"Very pro. Won't be a problem."
* * * * *
Scott saw the galley for the afternoon paper. The headline, in 3 inch letters shocked him:
RICKFIELD RESIGNS
He immediately called Senator Nancy Deere.
"I was going to call you," she said. "I guess you've heard."
"Yes, what happened?" He shouted excitedly over the rumble of the high speed train.
"I guess I should take the blame," Nancy said. "When I confront- ed the Senator this morning, he just stared at me. Never said a word. I begged him for an explanation, but he sat there, expres- sionless. He finally got up and left."
"That's it? What happens now?"
"I see the President," she said.
"May I ask why?"
"Off the record," she insisted.
"Sure." Scott agreed. What's one more source I can't name.
"I heard about the resignation from the White House. Phil Mus- grave. He said the President was very concerned and wanted a briefing from my perspective. He's beginning to feel some heat on the computer crimes and doesn't have a clue. I figure they need to get up to speed real fast."
"It's about time," Scott said out loud. "They've been ignoring this forever."
"And," Senator Deere added, "they want you there, too. Tomorrow, 9A.M."
The hair on Scott's neck stood on end. A command performance from the White House?
"Why, why me?
"You seem to know more than they do. They think you're wired into the hackers and Homosoto."
"I'll be there," Scott managed to get out. "What do I do . . .?"
"Call Musgrave's office at the White House."
"I bet the paper's going nuts. I didn't tell them I had left or where I was going," Scott laughed.
Scott called Doug who had half of the paper looking high and low for him. "You made the big time, huh kid?" Doug said feigning snobbery. "What world shattering events precipitated this mag- nanimous call?" In fact he was proud. Very proud of Scott.
Scott explained to Doug that he would call after the White House meeting, and he wasn't quite sure why he was going, and that Nancy was taking over the hearings and he would stay in DC for a few days. And no, he wouldn't tell more than was in print, not without calling Doug or Higgins at any hour.
Doug sounded relieved when Scott volunteered that there would be no hotel bills. Phew. Forever the cheap skate. The story of the year and he's counting pennies. God, Doug was a good editor.
Scott's stories on computer crime and specifically the dGraph situation aroused national attention. Time, Newsweek and dozens of periodicals began following the story, but Scott, at Doug's suggestion, had wisely held back enough information that would guarantee the privacy and quality of his sources.
He was right in the middle of it, perhaps making news as much as reporting it, but with Doug's and the Times' guidance, Scott and the paper were receiving accolades on their fair yet direct treatment of the issues.
Doug thought that Scott was perhaps working on the story of the year, or maybe the decade, but he never told him so. However, Scott was warned that as the story became major national news, the exclusivity that he and the Times had enjoyed would be in jeopardy. Get it while the getting is hot.
No problem.
It just so happened Scott knew Miles Foster personally.
* * * * *
"Sonja? I'm coming down. Tonight. Can you recommend a good hotel?" He jibed at her while packing away his laptop computer for the trip to Washington. He called her and was going to leave a message, but instead he was rewarded with her answering the phone.
"Chez Lindstrom is nice, but the rates are kind of high."
"King or twin beds? Room with a view? Room service?"
"E, all of the above," she laughed. "Want me to pick you up at National?"
"Naw, I'll take the train from work. I may need to buy a few things when I get there, like a suitcase and a wardrobe. It's kind of last minute."
"I gather I wasn't the prime reason for your sudden trip," Sonja said in fun.
"No, it was, I wanted to come, but I had to do some . . .and then I found out about . . .well I have to be there tomorrow, but I am leaving a day early." He pleaded for understanding, not realiz- ing she was kidding him. He couldn't tell her why he was being so circumspect. Nothing about the meeting.
"Well," she said dejectedly, "I guess it's O.K. If."
"If what?" Scott brightened.
"If we can have a couple of friends over for dinner. There's someone I'd like you to meet."
* * * * *
"Holy shit," Scott said as Sonja opened her apartment door and admitted Miles and the stunning Stephanie.
Miles stopped in his tracks and stared at Scott. Then at Stepha- nie. "What's the deal?" he said accusingly.
"This is Sonja Lindstrom and her friend Scott Mason," Stephanie said. "What's wrong, hon?" She still had her arm wrapped around Miles' arm.
"It's just that, well, we've met, and I was just kind of sur- prised, that's all." He extended a hand at Scott. "Good to see you again." Scott warmly reciprocated. This was going to be an interesting evening.
"Yeah, ditto," Scott said, confused. "What happened to you? I thought you were coming back?" He was speaking of Amsterdam.
"Well, I was a little occupied, if you recall," Miles said refer- ring to the triplets in Amsterdam. "And business forced me to depart earlier than I had anticipated."
"Where? To Japan?" Scott awaited a reaction by Miles, but was disappointed when there was none.
Stephanie and Sonja wondered how the two had already met; it was their job to report such things to Alex, but it really didn't matter any more. They were quitting.
The first round of drinks was downed quickly and the tension in the room abated slightly. The four spoke casually, albeit some- what guardedly. The harmless small talk was only a prelude to Scott's question when the girls stepped into the kitchen. Per- haps they left the room on purpose.
"Listen," Scott whispered urgently to Miles. "I know who you are, and that you're tied up with Homosoto and the computer nutsiness that's going on everywhere. You have a lot of people looking for you and we only have a few seconds," Scott said glancing up at the kitchen door. "I see the situation as fol- lows. You get to tell your side of the story to the authorities in private, or you can tell me first and I put it in tomorrow's paper. This may be your only chance to get your side of the story out. All of sudden, you're big news. What'll it be?" Scott spoke confidently and waited for Miles' answer.
Miles intently scanned every inch of Scott's face in minute detail. "That fucking gook. You're damn right I'll talk. First of all, it's a lie," Miles hissed. "If they're coming after me, I have to protect myself. Can't trust a fucking slant eye, can you?"
The girls returned with fresh drinks and sat down on the white leather couch. Miles and Scott continued their discussion.
"What happened?" Scott asked. Miles looked over at the stunning Sonja, stripping her naked with his stare and then at Stephanie who had caught his stare.
"It's very simple," Miles said after a while. His dimples deep- ened while he forced a smile. "Homosoto's fucked us all." He nodded his head as he looked at his three companions. "Me. Royally. How the hell can I defend myself against accusations from the grave." He shrugged his shoulders. "And you," he point- ed at Scott. "You've kept the fear going. Haven't you. You picked up the scent and you've been writing about it for months. Setting his stage for him. Like a puppet. And then? After you sensitize the public, he commits suicide. He used you."
"And then, you two," Miles said to Stephanie and Sonja. "You could be out in the cold in days. Bet you didn't know you were in on it. Am I right?"
"In on what?" Scott asked Miles and Sonja.
"Tell him," Miles said to Sonja. "I've never met you, but I can guess what you do for a living."
"She's a PR person," interjected Scott.
"Go on, tell him, or I will," Miles said again.
&n
bsp; Sonja's eyes pleaded with Miles to stop it. Please, stop. I'll do it in my own way, in time. Please, stop. Scott glowered at Miles' words and awaited a response from Sonja. How could he distrust her? But what did Miles mean?
The front door bell rang and broke the intense silence. It rang again as Sonja went to answer.
"Yes, he's here," she whispered.
The door opened and Tyrone Duncan came into the room while anoth- er man stood at the door. Tyrone walked up to Miles. Scott was in absolute awe. How the hell? Ty had said tomorrow.
"Mr. Foster? Miles Foster?" Tyrone asked without pleasantries.
"Yeah," Miles said haughtily.
"FBI," Ty said flashing his badge. "You're under arrest for trafficking in stolen computer access cards and theft of serv- ice." Tyrone took a breath and waved a piece of paper in the air. "We searched your apartment and found telephone company access codes that . . . "
"I want to call my lawyer," Miles interrupted calmly. "Now," he commanded.
" . . . have been used to bypass billing procedures."
"I said I want to call my lawyer," Miles again said emphatical- ly.
"I'll be out in an hour," he said aside to Stephanie and kissed her on the cheek. His arrogance was unnerving; this wasn't the same Miles that Scott had known in Amsterdam. There, he was just another misguided but well-intentioned techno-anarchist who was more danger to himself than anyone else. But now, as Tyrone read a list of charges against him, mostly arcane FBI domain inter- state offenses, Miles took on a new character. A worldly crimi- nal whom the FBI was arresting for potential terrorist activi- ties.
"And those are for starters, Mister," Tyrone said after reading off a list of penal violations by code number. As if following a script, Tyrone added, "you have the right to remain silent . . ." He wanted to make sure that this was a clean arrest, and with this many witnesses, he was going to follow procedure to the letter. Mirandizing was one of the steps.
Scott Mason's adrenaline flowed with intensity. Did he ever have a story to tell now! An absolute scoop. He was present, coinci- dentally, during the arrest of Miles Foster.
Front page.
"I want to call my lawyer," Miles repeated.
"Make it quick," said Tyrone. Miles rapidly dialed a number from memory.
Miles turned his back on Tyrone and the others and spoke calmly into the phone.
"It's me."
Pause.
"It's me. I need assistance."
Arrogance. Pause.
"A laundry list of charges."
Disinterest. Pause.
"Had to happen, sooner or later, yeah," Miles said happily. Pause.
"I gotta dinner party. I don't want to miss it." He smiled at Stephanie and blew a kiss. "Great. Make it quick." Miles hung up.
Miles turned to Tyrone and held his wrists out together in front of him. "Let's go," Miles said still smiling cooly.
Tyrone gently snapped the cuffs on Miles and ushered him toward the door.
"Back in an hour or so," Miles defiantly said to Scott, Sonja and Stephanie over his shoulder as the front door closed behind Miles and his escorts.
Scott watched in disbelief. Miles, the Spook, ever so calm, cool and collected. Not a fluster. Not a blush.
Who had he called? That was the question that bothered Scott throughout the rest of the evening.
* * * * *
The White House, Washington, D.C.
The President looked grim. The normally affable Republican had won his second term by a landslide and had maintained unprece- dented popularity. The Democrats had again been unable to con- jure up a viable candidate after another string of scandals rocked the primaries and the very foundation of the party itself Their entire platform focused on increasing the Peace Dividend beyond the aggressively reduced $180 Billion Defense budget. It was not much of an attack on a President whose popularity never fell below an astounding 65% approval, and the only ebb was due to a minor White House incident involving a junior aide, the junior aide's boyfriend and the Lincoln Bedroom.
The recession that was started by the Iraqi situation in Kuwait during the summer of 1990 was not as bad as it could have been. The world wide militaristic fever, proper Fed Reserve response and the Japanese all took credit for easing the problem through their specific efforts. In fact, the recession was eased due in part to all of their efforts as well the new Europe. The Presi- dent was rewarded, ultimately, with the credit for renewing the economy almost glitch-free.
But the President was still grim. America was again at war, and only a handful of people in the upper echelons of the Government even knew about it. It would be in the paper in the morning.
Chapter 26 Midnight, Tuesday, January 19
Scarsdale, New York
Scott Mason awaited Kirk's midnight call.
Now that they had a deal, a win-win situation, Kirk and his phriends had become gung-ho. Kirk agreed to help Scott in the dGraph and Freedom situations if Scott would make sure that his articles clearly spelled out the difference between the white-hat and black-hat hackers.
Journalistic responsibility demanded fair treatment of all sides and their respective opinions, and Scott attempted to bring objectivity to his analyses. He did this well, quite well, and still was able to include his own views and biases, as long as they were properly qualified and disclaimed.
Additionally, Kirk wanted assurances of total anonymity and that Scott would not attempt to identify his location or name. Scott also had to agree to keep his Federal friends at a distance and announce if they were privy to the conversations.
In exchange for fair portrayals in the press, privacy and no government intervention, Kirk promised Scott that the resources of Nemo would be focussed on finding defenses to the virus at- tacks in dGraph and Freedom software. If Kirk and Homosoto were right, millions of computers would experience the electronic equivalent of sudden cardiac arrest in less than two weeks.
The Times, Higgins and Doug agreed to the relationship but added their own working caveats. In order to treat Kirk as a protected source, they pretended he was a personal contact. Instead of reporter's notes, Scott maintained an open file which recorded the entirety of their computer conversations. There were no precedents for real-time electronic note taking, but Higgins felt confident that the records would protect the paper in any event. Besides, Supreme Court rulings now permit the recording of con- versations by hidden devices, as long as the person taping is actually present. Again, Higgins felt he had solid position, but he did ask Scott to ask Kirk's permission to save the conversa- tions on disk. Kirk always agreed.
At midnight, Scott's computer beeped the anticipated beep.
WTFO
I heard a good one.
JOKE?
Yeah, do they work over computer?
TRY ME.
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs were in Europe and got to meet the Pope. Dopey really wanted to asked the Pope a few questions. "Mr. Pope, Mr. Pope. Do you have pretty nuns?" "Of course we do, Dopey." "Mr. Pope, do you have fat ugly nuns?" "Why, yes, Dopey, we do." "And I bet, Mr. Pope, that you have some tall skinny nuns, too." "Yes, Dopey we do." "Mr. Pope? Do you have nuns in Chicago?" "Yes, Dopey, we have nuns in Chicago?" "And in San Francisco and New York?" "Yes, Dopey." "And do you have nuns in Africa and Australia and in France?" "Yes, Dopey. We have nuns everywhere." Dopey took a second to think and finally asked, "Mr. Pope? Do you have nuns in Antarc- tica?" "No, Dopey, I'm sorry, we don't have any nuns in Antarc- tica." The other six dwarfs immediately broke out into a laugh- ing song: "Dopey fucked a penguin. Dopey fucked a penguin."
HA HA HA HA HA!!! LOVE IT. REAL ICE BREAKER. HA HA.
Facetious?
NO, THAT'S GREAT. IS YOUR RECORDER ON?
You bet. No plagiarism. What have you got?
MORE THAN I WISH I DID. DGRAPH FIRST. WE HAVE IDENTIFIED 54 SEPARATE DGRAPH VIRUSES. I HAVE A FILE FOR YOU. IT LISTS THE VIRUS BY DETONATION DATE AND TYPE, SYMPTOMS AND THE SIGNATURES NEEDED FOR REMOVAL. ARE YO
U REALLY GOING TO PRINT IT ALL?
Daily. Our science section has been expanded to every day from just Tuesday. I have all the room I need.
YOU MIGHT MAKE ME RECONSIDER MY OPINION OF THE MEDIA.
Just the facts, ma'am. Just the facts.
HA HA. WE'VE JUST TOUCHED THE SURFACE ON FREEDOM, BUT THE WORD'S OUT. FREEDOM WILL BE AS GOOD AS DEAD IN DAYS. THE NUMBER OF VIRUSES MUST NUMBER IN THE HUNDREDS. IT'S INCREDIBLE. I'VE SEEN A LOT OF VIRUSES, BUT NONE LIKE THIS. IT'S ALMOST AS THOUGH THEY WERE BUILT ON AN ASSEMBLY LINE. SOME ARE REAL CLOSE TO EACH OTHER, EVEN DO THE SAME THINGS, BUT THEIR SIGNATURES ARE DIFFER- ENT MAKING IT EXTRA HARD TO DETECT THEM. EACH ONE WILL HAVE TO BE DONE INDIVIDUALLY.
I suggest we start with the dGraph viruses. You said 54, right?
SO FAR.
Send me the file and I still may have time to get it into tomor- row's paper. They usually leave a little room.
I'LL SEND DGVIRUS.RPT. IT'S IN ASCII FORMAT, EASY TO READ INTO ANY FILE YOU'RE WORKING WITH.
I think I can handle it.
* * * * *
DGRAPH VIRUS LIST
by Scott Mason
The dGraph Virus Crisis has set the computer industry into a virtual tailspin with far reaching effects including stock prices, delayed purchasing, contract cancellation and a bevy of reported lawsuits in the making.
All the same, the effects of the Crisis must be mitigated, and the New York City Times will be providing daily information to assist our readers in fighting the viruses. DGraph is now known to contain at least 54 different viruses, each designed to exe- cute different forms of damage to your computer.
According to computer security experts there are two ways to deal with the present virus crisis. The best way to make sure that an active security system is in place in your computer. Recommenda- tions vary, but it is generally agreed by most experts that security, especially in the highly susceptible desktop and laptop personal computers, should be hardware based. Security in soft- ware is viewed to be ineffective against well designed viruses or other offensive software mechanisms.
The second way to combat the effects of the dGraph Virus, but certainly not as effective, is to build a library of virus signa- tures and search all of your computers for matches that would indicate a viral infection. This technique is minimally effec- tive for many reasons: Mutating viruses cause the signature to change every time it infects another program, rendering the virus unidentifiable. There is no way to be sure that all strains have been identified. Plus, there is no defense against subsequent viral attacks, requiring defensive measures to be reinstituted every time.
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