Terminal Compromise - Winn Schwartau (fiction book recommendations TXT) 📗
- Author: Winn Schwartau
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“Sorry, continue.” Scott nibbled from the sandwich on his plate.
“Well there was only one set of books to track the offshore
investments. They wanted them to be kept secret for various
reasons. McMillan and the others made the deals, not me. I just
moved the money for them.” Again Hugh was feeling paranoid.
“Hugh, you moved some money around illegally, maybe. So what?
What’s the big deal?” Scott gulped some hot black coffee to
chase the pastrami that almost went down the wrong pipe.
Sidneys continued after sipping his water and wetting his lips.
“Four days ago I got this call, from some Englishman who I’d
never spoken to before. He said he has all the same figures and
facts you said you have. He starts reading enough to me and I
know he’s got what he says he got. Then he says he wants me to
cooperate or he’ll go public with everything and blow it right
out of the water.” Hugh was perspiring with tension. His fists
were clenched and knuckles white.
“And then, I called you and you came unglued. Right?” Scott was
trying to emotionally console Hugh, at least enough to get some-
thing more. “Do you think you were being blackmailed? Did he,
the English guy, demand anything? Money? Bribes? Sex?” Scott
grinned. Hugh obviously did not appreciate the attempt at levi-
ty.
“No, nothing. He just said that I would hear from him shortly.
That was it. Then, nothing, until you called. Then I figured I
missed his call.” Hugh was working himself into another nervous
frenzy.
“Did he threaten you?”
“No. Not directly. Just said that it would be in my best inter-
est to cooperate.”
“What did you say?”
“What could I say? I mumbled something about doing nothing wrong
but he said that didn’t matter and I would be blamed for every-
thing and that he could prove it.”
“Could he prove it?” Hugh was scribbling furiously in his note-
book.
“If he had the files in my computer I guess I would look pretty
guilty, but there’s no way anyone could get in there. I’m the
only one, other than McMillan who can get at that stuff. It’s
always been a big secret. We don’t even make any printouts of
it. It’s never on paper, just in the computer.” Hugh fell back
in the thinly stuffed torn red Naugahyde bench seat and gulped
from his water glass.
Scott shook his head as he scanned the notes he had been making.
This didn’t make any sense at all. Here was this little nerdy
man, with a convoluted tale of embezzlement and blackmail, off
shore money and he was scared. “Hugh,” Scott began slowly. “Let
me see if I’ve got this right. You were part of a scheme to
shift investments overseas, falsify reports, yet the investments
always made a reasonable return in investment.” Hugh nodded in
agreement silently.
“Then, after how many, eight years of this, creating a secret
little world that only you and McMillan know about . . .”
“A few others knew, I have the names, but only McMillan could get
the information from the computer. No one else could. I set it
up that way on purpose.” Hugh interrupted.
“OK, then you receive a call from some Englishman who says he’s
got the numbers you say are so safe and then I get a copy. And
the numbers agree with the results that First State reported. Is
that about it?” Scott asked, almost mocking the apparent absurd-
ity.
“Yeah, that’s it. That’s what happened.” Hugh Sidneys was
such a meek man.
“That leaves me with a couple of possible conclusions. One, you
got yourself in over your head, finally decided to cut your
losses and make up this incredible story. Maybe make a deal
with the cops or the Feds and try to be hero. Maybe you’re the
embezzler and want out before it’s too late. Born again bean-
counter. It’s a real possibility.” Hugh’s face grimaced; no,
that’s not what happened, it’s just as I told you.
“Or, two, McMillan is behind the disclosures and is now effec-
tively sabotaging his own plans. For what reasons I could hardly
venture a guess now. But, if what you are saying is true, it’s
either you or McMillan.” Scott liked the analysis. It was sound
and took into account all available information, omitting any
speculation.
“Then why would someone want to threaten me?
“Either you never got the call,” the implication was obvious, “or
McMillan is trying, quite effectively to spook you.” Scott put a
few dollars on the table next to the check.
“That’s it? You won’t say anything, will you? You promised!”
Hugh leaned into Scott, very close.
Scott consoled Hugh with a pat on his wrinkled suit sleeve. “Not
without speaking to you first. No, that wouldn’t be cricket.
Don’t worry, I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
His editor, Doug McGuire agreed that Scott should keep on it.
There might be a story there, somewhere. Go find it. But don’t
forget about the viruses.
The headline of the National Expos, a weekly tabloid caught
Scott’s attention on his way home that evening in Grand Central
Station.
EXCLUSIVE! S&L RIP OFF EXPOSED!Scott’s entire story, the one he wasn’t permitted to print was
being read by millions of mid-American supermarket shopping
housewives. In its typically sensationalistic manner, the arti-
cle claimed that the Expose was in exclusive possession of
documents that proved McMillan was stealing 10’s of millions from
First State S&L. It even printed a fuzzy picture of the same
papers that Scott had received. How the hell?
Chapter 4 Thursday, September 10 Houston, Texas.Angela Steinem dialed extension 4343, Network Administration for
MIS at the Treadline Oil Company in Houston, Texas. It rang
three times before Joan Appleby answered. Joan was the daytime
network administrator for Building 4. Hundreds of IBM personal
computers were connected together so they could share information
over a Novell local area network.
“Joan, I don’t bug you much, right?” Angela said hesitantly.
“Angela, how about a good morning girl?” They were good friends
outside of work but had very little business contact.
“Sorry, mornin’. Joan, I gotta problem.”
“What’s troubling ya hon.” Joan Texas spoke with a distinct
Texas twang.
“A little bird just ate my computer.”
“Well, then I guess I’d be lookin’ out for Big Bird’s data dump.”
Joan laughed in appreciation of the comedy.
“No really. A little bird flew all over my computer and ate up
all the letters and words on the screen. Seriously.”
“Y’all are putting me on, right?” Maggie’s voice lilted.
“No. No, I’m serious. It was like a simple video game, Pac-Man
or something, ate up the screen. I couldn’t get it to come back
so I turned my computer off and now it won’t do anything. All it
says is COMMAND.COM cannot be found. Now, what the hell does that
mean.”
Joan Appleby now took Angela seriously. “It may mean that we
have some mighty sick computers. I’ll be right there.”
By the end of work, the Treadline Oil Company was essentially at
a standstill. Over 4,000 of their internal microcomputers,
mainly IBM and Compaq’s were out of commission. The virus had
successfully struck.
Angela Steinem and her technicians shut down the more than 50
local area networks and gateways that connected the various
business units. They contacted the National Computer Virus
Association in San Mateo, California, NIST’s National Computer
Center Laboratories and a dozen or so other watchdog groups who
monitor computer viruses.
This was a new virus. No one had seen it before. Sorry, they
said. If you can send us you hard disk, we may be able find out
what’s going on . . .otherwise, your best bet is to dismantle the
entire computer system, all 4,000 plus of them, and start from
scratch.
Angela informed the Vice President of Information Systems that it
would be at least a week, maybe ten days before Treadline would
be fully operational again.
Mary Wallstone, secretary to Larry Gompers, Junior democratic
representative from South Carolina was stymied.
Every morning between 7:30 and 8:00 AM she opened her boss’s
office and made coffee. Most mornings she brought in Dunkin’
Donuts. It was the only way she knew to insure that her weight
would never ebb below 200 pounds. Her pleasant silken skin did
not match the plumpness below. At 28 she should have known that
meeting Washington’s best and brightest required a more slender
physique.
This morning she jovially sat down at her Apple Macintosh comput-
er with 3 creme filled donuts and a mug of black coffee with 4
sugars. She turned on the power switch and waited as the hour-
glass icon indicated
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