Terminal Compromise Part 90
"You sold me," Scott said holding his hands up in surrender.
"Just a little high is fine by me. Two grams, please," he said to Chris pointing at the less potent bag. "Thanks for the warn- ing," he said to the American. "Where you from?" Scott asked.
"Oh, around. I guess you could call Washington my home."
"D.C.?"
"Yeah," the American nodded. "And you?" He leaned over the back of his chair to face Scott.
"Big Apple. The 'burbs."
"What brings you here?"
"To Europe?" Scott asked.
"Amsterdam. Sin City. Diamonds?"
"No, I wish," Scott laughed. "News. A story brought me here for a couple of days."
Chris finished weighing Scott's purchase on a sensitive digital scale that measured the goods down to the nearest hundredth of a gram. Scott handed Chris $10 in Guilders and pocketed the pot.
"Um, where can I get some papers?" Scott asked. Chris pointed to a gla.s.s on the bar with a complete selection of a.s.sorted paraphernalia.
"Hey, why don't you join me," the American asked. "I've been to Amsterdam before."
"Is it all right to smoke in here?" Scott asked looking around.
"Sure, that's what coffee shops are. The only other thing you can buy in here is sodas. No booze." The American spoke confi- dently as he lit up a joint and pa.s.sed it to Scott.
"Thanks," Scott coughed as he handed it back. "Oh, I don't think I caught your name.
"Oh, just call me Spook."
THE Spook? thought Scott. What incredible synchronicity.
Scott's body instantly tensed up and he felt the adrenaline rush with an a.s.sociated rise in pulse rate. Was this really the leg- endary Spook?
Is it possible that he fell into a chance meeting with the hacker that Kirk and his friends refer to as the king of hackers?
Spook? Gotta stay cool. Could he be that lucky? Was there more than one spook? Scott momentarily daydreamed, remembering how fifteen years before, in Athens, Greece he had opened a taxi door right into the face a lady who turned out to be an ex-high-school girl friend. It is a small world, Scott thought tritely.
"Spook? Are you a spy?" Scott comically asked, careful to dis- guise his real interest.
"If I answer that I'll have to kill you," the Spook laughed out loud in the quiet establishment. "Spy? Hardly. It's just a handle." Spook said guardedly. "What's yours?"
"Mine? Oh, my handle. They call me Repo Man, but it's really Scott Mason. Glad to meet you. Spook," he added handing back the intoxicating cigarette.
BINGO! Scott Mason in hand without even a search. Landing right in his lap. Keep your cool. Dead pan poker face. What unbe- lievable luck. Don't blow it, let's play this for all that it's worth. Your life just got very simple. Give both h.o.m.osoto and Mason exactly what they want with no output of energy.
"You said you're a reporter," Spook said inhaling deeply again.
"What's the story?" At least he gets high, Spook thought. Mason could have been a real dip-s.h.i.t nerd. Thank G.o.d for small fa- vors.
"There's a hacker conference that I was invited to," Scott said unabashedly. "I'm trying to show the hacker's side of the story.
Why they do what they do. How they legitimize it to themselves."
Scott's mouth was rapidly drying out so he ordered a Pepsi. "I a.s.sume you're a hacker, too," Scott broached the issue carefully.
Spook smiled widely. "Yup. And proud of it."
"You don't care who knows?" Scott asked looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to their conversation. Instead the other patrons were engrossed in chess or huddled conversation.
Only Chris, the proprietor listened from behind the bar.
"The Spook is all anyone knows. I like to keep it that way,"
Spook said as he laid the roach end of the joint in the ashtray.
"Not bad, huh?" He asked Scott.
"Christ, no. Kinda hits you between the eyes." Scott rubbed them to clear off the invading fog.
"After a couple of days it won't get you so bad," Spook said.
"You said you wanted to do a fair story on hackers, right?"
"Fair? A fair story? I can only try. If hackers act and talk like a.s.sholes then they'll come across like a.s.sholes, no matter what I do. However, if they make a decent case, hold a rational, albeit arguable position, then maybe someone may listen."
"You sound like you don't approve of our activities." The Spook grinned devilishly.
"Honestly, and I shouldn't say this cause this is your gra.s.s,"
Scott said lighting the joint again. "No, I don't approve, but I figure there's at least 10 sides to a story, and I'm here to find that story and present all sides. Hopefully I can even line up a debate or two. Convincing me is not the point; my readers make up their own minds."
The word 'readers' momentarily jolted the Spook until he realized Scott meant newspaper readers, not his team of Van-Ecking eaves- droppers. Spook took the joint from Scott. "You sound like you don't want to approve."
"Having a hard time with all the c.r.a.p going down with computers these days," Scott agreed. "I guess my att.i.tude comes through in my articles."
"I've never read your stuff," Spook lied.
"Mainly in New York."
"That explains it. Ever been to Amsterdam?"
"No, I was going to get a map and truck around . . ."
"How about I show you around, and try to convince you about the honor of our profession?" Spook asked.
"Great!" Scott agreed. "But what about . . ." He made a motion to his lips as if he was holding a cigarette.
"Legal on the streets."
"You sure?"
"C'mon," Spook said rising from his chair. "Chris, see you later," he promised. Chris reciprocated and invited his two new friends to return any time.
Scott followed Spook up the alley named Bakkerstraat and into the Rembrandt Plein, a huge open square with cafes and street people and hotels. "At night," Spook said, "Rembrandt and another 4 or 5 pleins are the social hub of activity for the younger genera- tion. Wished I had had this when I was a kid. How are your legs?" The Spook amorously ogled the throngs of young women twenty years his junior.