Terminal Compromise

"Remember you said that the blackmail scheme wasn't really blackmail." Tyrone s.h.i.+fted his weight in the chair and he reached for the words through is fogged mind. "You said it might be a way to make us too busy to see our own shadow. That it was a cover up for another dissociated crime."

"Yeah? It might be," Scott said.

Tyrone's body heaved while he snickered. "We finally have a lead.

Demands have been made."

"What kind? Who? What do they want?" Scott's journalist mind clicked into gear. "What about the computer virus c.r.a.p?"

"I'm kind of looking into both, but this morning my interest was renewed. A corporate type I met says not only he, but another 25 or more of his corporate brethren are getting the same treatment.

If he's right, someone is demanding over $30 Million in ransoms."

"Jesus Christ! Is that confirmed?" Scott probed.

"Yes. That's why I said you were right."

The implications were tremendous, even to Scott's clouded mind.

While the legal system might not be convinced that computer radiation was responsible for an obviously well coordinated criminal venture, he, as an engineer, realized how vulnerable anyone - everyone was. The questions raced through his mind all at once.

Over a few dozen oysters and not as many drinks, Scott and Ty proceeded to share their findings. Scott had doc.u.ments up the ying-yang, doc.u.ments he couldn't use in a journalistic sense, but might be valuable to the recent developments in Ty's case. He had moved the files to his home; they were simply taking too much s.p.a.ce around his desk at the office. They were an added attrac- tion to the disaster he called his study. Scott agreed to show Ty some of them. After the meeting with Franklin Dobbs, and knowing there might be others in similar situations, Ty wanted an informal look at Scott's cache.

"I've been holding back, Ty," Scott said during a lull in their conversation.

"How do you mean?"

"I got a call from a guy I had spoken to a few months ago; I a.s.sume he sent me those files, and he said that key executives throughout the country were being blackmailed. Some were borrow- ing money from the mob to pay them off."

"Do you have names? Who?" Tyrone's took an immediate interest.

"Let me see if I have'm here," he said as he reached for his small notebook in the sports jacket draped over the back of his chair. "Yeah, he only gave me three, not much to go on. A Faulkner, some banker from L.A., a Wall Street tyc.o.o.n named Henson and another guy Dobbs, Franklin Dobbs."

"Dobbs! How the h.e.l.l do you know about Dobbs?" Tyrone yelled so loud several remaining bar patrons looked over to see what the ruckus was.

Scott was taken aback by the outburst. "What're you hollering about?"

"s.h.i.+t, G.o.dd.a.m.ned s.h.i.+t, I don't need this." Tyrone finished one and ordered another drink. He was keeping his promise; well on the way to getting severely intoxicated. "Dobbs. Dobbs is the poor f.u.c.ker that came into my office."

"You saw Dobbs? He admitted it?" Scott's heart raced at the prospect of a connection. Finally.

"Scott," Tyrone asked

"Why?" Was this part of the unofficial trade with Ty for earlier information?

The waiter returned with the credit card. Tyrone signed the slip, giving the waiter entirely too much of a tip. "I'll tell you on the train. Let's go."

"Where?"

"To your house. You have a computer, don't you?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, let's see if we can find out who the other 25 are."

They took a cab from the Scarsdale station to Scott's house. No point in ending up in the clink for a DUI, even with a Federal Agent in tow. Scott's study was in such disarray that he liter- ally sc.r.a.ped off books and papers from the couch onto the floor to find Ty a place to sit and he piled up bigger piles of files to make room for their beers on one of his desks.

Scott and Tyrone hadn't by any means sobered up on the train, but their thinking was still eminently clear. During the hour ride, they reviewed what they knew.

Several prominent businessmen were being actively blackmailed.

In addition, the blackmailer, or a confederate, was feeding information to the media. At a minimum the Times, and probably the Expos. Perhaps other media as well were in receipt of simi- lar information, but legitimate news organizations couldn't have much to do with it in its current form.

Presumably then, like Scott, other reporters were calling names in the files. Tyrone reasoned that such an exercise might be a well planned maneuver on the part of the perpetrators.

"Think about it this way," he said. "Let's say you get a call from someone who says they know something about you that you don't want them to. That'll shake you up pretty good, won't it?"

Scott rapidly agreed. "Good. And the nature of the contact is threatening, not directly, perhaps, but the undercurrent leaves no doubt that the caller is not your best friend. Follow?"

"And then," Scott picked up, "a guy like me calls with the same information. The last person in the world he wants to know about his activities is a reporter, or to see it show up in the news, so he really freaks."

"Exactly!" Tyrone slapped his thigh. "And, if he gets more than one call, cardiac arrest is nearby. Imagine it. Makes for a good case of justifiable paranoia."

Tyrone nodded vigorously. "I've been in this game long enough to see the side effects of blackmail and extortion. The psycholog- ical effects can be devastating. An inherent distrust of strang- ers is common. Exaggerated delusions occur in many cases. But think about this. If we're right, you begin to distrust every- one, your closest friends, business a.s.sociate, even your family.

Suddenly, everyone is a suspect. Distrust runs rampant and you begin to feel a sense of isolation, aloneness. It feels like you're fighting the entire world alone. Solitude can be the worst punishment."

The a.n.a.lysis was sound. The far ranging implications had never occurred to Scott. To him it had been a simple case of extortion or blackmail using some high tech wizardry. Now, suddenly there was a human element. The personal pain that made the crime even that much more sinister.

"Well, we, I mean the FBI, have seven stake outs. It's a fairly simple operation. Money drops in public places, wait and pick up the guy who picks up the money." Tyrone made it sound so easy.

Scott wondered.

"I bet it isn't that simple," Scott challenged.

"No s.h.i.+t, it ain't," Tyrone came back.

"So whaddya do?"

"Pay and have another beer." Tyrone tempered the seriousness of their conversation.

As Scott got up to go the kitchen he called out, "Hey, I been thinking."

"Yeah?" Tyrone yelled.

He popped a Bud and handed it to Tyrone. "Listen, I know this may be left field, but let's think it through." Scott sat behind his desk and put his feet on top of some books on the desk. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "We've been talking about the front end of this thing, the front lines where the victims are actually being blackmailed. The kind of stuff that makes headlines." Scott smiled devilishly at Ty who made a significant hand gesture in return. "And now you're talking about how to catch them when they pick up the money. Have you thought of the other side?"

"What other side?" Tyrone was still confused by Scott's logic.

"a.s.sume for a moment that all this information is really coming from computers. The CMR. Ok?" Ty grudgingly shrugged his shoul- ders. "Ok, you said that there are 7 cases across the country.

Dobbs said he knew of more here. Right? Well, who gets the information?"

Confusion showed on Tyrone's face. "Gets the information?"

"Yeah, who runs around the country listening in on computers?"

The question had been obvious to Scott. All of sudden Tyrone's face lit up.