If the DMV needs to know my address, I understand. The IRS needs to know my income. Each computer unto itself is a necessary repository to facilitate business transactions. However, when someone begins to investigate me, crossing the boundaries of multiple data bases, without question, they are invading my privacy. Each piece of information found about me may be insig- nificant in itself, but when combined, it becomes highly danger- ous in the wrong hands. We all have secrets we want to remain secrets. Under the present system, we have sacrificed our priva- cy for the expediency of the machines.
I have a lawyer friend who believes that the fourth amendment is at stake. Is it, Mr. President?
This is Scott Mason, feeling Peered Upon.
* * * * *
Wednesday, January 13
Atlanta, Georgia
First Federal Bank in Atlanta, Georgia enjoyed a reputation of treating its customers like royalty. Southern Hospitality was the bank's middle name and the staff was trained to provide extraordinary service. This morning though, First Federal's customers were not happy campers. The calls started coming in before 8:00 A.M.
"My account is off $10," "It doesn't add up," "My checkbook won't balance." A few calls of this type are normal on any given day, but the phones were jammed with customer complaints. Hun- dreds of calls streamed in constantly and hundreds more never got through the busy signals. Dozens of customers came into the local branches to complain about the errors on their statement.
An emergency meeting was held in the Peachtree Street headquar- ters of First Federal. The president of the bank chaired the meeting. The basic question was, What Was Going On? It was a free for all. Any ideas, shoot 'em out.
How many calls? About 4500 and still coming in. What are the dates of the statements? So far within a couple of days, but who knows what we'll find. What are you asking people to do? Double check against their actual checks instead of the register. Do you really think that 5000 people wake up one morning and all make the same mistakes? Do you have any other ideas? Then what? If they don't reconcile, bring 'em in and we'll pull the fiche.
What do the computer people say? They think there may be an error. That's bright. If the numbers are adding up wrong, how do we balance? Have no idea. Do they add up in our favor? Not always. Maybe 50/50 so far. Can we fix it? Yes. When? I don't know yet. Get some answers. Fast. Yessir.
The bank's concerns mounted when their larger customers found discrepancies in the thousands and tens of thousands of dollars. As the number of complaints numbered well over 10,000 by noon, First Federal was facing a crisis. The bank's figures in no way jived with their customer's records and the finger pointing began.
The officers contacted the Federal Reserve Board and notified them. The Board suggested, strongly, that the bank close for the remainder of the day and sort it out before it got worse. First Federal did close, under the guise of installing a new computer system, a lie that might also cover whatever screwed up the statements. Keep that option open. They kept answering the phones, piling up the complaints and discovering that thus far there was no pattern to the errors.
By mid-afternoon, they at least knew what to look for. On every statement a few checks were listed with the incorrect amounts and therefore the balance was wrong. For all intent and purpose, the bank had absolutely no idea whose money was whose.
Working into the night the bank found that all ledgers balanced, but still the amounts in the accounts were wrong. What are the odds of a computer making thousands of errors and having them all balance out to a net zero difference? Statistically it was impossible, and that meant someone altered the amounts on pur- pose. By midnight they found that the source of the error was probably in the control code of the bank's central computing center.
First Federal Bank did not open for business Thursday. Or Fri- day.
First Federal Bank was not the only bank to experience profound difficulties with it's customers. Similar complaints closed down Farmer's Bank in Des Moines, Iowa, Lake City Bank in Chicago, First Trade in New York City, Sopporo Bank in San Francisco, Pilgrim's Trust in Boston and, as the Federal Reserve Bank would discover, another hundred or so banks in almost every state.
The Department of the Treasury reacted quickly, spurred into action by the chairman of Riggs National Bank in Washington, D.C. Being one of the oldest banks in the country, and the only one that could claim having a personal relationship with Alexander Hamilton, the first Secretary of the Treasury, it still carried political weight.
The evening network and local news stations covered the situation critically. Questions proliferated but answers were hard to come by. The largest of the banks and the government announced that a major computer glitch had affected the Electronic Funds Trans- fers which had inadvertently caused the minor inconsistencies in some customer records.
The press was extremely hard on the banks and the Fed Reserve and the Treasury. They smelled a coverup, a lie; that they and the public were not being told the truth, or at least all of it. Only Scott Mason and a couple of other reporters speculated that a computer virus or time bomb was responsible. Without any evidence though, the government and the banks vigorously denied any such possibilities. Rather, they developed a convoluted story of how one money transaction affects another and then another. The domino theory of banking was explained to the public in graphs and charts, but an open skepticism prevailed.
Small businesses and individual banking customers were totally shut off from access to their funds. Tens of thousands of auto- matic tellers were turned off by their banks in the futile hope of minimizing the damage. Estimates were that by evening, almost 5 million people had been estranged from their money.
Rumors of bank collapse and a catastrophic failure of the banking system persisted. The Stock Market, operating at near full capacity after November's disaster, reacted to the news with a precipitous drop of almost 125 points before trading was suspend- ed, cutting off thousands more from their money.
The International Monetary Fund convened an emergency meeting as the London and Tokyo stock markets reacted negatively to the news. Wire transfers and funds disbursements were ceased across all state and national borders.
Panic ensued, and despite the best public relations efforts, the Treasury imposed financial sanctions on all savings and checking accounts. If the banks opened on Friday, severe limits would be placed on access to available funds. Checks would be returned or held until the emergency was past.
Nightline addressed the banking crisis in depth. The experts debated the efficiency of the system and that possibly an unfore- seen overload had occurred, triggering the events of the day. No one suggested that the bank's computers had been compromised.
* * * * *
New York City Times
"Yes, it is urgent."
"What is this about?
"That is for the Senator's ears only."
"Can you hold for . . ."
"Yes, yes. I've been holding for an hour. Go on." Muzak inter- pretations of Led Zeppelin greeted Scott Mason as he was put on hold. Again. Good God! They have more pass interference in the front office and on the phones than the entire NFL. He waited.
At long last, someone picked up the other end of the phone. "I am sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Mason, it has been rather hectic as you can imagine. How are you faring?" Senator Nancy Deere true to form, always projected genuine sincerity.
"Fine, fine, thank you, Senator. The reason for my call is rather, ah . . .sensitive."
"Yes?" she asked politely.
"Well, the fact is, Senator, we cannot discuss it, that is, I don't feel that we can talk about this on the phone."
"That makes it rather difficult, doesn't it," she laughed weakly.
"Simply put, Senator . . . "
"Please call me Nancy. Both my friends and enemies do."
"All right, Nancy," Scott said awkwardly. "I need 15 minutes of your time about a matter of national security and it directly concerns your work on the Rickfield
Committee." She winced at the nick name that the hearing had been given. "I can assure you, Senator, ah, Nancy, that I would not be bothering you unless I was convinced of what I'm going to tell you. And show you. If you think I'm nuts, then fine, you can throw me out."
"Mr. Mason, that's enough," Nancy said kindly. "Based upon your performance at the hearing the other day, that alone is enough to make me want to shake your hand. As for what you have to say? I pride myself on being a good listener. When would be convenient for you?"
"The sooner the better," Scott said with obvious relief that he hadn't had to sell her.
"How's . . .ah, four tomorrow? My office?"
"That's fine, perfect. We'll see you tomorrow then."
"We?" Nancy picked up the plural reference.
"Yes, I am working with someone else. It helps if I'm not crazy alone."
* * * * *
FBI, New York
"I'll be in Washington tomorrow, we can talk about it then," Tyrone Duncan said emphatically into his desk telephone.
"Ty, I've been on your side and defended you since I came on board, you know that." Bob Burnson was pleading with Ty. "But on this one, I have no control. You've been poking into areas that don't concern you, and I'm catching heat."
"I'm working on one damn case, Bob. One. Computer crime. But it keeps on touching this fucking blackmail fiasco and it's getting on everyone's nerves. There's a lot more to this than ransoms and hackers and I've been having some luck. I'll show you what I have tomorrow. Sixish. Ebbets."
"I'll be there. Ty," Burnson said kindly. "I don't know the specifics, but you've been shaking the tree. I hope it's worth it."
"It is, Bob. I'd bet my ass on in."
"You are."
* * * * *
Thursday, January 14
Walter Reed Medical Center
"How is he doing?" Scott asked.
"He's not out of the woods yet," said Dr. Sean Kelly, one of Walter Reed's hundreds of Marcus Welby look-alike staff physi- cians. "In cases like this, we operate in the dark. The chest wound is nasty, but that's not the danger; it's the head wound. The brain is a real funny area."
Tyrone's FBI identification was required to get him and Scott in to see Dr. Kelly. As far as anybody knew, Pierre Troubleaux had been killed over the weekend in an explosion in his hospital room. The explosion was faked at the suggestion of the manage- ment of dGraph, Inc. after Pierre's most recent assailant was murdered, despite the police assigned to guard his room. Two of Ahmed's elite army had disguised themselves as orderlies so well that they weren't suspected when one went in the room and the other occupied the guard. The media was having a field day.
All would have gone as planned but for the fact that one of the D.C. policeman on guard was of Lebanese decent. One ersatz orderly emerged from the room and spoke to his confederate in Arabic. "It's done. Let's get out of here."
The guard understood enough Farsi and instantly drew his gun on the pair. One of Ahmed's men tried to pull his gun but was shot and wounded before he could draw. The other orderly started to run down the hallway pushing nurses and patients out of his way. He slid as he turned left down another corridor that ended with a huge picture window overlooking the lush hospital grounds. He never slowed, shouting "Allah, I am yours!" as he dove through the plate glass window plummeting five floors to the concrete walk below.
The wounded and armed orderly refused to speak. At all. Noth- ing. He made his one call and remained silent thereafter.
The dGraph management was acutely concerned that there might be another attempt on Pierre's life, so the secrecy surrounding his faked death would be maintained until he was strong enough to deal with the situation on his own. The investigation into both the shooting and the meant-to-convince bombing was handled by the District Police, and officially the FBI had nothing to do with it.
Dr. Kelly continued, trying to speak in non-Medical terms. "Basically, we don't know enough to accurately predict the ef- fects of trauma to the brain. We can generally say that motor skills, or memory might be affected, but to what extent is un- known. Then there are head injuries that we can't fully explain, and Pierre's is one of them."
Scott and Ty looked curiously at Dr. Kelly. "Pierre had a severe trauma to the cranium, and some of the outer layers of brain tissue were damaged when the skull was perforated." Scott shud- dered at the distinct memory of the gore. "Since he was in a coma, we elected to do minimal repair work until he gained con- sciousness and he could give us first hand reports on his memory and other possible effects. That's how we do it in the brain business."
"So, how is he?" Scott wanted a bottom line.
"He came out of a coma yesterday, and thus far, we can't find any problems that stem from the head injury."
"That's amazing," said Scott. "I saw the . . ."
"It is amazing," agreed Dr. Kelly, "but not all that rare. There are many references in the literature where severe brain damage was sustained without corresponding symptoms. I once saw a half inch re-bar go through this poor guy's forehead. He was still awake! We operated, removed the bar, and when he woke up he was hungry. He had a slight a headache. It was like nothing ever happened. So, who knows? Maybe we'll be lucky."
"Can we see him?" Scott asked the Irish doctor assigned to repair Pierre Troubleaux.
"He's awake, but we have been keeping him sedated, more to let the chest wound heal than his head," Dr. Kelly replied.
Pierre was recuperating in a virtual prison, a private room deep within the bowels of the Medical Center. There were 2 guards outside the room and another that sat near the hospital bed. Absolute identification was required every time someone entered the room and it took two phone calls to verify the identities of Scott and Tyrone despite the verbal affidavit from Kelly. The groggy Pierre was awake when the three approached the bed. Dr. Kelly introduced them and Pierre immediately tried to move to thank Scott for saving his life.
Dr. Kelly laid down the rules; even though Pierre was in remarka- bly good shape, still, no bouncing on the bed and don't drink the IV fluid. Pierre spoke quietly, but found at least a half dozen ways to thank Scott for his ad hoc heroics. He also retained much of his famed humor.
"I want to thank you," Pierre said in jest, "for putting the value of my life in proper perspective."
Scott's cheeks pushed up his glasses from the deep smile that Pierre's words caused. He hadn't realized that Pierre had been conscious. Tyrone looked confused.
"I begged him not to die," laughed Scott, "because it wouldn't look good on my resume."
"And I have had the common courtesy to honor your request."
After suffering enough embarrassment by compliments, Scott asked Pierre for a favor, to which he readily agreed. No long term karmic debt here, thought Scott.
"I need to understand something," said Scott. Pierre nodded, what?
"You told me, in the midst of battle, that dGraph was sick. I took that to mean that it contained a virus of some kind, but, well, I guess that's the question. What did you mean?"
"You're right. Yes," Pierre said softly but firmly. "That's what I was going to say at the hearings. I was going to confess."
"Confess?" Tyrone asked. "To what?"
"To the viruses. About why I did it, or, really, why I let it happen."
"So you did infect your own software. Why?" Scott demanded.
Pierre shook his head back and forth. "No, I didn't do it. I had no control."
"Then who did?"
"Homosoto and his people."
"Homosoto? Chairman of OSO?" Scott shrieked. "You're out of your mind, no offense."
"I wish I were. Homosoto took over my company and killed Max."
* * * * *
The New Senate Office Building
Washington, D.C.
"The Senator will see you now," said one of Senator Deere's aides. Scott and Tyrone entered her office which was decorated more in line with a woman's taste than the heavy furniture men prefer. She stood to greet them.<
br />
"Gentlemen," Nancy Deere said shaking their hands. "I know that you're with the New York City Times, Mr. Mason. I took the liberty of reading some of your work. Interesting, controver- sial. I like it." She offered them chairs at an informal seat- ing area on one end of the large office.
"And you are?" she said to Ty. He told her. "I take it this is official?"
"At this point ma'am, we just need to talk, and get your reac- tions," Ty said.
"He's having labor management troubles." Scott thought that was the perfect diplomatic description.
"I see," Nancy said. "So right now this meeting isn't happening."
"Kind of like that," Ty said.
"And him?" She said cocking her head at Scott.
"It's his story, I'm just his faithful sidekick with a few of the pieces."
"Well then," Nancy said amused with the situation. "Please, I am all ears." She and Tyrone looked at Scott, waiting.
How the hell was he going to tell a U.S. Senator that an organ- ized group of anarchistic hackers and fanatic Moslem Arabs were working with a respected Japanese industrialist and building computer viruses. He couldn't figure out any eloquent way to say it, so he just said it, straight, realizing that the summa- tion sounded one step beyond absurd. All things considered, Scott thought, she took it very well.
"I assume you have more than a headline?" Senator Deere said after a brief, polite pause.
Scott proceeded to describe everything that he had learned, the hackers, Kirk, Spook, the CMR equipment, his articles being pulled, the First State and Sidneys situation. He told her about the anonymous documents he had thus far been unable to use. Except for one which he would use today. Scott also said that computer viruses would fully explain the banking crisis.
Tyrone outlined the blackmail cases he suspected were diversion- ary tactics for another as yet unknown crime, and that despite more than $40 millions in payoffs had been arranged, no one had showed to collect.
"Ma'am," Tyrone said to Senator Deere. "I fought to get into the Bureau, and I made it through the good and the bad. And, I always knew where I stood. Akin, I guess to the political winds that change every four years." She nodded. "But now, there's something wrong." Nancy tilted her head waiting for Ty to con- tinue.
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