supported by a cane. Flitcraft, too, was close to retirement. Betz knew Flitcraft wasn’t there on a social visit.
‘Got some confidential entries for you this morning, Sergeant,’ Flitcraft said, standing as Betz entered.
‘Yeah, right,’ Betz said. ‘C’mn down.’ He turned to the receptionist. ‘Give Sergeant Flitcraft a class-three permit,’ he said.
She reached in a drawer and pulled out a blue name tag, filed its number on a registry and handed it to Flitcraft. She knew him and assumed he was there to give Betz classified information for the general computer. The blue pass permitted him to go only as far as the general offices, a bank of small windowless boxes, through a door to the left of reception. The door to the right opened into the general computer system and was guarded by a marine.
Flitcraft followed Betz into his office, a small cheerless cubicle with just enough space for a desk, a file cabinet, a computer terminal and one other chair.
‘You got some entries for me there, Sergeant?’ Betz asked, easing open a desk drawer.
He knew Flitcraft, knew he worked for a special unit known only as Shadow Section, and that he was trustworthy. Since Flitcraft did not have a C-1 classification, he did not have access to secret computer files. Flitcraft took a quart of Dewar’s White Label from his briefcase and slipped it in the drawer, which Betz eased shut with his knee. Because the office was under constant surveillance by a roving video camera, they played this game of charades.
‘We’ve got some low-grade classified reports here for general entry,’ said Flitcraft, sliding a sheaf of immaterial reports across the desk to Betz. Betz looked at them, casually lifted the cover sheet and read on a slip of paper on page two: ‘Classified POW files.’ Betz looked at Flitcraft as if to say, ‘Who cares?’
Flitcraft raised his eyebrows and shrugged as if to answer, ‘Who knows? You know how the brass are.’ Silent looks exchanged between noncoms ‘who had been in the system a long time and knew that a lot of information was classified simply to prevent the news media from gaining access to it through the Freedom of Information Act.
Betz slid open the tray on his desk and checked a list of code names and numbers. He wrote several down on a slip of paper and attached the slip to the top of the file. He set it aside in plain view of Flitcraft ‘while he filled out a receipt, which he signed.
Flitcraft memorized the list immediately:
52-767-52116
Sidewinder
9696
Cherry
Monte
Cristo
Zenda
Betz handed the phony receipt to Flitcraft, who put it in his briefcase.
‘See ya,’ Flitcraft said. They shook hands and he left the office.
So far, so good. Flitcraft went straight to the men’s rest room on the same floor, entered a stall, and wrote the list down before he forgot it. Then he left the Pentagon and hailed a cab.
The office of Shadow Section was in a private office building near the White House. To the casual observer, it was a small personal communications company in the private sector. Very few people knew that it was a branch of military intelligence.
Inside the office, which was identified only by the name Interplex on the door, was a bank of computers and interconnected communication systems that gave the three men, who dressed in civilian clothes, access to satellite and computer information all over the ‘world.
Flitcraft ran the operation with the help of two other noncoms. All three had served Sloan in the past, and all three had suffered wounds that should have resulted in medical discharges from the service. But Colonel Harry Sloan protected his men, and they, in turn, were thoroughly devoted to him. They would have given up their tongues rather than discuss the work they did.
Flitcraft got a cup of coffee and sat down in front of one of the computers.
Flitcraft was accustomed to the complex entry and silent codes needed to gain access to the government’s general computer and then into specific classified files. These were a series of numbers and names that had to be entered upon prompting from the terminal. The system also had a double-entry silent code series that had to be entered without prompting. If these were not entered, the main computer immediately triggered a hack tracer. Within seconds the base computer registered the phone number and identity of the interrogating computer and then denied further access to the system -
It was a clever double-entry system designed to prevent hacking into these confidential files. In addition, each specific file category had its own set of bypass codes that were changed weekly, adding still another deterrent to hacking.
Flitcraft entered the modem program, permitting him access to other computers over regular phone lines. He typed in the general number for computer records and then a prompt requested his access number. He checked the list Betz had given him. Tue access number was 52-767-52116. A second prompt appeared immediately, requesting the code name for general files. Flitcraft entered ‘Sidewinder,’ the code name for entry into all classified files.
Now came the touchy part, for the computer did not ask for the ID number of the bypass code; it simply prompted a response to the question ‘Specific File Number.’ Without knowledge of the anti-hacking system, a hacker would have entered the code name requested and immediately sent an alarm to the tracer.
Flitcraft entered the ID number Betz had provided, 9696, followed by the code word ‘Cherry’ and bypassed the hack tracer. The computer repeated the question ‘Specific File Code,’ to which he entered ‘Monte,’ which was followed by a second prompt. He entered ‘Cristo.’
Bang, he was in the general POW file. On the next prompt he typed in ‘Zenda,’ and the menu of all
