Terminal Compromise Part 105
"What? What did you say?" Scott leaned his ear down closer to Pierre's mouth.
"DGOEROUGH."
"Take it easy," Scott said to comfort the badly injured Pierre Troubleaux.
"Nooo . . ." Pierre's limp body made a futile attempt at move- ment. Scott held him back.
"Hey, Pierre . . .you don't mind if I call you Pierre?" Scott adapted a mock French accent.
"Noo, DNGRAAAAPHJG . . ."
"Good. Why don't you just lay back and wait. The doctor'll be here in a second . . ."
"Sick . . ." Pierre managed to get out one word.
"Sick? Sick? Yeah, yeah, you're sick," Scott agreed sympathet- ically.
"DGRAF, sick." The effort caused Pierre to pant quickly.
"Dgraf, sick? What does that mean?" Scott asked.
"Sick. DGraph sick." Pierre's voice began to fade. "Sick. Don't use it. Don't use . . ."
"What do you mean don't use it? DGraph? Hey!" Scott lightly shook Pierre. "You still with us? C'mon, what'd you say? Tell me again? Sick?"
Pierre's body was still.
The bulls.h.i.t put out by the Government was beyond belief, thought Miles. How could they sit there and claim that all was well? It was common knowledge that computer security was dismal at best throughout both the civilian and military agencies. With the years he spent at NSA he knew that security was a political compromise and not a fiscal or technical reality. And these guys lied through their teeth. Oh, well, he thought, that would all change soon.
The report issued by the National Research Council in November of 1990 concurred with Miles' a.s.sessment. Security in the govern- ment was a disaster, a laughable travesty if it weren't for the danger to national security. The report castigated the results of decades of political in-fighting between agencies competing for survival and power.
He and Perky spent the day watching the hearings at Miles' high rise apartment. They had become an item in certain circles that Miles traveled and now they spent a great deal of time together.
After several on-again off-again attempts at a relationship consisting of more than just s.e.x, they decided not to see each other for over a year. That was fine by Miles; he had missed the freedom of no commitments.
At an emba.s.sy Christmas party months later, they ran into each other and the old animal attraction between them was re-released.
They spent the weekend in bed letting their hormones loose to run rampant on each other. The two had been inseparable since. She was the first girl, woman, who was able to tolerate Miles' in- flated egoand his constant need for emotional gratification.
Perky had little idea, by design, of the work that Miles was doing for h.o.m.osoto. She knew he was a computer and communica- tions wizard, but that was all. Prying was not her concern.
During his angry outbursts venting frustration with h.o.m.osoto's pettiness, Perky supported him fully, unaware of his ultimate goal.
Perky found the testimony by Dr. Sternman to be educational; she actually began to understand some of the complicated issues surrounding security and privacy. In many ways it was scary, she told Miles. He agreed, saying if were up to him, things would get a lot worse before they get any better. She responded to his ominous comment with silence until Pierre Troubleaux began his testimony.
As well known as Bill Gates, as charismatic as Steve Jobs, Pierre Troubleaux was regarded as a s.e.xy, rich and eligible bachelor ready for the taking. Stephanie Perkins was more stirred by his appearance and bearing than his words, so she joined Miles in rapt attention to watch his orations on live television.
When the first shot rang out their stunned confusion echoed the camera's erratic framing. As the second shot came across the TV, Perky sprang up and shouted, "No!" Tears dripped from the cor- ners of her eyes.
"Miles! What's happening? They're shooting him . . ."
"I don't know ." A third shot and then the image of Scott and Pierre crumbling. "Holy s.h.i.t, it's an a.s.sa.s.sination!"
"Miles, what's going on here?" Stephanie cried.
"This is f.u.c.king nuts . . .he's killing him . . ." Miles stared at the screen and spoke in a dull monotone. "I can't believe this is happening, it's not part of the plan . . ."
"Miles, Miles!" She screamed, desperately trying to get his attention. "Who? Miles! Who's killing him? What plan?"
"f.u.c.king h.o.m.osoto, that yellow skinned p.r.i.c.k . . ."
"h.o.m.osoto?" She stopped upon hearing the name.
Miles leapt up from the couch and raced over to the corner of the room with his computers. He pounced on the keyboard of the NipCom computer and told it to dial h.o.m.osoto's number in j.a.pan.
That son of a b.i.t.c.h better be there. Answer, d.a.m.n it.
h.o.m.osoto!!!!!
The delay seemed interminable as Miles waited for him to get on line. Perky followed him over to the computer and watched as he made contact. She knew that Miles and h.o.m.osoto spoke often over the computer, too often for Miles' taste. h.o.m.osoto whined to Miles almost every day, about one thing or another, and Miles complained to her about how irritating his childish interference was. But throughout it all, Perky had never been privy to their conversations. She had stayed her distance, until this time.
Miles had been in rages before; she had become unwillingly accus- tomed to his furious outbursts. Generally they were unfocused eruptions; a soph.o.m.oric way of releasing pent up energy and frus- tration. But this time, Miles' face clearly showed fear. Steph- anie saw the dread. "Miles! What does h.o.m.osoto have to do with this? Miles, please!" She pleaded with him to include her. The screen finally responded.
MR. FOSTER. AN UNEXPECTED PLEASURE.
You imperial mother f.u.c.ker.
EXPLAINATION, PLEASE.
You're a f.u.c.king murderer.
I TAKE EXCEPTION TO THAT.
Take exception to this, Jack! What the h.e.l.l did you kill him for?
I a.s.sUME YOU HAVE BEEN WATCHING TELEVISION.
Aren't we the Einstein of Sushi land.
YOUR MANNERS.
You killed him! Why?
Stephanie read the monitor and wept quietly as the conversation scrolled before her. She placed her hands on Miles' shoulders in an effort to feel less alone.
IT WAS A NECESSARY EVIL. HE COULD NOT BE PERMITTED TO SPEAK.
NOT YET.