The Fool's Run
possibilities. When I get back to Chicago, I’m going to ask Dillon for a crash study of corporate aggression. To work out the limits and the consequences.”
“Tell him to call me,” I said. “I have some thoughts about it.”
“Yes.” She turned and stared out the window, lost in thought. “This attack on Whitemark . . . there’s a temptation to write it out, document it, then stash it somewhere. It could be a classic someday. Like Clausewitz’s On War.”
“Don’t use my name,” I said. “Call me Ann Smith. Or something equally innovative.”
At the airport, I waited until her plane was called and kissed her goodbye. She walked out through the gate with the painting tube under her arm. She looked back once and smiled.
Dace and LuEllen finished packing his apartment. The few things he wanted to keep were put in storage, and the rest of it was sent to a Goodwill store. I spent the afternoon working at the apartment, disassembling the office and cleaning up. A little portable computer with a built-in modem watched the phone, in case Bobby called.
The attack programs we used against Whitemark had been written in a deliberately structured, functional, but inelegant programming style. If NSA or the FBI had a textual analysis capability for computer code, the structured programs wouldn’t match any examples of my usual programming style. It was a small piece of security, probably unnecessary, but who knows?
The computers and printer had to go for the same security reasons. If there were tapes of incoming data from our terminals, a sophisticated analysis of transmission peculiarities might identify them. Same with the printer type, should they compare samples with the printout sent to the cops with the pornography package. I hated the thought of dropping the equipment in the river, so I packed it with newspapers in three big cardboard boxes, hauled the boxes to a delivery service, and had them sent to an elementary school in a slum area. The note said the equipment was from a friend.
Dace and LuEllen showed up just before dark and we all went out to eat. Later that evening, I put the phones back where they were when we rented the place. We would leave the working table. The landlord could get rid of it.
The next morning, Dace and LuEllen took care of financial matters and shopped. I called Bobby at the special number, told him we’d be out of touch for a few days, and took the portable and the rest of our personal stuff down to the car. When the apartment was empty, I started wiping the place down. It was another piece of security that would probably be unnecessary, but Maggie, before she left for Chicago, had insisted on it.
“We know the place is used by prostitutes. If there should be any trouble here in the next few weeks, and they find fingerprints from a computer expert and an executive from Anshiser Aviation and a Washington publicity expert and a burglar . . .”
“I’m not on record as a burglar anywhere,” LuEllen said.
“You see my point, though?” Maggie had said. “Somebody smart could reach the right conclusion.”
“The chances of a problem are almost nonexistent,” I said.
“Exactly. Almost. But not quite. It’ll take two hours, and it’ll eliminate the possibility.” She stuck out her lower lip. “For me?”
I WAS NEARLY finished wiping the apartment when the phone rang. It was Maggie, calling from Chicago.
“It’s done,” she said crisply. “I’ll be back tonight with the cash.”
Dillon’s analysis indicated that Whitemark was reeling. Its stock had dropped into the forties, then started drifting back up, but only because of takeover rumors. The Hellwolf project was dead in the water, due to massive problems with their design system computers. Work on their copy of the String system had stopped. Manufacturing had problems with supply coordination, and couldn’t straighten them out. Routine administrative work was completely tangled. The company would again fail to meet the payroll at the end of the week. The unions threatened to walk out unless the paychecks were validated.
The press was still pushing the corruption stories, and procurement people at the Pentagon were afraid to talk to anybody at Whitemark. The Whitemark systems director had been fired after his arraignment on child pornography charges. To make everything worse, the FBI was crawling all over the place, questioning employees about a possible source of the attack, which they
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