Terminal Compromise

"So why quit? Can't you make a difference?"

"Listen. The FBI views computer crimes as inter-state in nature and therefore under their domain."

Scott nodded in understanding.

"We are enforcement, only," Tyrone a.s.serted. "We do not, nor should we make the laws. Separation of power; Civics 101. To accomplish anything, I have to be a private citizen."

"What do you want to accomplish?" asked Scott with great inter- est.

"I want to stop the NSA." Tyrone spoke bluntly and Scott sat too stunned to speak for long seconds.

"From what?" A sudden pit formed in Scott's stomach.

"I found out why they dumped on you about the CMR," Tyrone said.

"I haven't been able to tell you before, but it doesn't matter any more." Tyrone quickly shook off the veiling sadness. "NSA has a built-in contradiction. On one hand they listen into the world and spy for America. This is supposed to be very secret, especially how they do it. It turns out that CMR is one of their 'secret' methods for spying on friends and foes alike.

"So, to keep our friends and foes from spying on us, they create the secret Tempest program. Except, they think it needs to be kept a military secret, and the public sector be d.a.m.ned. They actually believe that opening the issue to the public will hamper their intelligence gathering capabilities because the enemy will protect against it, too."

Scott listened in fascination. What he was learning now more than made up for the loss of one article. He felt bad now that he had overreacted and taken it out on Tyrone.

"Same goes for the EMP-T bomb," Tyrone added. "Only they didn't know that you were going to publish ahead of time like they did when I opened up my fat trap."

Scott's eyes suddenly lit up. "How much did you tell them?"

"That I knew you and you were writing an article. That's it."

"Then how did they know what I had written? It was pretty d.a.m.ned close. I a.s.sumed that you had..."

"No way, man," Tyrone held his hands up.

"Then how did...Ty? What if they're using CMR on my computers?

Could they..."

Tyrone's predicament was to decide whether or not to tell Scott that he knew the NSA and others spied on Americans and gathered intelligence through remote control means. "I a.s.sume they're capable of anything."

"s.h.i.+t!" Scott exclaimed. "Privacy goes right out the window.

d.a.m.n." Scott rapidly spun in his chair and vacantly stared off in s.p.a.ce. "Is that legal?"

"What? CMR? I looked into that briefly, and there's nothing on the books yet, but I did find out that tapping cellular phone conversations is legal."

"Phone tapping, legal?" Scott couldn't believe his ears.

"Cellular phones, yeah. The FCC treats them like TV sets, radi- os, satellites. Anyone can listen to any station."

"That's incredible," Scott said, mouth gaping. "I wonder how they'll handle RF LAN's."

"RF LAN's," asked Ty. "What are those?"

"A bunch of computers tied together with radios. They replace the wires that connect computers now. Can you imagine?" Scott saw the irony in it. "Broadcasting your private secrets like that? Hah! Or if you have your own RF network, all you have to do is dial up another one and all the information ends up right in your computer! Legal robbery. Is this a great country or what?"

"Now you know why I'm leaving. The NSA cannot be permitted to keep the public uninformed about vulnerabilities to their person- al freedom. And hiding under the umbrella of national security gets old. A handful of paranoid un-elected, un-budgeted, non-ac- countable, mid-level

Scott stifled a nervous laugh. Who wound Tyrone up? A conspira- cy theory. Tyrone was drunk. "Don't you think that maybe you're taking this a little far," he suggested. For the first time in years the shoe was on the other foot. Scott was tempering some- body elses extremes.

"Why the h.e.l.l do you think there's so much confusion at ECCO and CERT and the other computer SWAT teams? NSA interferes at every step," Tyrone responded. "And no, I am not taking this too far.

I haven't taken it far enough. I sit with these guys and they talk as though I'm not there. I attend meetings where the poli- cies and goals of ECCO are established. s.h.i.+t, I trust the dope- smoking hippies from Berkeley more than anyone from the Fort."

The bitterness came through clearly, but Scott could see it wasn't focussed on any one person or thing.

But Scott began to understand. For over 20 years Tyrone had insulated himself from the politics of the job and had seen only what he wanted to see; a national Police Force enforcing the laws. Tyrone loved the chase of the crime. The bits and pieces, the endless sifting of evidence, searching for clues and then building a case from shreds. The forensics of modern criminology had been so compelling for Tyrone Duncan that he had missed the impact that the ma.s.s proliferation of technology would have on his first love - The Const.i.tution.

The sudden revelations and realizations of the last several weeks set his mind into high gear. Tyrone introspectively examined his beliefs; he tried to review them from the perspective of an idealistic young man in his twenties. What would he have done then? He realized the answer was easier found now that he was a man of experience: Do Something About It.

Far from a rebel looking for a cause, the cause jumped all over Tyrone with a vengeance and the tenacity of a barnacle.

All at once Scott knew that Tyrone was serious and that he would be a better friend if he congratulated instead of castigated.

"You know, I kind of understand a little. Same thing with my ex- wife."

"Hey, that's not fair, man," Tyrone vigorously objected. "Maggie was a dingbat..."

"I know that and she knew that," Scott agreed, "but that was what made her Maggie." Tyrone nodded, remembering her antics. "And in some ways we still love each other. After ten years of fun, great fun, she wanted to get off of the planet more than I did, so she went to California." The softness in Scott's voice said he still cared about Maggie, that she was a cherished part of his life, that was and would remain in the past.

Scott shook off the melancholy and continued. "It's the same for you. You're married to the FBI, and while you still love it, you need to let it go to move on with your life."

"Y'know, I don't know why everyone says you're so stupid," Tyrone said with respect. "UFO's aside, you can actually make sense."

"Maybe, maybe not. Doesn't really matter. But I'm doing exactly what I want to do. And the day it stops being fun, I'm outta here."

"Isn't that the arrogance of wealth speaking?" Tyrone asked.

"And you're any different? The 22 room Tudor shack you live in is not exactly my vision of poverty. As I see it, it's one of the benefits," Scott said unembarra.s.sed by his financial securi- ty. "Before I made my money, I swore that when I got rich, I would give something back. You know, to the planet or society or something. Do something useful and not for the money." Scott spoke with honest enthusiasm. "But I don't believe there's a rule that says I have to be miserable. I love what I do, and well, I don't know. The concept of career is different for me.

I like the idea of doing a little bit of everything for the experience. You know, I drove a cab for one night. Glad I did, but never again."

"So?" asked Tyrone.

"So, do what you want to do and enjoy it. Period. As a friend of a friend says, live long and prosper."

Scott let Tyrone sit in contemplative silence as the waiter brought them two more. They were doing a good job of sticking to the plan of getting 's.h.i.+ffaced'.

"You know," Tyrone opined, "INTERNET is only the tip of the iceberg. NASA is having ECCO and CERT look into over $12 Million in unaccounted-for telephone calls. The Justice Department sold old computers containing the names and other details of the Witness Protection Program to a junk dealer in Kentucky and they're suing him to get them back. The Secret Service is rede- signing its protection techniques for the President since someone got into their computers and copied the plans. The computers at Mitre have been used by hackers for years to get at cla.s.sified information. The public hears less than 1% of the computer problems in the government. And still, no one will do anything.

There's even talk that the missing Plutonium that the Israelis theoretically stole in 1981 was actually a computer error."

"What do you want to do about it?" Scott was asking as a friend, not a reporter.

"First," said a newly determined Tyrone, "I'm gonna nail me some of these mothers, and I'll do it with your help. Then, after that?" Tyrone's old smile was suddenly back. "I think I'm gonna kick myself some government a.s.s." Tyrone roared with laughter and Scott joined the contagious behavior. "In the meantime, I want to take a look at some blackmail. I think you may be right."

"About what? I don't listen to what I tell you."