"So we had a couple hundred agents tied up waiting for the bad guys to show up. And you know what? No one showed. No one, damn it. There must have been fifty million in cash sitting in bus terminals, train stations, health clubs, you name it, and no one comes to get any of it? There's something wrong with that picture."
"And you think it's a cover? Right?" Scott grinned wide. "For what?"
Ty shrank back in mild sublimation. "Well," he began, "that is one small piece of the puzzle I haven't filled in yet. But, I thought you might be able to help with that." Tyrone Duncan's eyes met Scott's and said, I am asking as a friend as well as an agent. Come on, we both win on this one.
"Stop begging, Ty. It doesn't befit a member of the President's police force," Scott teased. "Of course I was going to tell you. You're gonna read about it soon enough, and I know," he said half-seriously, "you won't screw me again."
Ouch, thought Tyrone. Why not pour in the salt while you're at it. "I wouldn't worry. No one thinks there's a problem. I keep shouting and being ignored. It's infinitely more prudent in the government to fuck-up by non-action than by taking a position and acting upon it. I'm on a solo."
"Good enough," Scott assured Ty. "'Nother beer?" It felt good. They were back friends again.
"Yeah, It's six o'clock somewhere," Tyrone sighed. "So what's your news?"
"You know I went over to this Hacker's Conference . . ."
"In Amsterdam." added Tyrone.
"Right, and I saw some toys that you can't believe," Scott said intently. "The term Hacker should be replaced with Dr. Hacker. These guys are incredible. To them there is no such thing as a locked door. They can get into and screw around with any comput- er they want."
"Nothing new there," said Ty.
"Bullshit. They're organized. These characters make up an entire underground society, that admittedly has few rules, but it's the most coherent bunch of anarchists I ever saw."
"What of it?"
"Remember that van, the one that blew up and."
"How can I forget."
"And then my Tempest article."
"Yeah. I know, I'm sorry," Tyrone said sincerely.
"Fuck it. It's over. Wasn't your fault. Anyway, I saw the equipment in actual use. I saw them read computers with anten- nas. It was absolutely incredible. It's not bullshit. It really works." Scott spoke excitedly.
"You say it's Tempest?"
"No, anti-Tempest. These guys have got it down. Regardless, the stuff works."
"So what? It works."
"So, let's say, if the hackers use these computer monitors to find out all sorts of dirt on companies," Scott slowly explained as he organized his thoughts. "Then they issue demands and cause all sorts of havoc and paranoia. They ask for money. Then they don't come to collect it. So what have they achieved?" Scott asked rhetorically.
"They tied up one shit load of a lot of police time, I'll tell you that."
"Exactly. Why?"
"Diversion. That's where we started," Ty said.
"But who is the diversion for?"
The light bulb went off in Tyrone's head. "The hackers!"
"Right," agreed Scott. "They're the ones who are going to do whatever it is that the diversion is covering. Did that make sense?"
"No," laughed Ty, "but I got it. Why would the hackers have to be covering for themselves. Couldn't they be working for someone else?"
"I doubt it. This is one independent bunch of characters," Scott affirmed. "Besides, there's more. What happened in D.C. . . ."
"Troubleaux," interrupted Ty.
"Bingo. And there's something else, too."
"What?"
"I've been hearing about a computer system called the Freedom League. Nothing specific, just that everything about it sounds too good to be true."
"It usually is."
"And one other thing. If there is some sort of hacker plot, I think I know someone who's involved."
"Did he admit anything?"
"No, nothing. But, well, we'll see." Scott hesitated and stut- tered. "Troubleaux, he said something to me."
"Excuse me?" Ty said with disbelief. "I thought his brains were leaking out."
"Thanks for reminding me; I had to buy a new wardrobe."
"And a tan? Where've you been?"
"With, well," Scott blushed, "that's another story."
"O.K., Romeo, how did he talk? What did he say?" Ty asked doubtfully.
"He told me that dGraph was sick."
"Who's dGraph?"
"dGraph," laughed Scott, "is how your secretary keeps your life organized. It's the most popular piece of software in the world. Troubleaux founded the company. And I think I know what he meant."
"He's a nerdy whiz kid, huh?" joked Tyrone
"Just the opposite. Mongo sex appeal to the ladies. No, his partner was the . " Scott stopped mid sentence. "Hey, I just remembered something. Troubleaux had a partner, he founded the company with him. A couple of days before they went public, his partner died. Shook up the industry. Shortly thereafter Data Tech bought them."
"And you think there's a connection?"
"Maybe, ah...I can't remember exactly," Scott said. "Hey, you can find out."
"How?"
"Your computers."
"They're at the office."
Scott pointed to his computer and Tyrone shook his head violent- ly. "I don't know how to. "
"Ty," Scott said calmly. "Call your secretary. Ask her for the number and your passwords." Scott persuaded Ty to be humble and dial his office. He was actually able to guide Ty through the process of accessing one of the largest collections of informa- tion in the world.
"How did you know we could do that?" Ty asked after they logged into the FBI computer from Scott's study.
"Good guess. I figured you guys couldn't function without remote access. Lucky."
Tyrone scowled kiddingly at Scott. "You going over to the other side boy? You seem to know an awful lot."
"That's how easy this stuff is. Anyone can do it. In fact I heard a story about octogenarian hackers who work from their nursing homes. I guess it replaces sex."
"Bullshit," Tyrone said pointing at his chest. "This is one dude who's knows the real thing. No placebos for me!"
They both laughed. "You know how to take it from here?" asked Scott once a main menu appeared.
"Yeah, let me at it. What the hell did you want to know anyway?"
"I imagine you have a file on dGraph, somewhere inside the over 400,000,000 active files maintained at the FBI."
"I'm beginning to worry about you. That's classified . . ."
"It's all in the company you keep," Scott chided. "Just ask it for dGraph." Tyrone selected an Inquiry Data Base and asked the computer for what it knew about dGraph. In a few seconds, a sub menu appeared entitled "dGraph, Inc.". Under the heading ap- peared several options:
1. Company History
2. Financial Records
3. Products and Services
4. Management
5. Stock Holders
6. Activities
7. Legal
8. Comments
"Not bad!" chided Scott. "Got that on everyone?"
Tyrone glared at Scott. "You shouldn't even know this exists. Hey, do me a favor, will ya? When I have to lie later, at least I want to be able to say you weren't staring over my shoulders. Dig?"
"No problem," Scott said as he pounced on the couch in front of the desk. He knocked a few days of mail onto the floor to make room. "O.K., who founded the company?"
"Founded 1984, Pierre Troubleaux and Max Jones . . ."
"That's it!" exclaimed Scott. "Max Jones. Where?"
"Cupertino, California."
"What date did they go public?" Scott asked quickly.
"Ah, August 6, 1987. Anything else massah?" Tyrone gibed.
"Can you tie into the California Highway Patrol computers?"
"What if I could?"
"Well, if you could, I thought it would be interesting t
o take a look at the police reports. Because, as I remember, there was something funny about Max Jones," Scott said, and then added mockingly, "but that's only if you have access to the same infor- mation that anyone can get for $2. It's all public information anyway."
"You know I'm not supposed to be doing this," Tyrone said as he pecked at the keyboard.
"Bullshit. You do it all the time."
"Not as a public service." The screen darkened and then an- nounced that Tyrone had been given access to the CHiP computers. "So suppose I could do that, I suppose you'd want a copy of it."
"Only if the switch on the right side of the printer is turned ON and if the paper is straight. Otherwise, I just wouldn't bother." Scott stared at the ceiling while the dot matrix print- er sang a high pitched song as the head traveled back and forth.
Tyrone scanned the print out coming from the computers in Cali- fornia. "You have one fuckuva memory. Sheee-it." Scott sat up quickly.
"What, what does it say?" Scott pressured.
"It appears that your friend Max Jones was killed in an automo- bile accident on Highway 275 at 12:30 AM." Ty stopped for a moment to read more. "He was found, dead, at the bottom of a ravine where his car landed after crashing through the barriers. Pretty high speed. And, the brake lines were cut."
"Holy shit," Scott said rising from his chair. "Does two a pat- tern make?"
"You mean Troubleaux and Max?" asked Tyrone.
"Yeah, they'll do."
"In my mind it would warrant further investigation." He made a mental note.
"Anything else there?" Scott asked.
"This is the kicker," Ty added. "The investigation lasted two days. Upstairs told the department to make it a quick and clean, open and shut case of accident."
"I assume no one from dGraph had any reason to doubt what the police told them. It sounds perfectly rational."
"Why should they if nobody kicked up a stink?" Ty said to him- self. "Hey," he said to Scott. "You think he was murdered, don't you?"
"You bet your ass I do," Scott affirmed. "Think about it. The two founders of a company the size of dGraph, they're huge, one dead from a suspicious accident, and the other the target of an assassination and in deep shit in the hospital."
"And it was the hackers, right?" laughed Tyrone.
"Maybe," Scott said seriously. "Why not? It's all tying togeth- er."
"There's no proof," Tyrone said.
"No, and I don't need it yet. But I sense the connection. That's why I said there's a conspiracy." He used that word again.
"And who is behind it and why? Pray tell?" Tyrone needled Scott. "Nothing's even happened, and you're already spouting conspiracy."
"I need to do something. Two things." Scott spoke firmly but vacantly. "I need to talk to Kirk. I think there's something wrong with dGraph, and he can help."
"And two?"
"I'd like to know who I saw in Amsterdam."
"Why?" Ty asked.
"Because . . .because, he's got something to do with . . .what- ever it is. He as much as admitted it."
"I think I can help with that one," offered Ty.
"Huh?" Scott looked surprised.
"How about we go into my office and see who this guy is?" Tyrone enjoyed the moment. One upping Scott. "Tomorrow."
Scott decided that the fastest way to reach Kirk, he really needed Kirk, was to write a clue in an article. Scott dialed the paper's computer from his house and opened a file. He hadn't planned on writing today God, how long have I been awake? This was the easiest way to contact Kirk now, but that was going to change. Tyrone left early enough for Scott to write a quick piece that would be sure to make an inside page, page 12 or 14.
* * * * *
Tuesday, January 12
The Computer As Weapon?
by Scott Mason
Since the dawn of civilization, Man has had the perverse ability to turn Good into Bad, White into Black, Hot into Cold, Life into Death. History bears out that technology is falling into the same trap. The bow and arrow, the gun; they were created to help man survive the elements and feed himself. Today millions of guns are bought with no purpose other than to hurt another human being. The space program was going to send man to the stars; instead we have Star Wars. The great advantages that technology has brought modern man have been continuously subverted for malevolent uses.
What if the same is true for computers?
Only yesterday, in order to spy on my neighbor, or my opponent, I would hire a private eye to perform the surveillance. And there was a constant danger of his being caught. Today? I'd hire me the best computer hacker I could get my hands on and sic him on the targets of my interest. Through their computers.
For argument's sake, let's say I want advance information on companies so I can play the stock market. I have my hacker get inside the SEC computers, (he can get in from literally thousands of locations nationwide) and read up on the latest figures before they're reported to the public. Think of betting the whole wad on a race with only one horse.
I would imagine, and I am no lawyer, that if I broke into the SEC offices and read through their file cabinets, I would be in a mighty poke of trouble. But catching me in their computer is an extraordinary exercise in resource frustration, and usually futile. For unlike the burglar, the computer criminal is never at the scene of the crime. He is ten or a hundred or a thousand miles away. Besides, the better computer criminals know the systems they attack so well, that they can cover their tracks completely; no one will ever know they were an uninvited guest.
Isn't then the computer a tool, a weapon, of the computer crimi- nal? I can use my computer as a tool to pry open your computer, and then once inside I use it to perhaps destroy pieces of your computer or your information.
I wonder then about other computer crimes, and I will include viruses in that category. Is the computer or the virus the weapon? Is the virus a special kind of computer bullet? The intent and the result is the same.
I recall hearing an articulate man recently make the case that computers should be licensed, and that not everyone should be able to own one. He maintained that the use of a computer car- ried with it an inherent social responsibility. What if the technology that gives us the world's highest standard of living, convenience and luxury was used instead as a means of disruption; a technological civil disobedience if you will? What if politi- cal strength came from the corruption of an opponent's computer systems? Are we not dealing with a weapon as much as a gun is a weapon? my friend pleaded.
Clearly the computer is Friend. And the computer, by itself is not bad, but recent events have clearly demonstrated that it can be used for sinister and illegal purposes. It is the use to which one puts the tool that determines its effectiveness for either good or bad. Any licensing of computers, information sys- tems, would be morally abhorrent a veritable decimation of the Bill of Rights. But I must recognize that the history of indus- trialized society does not support my case.
Automobiles were once not licensed. Do we want it any other way? I am sure many of you wish that drivers licenses were harder to come by. Radio transmitters have been licensed for most of this century and many a civil libertarian will make the case that because they are licensed, it is a restriction on my freedom of speech to require approval by the Government before broadcast. On the practical side, does it make sense for ten radio stations all trying to use the same frequency?
Cellular phones are officially licensed as are CB's. Guns re- quire licenses in an increasing number of states. So it might appear logical to say that computers be licensed, to prevent whatever overcrowding calamity may unsuspectingly befall us. The company phone effectively licenses lines to you, with the added distinction of being able to record everything you do.
Computers represent an obvious boon and a potential bane. When computers are turned against themselves, under the control of humans of course, or against the contents of the computer under attack, the results can ripple far and wide. I believe we a
re indeed fortunate that computers have not yet been turned against their creators by faction groups vying for power and attention. Thus far isolated events, caused by ego or accident have been the rule and large scale coordinated, well executed computer assaults non-existent.
That, though, is certainly no guarantee that we will not have to face the Computer Terrorists tomorrow.
This is Scott Mason searching the Galaxy at Warp 9.
* * * * *
Tuesday, January 12
Federal Square, New York
Tyrone was required to come to the lobby of the FBI headquarters, sign Scott in and escort him through the building. Scott didn't arrive until almost eleven; he let himself sleep in, in the hopes of making up for lost sleep. He knew it didn't work that way, but twelve hours of dead rest had to do something.
Tyrone explained as they took an elevator two levels beneath the street that they were going to work with a reconstructionist. A man with a very powerful computer will build up the face that Scott saw, piece by piece. They opened a door that was identi- fied by only a number and entered an almost sterile work place. A pair of Sun workstations with large high resolution monitors sat on large white tables by one wall, with a row of racks of floor to ceiling disk drives and tape units opposite.
"Remember," Tyrone cautioned, "no names."
"Right," said Scott. "No names."
Tyrone introduced Scott to Vinnie who would be running the com- puter. Vinnie's first job was to familiarize Scott with the procedure. Tyrone told Vinnie to call him in his office when they had something;he had other matters to attend to in the meantime. Of obvious Italian descent, with a thick Brooklyn accent, Vinnie Misselli epitomized the local boy making good. His lantern jaw and classic Roman good looks were out of place among the blue suits and white shirts that typified the FBI.
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