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

railing.

“I guess I wasn’t as right as I usually am,” he snickered.

Templer followed suit. “How many did you get?”

“How many are there?”

“That would be telling,” Alex said coyly.

“I assume, then, that you would be averse to helping us out of

our current dilemma.” Being friends with potential adversaries

made this part of the job all the more difficult.

“Well,” Alex said turning his head toward Martin. “I guess I

could be talked into one more job, just one, if the price was

right.”

Templer shook his head. “That’s not the right answer.”

Alex was taken off guard by the sullenness in Martin’s voice.

“Right answer? There are no right and wrongs in our business.

Only shades of gray. You know that. We ride a fence, and the

winds blow back and forth. It’s not personal.”

Martin straightened up and put both hands deep into the pockets

of his London Fog. “Among the professionals, yes. But Sir

George and his cronies, and you by default, broke the rules.

Civilians are off limits. We were hoping that you would want to

help.”

Alex ignored the second request. “I won’t do it again. I prom-

ise,” he said haughtily.

“Is there anything I can say that will make you reconsider?

Anything at all?” Martin implored.

“No,” Alex said. “Unless we can discuss an equitable arrange-

ment.”

Martin took his hands out of his pockets and said, “I don’t think

that will work. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

Martin quickly moved his right hand up to Alex’s neck and touched

it briefly. Alex reached up and slapped his neck as terror

overtook his face. He grabbed Martin’s arm and twisted it with

his free hand to expose a small needle tipped dart projecting

from a ring on one finger. Templer wrested his arm free from

Alex’s weakening clutch and tore off the ring, tossing it away

from the Tower.

Alex weakened further as he leaned both hands on the railing to

steady himself. His mouth gaped wide, intense fear and utter

disbelief competing for control of his facial muscles. Martin

ignored his collapsing adversary and walked deliberately to the

open elevator which provided escape down to street level. Before

the doors had closed, Templer saw a crowd converge over the

crumpled body of Alexander Spiradon.

Martin Templer crossed the Seine and performed evasive maneuvers

to make sure he was not being followed. The cleansing process

took about three hours. He flagged down a taxi and the most

uncooperative driver refused to acknowledge he understood that

the destination was the American Embassy on Gabriel. Only when

Templer flashed a 100 Franc note did the driver’s English im-

prove.

Templer showed his CIA credentials to the Marine Sergeant at the

security desk, and told him he needed access to a secure communi-

cations channel to Washington.

After his identity was verified, Templer was permitted to send

his message. It was electronically addressed to his superiors at

CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia.

PLATO COULDN’T COME OUT AND PLAY. UNFORTUNATE STROKE INTERRUPTED THE INTERVIEW. Chapter 30 Monday, March 22 National Security Agency

He had two separate offices, each with a unique character. One

ultra modern and sleek, the other befitting a country gentleman.

The two were connected by a large anteroom that also provided

immediate access and departure by a private elevator and escape

stairs. He could hold two meetings at once as was occasionally

required in his position as DIRNSA, Director, National Security

Agency. Each office had its own secretary and private entrance,

selected for use depending upon whom was expected.

The meeting in the nouveau office was winding down to a close and

the conversation had been reduced to friendly banter. Marvin

Jacobs had brought in three of his senior advisors who were

coordinating the massive analytical computing power of the NSA

with the extraordinary volume of raw data that all of the 5ESS

switches downloaded daily.

Since they had been assigned to assist the FBI, the NSA had been

hunting down the locations of the potential conspirators with the

assistance of the seven Baby Bells and Bell Laboratories in

Princeton, New Jersey. The gargantuan task was delicately bal-

ancing a fine line between chaos and stagnancy; legality and

amorality.

As they spoke, Jacobs heard a tone emit from his computer and he

noticed that Office-2 had a Priority Visitor.

“Gentlemen,” Marvin Jacobs said as he stood. “It seems that my

presence is required for a small matter. Would you mind enter-

taining yourselves for a few minutes?” His solicitous nature and

political clout demanded that his visitors agree without hesita-

tion.

He walked over to a door by the floor to ceiling bookshelf and

let himself in, through the gracious ante-room by the commode and

into his heavy wood and leather office. He immediately saw the

reason for the urgency.

“Miles, Miles Foster, my boy! How are you?” Marvin Jacobs

walked straight to Miles, vigorously shook his hand and gave him

a big friendly bear hug.

Miles smiled from ear to ear. “It’s been cold out there. Glad

to be home.” He looked around the room and nodded appreciative-

ly. “You’ve been decorating again.”

“Twice. You haven’t been in this office for, what is it, five

years?” Jacobs held Miles by the shoulders. “My God it’s good

to see you. You don’t look any the worse for wear.”

“I had a great boss, treated me real nice,” Miles said.

“Come here, sit down,” Marvin said ushering Miles over to a

thickly padded couch. “If you don’t already know it, this coun-

try owes you a debt of thanks.”

“I know,” Miles said, even though he had been paid over three

million dollars by Homosoto.

“A drink, son?” At fifty-five, the red faced paunch bellied

Jacobs looked old enough to be Miles’ father, even though they

were only fifteen years apart.

“Glenfiddich on the rocks.” Miles felt comfortable. Totally

comfortable and in control of the situation.

“Done.” DIRNSA Jacobs pressed a button which caused a hidden bar

to be exposed from a mirror paneled wall. The James Bondish

tricks amused Miles. “Excuse me,” he said to Miles. “Let me get

rid of my other appointments.” Jacobs handed Miles the drink and

leaned over his desk speaking into telephone. “Uh, Miss Gree-

ley, cancel my dates for the rest of the day, would you please?”

“Of course, sir.” The thin female voice came across the speaker

phone clearly.

“And my regrets to the gentlemen in One.”

“Yessir.” The intercom audibly clicked off.

“So,” Marvin asked, “how does it feel to be both the goat and the

hero?”

“Hey, I fixed it, just like we planned, didn’t I?” Miles said

arrogantly, but his deep dimples said he was joking. “I remember

everything you taught me,” he bragged. “Lesson One: If you

really want to fix something, first you gotta fuck it up so bad

everyone takes notice. Well, how’d I do?” Miles still grinned,

his dimples radiating a star pattern across his cheeks. Jacobs

approved whole heartedly.

“You were a natural. From day one.”

“Homosoto thought that fuck-it to fix-it was entirely too weird

at first, so I quit calling it that.” Miles fondly remembered

those early conversations. “As you said, it takes a disaster to

motivate Americans, and we gave them one.”

“I’m glad you see it that way,” Marvin said obligingly. “It

occurred to me that you might have gotten soft on me.”

“Not a chance.” Miles countered. “How many men get to lead

armies, first of all. And I may be the first, ever, to lead an

invasion of my own country with my government’s approval. This

was a sanctioned global video game. I should thank you for the

opportunity.”

“That’s a hell of a way to look at it, my boy. You show a lot of

courage.” Marvin drank to Miles’ health. “It takes men of

courage to run a country, and that’s what we do; run the

country.” Miles had heard many of Marvin’s considerable and

conservative speeches before, but this one was new. After over

five years, that was to be expected.

“It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference who the President is.

The Government stays the same regardless of who’s elected every 4

years.” Marvin continued as Miles listened reverently.

“The American public thinks that politicians run the country;

they think that they vote for the people who make the policies,

who set the tone of the government, but they are so wrong. So

wrong.” Marvin shook his head side to side. “And it’s probably

just as well that they never find out for sure.” He held Miles’

attention. Marv walked