Terminal Compromise - Winn Schwartau (fiction book recommendations TXT) 📗
- Author: Winn Schwartau
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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.
“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.
He spoke carefully and slowly. “I have never been the paranoid
type; I’m not conspiracy minded. But I do find it strange that I
get so much invisible pressure to lay off a case that appears to
be both global in its reach and dangerous in its effects. It’s
almost like I’m not supposed to find out what’s happening. I get
no cooperation from my upstairs, CI, the CIA. NSA has been
predictably obnoxious when I started asking questions.”
“So why come to me?” Nancy asked. “You’re the police.”
“Are you aware that Pierre Troubleaux is alive?” Scott asked
Nancy, accidentally cutting off Tyrone.
“Alive? How’s that possible?” She too, had heard the news.
They told her they had spoken to Pierre and that his death had
been a ruse to protect him. The reports on Pierre’s prognosis
brightened Nancy attitude.
“But, it’s not all good news. It appears, that every single copy
of dGraph, that’s a . . .”
“I know dGraph,” she said quickly. “It’s part of the job.
Couldn’t live without it.”
“Well, ma’am, it’s infected with computer viruses. Hundreds of
them. According to Pierre, the head of OSO Industries, Taki
Homosoto, had Max Jones, co-founder of dGraph killed and has
effectively held Pierre hostage since.”
The impact of such an overwhelming accusation defied response.
Nancy Deere’s jaw fell limp. “That is the most unbelievable,
incredible . . .I don’t know what to say.”
“I have no reason not to believe what Pierre is saying. Not yet,”
said Tyrone.
“There are a few friends of mine
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