Miles Roban. That's an alias. He's the one who told me about the real NSA. I hope he doesn't get in trouble for what he said. I owe him a pound of M&Ms. 2 lbs. of them. (NOTE: For over two years, according to 'high-up' sources, the NSA has been and still is looking for 'Miles'. They haven't found him yet, despite an intensive internal NSA search. We need more people like 'Miles' who are willing to break down the conventional barriers of secu- rity on issues that affect us all.) Dad. God rest. Winn Schwartau, July, 1993 **************************************************************** "Terminal Compromise" is dedicated to: Sherra There is no adequate way to say thank you. You are the super-glue of the family. Let's continue to break the rules. I Love You Ashley She wrote three books before I finished the first chapter and then became a South-Paw. Adam Welcome, pilgrim. **************************************************************** Prologue Friday, January 12, The Year After The White House, Washington D.C. The President was furious. In all of his professional political life, not even his closest aids or his wife had ever seen him so totally out of character. The placid Southern confidence he normally exuded, part well designed media image, part real, was completely shattered. "Are you telling me that we spent almost $4 trillion dollars, four goddamn trillion dollars on defense, and we're not prepared to defend our computers? You don't have a game plan? What the hell have we been doing for the last 12 years?" The President bellowed as loudly as anyone could remember. No one in the room answered. The President glared right through each of his senior aides. "Damage Assessment Potential?" The President said abruptly as he forced a fork full of scrambled eggs into his mouth. "The Federal Reserve and most Banking transactions come to a virtual standstill. Airlines grounded save for emergency opera- tions. Telephone communications running at 30% or less of capacity. No Federal payments for weeks. Do you want me to continue?" "No, I get the picture." The President wished to God he wouldn't be remembered as the President who allowed the United States of America to slip back- ward 50 years. He waited for the steam in his collar to subside before saying anything he might regret. * * * * * Monday, August 6, 1945. Japan The classroom was coming to order. Shinzo Ito, the 12th graders' instructor was running a few minutes late and the students were in a fervent discussion about the impending end to the war. And of course it was to be a Japanese victory over the American Mongrels.