The Starsight Project

All Rights Reserved © 2002 by Sam P. Perone

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

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an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.

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This is a work of fiction. Except for references to public figures, all characters are fictional. Technological developments central to the story are fictional, and any correlation with existing products is purely coincidental. References to weapons capabilities are based only on what is available in the open literature.

ISBN: 0-595-24918-3

ISBN: 978-0-5957-3891-5 (eBook)

CONTENTS

Acknowledgement

Prologue

PART I:       STARSIGHT

Chapter 1:     Max

Chapter 2:     Tony

Chapter 3:     The Senator

Chapter 4:     Sarah

Chapter 5:     Tony’s Dilemma

Chapter 6:     Max Intervenes

Chapter 7:     Are We A Team?

Chapter 8:     The Bear

Chapter 9:     Homecoming

PART II:     CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’

Chapter 10:   Warm San Franciscan Nights

Chapter 11:   Wine And Roses

Chapter 12:   Technical Stuff

Chapter 13:   Interviews And Inquiries

Chapter 14:   Threatening Progress.

PART III:    INTERNATIONAL EVENTS

Chapter 15:   The Swiss Connection

Chapter 16:   Successful Predictions?

Chapter 17:   Drastic Measures.

Chapter 18:   Old Friends Get Together

PART IV:    HOLIDAY CRUNCH

Chapter 19:   Thanksgiving Plans

Chapter 20:   European Travel

Chapter 21:   Crunch Time.

Chapter 22:   Payoffs

Chapter 23:   A Night In Italy

Epilogue

Author’s Note

About The Author

To Sylvia…

my best friend,

most avid supporter,

and cherished wife.

Acknowledgement

Many thanks to Vita Perone for providing inspiration for the cover design, and to my family, friends and colleagues for reviewing the early work, and giving me the encouragement to complete this book.

PROLOGUE

September 11, 2001.

It was the darkest day in U.S. history. Two hijacked airliners…Boeing 767’s…with passengers aboard…had been flown by terrorists directly into the twin World Trade Center towers…the widely-recognizable hubs of world-wide financial intercourse in New York City. Within the next half-hour, another commercial airliner, American Airlines flight 77 from Dulles to Los Angeles, a Boeing 757 with terrorists at the controls, had crashed into the Pentagon building in Washington, DC. The Pentagon! The renowned nerve center and icon of American military power. A fourth hijacked airliner crashed just outside of Pittsburgh, before it could reach its intended target…which might have been the White House or the Capitol building.

America was stunned! Totally unprepared for an incident of this magnitude, newscasters and political pundits stumbled and fumbled for an explanation. Frustrated anger was vented at an as yet unknown enemy…an enemy of such cunning and resources that they could simultaneously commandeer four commercial airliners and fly three of them into globally visible landmarks.

The horror was unfathomable. Dumbfounded, US citizens watched as the incidents unfolded on television screens across the country. Watching as the World Trade Center towers burned and, incredibly, collapsed…one hundred ten stories of concrete, steel, and humanity cascading in slow motion into the gorge of Manhattan below…it was impossible to comprehend the instantaneous loss of life and human carnage. Only those who were there…at ground zero…could under-stand…could feel the heat, choke on the dust and smoke, hear the screams, and see the battered and bloody bodies of the innocent victims.

One of those eyewitnesses was California Senator Gerald Moor-house. A member of the Senate Intelligence Committee, the Senator had been on his way to a 9 o’clock meeting with several key managers of the Secret Service, scheduled at their Manhattan offices, on the 103rd floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center. At 8:48 am, the Senator was just a few blocks away in a taxi, on his way to the Center, when American Airlines flight 11, diverted from its Boston to Los Angeles journey by a suicidal terrorist pilot, crashed into the North Tower, some ninety stories above the street.

Caught in the immediate chaos of that first event, the Senator ran from the suddenly immobilized taxi toward the tower, passing dozens of pedestrians staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the horror unfolding a thousand feet above. Unbelievably, above the flames and smoke, tortured souls were jumping or falling from the upper floors of the tower!

Grabbed by two dark-suited citizens fleeing the scene, the Senator was reluctantly persuaded to retreat from the tower until the falling debris might subside. At that point, no one knew that this had been a terrorist attack. Some horrible accident had occurred. The Senator waited impatiently at a distance until it would be safe for him to approach the tower and do what he could to help the victims around the perimeter.

As the immediate response from emergency vehicles commenced, and several sped past the corner where he lingered, the Senator suddenly lurched forward and took off on a trajectory that would take him quickly to the tower. It was just then that another horrendous explosion shook the ground and echoed through the canyon of skyscrapers. Looking up, he saw a huge fireball expanding outward from the upper floors of the South Tower of the World Trade Center. Although he could not tell, he had just witnessed the second airliner-guided-missile crashing into the second of the twin towers. All 65 on board United Airlines flight 175 from Boston, originally destined also for Los Angeles, had just been sacrificed by the terrorist pilot, along with countless souls in and around the South Tower.

The ensuing pandemonium engulfed the Senator, and he was carried along with hundreds of others racing away from the site of the disaster. The Senator would not remember later the details of how he came to escape the scene of these horrible events. He knew only that he tried repeatedly to return to the perimeter of the towers. His memory was filled with the sounds, the smells, and the sights of the wounded and dying. He helped those that he could. But, ultimately, he found himself…covered with dust from the fallen buildings, and splattered with the blood of faceless victims he had aided…seated in the back of a NYPD cruiser parked a mile away from ground zero.

It was then that he learned that this had been a terrorist attack. It was then that he felt anger and rage, and felt his body begin to shake violently. It was then that he decided he would not rest until all the resources of his government had been mobilized to put a stop…once and for all…to these cowardly actions of hate-driven vermin. It was then that he knew he had to snatch the StarSight Project from its safe, secure harbor in Tony Shane’s academic world…and thrust it boldly into the treacherous frontline of the war against international terrorism.

November…the near future.

Like a monstrous sea-serpent…smooth, black, and sleek…the Russian nuclear submarine, Skibirsk, knifed silently through the dark mist blanketing the inky Barents Sea…steadfastly pursuing a course which would soon leave Murmansk far behind. With binoculars raised, Captain Yuri Kirschnikov stood tall in the tower next to his first officer, Captain Second Rank Anatoly Vladimirov…gazing silently into the void. With just a sliver of moonlight disturbing the darkness, only the fleeting reflections of the wavelets stirred up by the stiff November night breezes provided some detail of the monotonous seascape ahead. Proceeding at a modest fifteen knots, the Skibirsk was like a slinking black panther, strolling purposefully and confidently through the tall grass…with rippling muscles signaling the potential for high-speed deadly pursuit at any moment.

Despite the cool sea spray and the frigid air dancing through the precisely groomed salt and pepper beard gracing his rugged face, tiny beads ofperspiration could be seen on Captain Kirschnikov’s forehead. At fifty-four years, a career naval officer, he had not imagined that he would be embarking on this kind of mission. A suicide mission, his colleagues would call it…if they knew. But, they did not. Only Kirschnikov could anticipate the horrible events that he would set in motion.

Staring blankly through the binoculars, his mind could picture only the long, thick, deadly projectile installed in the pre-launch chamber below deck. Prominently dispersed over its entire body were the bold markings reserved for dummy missiles…those with harmless lead and sawdust mock warheads. Only Kirschnikov knew that, despite the innocuous appearance, this device was destined to throw a great nation into chaos. It would not come as a cataclysmic explosion that might level huge structures and vaporize living creatures. But, the nuclear event would produce unexpected and unparalleled horror. The goal of the fanatical, depraved minds, which had devised this insane plot, was not to inflict material damage, but to strike terror into the hearts and minds of the American people. And surely that effect would be accomplished by this demonic plan.

Shivering involuntarily as his mind’s eye envisioned the horrific events his actions would cause, Captain Kirschnikov reminded himself that there was no turning back. His was the crucial role that would put into play the final piece of this carefully orchestrated attack. The reward for this action would be too great…and the penalty for failure so unthinkable…that Kirschnikov could not, would not, consider avoiding this responsibility. They chose well…those bastards, he thought. when they recruited me for this horrible deed. Lowering the binoculars, finally, he turned around and followed his first officer down from the tower…taking one last breath of the cool, salty air he would not taste again until this horrible deed was done.

P A R T   I

STARSIGHT

C H A P T E R   1

MAX

Through the partly opened mini-blinds of the large picture window framing one end of the conference room, Max was gazing at the jagged range of rugged mesas and high plateaus 50 miles away on the western horizon. Only a few miles distant, beyond the Rio Grande and the barren landscape west of Albuquerque, he could see a handful of brilliantly colored hot-air balloons rising gently in the still morning air.

But this majestic view had been wasted on Max this morning. As the meeting of the CyberSensor staff progressed around him, Max’s unfocused peering at the distant landscape rendered the appearance that his interest was directed at the NetProtect Team Leader seated in front of the window. For an hour and a half, Carl Endicott had droned on about how Marketing was unconvinced, and we need to do another presentation on the prototype NetProtect software.

Involuntarily, Max allowed a thin smile to reveal his inner thoughts. He reflected on how the events of September 11, 2001, had altered the priorities of CyberSensor Corp., but in a much more dramatic way had changed his own. Emotionally devastating to most Americans, the terrorist attacks on the United States instead had provided Max with the opportunity of a lifetime.

Max couldn’t have cared less about launching the new NetProtect product. And it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up the facade. But he needed this job. Not only was it a cover, but he needed the unique computer resources and novel software tools…not yet public…which the company provided for his use. He had contributed to the development of some new products, and his job was secure…as secure as anything was in this generation of boom & bust high tech companies.

Yes, he was pleased with himself. He even felt some pride in the piece of voice recognition software he had patched into the new web browser, SurfSpeak, which was currently making big bucks for CyberSensor Corp. But all of this was mostly a distraction from his real mission. The mission that would bring him wealth beyond his dreams, and, with that, an entrée to the elegant world of the idle rich that he desired above all else.

So, Max, can we schedule the presentation for Friday? he heard Endicott say. Realizing that he had been giving the false impression of rapt attention while entertaining his own thoughts, Max quickly tried to assemble all that the question implied. Calculating that Friday was still three days away, and that the question related to his evaluation of network perturbations by NetProtect, Max volunteered, I can get the last bit of interrupt data by Thursday. He already had the data, of course, but this would give him the time and excuse to access the network for his own purposes.

Great, Max. Let me see the results as soon as you can, Endicott replied. Mercilessly, he persevered for yet another five minutes, wheedling each of the staff to produce other pieces of the presentation. Max’s mind resumed it’s wandering. Because Endicott’s question had reminded him, he thought first about those poor idiots whose companies would monitor surreptitiously their personal e-mails and web inquiries with the new, slick NetProtect software.

Then, his mind returned to the primary focus of his attention and energy over the past year. How could he obtain the details of the counter-terrorism system that was being developed by a group of academic scientists, headed by Tony Shane and working in concert with the CIA? The system had been code-named StarSight, a fact that very few outside of the community would know. Max had become aware of the project shortly after the September 11 attacks. And, he had been following its progress for a long time…long before he had joined CyberSensor Corp. Of course, Max had his lines of information, through the people who were his real employers. Even though he wasn’t sure whom they represented…and he didn’t want to know…he was certain they were not friends of the United States. But that could be almost any nation these days. Even our closest allies, the British, were not privy to all our secrets. And they were not above espionage if it could not be traced to them. More likely, however, it was some fanatical Middle-Eastern faction; or, perhaps, some American extremist group. He didn’t care. The Bear had offered ten million dollars, of which two million were already in his Credit Suisse account. He would do the job. Get his money. And get out.

Mercifully, the meeting adjourned. Max picked up his notebook and slid quickly out of the stuffy little room, leaving the five others there, gawking. They probably think I can’t wait to get those interrupt tests done, Max chuckled to himself. He walked briskly down the hallway, and up the stairs to his office, located in a rear corner of the top floor of this newly built three-story building.

Located in the northwest quadrant of Albuquerque, CyberSensor’s facility was set within a cluster of similarly modern structures. Most of the surrounding buildings housed health-care companies, which seemed to be the dominant industry in this sprawling southwestern city, but a few were dedicated to technical activities. CyberSensor was one of the newest and most prosperous of these. Annual sales had skyrocketed to over 500 million dollars. With only 400 employees, and a couple dozen consultants gleaned from the nearby University of New Mexico and Sandia Albuquerque National Lab, they were very profitable. CyberSensor’s President and CEO, Dr. Larry Markson, was a 48-year old former Professor of Computer Science at the university. His early invention of fast, compact communications software, that could be burned into digital cell phones, made him a fortune. And the university also got a good piece of the royalties’ pie. Markson got a Research Chair at the university, which, ironically, freed this brilliant mind from any further obligation to teach. It also allowed him to place full effort into his outside interests.

Markson had brought Max on board, personally. They had crossed paths in Boston six months earlier at a national meeting of the American Academy for the Advancement of Science, where Markson was delivering a plenary lecture. Max had stunned the audience, and Mark-son, with a series of very perceptive questions following the lecture. Questions which made Markson realize that he…and his engi-neers…had missed some subtle, and potentially fatal, flaws in their number one (and only profitable) product at that time…the cell phone communications software. Following the lecture, Markson sought out Max. He learned of Max’s background and current work, and persuaded him to visit the fledgling company in Albuquerque to present a talk. Max agreed. His talk and visit convinced Markson and his top scientists that Max should be a part of CyberSensor. And, after six weeks of courting Max, with considerable financial persuasion, Markson brought him on board. What Markson did not know, of course, was that Max had manipulated the entire course of events.

It had begun nearly a year ago, when Max had been exploring web sites featuring communications between agents and clients looking to conduct anything from surveillance to contract homicide. Of course, the communications were accomplished with cryptic terminology. But, Max learned the language quickly, and he was able to make contact with potential clients by untraceable connections. Max was very good. Because of his skills at conventional surveillance, hacking, and computer theft, Max had performed several lucrative tasks for clients.

Max had responded to two separate queries looking for covert computer surveillance of Dr. Tony Shane at Daniels University. He had pursued the first contact, whose code name was Solomon, far enough to determine the fee, and that the information sought was technical in nature. Then, he had responded to a query from the Bear, discovering he desired to contract for essentially the same task, and would negotiate a significantly higher fee. The contract discussions had been conducted through pay phone conversations with an intermediary. This was when Max had learned of the StarSight project and the Bear’s desire to monitor the project…and to steal the completed product. The Bear had agreed to advance one hundred thousand dollars in cash which Max could use to obtain the equipment and facilities needed, and to underwrite any travel expenses. The timetable agreed upon was flexible, and would depend on the rate of progress of the StarSight project.

Max had known immediately that he would require more advanced computer surveillance software than currently available. He had searched for products under development, and discovered CyberSen-sor’s NetProtect project. In preparation for infiltrating CyberSensor, Max had completely fabricated his name, background, occupation, and location…everything. In reality, he had moved to Albuquerque before contriving to meet Markson in Boston. During the spring semester, he had enrolled as an engineering student at the university. Completely transparent to any of the faculty, who might be consulting at Cyber-Sensor, Max was free to pursue his plan to verify that CyberSensor had really discovered the key to the type of Internet access he required.

The verification was simple. University professors are notoriously lax with security. Dr. Jerry Lane was the instructor in his Advanced Control Systems class, and he was also a consultant at CyberSensor. Dr. Lane routinely made problem assignments, which had to be downloaded from his personal web-site. The first week of class, Max downloaded not only the first problem set, but also hacked into Professor Jerry Lane’s research files. Max immediately saw that CyberSensor was developing the Internet access software he could use in his plan to steal the information from Tony Shane’s group. It wasn’t there, however, but in a related file containing a technical report to CyberSensor, that Max found the clue to the flaw in the communications software. He used that information to blow Markson away at the Boston meeting.

The rest was history.

*        *        *        *

Max closed his office door…not completely, so as to raise suspicion, but enough to block out unwanted observation. Silently, he cursed the company office plan, which placed all desk computer systems against an office wall observable from the doorway. Sitting down at the computer, he clicked on his e-mail icon, hoping there were no urgent messages that might suck him back in to company business. Finding none, he immediately opened up the experimental version of the Net-Protect software. It was his personal version…which he called Max-Ware. The screen displayed the hexagonal green and gold CyberSensor logo, surrounded by the familiar GUI buttons, allowing the operator to select any one of several intrusive functions which would monitor present and past activities of any user on a network. Other commercial software was available which could accomplish similar functions, but none was able to avoid detection. The NetProtect package was virtually undetectable by the user. It could simultaneously speed up and steal 50 to 80% of a remote microprocessor’s operation for its own purposes, without interrupting the normal flow of business. When finished, the NetProtect system restored the central processor to its previous capacity, erased all traces of its intrusion, and pulled out.

This stealth feature was what had intrigued Max, and it was a unique development of the scientists at CyberSensor. For the Max-Ware version he alone possessed, in true hacker fashion, Max had added the unique capability to launch programs, send messages, and respond to messages from the computer under surveillance, in the name of the unsuspecting surveillance target. Because this could all be done under the stealth umbrella of the NetProtect package, this kind of hacker maliciousness was also untraceable. And Max was making the most of it.

Max could have joined CyberSensor much earlier. Markson would have brought him on immediately after the Boston meeting. But Max had needed to lay the groundwork. After the Boston meeting, he had gotten a job with Southwestern Telenet in Albuquerque. With his experience he had been assigned to the installation of high-speed lines for computer Internet access. They couldn’t begin to keep up with the demand, so Max found it easy to get himself assigned to the CyberSen-sor installations. He was able to install an undocumented line to which he could secretly connect after joining CyberSensor. Essentially untraceable, this would become his portal to the StarSight Project.

Max accessed his personal address book file, the one containing the names of the group of academics involved in the StarSight project. This file was password-protected and encrypted. This was one of many extra precautions he invoked. Because he could not be sure that no one was using NetProtect to monitor CyberSensor employees, he had partitioned his workstation so that it looked to him like two systems. One half was connected continuously to the CyberSensor network; while the other operated completely independently, and was connected through his secret high-speed digital line to selected external networks. It was like the computer had had a lobotomy, separating the right side of the brain from the left side. One did not know what the other was doing, but the operator could work with either one. To anyone monitoring the CyberSensor network with NetProtect, it appeared that only one workstation…the business half of his system…was connected in Max’s office. Max felt pretty safe in the pursuit of his illicit activities.

Max activated his own de-encryption software, stored on a separate floppy disk, and the names of the StarSight participants popped up on the screen:

Dr. Anthony Tony Shane, Daniels University, Rockville, IL

Tonysplace@daniels.email.edu

Dr. Sharon Carson, Eastmont University, Boston, MA

Sharry@eastmont.email.edu

Dr. Barry Nagle, California Polytechnic University, San Francisco, CA

Bnagle@cpusf.email.edu

He clicked on the Tony Shane block, and immediately the screen display changed to an obvious screen saver design…with random patterns being generated, alternately growing and exploding. Obviously, Shane was not working at his computer at the moment. Absently, Max imagined that Shane was probably giving a lecture right now. He smiled at the thought of how completely unaware Shane was of Max’s surveillance of every intimate detail of his life. Max knew not only who Shane corresponded with, but everything that was communicated. He knew his travel plans, lecture notes, grade lists, and problem assignments. He read the latest version of a research proposal to the National Science Foundation; and he read Shane’s reviews of other scientists’ research proposals. He had a copy of Shane’s latest revised curriculum vitae, as well as a list of to whom he had sent it recently. He read letters of recommendation, and departmental memos. Because he had hacked into several computer systems that conducted business with Shane, Max also knew of his bank and credit card transactions, business activities, and even magazine and newspaper subscriptions. Most importantly, Max knew most details of Shane’s current research and any unclassified communications with the StarSight team.

Max regretted only that he did not have direct access to the data on those portable disk cartridges, which were labeled with the bright red and white striped indicators of Top Secret data. When not in use, these cartridges were kept locked in a secure vault provided by the DOE (Department of Energy) as part of its research contract with Shane and with Daniels University. Those cartridges were only used with a separate computer system, which was not connected to any external network. Max smiled, though, as he reflected that the Bear had provided other ways of getting those data.

In short, Max knew everything about Shane’s professional and personal life…at least everything that could be learned from computer records. And Max was good at filling in the blank spaces. For example, he was sure that Shane had had an affair with one of his postdoctoral associates. There was no incriminating memo or e-mail on Shane’s computer, but his computer calendar records revealed a brief but intense period of frequent social engagements with Dr. Sarah Sten-strom, which had abruptly ended about a month ago. Other records indicated Dr. Stenstrom had begun her postdoctoral appointment with Shane about a year ago; she had done her Ph.D. work in Psychology at UCLA, and her doctoral work had been in the field of computerized neural networks. She had chosen to work with Shane because he was renowned for his cutting edge research in artificial intelligence. Max knew that she was making some significant contributions to the Star-Sight project.

Yes, Max knew everything about Shane. Or almost everything. Shane had stubbornly refused to confide detailed descriptions of his most recent experiments to computer records. Max was certain this indicated a significant breakthrough, which Shane would only capture in his handwritten classified research notebook; and subsequently transmit verbally to his StarSight colleagues and the CIA at their next meeting. Although StarSight had begun as a long-term project, the priority had been jacked way up since the September 11 attack. Now the team was meeting with the CIA quarterly. Meetings rotated between Washington, DC, and San Francisco. The next one would be held the following week in San Francisco, or more specifically, at a secure site at Lawrence Livermore National Lab in the Livermore Valley about 45 miles southeast of San Francisco. Except for Nagle, who had a home, with a wife and two children, in San Francisco, the principals would all stay at the Fairmont Hotel in the City, and make the trip to Livermore each day by limousine. Their classified documents would be transported from their respective universities to Livermore by special DOE couriers. After the meeting, these couriers would return the classified documents to their respective secure vaults at the respective institutions.

Max clicked on an icon that looked like a history book, and a new screen popped up with a list of network addresses accessed by Shane over the past 24 hours. Max scanned the list carefully, looking for links to any members of the StarSight team. He also looked for links to any CIA staff involved in oversight of the project. Finally, he looked for any links to the office of Senator Gerald Moorhouse. Moorhouse was the Senior Senator from California, and also chairman of the Senate Sub-Committee on Energy Research, Development, and Regulation. As an influential member, also, of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, he had established a liaison with the CIA and other intelligence-gathering organizations that were vitally interested in classified research conducted at DOE labs. Over the years he had established himself as a powerful supporter of these organizations, as well as a force to be reckoned with when their respective directors were developing programs and budgets. Moorhouse was particularly concerned about the progress of the StarSight project, and had become an unofficial focal point for the coordination of the team’s activities.

What’s up, Max.

The friendly female greeting from the doorway startled him, but he managed to turn around slowly and simultaneously strike the alt-K keyboard combination. Instantly, the computer system switched over to the CyberSensor local network home screen. Max’s secret portal to the outside world was hidden from the sight of Andie Carey’s wide blue eyes peeking solicitously around the now partly open door.

Too much, he replied, as Andie slid the rest of her slender 5 foot seven inch frame through the doorway, revealing that she had chosen today to wear a tight but conservative navy blue skirt, cut just below the knee, and a starched white short-sleeve blouse with an open collar. If you marketing types would act more like facilitators than roadblocks, we could get some new products out the door, he fired at her.

Stepping completely into the office, Andie made herself comfortable in the chair facing Max’s desk. Alright, Max, don’t get cross with me, she said as she crossed one leg over the other. I’m on your side, remember? Max’s fleeting glance at the flash of thigh exposed by the side slit in her skirt did not go unnoticed, nor was it unsolicited.

Max leaned back in his chair, and smiled. OK, Andie, I’ll admit you’re more enlightened than the rest of that crew downstairs, but your colleagues are giving us fits on this NetProtect package.

Max liked Andie, not only because she was attractive and bright, but also because, unlike most of the Marketing group, she had a technical as well as business background. She had majored in chemistry at UNM, but had discovered she could earn more in marketing than in the chem tech jobs she had been able to get. She had convinced the human resources people at Albuquerque’s LaPlaya Food Products Company, for whom she had been working as a lab technician, that she could handle an entry-level marketing position. With her technical background, facile communications skills, and natural business instincts, she had been remarkably successful from the start. She advanced rapidly, and was soon responsible for marketing several of LaPlaya’s new products. When CyberSensor had grown in profits, but not in new products, they sought out Andie, and persuaded her to join the company. She had been there now for a year, and was directing half of CyberSensor’s marketing activities. Unfortunately, Max thought, she had not been given NetProtect.

"So, what do my colleagues want from you?" she shot back.

Guarantees that NetProtect won’t tell the user that they’re being bugged, he replied. They’re afraid the user will notice a slowing in the response time of their workstation. So, I’ve got to show how transparent NetProtect will be.

Cocking her head sideways and brushing aside the length of straight blonde hair that had fallen over her eye, Andie countered, Don’t you think these concerns are justifiable?

I’ll tell you what I think. I think they’re looking at a market that they’re not telling us about, Max shot back. "Do you think a company employee doesn’t expect network managers to probe their systems, and that it will slow them down? Of course they do. It happens every time there’s a virus scan."

"What your colleagues are really interested in is marketing this software to the FBI or DEA or whomever, so they can do their wiretapping without warrants and without detection, Max continued. Ever since their ‘Carnivore’ e-mail surveillance fiasco, the FBI has been sniffing around for a ‘transparent’ product to do their dirty work."

He was really getting heated now. Not because of the company’s deception in pursuing this particular market, but because he feared the FBI or CIA would get too close and discover the snooping in which he was secretly engaged. He cautioned himself not to appear too irate, lest he give something away. Perhaps he had already said too much.

After pausing a few seconds, with no response from Andie, Max continued. Well, I guess it’s inevitable that this kind of package would draw the attention of the Feds. I’m just irritated that Marketing is asking us to characterize the performance, without leveling with us about why.

Maybe it’s better if you don’t know what they plan to do with this product, she said finally. That way your nose is clean. She paused and smiled coyly, her head still tilted, but with the long straight hair sliding again over one eye.

Max had already thought about it, and his concern was much different than Andie might suspect. Max believed that CyberSensor was getting too thick with at least one of the agencies he was attempting to penetrate himself. He didn’t want them learning about NetProtect’s capabilities before he could complete his own mission. Maybe you’re right, he said. But…just between us…do you know if your Marketing buddies are headed in that direction?

Andie leaned back in the chair, pushing her head back, letting her crossed leg swing freely for a moment before answering. Observing her now, Max allowed himself a fleeting thought about pursuing the chemical attraction he had felt between them since being introduced at a company party three months ago. She was single, bright, and articulate. At twenty-seven, she was 10 years younger than Max, but in many ways his intellectual equal. She was not inexperienced, having recently broken up with her live-in boyfriend of five years. And she was knowledgeable regarding restaurants, food, wine and the arts. She would make a most suitable companion for Max, but he knew he had to resist the temptation. Perhaps, when his mission was completed, he could follow up on the strong sensual feelings he experienced in her presence. He couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to enjoy a woman. His mission had been all consuming.

I really don’t know, Max, she said finally. And that’s the truth. But, like you, I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s a natural market, and we would be foolish to ignore it. She paused a second before continuing, Does it really bother you? I could find out, she said softly.

She let the last statement hang in the cool office air. It was an unexpected moment of intimacy. Max knew that, once accepted, her offer would bring them a step closer to the physical relationship they both wanted. Before replying, he turned his head toward his office window and stared briefly at the Sandia mountain range, a few miles away, rising straight up 5000 feet above the mile-high desert platform that was Albuquerque. The monstrous dark clouds behind the broad horizontal sweep of the range were moving quickly, projecting continuously changing silver and purple images. Absorbing this vision, Max was able to crystallize and dissect the conflicting thoughts whirling through his mind.

Finally turning back to face her, he replied, No…thanks, Andie. Let’s both keep our noses clean. Maybe there are some things we don’t want to know.

He knew he had made the right choice. For now.

C H A P T E R   2

TONY

So, how many bits of information would be contained in this data set?" Tony Shane asked, as he turned around to face his graduate class on Information Theory. He had just finished drawing a box around a table of spectral data he had placed on the whiteboard. The group of fifteen students, spread out among the first four rows of the large classroom, adopted an almost identical blank stare. Suddenly realizing he had just spent the past 10 minutes lecturing to the whiteboard without any eye contact with his students, Shane became frustrated with himself. Once again he had let his mind wander in the middle of his lecture. Of course the students were lost.

Taking a deep breath, and re-focusing on the topic he had supposedly been teaching over the past several minutes, Shane took another tack. His next question was posed while deliberately looking directly into the eyes of each of several students in turn, but not dwelling too long on any one. He wasn’t conscious of applying this technique for re-capturing their attention. It was a completely automatic strategy that had evolved over his nearly 10 years on the faculty at Daniels University. OK, let’s go back to the basics, he said. Can the Boltzmann function be applied to these data?

This question got things started, and the subsequent dialogue between professor and students led to the kind of enlightenment that always provided Shane with that glow of self-satisfaction that was the Holy Grail of all good teachers. It was why he knew he could never be in any other profession. He had known, from that first summer working in a graduate research group at Michigan, that the life of a professor at a research university was what he wanted: a position where he could pursue his own personal research program, with a group of 10 or so totally dedicated graduate students and postdoctoral associates. Only at one of the research universities that offered Ph.D. degrees could he achieve this. He made it his goal, finished his doctoral work in 4 years, and was hired directly into a position as Assistant Professor of Computer Science at Daniels.

He had thought very little about the teaching obligations that accompanied this kind of position. Most young research-oriented professors didn’t. And most research universities didn’t ask them to. After all, it would be one’s research achievements which would determine whether or not an Assistant Professor would be promoted to Associate Professor, and attain a position of tenure, at the university. This decision would be made generally within four years of starting; so most universities took the ironic approach of excusing their newest professors from much teaching responsibility during their early years. But Daniels University was a bit old-fashioned. His Department Head had required Shane to teach two graduate courses his first semester on board. He had very nearly cracked under the strain of preparing these courses from scratch, while simultaneously trying to get his research program underway. But, by the end of that first semester, he had discovered many rewards of teaching at this highest level of the educational process. He loved being in total control of the content and the style in which his curriculum would be delivered; he reveled in the process of creating exams which discriminated deftly among different levels of achievement; and, finally, he enjoyed working with mature self-motivated students. Now, 10 years later, after having been promoted first to Associate and then, most recently, to Full Professor, he had not lost one bit of his enthusiasm for this wonderful profession.

Realizing his mind was wandering again, Shane decided to close his lecture a few minutes early…a ploy that was always well received. Don’t forget the second problem set is due on Thursday, he reminded them as they gathered their notebooks and backpacks. I’ll be handing out the next problem set for you to work on next week, while I’m out of town.

One of the departing group of students, a good-looking male with curly dark blonde hair, athletic build, and medium height, broke off and came up to Shane as he was erasing the whiteboard for the next lecturer. "Hey, Doc! Are you gonna be able to come over to the House this weekend after the Wisconsin game?" he inquired. It was mid-October, in the middle of the college football season, and home games were always an excuse for a party. The House was a 75-year old two-story 10-room frame bungalow, complete with full basement and a front porch wrapping around three of its sides. It had become an institution, having been occupied continuously by Comp. Sci. grad students for the past 15 years. Bill Campbell lived there with five other male grad students. Just off-campus, the House was the scene of frequent social gatherings for students and younger faculty. A football weekend called for at least a pre-game and a post-game party. In fact, some attendees were known to miss the game completely, particularly if it was a cold, wet, or snowy Saturday.

Tony Shane, a 36-year old bachelor, was frequently invited to parties at the House, as were several other younger faculty with their spouses or dates. Shane’s handsome youthful looks, and casual good humor, as well as his reputation for being approachable and fitting in with the grad students, assured that he would be accepted in this circle as an equal. This was a sometimes-difficult path to walk, as his professorial position was inherently dominant. But, in contrast to many faculty, he never asserted that power outside of the classroom. Most importantly, he never regarded himself as deserving any special accommodations from students. Accordingly, they often brought Shane into their confidence on many matters. Shane was included in pick-up basketball games and touch football contests.