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

building, all 500

feet of it. Emergency vehicles filled the wide street, every-

thing from ambulances, fire engines, riot vehicles and New York

Power. Then there were the DA’s office, lawyers for the Ex-

change, insurance representatives and a ton of computer people.

“What the hell happened here?” Scott asked looking at the pande-

monium on the cordoned off Cortland Street. “Where are all the

lights?” He turned and gazed at the darkened streets and tall

buildings. “Did you know a bunch of the street lights are out,

too?” Scott meandered in seeming awe of the chaos.

“This is one strange one,” Ben said as they approached the build-

ing entrance. “Let me ask you a question, you’re the techno-

freak.”

Scott scowled at him for the reference but didn’t comment.

“What kind of bomb stops electricity?”

“Electricity? You mean power?” Scott pointed at the blackened

buildings and streets and Ben nodded. “Did they blow the block

transformers?”

“No, just a small Cemex, plastic, bomb in one computer room. Did

some damage, but left an awful lot standing. But the death toll

was high. Eleven dead and two probably not going to make it.

Plus the perp.”

Scott gazed around the scene. The dark sky was pierced by the

top floors of the World Trade Center, and there were lights in

the next blocks. So it’s not a blackout. And it wasn’t the

power grid that was hit. A growing grin preceded Scott shaking

his head side to side.

“What is it?” Ben asked.

“A nuke.”

“A nuke?”

“Yeah, that’s it, a nuke,” Scott said excitedly. “A nuke knocks

out power. Of course.”

“Right,” Ben said mockingly. “I can hear it now: Portion of

17th. Floor of Exchange Devastated by Nuclear Bomb. News at

Eleven.”

“Never mind,” Scott brushed it off. “Can we get up there?” He

pointed at the ceiling. “See the place?”

Ben pulled a few strings and spent a couple of hundred of Scott’s

dollars but succeeded in getting to the corpse-less site of the

explosion. Scott visually poked around the debris and noticed a

curved porcelain remnant near his feet. He wasn’t supposed to

touch, but, what was it? And the ruby colored chunks of glass?

In the few seconds they were left alone, they snapped a quick

roll of film and made a polite but hasty departure. At $200 a

minute Scott hoped he would find what he was looking for.

“Ben, I need these photos blown up, to say, 11 X 17? ASAP.”

The press conference at 4:15 in the morning was necessary. The

Stock Exchange was not going to open Thursday. The lobby of the

Stock Exchange was aflood with TV camera lights, police and the

media hoards. Voices echoed loudly, between the marble walls and

floor and made hearing difficult.

“We don’t want to predict what will happen over the next 24

hours,” the exhausted stocky spokesman for the Stock Exchange

said loudly, to make himself heard over the din. “We have every

reason to expect that we can make a quick transition to another

system.”

“How is that done?”

“We have extensive tape vaults where we store everything from the

Exchange computers daily. We will either use one of our backup

computers, or move the center to a temporary location. We don’t

anticipate any delays.”

“What about the power problem?” A female reporter from a local

TV news station asked.

“Con Ed is on the job,” the spokesman said, pleased they were

picking on someone else. “I have every confidence they will have

things up and flying soon.”

“What caused the power outage?”

“We don’t have the answer to that now.”

Scott edged to the front of the crowd to ask a question. “What

if,” Scott asked the spokesman. “if the tapes were destroyed?”

“Thank God they weren’t . . .” he said haltingly.

“Isn’t it true,” Scott ventured accusingly, “that in fact you

already know that every computer in this building is dead, all of

the emergency power backup systems and batteries failed and that

every computer tape or disk has been completely erased?” The

other reporters stood open mouthed at the unexpected question.

Scott spoke confidently, knowing that he was being filmed by the

networks. The spokesman nervously fumbled with some papers in

his hand. The press pool waited for the answer that had silenced

the spokesman. He stammered, “We have no . . .until power is

restored a full determination of the damage cannot be made . . .”

Scott pressed the point. “What would happen if the tapes were

all erased?”

“Uh, I, well . . .” he glanced from side to side. On his left

were two men dressed in matching dark blue suits, white shirts

and sunglasses. “It is best not to speculate until we have more

information.”

“Computer experts have said that if the tapes are erased it would

take at least thirty days to recreate them and get the Exchange

open again. Is that correct?” Scott exaggerated. He was the

computer expert to whom he referred. Journalistic license.

“Under the conditions,” the spokesman said trying to maintain a

credible visage to front for his lies, “I also have heard some

wildly exaggerated estimates. Let me assure you,” the politician

in him came out here. “that the Exchange will in no way renege

on its fiduciary responsibilities to the world financial communi-

ty.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid that’s all the time I

have now. We will meet here again at 9:00 A.M. for a further

briefing. Thank you.” He quickly exited under the protection of

New York’s finest as the reporters all shouted their last

questions. Scott didn’t bother. It never works.

One of the men in the blue suits leaned over to the other and

spoke quietly in his ear. “Who is that guy asking all those ques-

tions?”

“Isn’t that the reporter the Director was talking about?”

“Yeah. He said we should keep an eye on him.”

* Thursday, November 5 Tokyo, Japan <<<<<>>>>>

MR. SHAH

Ahmed heard his computer announce that Homosoto was calling. He

pushed the joystick on the arm of his electric wheelchair and

proceeded over to the portable computer that was outfitted with

an untraceable cellular modem. Even if the number was traced

through four interstate call forwards and the original overseas

link, finding him was an entirely different matter. Ahmed entered

the time base PRG code from the ID card he kept strapped to his

wheelchair.

yes.

CONGRATULATIONS ON THE STOCK EXCHANGE.

yes. we were well served by martyrs. they are to

be honored.

CAN YOU HAVE MORE READY?

8 more.

WHEN?

1 month.

GOOD. PUT THEM HERE. SOCIAL SECURITY ADMINISTRATION, IMMIGRA-

TION AND NATURALIZATION, AMERICAN EXPRESS, NEW YORK FEDERAL

RESERVE, STATE FARM INSURANCE, FANNY MAE, CITIBANK AND FEDERAL

EXPRESS.

done.

DO IT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. THEN MAKE MORE.

<<<<<>>>>> * Friday, November 6 New York City

The Stock Exchange didn’t open Friday either.

Scott Mason had made enough of a stink about the erased tapes

that they could no longer hide under the cover of computer mal-

functions. It was finally admitted that yes, the tapes were

needed to verify all transactions, especially the computer trans-

actions, and they had been destroyed along with the entire con-

tents of the computer’s memory and hard disks. Wiped out.

Totally.

The Exchange didn’t tell the press that the National Security

Agency had been quietly called in to assist. The NSA specializes

in information gathering, and over the years with tens of bil-

lions of dollars in secret appropriations, they have developed

extraordinary methods to extract usable information where there

is apparently none.

The Exchange couriered a carton of computer tapes to NSA’s Fort

Meade where the most sophisticated listening and analysis tools

in the world live in acres upon acres of underground laboratories

and data processing centers. What they found did not make the

NSA happy. The tapes had in fact been totally erased. A total

unidirectional magnetic pattern.

Many ‘erased’ tapes and disks can be recovered. One of the

preferred recovery methods is to use NMR Nuclear Magnetic Reso-

nance, to detect the faintest of organized magnetic orientations.

Even tapes or disks with secret information that have been erased

many times can be ‘read’ after an MNR scan.

The electromagnetic signature left remnant on the tapes, the

molecular alignment of the ferrous and chromium oxide particles

in this case were peculiarly characteristic. There was little

doubt. The NSA immediately called the Exchange and asked them,

almost ordered them, to leave the remaining tapes where they

were.

In less than two hours an army of NSA technicians showed up with

crates and vehicles full of equipment. The Department of Energy

was right behind with equipment suitable for radiation measure-

ments and emergency responses.

DOE quickly reached no conclusion. Not enough information.

Initially