Terminal Compromise - Winn Schwartau (fiction book recommendations TXT) 📗

to commit themselves, and their

nation, to a course of action. This President’s political life

trained him well; lawyer, local politics, state politics and then

Washington.

But not computers. He was not trained in computers. He had

learned to type, a little, and found that sending E-Mail messages

was great fun. To him it was a game. Since the first days when

microcomputers had invaded the offices of governmental Washing-

ton, he had been able to insulate himself from their day to day

use. All the same, every desk he had occupied was adjoined by a

powerful microcomputer fitted with the finest graphics, the best

printer and an elite assortment of software. He used the memory

resident calculator and sent and received electronic mail. That

was it.

The President, as most men of his generation, accepted the fact

that computers now ran the show. The whole shooting match.

Especially the military. The communications and computer sophis-

tication used by the Allies enthralled the world during the Iraqi

War: bombs smart enough to pick which window they would enter

before detonating, missiles smart enough to fly at 2000 mph and

destroy an incoming missile moving at 3000 mph. It turned out

that hitting a bullet with a bullet was possible after all.

Intuitively, the President knew that the crisis developing before

his eyes meant massive computer damage, and the repercussions

would be felt through the economy and the country.

However, the President did not have enough computer basics to

begin to understand the problem, much less the answers. This was

the first time during his administration that major tactical and

policy decisions would be made primarily by others. His was a

duty of rubber stamping. That worry frustrated his attempts at

sleeping and nagged at him before the meeting. And then, of

course, there was the press.

“Gentlemen,” the President said sauntering towards his chair at

the head of the large formal breakfast table. He opened the door

with enough vigor to startle his guests. He maintained his usual

heads-up smile and spry gait as he noticed that there were new

faces present.

In addition to the inner circle, Marvin Jacobs asked two key NSA

security analysts to be observers at the meeting. Only if the

President asked a question was it then all right to speak.

Accompanying Phil Musgrave, under admitted duress to repay a

previous favor, was Paul Trump, Director of NIST, the eternal

rival of the NSA in matters of computers. The President was

introduced to the guests and smiled to himself. He recognized

that the political maneuvering was beginning already. Maybe the

competition would help, he thought.

“Marv,” the President said leaning away from the waiter pouring

his coffee. This was the same waiter who had spilled near boil-

ing liquid in his lap last month. “I guess it’s your show, so

I’ll just sit back and keep my mouth shut.” He leaned even

further away as the waiter’s clumsiness did not inspire confi-

dence.

Group chuckle notwithstanding, everyone in the inner circle knew

what the President really meant. The President was hungry and

Marv Jacobs would not be eating breakfast. He would be answering

questions.

“Thank you, sir,” Marv said as he courteously acknowledged the

presence of the others. He handed out a file folder to everyone

in the room. Each was held together with a red strap labeled TOP

SECRET that sealed the package. Not until the President began to

open his package did the others follow suit.

“We’ve only had a day to prepare . . .” Marvin Jacobs began.

“I know,” the President said wiping the corner of his mouth with

a white linen napkin. “That should have been plenty of time.”

Marvin, wisely avoided responding to the President’s barb. He

took the caustic hit as the other breakfast guests quietly

thanked the powers on high that it was someone elses turn to be

in the hot seat. All in all, though, the President was a much

calmer person this morning than during his verbal tirade the day

before. But, if needed, the acerbity of his biting words would

silence the boldest of his advisors or enemies. The President

was still royally pissed off.

“We have developed a number of scenarios that will be refined

over the next weeks as we learn more about the nature of the

assault by Homosoto.” He turned into his report and indicated

that everyone should turn to page 4. “This is sketchy, but based

upon what we have seen already, we can estimate the nature of

what we’re up against.”

Page 4 contained three Phrases.

1. Malevolent Self Propagating Software Programs (Viruses) 2. Unauthorized Electromagnetic Pulses and Explosions 3. Anti-TEMPEST Coherent Monitor and Pixel Radiation.

Marvin Jacobs described the observed behavior of each category,

but nonetheless the President was unhappy. A rehash from the

newspapers.

“That’s it?” the President asked in disbelief. “You call that

an estimate? I can find out more than that from CNN.”

“At this point, that’s about it.”

“I still can’t believe this,” the President said, shaking his

head. “What the hell am I going to say when I have to face the

press? ‘Sorry folks, our computers and the country are going

down the toilet, and we really don’t know what to do about it.

Seems as if no one took the problem seriously’” The President

gazed at Marvin and Henry Kennedy, half expecting them to break

into tears. “Bullshit!”

“Sir, may I be blunt?” Marvin asked.

“Of course, please. That’s what we’re here for,” the President

said, wondering how blunt was blunt.

“Sir, this is certainly no time to place blame on anyone, but I

do think that at a minimum some understanding is in order.” All

eyes turned to Jacobs as he spoke. “Sir, the NSA has been in the

business of safeguarding military computer systems for years.”

“That’s arguable,” said the President critically.

Marvin continued unaffected. “Cryptography and listening and

deciphering are our obvious strong points. But neither Defense

nor Treasury,” he said alluding to each representative from their

respective agencies, “can spend money without Congress’s approv-

al. Frankly sir, that is one of the major stumbling blocks we

have encountered in establishing a coherent security policy.”

“That’s a pile of bull, Marv,” said NIST’s feisty Paul Trump.

Paul and Marv had known each other for years, became friends and

then as the NIST-NSA rift escalated in ‘89 and ‘90, they saw less

of each other on a social basis. “Sir,” Paul spoke to the Presi-

dent, “I’m sorry for interrupting . . .”

“Say what you have to say.”

“Yessir.” Trump had no trouble being direct either. Nearing

mandatory retirement age had made Trump more daring. Willing to

take more risks in the best interest of NIST and therefore the

nation. Spry and agile, Paul Trump looked twenty years younger

with no signs of slowing down.

“Sir, the reason that we don’t have any security in the govern-

ment is due to Congress. We, Marv and I, agree on that one

point. Martin, do you concur?”

Treasury Secretary Martin Royce vigorously nodded in agreement.

“We’ve been mandated to have security for years, but no one says

where the money’s coming from. The hill made the laws but didn’t

finish the job.”

The President enjoyed the banter among his elite troops. He

thrived on open dissent and debate, making it easier for him to

weigh information and opinions. That freedom reminded him of how

difficult it must have been for the Soviets to openly disagree

and consider unpopular positions.

It seems that after Khrushchev took over, in one Politburo meet-

ing, he received a handwritten note which said: ‘If you’re so

liberal, how come you never stood up to Stalin.’ Khrushchev

scoured the room for a clue as to who made the insulting comment.

After a tense few seconds he said, ‘would the comrade who wrote

this stand up so I may answer him face to face?’ No one stood.

‘Now, you know the answer.’

The President’s point was, around here anything goes, but I’m the

boss. The difference is the democratic process, he would say,

the voters elect me by a majority to institute a benevolent

oligarchy. And I, he pointed at himself, am the oligarch.

Paul Trump continued. “In reality sir, NIST has tried to cooper-

ate with NSA in a number of programs to raise the security of

many sectors of the government, but, in all fairness, NSA has put

up constant roadblocks in the name of national security. The CMR

problem for the commercial sector has been completely ignored

under the cloak of classified specifications.”

“TEMPEST is a classified program . . .” Marvin objected strenu-

ously.

“Because you want it to be,” Trump retorted instantly. “It

doesn’t have to be, and you know it. Sir,” he turned to the

President. “TEMPEST is . . .” The President nodded that he

knew. “The specification for TEMPEST may have been considered a