR JOBS?
Yes. That is my responsibility, to insure the security of our task. No one must know. I know my job.
DO IT WELL. I WILL LEAVE YOU.
[[ CONNECTION TERMINATED]]]
Chapter 5 Monday, September 14
New York City
Doug! Doug!" Scott hollered across the city room. As in most newspaper offices, the constant scurry of people bumping into each other while reading and walking gave the impression of more activity than there really was. Desks were not in any particular pattern, but it wasn't totally chaotic either. Every desk had at least one computer on it. Some two or three. Scott pushed back into place those that he dislodged while running to McGuire's desk.
Doug McGuire noticed the early hour, 8:39 A.M. on the one wall clock that gave Daylight Savings Time for the East Coast. The other dozen or so clocks spanned the time zones of the globe. It wasn't like Scott to be his energetic youthful self before noon.
"Doug, I need you." Scott shouted from 3 desks away. "It'll just take a minute."
Scott nearly dragged the balding, overweight, sometimes harsh 60 year old Doug McGuire across the newsroom. They abruptly halted in front of Scott's desk. Boxes full of files everywhere; on the floor, piled 3 or 4 high, on his desk. "Will you look at this. Just look at this!" He stuck a single sheet of paper too close into Doug's face. Doug pushed it away to read it out loud.
McGuire read from the page. "A Message from a Fan. Thanks." Doug looked perplexed. He motioned at the paper hurricane on Scott's desk. "So, what is this mess? Where did it come from?"
Scott spoke excitedly. "I got another delivery, about an hour ago. I think it's from the same guy who sent the McMillan stuff." He perused the boxes.
"Why do you say that?" Doug asked curiously.
"Because of what's in here. I haven't been able to go through much of it, obviously, but I scanned through a few of the boxes. There's dirt on almost every company in the Fortune 1000. Copies of memoranda, false figures, confidential position statements, the truth behind a lot of PR scandals, it goes on and on. There's even a copy of some of the shredded Ollie North papers. Or so they say they are. Who knows. But, God! There are notes about behind the scene plays on mergers, who's screwing who to get deals done . . .it's all here. A hundred years of stories right here . . .".
"Let's see what we've got here." Doug was immediately hooked by the treasure trove of potential in from of them coupled with Scott's enthusiasm. The best stories come from the least likely places. No reporter ever forgets the 3rd rate burglary at the Watergate that brought down a President.
By late afternoon, Scott and several of the paper's researchers had set up a preliminary filing system. They categorized the hundred of files and documents and computer printouts by company, alphabetically. The contents were amazing. Over 150 of the top American corporations were represented directly, and thousands of other by reference. In every case, there was a revelation of one or more particularly embarrassing or illegal activities. Some were documented accounts and histories of past events and others that were in progress. Many of the papers were prognostications of future events of questionable ethics or legality. It reminded Scott of Jeanne Dixon style predictions.
From Wall Street's ivory tower deals where payoffs are called consulting fees, and in banking circles where delaying transfers of funds can yield millions of dollars in interest daily, from industrial secrets stolen or purchased from such and such a source, the laundry list was long. Plans to effect such a busi- ness plan and how to disguise its true purposes from the ITC and SEC. Internal, very upper level policies which never reach the company's Employee Handbook; policies of discrimination, atti- tude, and protective corporate culture which not only transcend the law but in many cases, morality. The false books, the jim- mied numbers . . .they were in the boxes too, but that was almost accepted accounting practice as long as you didn't get caught. But the depth of some of the figures was amazing. Like how one computer company brought in Toshiba parts and sold them to the government despite the ban on Toshiba components because of their sale of precision lathes to the Soviets.
"Jesus," said Scott after a lengthy silence of intent reading. "This nails everyone, even the Government."
There were well documented dossiers on how the EPA made unique exclusions hundred of times over based upon the financial lobby- ing clout of the particular offender. Or how certain elected officials in Washington had pocketed funds from their PAC monies or how defense contractors were advised in advance of the con- tents of an upcoming billion dollar RFP.
The cartons of files were absolute political dynamite. And, if released, could have massive repercussions in the world financial community.
There was a fundamental problem, though. Scott Mason was in possession of unsupported, but not unreasonable accusations, they were certainly believable. All he really had was leads, a thou- sand leads in ten thousand different directions, with no apparent coherency or theme, received from an anonymous and dubious donor. And there was no way of immediately gauging the veracity of their contents. He clearly remembered what is was like to be lawyered. That held no appeal at the moment.
The next obvious question was, who would have the ability to gather this amount of information, most of which was obviously meant to be kept very, very private. Papers meant not for anyone but only for a select group of insiders.
Lastly, and just as important to the reporter; why? What would someone gain from telling all the nasty goings on inside
of Corporate America. There have been so many stories over the years about this company or that screwing over the little guy. How the IRS and the government operated substantially outside of legal channels. The kinds of things that the Secretary of the Treasury would prefer were kept under wraps. Sometimes stories of this type made the news, maybe a trial or two, but not exactly noteworthy in the big picture. White collar crime wasn't as good as the Simpsons or Roseanne, so it went largely ignored.
Scott Mason needed to figure out what to do with his powder keg. So, as any good investigative reporter would do, he decided to pick a few key pieces and see if the old axiom was true. Where there's smoke, there's fire.
* * * * *
Fire. That's exactly what Franklin Dobbs didn't want that Monday morning. He and 50 other Corporate CEO's across the country received their own unsolicited packages by courier. Each CEO received a dossier on his own company. A very private dossier containing information that technically didn't, or wasn't offi- cially supposed to exist. Each one read their personalized file cover to cover in absolute privacy. And shock set in.
Only a few of the CEO's in the New York area had ever heard of Scott Mason before, and little did they know that he had the complete collection of dossiers in his possession at the New York City Times. Regardless, boardrooms shook to their very core. Wall Street trading was untypically low for a Monday, less than 50,000,000 shares. But CNN and other financial observers at- tributed the anomaly to random factors unconnected to the secret panic that was spreading through Corporate America.
By 6 P.M., CEO's and key aides from 7 major corporations head- quartered in the metropolitan New York area had agreed to meet. Throughout the day, CEO's routinely talk to other corporate leaders as friends, acquaintances, for brain picking and G2, market probing in the course of business. Today, though, the scurry of inter-Ivory-Tower calls was beyond routine.
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