Terminal Compromise

Scott's mind played with the varied imagery of Miles' creative phraseology. The name was different, he thought, but the charac- ter was the same.

"You know," Scott said as the two stood on the deck, drinks in hand, soaking up the brisk lake air. "I really don't understand you."

"What's to understand?" Miles' gaze remained constant over the moonlit water.

"I see that you weren't overly detained the other evening."

"No reason to be. It was a terrible mistake. They must have me confused with someone else." Miles played dead pan.

"You know what I'm talking about," urged Scott. "The Spook and all that..."

"f.u.c.k you!" Miles turned and yelled with hostility. He placed the gla.s.s of Glenfiddich on the railing and pointed his forefin- ger in Scott's face. "You're getting what you want, so back the f.u.c.k off. Got it?"

Scott's blood pressure joined his fight or flight response in panic. Was this the Mr. Hyde of Miles Foster? Or the real Spook? Had he blown it?

Just then, the sliding gla.s.s door from the living room opened and Sonja and Stephanie s.h.i.+vered at the first cool gust of wind.

Miles instantly swept Stephanie in his arms and gave her an obscene sounding kiss. His face emerged from the lip melee with no trace of anger, no trace of displeasure. The sinister Miles was magically transformed into Miles the lover.

He had had no chance to respond to Miles' outburst, so Scott was caught with his jaw hung open.

"You boys finish shop yet?" Stephanie said nuzzling at Miles'

ear.

"We were just discussing the biographical inconsistencies in the annotated history of Alfred E. Neumann's early years," Miles said convincingly. He glanced over at Scott with a wise cracking dimple filled smile. "We disagree on the exact date of his second bris."

Incredible, thought Scott. The ultimate chameleon.

Gullibility was one of Stephanie's long suits, so Sonja helped out. "That's right up there with the bathing habits of the Jamaican bobsled team."

"C'mon," Stephanie said tugging at Miles. "It's chilly out here."

Dumbfounded, Scott shrugged at Miles when the girls weren't looking. Whatever you want. It's your game. Miles mouthed back at Scott, 'you're f.u.c.king right it is.'

The remainder of the evening comprised a little of everything.

Except computers. And computer crime. And any political talk that might lead to either of the first two no-nos. They dined elegantly, drank expensive French wine and overindulged in Mar- tel. It was the perfect social evening between four friends.

Chapter 28

Sunday, January 24 New York City Times

HARDWARE VIRUSES: A NEW TWIST By Scott Mason

In conversations with the Spook, the man who claims to be the technical genius behind the h.o.m.osoto Invasion, I have learned that there are even more menacing types of computer viruses than those commonly a.s.sociated with infected software programs. They are hardware viruses; viruses built right into the electronics.

The underground computer culture calls the elite designers of hardware viruses Chippers. It should come as no surprise then that Chipping was a practice exploited by h.o.m.osoto and his band under the wizardry of the Spook.

Chippers are a very specialized group of what I would have once called hackers, but whom now many refer to as terrorists. They design and build integrated circuits, chips, the brains of toys and computers, to purposefully malfunction. The chips are de- signed to either simply stop working, cause intentional random or persistent errors and even cause physical damage to other elec- tronic circuits.

You ask, is all of this really possible? Yes, it is possible, it

It takes a great many resources to build a chip - millions of dollars in sophisticated test equipment, lasers, clean rooms, electron beam microscopes and dozens of PhD's in dozens of disci- plines to run it all.

According to the Spook, OSO Industries built millions upon millions of integrated circuits that are programmed to fail. He said, "I personally headed up that portion of the engineering design team. The techniques for building and disguising a Trojan Chip were all mine. I originally suggested the idea in jest, saying that if someone really wanted to cause damage, that's what they would do. h.o.m.osoto didn't even blink at the cost. Twelve million dollars."

When asked if he knew when the chips would start failing he responded, "I don't know the exact dates because anyone could easily add or change a date or event trigger. But I would guess that based upon timing of the other parts of the plan, seemingly isolated electronic systems will begin to fail in the next few months. But, that's only a guess."

The most damaging types of Trojan Chips are those that already have a lot of room for memory. The Spook described how mostly static RAM, (Random Access Memory) chips and various ROM chips, (Read Only Memory) such as UV-EPROM and EEPROM were used to house the destructive instructions for later release in computer sys- tems.

"It's really simple. There are always thousands of unused gates in every IC. Banks and banks of memory for the taking. h.o.m.osoto was no slouch, and he recognized that hardware viruses are the ultimate in underground computer warfare. Even better than the original Trojan Horse. No messy software to worry about, and extensive collateral damage to nearby electronic components.

Makes repairs terrifically expensive."

Which chips are to be considered suspect? The Spook was clear.

"Any RAM or ROM chips with the OSO logo and a date code after 1/89 are potentially dangerous. They should be swapped out immediately for new, uninfected components. Also, OSO sold their chips, in die form, to other manufacturers to put their own names on them. I wish I knew to whom, but h.o.m.osoto's firm handled all of that."

The Spook also said to beware of any electronic device using OSO labeled or OSO made LS logic chips. Hundreds of millions of the LS logic chips, the so called Glue of electronics, are sold every year. In the electronics world they are considered 'dime-store'

parts, selling for a few pennies each. However, in most elec- tronic systems, an inexpensive component failure is just as bad as an expensive component failure. In either case, it stops working.

The Spook continues: "The idea was to build a small timebomb into VCR's, televisions and radios. Not only computers, but alarm systems, cash registers, video games, blowing up all at once. At times it got very funny. Imagine dishwashers spitting up gallons of suds in kitchens everywhere. The ovens will be cook- ing pork tartar and toast a la burnt. What happens when Betty- Jean doesn't trust her appliances any more? The return line at Sears will be a week long."

I asked the Spook how this was possible? How could he inflict such damage without anyone noticing? His answer is as indicting as is his guilt. "No one checks. If the chip pa.s.ses a few simple tests, it's put into a calculator or a clock or a tele- phone or an airplane. No one expects the chip to be hiding something destructive, so no one looks for it. Not even the military check. They just expect their chips to work in the frozen depths of s.p.a.ce and survive a nuclear blast. They don't expect a virus to be lurking."

No matter what one thinks of the nameless, faceless person who hides behind the anonymity of these computerized confessions, one has to agree that the man known as the Spook has awakened this world to many of the dangers that unbridled technical proficiency brings. Have we taken too much liberty without the concomitant responsibility? I know that I find I wish I could run parts of my life in fast forward. Sitting in a movie theater, I feel myself tense as I realize I cannot speed up the slow parts. Has the infinite flexibility we have given ourselves outpaced social conscience?

Ironically, conversations with the Spook tended to be impersonal; not machine-like, but devoid of concern for people. I asked him if he cared.

"That was not the idea, as far as I know. In a way this was electronic warfare, in the true sense of the word. Collateral damage is unavoidable."

Hardware viruses in addition to software viruses. Is nothing sacred?

Sunday, January 24 Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C.

"Does he know what he's saying?" Henry Kennedy said doubtfully.

"I think so, and I also think it's a brilliant way to put a huge dent in the j.a.panese monopoly on integrated circuits." Marvin Jacobs had an office installed not two doors from Kennedy's in the subterranean mazes beneath the White House lawn.

"He can't blame the j.a.panese for everything."

"Don't you see? He's not? All he's saying is that OSO did it, and he's letting the j.a.panese national guilt by a.s.sociation take its course." Jacobs seemed pleased. "Mason's chippers will cast a shadow of doubt on everything electronic made in j.a.pan.

If it has OSO's name on it, it'll be taboo. Tos.h.i.+ba, Mitsubis.h.i.+, Matsus.h.i.+ta...all the big Nippon names will be tarnished for years."

"And you actually want this to happen?" asked Henry.

"I didn't say that," Marvin said slithering away from a policy opinion. "Hey, what are you complaining about? Mason gave us the article like you wanted, didn't he?"