"John W. Higgins, social security number, 134-66-9241. Born Rock- ville, Maryland, June 1, 1947. You currently have $12,435.16 in your checking account, $23,908.03 in savings . . ." Higgins' jaw and pen dropped simultaneously. Doug saw the shock on his face while Scott continued. "Your mortgage at 115 Central Park West is $2,754.21. Your portfolio is split between, let's see, CD's, T-Bills, the bank acts as your broker, and you have three safety deposit boxes, only one to which your wife, Helen Beverly Simons, has access. You make a deposit every two weeks . . ." "Stop! How the hell do you know . . ." "Jeez you make that much? Can I be a lawyer too, huh? Please Mr. Higgins?" Higgins threw his chair back and stormed around his desk to grab the papers from Scott. Scott held them away. "Let me see those!" Higgins demanded. "Say please. Say pretty please." "Scott!" Doug decided enough was enough. Scott had made his point. "Cool it. Let him have them." "Sure, boss!" He grinned widely at Doug who could not, for reasons of professional conduct, openly condone Scott's perform- ance, no matter how effective it was. Higgins looked at the top pages from where Scott was reading. He read them intently, looking from one to the other. Slowly, he walked back to his desk, and sat down, nearly missing the chair because he was so engrossed. Without looking up he spoke softly. "This is unbelievable. Unbelievable. I can't believe that you have this." Suddenly he spoke right to Scott. "You know this is privileged information, you can't go telling anyone about my personal finances. You do know that, right?" The concern was acute. "Hey, I don't really give a damn what you make, but I needed to shake the tree. This is serious shit." "Scott, you've got my total, undivided attention now. The floor's yours. You have up to 100 words." Humor wasn't Higgins' strong point, or his weak point, or any point, but Scott appreci- ated the gesture. Doug could relax, too. A peace treaty, for now. "Thanks, John." Scott was sincere. "As you know I've been run- ning a few stories on hackers, computer crimes, what have you." Higgins rolled his eyes. He remembered. "A few weeks ago I got a call from Captain Kirk. He's a hacker." "What do you know about him?" Higgins was again taking notes. The tape recorder was nowhere to be seen. "Not much, yet, but I have a few ideas. I would hazard to guess that he is younger. Maybe in his late '20's, not from New York, maybe the Coast, and has a sense of responsibility." "How do know this?" "Well, I don't know, I guessed from our conversations." "Why didn't you just ask?" "I did. But, he wants his anonymity. It's the things he says, the way he says them. The only reason I know he's a he is be- cause he called me on the phone first." "When did you speak to him?" Higgins inquired.