Scott watched and listened as they set up a compelling demonstra- tion. First, one computer screen displayed a complex graphic picture. Several yards away another computer displayed a foggy image that cleared as one of the students adjusted the antenna attached to the computer. "Aha! Lock!" one of them said, announcing that the second comput- er would now display everything that the first computer did. The group played with color and black and white graphics, word proc- essing screens and spreadsheets. Each time, in a matter of seconds, they 'locked' into the other computer successfully. Scott was duly impressed and asked them why they were putting effort into such research. "Very simple," the apparent leader of the Frankfurt group said. "This work is classified in both your country and mine, so we do not have access to the answers we need. So, we build our own and now it's no more classified. You see?" "Why do you need it?" "To protect against it," they said in near unison. "The next step is to build efficient methods to fight the Van Eck." "Doesn't Tempest do that?" "Tempest?" the senior student said. "Ha! It makes the computer weigh a thousand pounds and the monitor hard to read. There are better ways to defend. To defend we must first know how to attack. That's basic." "Let me ask you something," Scott said to the group after their lengthy demonstration. "Do you know anything about electromag- netic pulses? Strong ones?" "Ya. You mean like from a nuclear bomb?" "Yes, but smaller and designed to only hurt computers." "Oh, ya. We have wanted to build one, but it is beyond our means." "Well," Scott said smugly, "someone is building them and setting them off." "Your stock exchange. We thought that the American government did it to prove they could." An hour of ensuing discussion taught Scott that the technology that the DoD and the NSA so desperately spent billions to keep secret and proprietary was in common use. To most engineers, and Scott could easily relate, every problem has an answer. The challenge is to accomplish the so-called impossible. The engi- neer's pride. Jon, the Flying Dutchman finally rescued Scott's stomach from implosion. "How about lunch? A few of the guys want to meet you. Give you a heavy dose of propaganda," he threatened. "Thank God! I'm famished and haven't touched the stuff all day. Love to, it's on me," Scott offered. He could see Doug having a cow. How could he explain a thousand dollar dinner for a hundred hungry hackers? "Say that too loud," cautioned the bearded Dutchman, "and you'll have to buy the restaurant. Hacking isn't very high on the pay scale." "Be easy on me, I gotta justify lunch for an army to my boss, or worse yet, the beancounters." Dutchman didn't catch the idiom. "Never mind, let's keep it to a small regiment, all right?"