Terminal Compromise Part 43

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 they had expected to find that someone had stumbled upon a way to make highly miniaturized nuclear weapons. The men from the NSA knew they were wrong.

It took almost six weeks for the Stock Exchange to function at its previous levels. Trading was reduced to paper and less than 10,000,000 shares daily for almost two weeks until the temporary system was expanded with staff and runners. Daily trading never was able to exceed 27,000,000 shares until the computers came back on line.

The SEC and the Government Accounting Office released preliminary figures indicating the shut down of the Exchange would cost the American economy almost $50 Billion this year. Congress is preparing legislation to provide emergency funding to those firms that were adversely affected by the ma.s.sive computer failure.

The Stock Exchange has said that it will inst.i.tute additional physical and computer security to insure that there is no repeat of the unfortunate suicide a.s.sault.

Sunday, November 8 Scarsdale, New York

"You never cease to amaze me," Tyrone said as he entered Scott's ultra modern house. "You and this freaking palace. Just from looking at you, I'd expect black lights, Woodstock posters and sleeping bags." He couldn't recall if he had ever seen Scott wear anything but jeans, t-s.h.i.+rts or sweat s.h.i.+rts and spotlessly clean Reeboks.

Scott's sprawling 8000 square foot free form geometric white on white home sat on 2 acres at the end of a long driveway heavily treed with evergreens so that seclusion was maintained all year long. Featured in Architectural Digest, the designers made generous use of gla.s.s brick inside and out. The indoor pool boasted sliding gla.s.s walls and a retractable skylight ceiling which gave the impression of outdoor living, even in the midst of a harsh winter.

"They're in the music room." Scott proceeded to open a set of heavy oak double doors. "Soundproof, almost," he said cheerily.

A 72 inch video screen dominated one wall and next to it sat a large control center with VCR's, switchers and satellite tuner.

Scott's audio equipment was as complex as Ty had ever seen and an array of speaker systems flanked the huge television.

"Toys, you got the toys, don't you?" joked Tyrone.

"The only difference is that they cost more," agreed Scott. "You wanna see a toy and a half? I invented it myself."

"Not another one?" groaned Tyrone. "That idiot golf machine of yours was . . ."

"Capable of driving 350 yards, straight as an arrow."

"And as I remember, carving up the greens pretty good." Scott and his rolling Golf Gopher had been thrown off of several courses already.

"A few modifications, that's all," laughed Scott.

Scott led Tyrone through the immense family-entertainment room into a deep navy blue, white accented Euro-streamlined automated kitchen. It was like no other kitchen he had ever seen. In fact, other than the sinks and the extensive counters, there was no indication that this room was intended for preparing food.

Scott flipped a switch and suddenly the deep blue cabinet doors faded into a transparent tint baring the contents of the shelves.

The fronts of the stoves, refrigerator and freezer and other appliances exposed their function and controls.

"Holy Jeez . . ." Ty said in amazement. Last month this had been a regular high tech kitchen of the 80's. Now it was the Jetsons.

"That's incredible . . .you invented that?"

"No," dismissed Scott. "That's just a neat trick of LCD panels built into the cabinets. This was my idea." He pressed an invisible switch and 4 ten inch openings appeared on the counter top near the sink. "Combination trash compacter re-cycler.

Gla.s.s, plastic, aluminum, metal and paper. Comes out by the garbage, ready to go to the center."

"Lazy son of a b.i.t.c.h aren't you?" Tyrone laughed loudly.

"Sure, I admit my idea of gardening is watching someone mow the lawn." Scott feigned offense. "But this is in the name of Green. I bet if you had one, you'd use it and Arlene would get off your a.s.s."

"No way," Tyrone objected. "My marriage is too good to screw up.

It's the only thing left we still fight about, and we both like it just the way it is. Thanks, but no thanks. I'm old fas.h.i.+oned."

Scott showed Tyrone how to use the kitchen and he found that no matter what he wanted, there was b.u.t.ton for it, a hidden drawer or a disguised appliance. "I still buy dishwashers at Sears.

How the h.e.l.l do you know how to use this stuff," Ty said fumbling with the automatic bottle opener which automatically dropped the removed caps into the hole for the metal compactor.

Tyrone had come over to Scott's house for a quiet afternoon of Sunday football. An ideal time because Arlene had gone to Boston for the weekend with his daughters. Freedom!

They made it to the Music Room with their beers as the kickoff was midfield. "So how's the promotion going?" Scott asked Tyrone in half jest. Over the last few weeks, Ty had spent most of his time in Was.h.i.+ngton and what little time was left with his family.

"Promotion my a.s.s. It's the only way I can not get a promotion."

Tyrone added somberly, "and it may be my last case."

"What do you mean?" Scott asked.

"It's gotten outta hand, totally out of hand. We have to spend more time protecting the rights of the G.o.dd.a.m.ned criminals than solving crimes. That's not what it should be about. At least not for me."

"You're serious about this," Scott said rhetorically.

"Hey, sooner or later I gotta call it quits," Ty replied soberly.

"But this computer thing's gonna make my decision easier."

"That's what I asked. How's the promotion?"

"Let's just say, more of the same but different. Except the interagency c.r.a.p is amazing. No one commits to anything, and everything needs study and nothing gets done." Tyrone sighed.

He had been in Was.h.i.+ngton working with NIST, NSA, DoD and every other agency that thought it had a vested interest in computers and their protection. Their coordination with CERT and ECCO was a joke, even by government standards.

At the end of the first quarter, the 49'ers were holding a solid 10 point lead. Scott grabbed a couple more beers and began tell- ing Tyrone about the incident at the Exchange. The New York Police had taken over the case, declaring sovereignty over Wall Street and its enclaves.

"They don't know what they have, however," Scott said immodestly.

"The talk was a small scale nuke . . ."

"The DOE smashed that but fast," Scott interrupted. "What if I told you that it was only the computers that were attacked? That the deaths were merely incidental?"

Tyrone groaned as the 49'ers fumbled the ball. "I'd listen," he said noncommittally.

"It was a cla.s.sified magnetic bomb. NSA calls them EMP-T."

"Empty? The empty bomb?" Tyrone said skeptically. "Since when does NSA design bombs?"

"Listen," said Scott trying to get Ty's attention away from the TV. "Have you ever heard of C-Cubed, or C3?"

"No." He stared at the San Francisco defense being crushed.

"Command, Control and Communications It's a special government program to deal with nuclear warfare."

"Pleasant thought," said Tyrone.