A Triple Thriller Fest (87 page)

Johnson knocked on the door frame leading into the office.  He cleared his throat and said, “Ted, I’ve got some people who would like to talk to you.  Could you break free for a minute?”

The operator turned around briefly, grunted and turned back to the Compaq.  A few quick keystrokes and the screen returned to — C:\>.

The computer operator turned around.  With some effort he got out of his chair and shuffled over to the door.  He took out a yellowed handkerchief from his pants pocket and mopped his brow in one swipe.  He then took off his small rimless eyeglasses and cleaned them with the same handkerchief, then put the glasses back on his face.  The glasses looked pitifully small on his large, round face, which was out of accord with his otherwise medium build.

The man was dressed in a wrinkled long-sleeved white shirt, no necktie, no undershirt, a pair of black trousers, and black loafers with white socks.  In his shirt pocket, inside a vinyl pocket protector, were several ball point pens and a small screwdriver.  His brown hair was on the long side and he breathed in a heavy, raspy manner.

Johnson introduced everyone.  “Ted, this is Martha Thomas from the FBI and Mildred Lutsen from the DIA.  Ladies, this is Ted Grayson, my best hacker.  Ted is responsible for quality control.  Ted, Agents Thomas and Lutsen are conducting a security check and would like to speak to you.”

In a high pitched, almost effeminate voice, Grayson said, “I’m p-pleased t-to m-meet y-you.  Are y-you f-familiar w-with computers?”

Martha smiled.  “Just a little, I’m a real novice.  Can you explain what you have here and what you do?”

“I’ll leave you ladies in good hands,” said Johnson as he headed back to his office.

“c-come in, c-come in,” said Grayson.

Grayson grabbed two chrome seats, removing a pile of computer chips and boards from one.  “P-Please s-sit down,” he stammered, but his stutter ceased as he started into the technical aspects of his job.

“My j-job is to test various Department of Defense computer systems for quality and for error generation.”

“How do you do that?” said Martha, noting to herself that Grayson seemed unable to maintain eye contact.  Martha was aware of the typical, often unconscious, movement of male eyes toward her nicely shaped, full bosom.  This type of eye movement sometimes secretly pleased her, when she was in the mood.

What Grayson did was more troubling.  His eyes wandered and flitted about between Mildred and Martha.  Occasionally, he would sneak a peek at Martha’s legs.  His nervous eyes suggested he had something to hide.

“We conduct raids, mess around in the software and challenge the systems to defend against us.”

“Which agencies of the DOD do you conduct these raids on?”

“All of them, from budget to contracts to operations.  The only ones we don’t touch are classified computer systems such as the DIA or special commands like Cheyenne Mountain.”

Martha took special note of Grayson’s comment about Cheyenne Mountain, the location of the North American Air Defense Command, NORAD.

“Do you ever raid substantive files?” said Martha.

“N-No.  W-We w-would n-never d-do that.”  He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

Martha and Mildred exchanged a quick glance.

“Can you show us how you conduct the raids?” said Martha.

“Sure.  We first call up the appropriate local area network using this external modem,” said Grayson as he dialed the Army Material Command computers at Fort Lee, Virginia.

Martha made a mental note of the extension number displayed on the modem case.

In a matter of seconds, Grayson had gained access to the Army computer.  He typed in DIR to the C:\> prompt and the computer responded with a listing of the various files contained on the master hard disk.  Grayson then typed in EDLIN COMMAND.EXE and the screen filled with ASCII symbols: the heart shapes, the squiggles, the smiling faces, the spades, and the diamonds.

Using the function keys, Grayson was able to modify the file with compatible ASCII symbols.

Martha silently marveled at the ease with which Grayson was able to alter the command function, thereby creating an operating file that responded to his requests.

“What do you do then?”

“Once we’re in the program, we could conceivably alter the function of the computers.  However, each LAN operating file is supposed to contain defense mechanisms to defeat alterations.  Our raids are conducted to test those defenses.”

Sure enough, when Grayson tried to get the Army Material Command system to respond to his altered COMMAND.EXE the system hesitated and the message SYSTEM UNABLE TO RESPOND appeared on the screen.

“This means that the operating system for the Army Material Command LAN recognized that the modified COMMAND.EXE file was defective and crashed the system.  I’d give it a B+,” said Grayson.  “I wouldn’t give it an A unless it stopped me from modifying the COMMAND.EXE file in the first place.”

“That’s fascinating,” Martha said as she and Mildred stood up as if to leave.  “Both Agent Lutsen and I thank you for showing us how this is done.  Can I call you if I have further questions?”

“S-Sure,” he replied, turning quickly back to his terminal as soon as Martha and Mildred left his office.

“What do you think?” said Mildred when the two women were out of earshot of Grayson’s office.

“I think we have another birth certificate search,” replied Martha, wearily.

1900 Hours: Monday, June 21, 1993: CSAC Offices, Washington, D.C.

“What have you found?” said Smith of Martha and Mildred as the three sat at the Formica topped conference table.

“Mildred and I thought we were on to something.  The chief computer quality checker at the Pentagon is a strange man named Ted Grayson.  However, I had him checked out and he seems to be legit.  He was born in Boston on June 10, 1965, to an unwed mother.  Although his father later married his mother, Grayson apparently kept his mother’s name.  He went to Boston College, majored in computer science, and has been at the Pentagon since graduation.  He’s considered to be real quiet and a loner.”

Martha paused, thinking.  “He’s strange, though.  I plan to raid his computer this evening.”

“That guy was weird,” Mildred said.  “The way his eyes wandered and how he started stuttering when you asked him about substantive raids.  Is there any other information we can develop on him?”

“Even if everything does check out, he could be a bad guy and still be born in America, you know.”

“Do you ever check out families?” said Mildred.

“That’s interesting.  I never thought to do that,” Martha replied.  “I’ll check that out as well.”  Martha turned to Smith, “Do you have a computer with a modem I could use?”

“Sure,” he said.  He showed Martha to an empty office in which an Epson computer and modem sat on a desk.  Martha thanked George and sat down at the terminal.

Turning on the computer, Martha booted up the computer program that enabled the modem to dial Grayson’s number at the Pentagon.  The tone changes and answering tones indicated that the two modems were engaged in establishing a relationship — a courtship ritual between two computers.  At the last soft tone, the line was filled with a scratchy caterwauling that could only be described as a bunch of alley cats fighting.

The modem in Grayson’s office asked for a password and Martha deftly typed in an ASCII code word that displayed for her the correct password, which she then typed in.  The computer in Grayson’s empty, darkened office in the E-Ring of the Pentagon suddenly came to life.

Grayson’s computer typed out: C:\>

Martha typed in: DIR/P

Martha’s computer screen suddenly filled with information as Grayson’s computer complied with her request.

Enter any key to continue

NAVCOM? thought a perplexed Martha.

Martha continued through the directory listing.  After completing the directory listing Grayson’s computer re-displayed C:\>

Martha typed in: cd NAVCOM.

Grayson’s computer responded: C:\NAVCOM>

Martha typed in: dir/p

The computer responded:

Volume in drive C has no label

Directory of C:\NAVCOM

 5 File(s)      24,004,000 bytes free

C:\NAVCOM>

Martha typed in CSAC.

Martha stared as the message played out in bluish letters against a black background.  Her jaw dropped in amazement at the importance of the information being displayed.