Terminal Compromise Part 112

"Spare me the details."

"Sir, we can stop a car from a thousand yards by pointing elec- tricity at it."

"I don't really care about the details."

"You should, sir. There's a point to this . . ."

"Well, get on with it." Jacobs was clearly annoyed.

"Unlike the EMP-T technology which is very expensive and on the absolute edge of our capabilities . . ."

"And someone elses . . ."

"Granted," the aide said, sounding irritated with the constant interruptions. "But HERF can be generated cheaply by anyone with an elementary knowledge of electronics. The government even sells surplus radio equipment that will do the job quite nicely."

Jacobs smiled briefly.

"You look pleased," the aide said with surprise.

Jacobs hid his pleasure behind a more serious countenance. "Oh, no, it's just the irony of it all. We've been warning them for years and now it's happening."

"Who, sir?"

"Never mind," Jacobs said, dismissing the thought momentarily.

"Go on."

Jacobs arrogantly leaned back in his executive chair, closed his eyes and folded his hands over his barrel chest. This was his way of telling subordinates to talk, spill their guts.

"The real worry about cheap HERF is what it can do in the wrong hands." The aide obliged the ritual. "One transmitter and antenna in a small truck can wipe out every computer on main street during a leisurely drive. Cash registers, electric type- writers, alarms, phones, traffic lights . . .anything electronic a HERF is pointed at, Poof! Good as dead. What if someone used a HERF gun at an airport, pointing up? Or at the tower? From up to a distance of over a kilometer, too. Ten kilometers with better equipment."

"So it works," muttered Jacobs so softly under his breath his aide didn't hear.

"It's reminiscent of drive-by shootings by organized crime. In this case, though, the target is slightly different."

"I see." Jacobs kept his eyes closed as the aide patiently waited for his boss to say something or allow him to return to his family. "I gather we use similar tools ourselves?"

"Yessir. Very popular technique. Better kept quiet."

"Not any more. Not any more."

Chapter 23

Monday, January 11 Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C.

I don't think you're gonna be pleased," Phil Musgrave said at their early morning conclave, before the President's busy day began.

"What else is new?" asked the President acerbically. "Why should I have an easy today any more than any other day?" His dry wit often escaped much of the White House staff, but Musgrave had been exposed to it for over 20 years and took it in stride. Pre- coffee grumps. The President poured himself more hot decaf from the silver service. "What is it?"

"Computers."

The President groaned. "Don't you ever long for the old days when a calculator consisted of two pieces of sliding wood or a hundred beads on rods?"

Musgrave ignored his boss's frustration. "Over the weekend, sir, we experienced a number of incidents that could be considered non-random in nature," Musgrave said cautiously.

"In English, Phil," insisted the President.

"MILNET has been compromised. The Optimus Data Base at Pentagon has been erased as has been Anniston, Air Force Systems Command and a dozen other computers tied through ARPANET."

The President sighed. "Damage report?"

"About a month. We didn't lose anything too sensitive, but that's not the embarra.s.sing part."

"If that's not, then what is?"

"The IRS computers tied to Treasury over the Consolidated Data Network?" The President indicated to continue. "The Central Collection Services computer for the Dallas District has had over 100,000 records erased. Gone."

"And?" The President said wearily.

"The IRS has had poor backup procedures. The OMB and GAO reports of 1989 and 1990 detailed their operational shortcomings." The President waited for Phil to say something he could relate to.

"It appears that we'll lose between $500 million and $2 Billion in revenues."

"Christ! That's it!" The President shouted. "Enough is enough.

The two weeks is up as of this moment." He shook his head with his eyes closed in disbelief. "How the h.e.l.l can this happen . . .?" he asked rhetorically.

"Sir, I think that our priority is to keep this out of the press.

We need plausible deniability . . ."

"Stop with the Pentagon-speak bulls.h.i.+t and just clamp down. No leaks. I want this contained. The last d.a.m.n thing we need is for the public to think that we can't protect our own computers and the privacy of our citizens. If there is one single leak, I will personally behead the offender," the President said with intensity enough to let Phil know that his old friend and comrade meant what he said.

"Issue an internal directive, lay down the rules. Who knows about this?"

"Too many people, sir. I am not convinced that we can keep this completely out of the public eye."

"Isolate them."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. Isolate them. National Security. Tell them it'll only be few days. Christ. Make up any d.a.m.n story you want, but have it taken care of. Without my knowledge."

"Yessir."

"Then, find somebody who knows what the h.e.l.l is going on."

Monday, January 11 Approaching New York City