scoonts.theminotaur-第1节

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r　time　delivered　the　Minotaur。　Contriving　to　hide　his　shame；　to　banish　the　hideous　man…bull　from　the　sight　of　men；　King　Minos　ordered　Daedalus　to　construct　a　labyrinth。　The　artist　set　the　stone；　captured　conflict　in　aisles　and　passages　of　confusion　and　deceit；　devious　ways　that　twisted　the　mind　and　eye　of　all　who　entered　that　prison　of　no　escape；　wherein　was　placed　the　Minotaur。　Thus　did　Daedalus　build　his　monument　to　the　betrayal　of　the　king。
　The　means　of　destruction　are　approaching　perfection　with　frightful　rapidity。
　BARON　ANTOINE　HENRI　JOMINI。　1838
　
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　Terry　Franklin　was　a　spy。　This　afternoon　in　February；　in　a　small　cubbyhole　in　the　basement　of　the　Pentagon；　he　was　practicing　his　trade。　It　was　tedious　work。
　He　adjusted　the　screen　brightness　on　his　puter　monitor　and　tapped　the　secret　access　code　of　the　user　he　was　pretending　to　be　tonight。　Now　the　file　name；　also　special　access；　a　classification　higher　than　top　secret。　He　had　to　be　careful；　since　the　letters　and　numerals　he　was　typing　did　not　appear　on　the　screen。　A　mistake　here　meant　the　puter　would　lock　him　out　and　deny　him　the　file。　And　he　was　not　a　good　typist　He　worked　with　just　two　fingers。
　Wow！　There　it　was。　The　ATA　File；　the　Advanced　Tactical　Aircraft。　He　tapped　some　more　and　began　examining　the　document　fist。　Number　23。241；　that's　the　first　one。　He　slid　one　of　his　high…density；　5。25…inch　floppies　into　the　slot　and　hit　the　keys　again。　The　little　red　light　came　on　above　the　disk　drive　and　the　drive　began　to　whir。　Franklin　smiled　when　he　saw　the　light。
　It　was　quiet　here　in　the　puter　service　shop。　The　only　noise　was　the　whirring　of　the　disk　drive　and　the　tiny　clicks　of　the　keyboard。　And　the　sound　of　Terry　Franklin's　breathing。　It　was　ironic；　he　mused；　how　the　puter　silently　and　effortlessly　reveals　the　deepest　secrets　of　its　owners。　Without　remorse；　without　a　twinge　of　emotion　of　any　kind；　the　screen　lays　bare　the　insights　gained　from　man…years　of　research　by　highly　educated；　gifted　scientists　and　the　cunning　application　of　that　research　by　extraordinarily　talented　engineers。　Pouring　onto　the　floppy　disk　was　a　treasure　more　valuable　than　gold；　more　precious　than　diamonds；　a　treasure　beyond　the　reach　of　most　of　the　human　race；　still　struggling　as　it　was　with　basic　survival。　Only　here；　in　America；　where　a　significant　percentage　of　the　best　brains　on　the　planet　were　actively　engaged　in　fundamental　research　into　the　secrets　of　creation；　were　these　intangible　jewels　being　created　in　significant　quantity；　gushing　forth；　almost　too　fast　to　steal。
　Terry　Franklin　grinned　to　himself　as　he　worked。　He　would　do　his　best。　He　called　up　the　document　list　again；　then　changed　floppies　as　he　listened　to　the　silence。
　These　three　little　floppy　disks　would　earn　him　thirty　thousand　dollars。　He　had　bargained　hard。　Ten　thousand　dollars　a　disk；　whether　full　or　partially　full。　Cash。　He　had　figured　out　a　way　to　make　puters　pay。　He　grinned　happily　at　this　thought　and　stroked　the　keyboard　again。
　Terry　Franklin　had　bee　a　spy　for　the　money。　He　had　volunteered。　He　had　made　his　decision　after　reading　everything　he　could　lay　his　hands　on　about　espionage。　Only　then　had　he　devised　a　plan　to　market　the　classified　material　to　which　he　had　access　as　a　navy　enlisted　puter　specialist。　He　had　thought　about　the　plan　for　months；　looking　for　holes　and　weighing　the　risks。　There　were　risks；　he　knew；　huge　ones；　but　that　was　the　reason　the　pensation　would　be　so　high。　And；　he　assured　himself　repeatedly；　he　enjoyed　taking　risks。　It　would　add　spice　to　his　life；　make　a　boring　marriage　and　a　boring　job　tolerable。　So　he　recruited　himself。
　One　Saturday　morning　five　years　ago　Terry　Franklin　walked　into　the　Soviet　embassy　in　Washington。　He　had　read　that　the　FBI　kept　the　embassy　under　constant　surveillance　and　photographed　everyone　who　entered。　So　he　wore　a　wig；　false　mustache　and　heavy；　mirrorlike　sunglasses。　He　told　the　receptionist　he　wanted　to　see　an　intelligence　officer。　After　a　forty…five　minute　wait；　he　was　shown　into　a　small；　windowless　room　and　carefully　searched　by　the　receptionist；　a　muscular；　trim　man　in　his　early　thirties。　A　half　hour　later…he　was　convinced　he　was　photographed　during　this　period　by　an　unseen　camera…a　nondescript　man　in　his　fifties　wearing　a　baggy　suit　had　entered　and　occupied　the　only　other　chair。　Without　a　word；　Franklin　displayed　his　green　navy　ID　card；　then　handed　the　man　a　roll　of　film。　The　man　weighed　it　in　his　hand　as　Franklin　removed　the　sunglasses；　wig　and　mustache。　The　Russian　left　the　room　without　speaking。　Another　half　hour　passed；　then　another。　No　doubt　he　was　again　photographed。
　It　was　almost　noon　when　baggy…suit　returned。　He　smiled　as　he　entered　and　shook　Franklin's　hand。　Could　he　examine　the　ID　card？　Where　was　Franklin　stationed？　When　had　he　exposed　the　film？　Why？　The　Russian's　English　was　good　but　slightly　accented。
　Money；　Terry　Franklin　had　said。　〃I　want　money。　I　have　something　to　sell　and　I　brought　you　a　free　sample；　hoping　you　might　want　to　buy　more。〃
　Now；　as　Franklin　worked　the　puter　keyboard；　he　thought　back　to　that　day　at　the　embassy。　It　had　been　the　most　momentous　day　of　his　life。　Five　years　and　two　months　after　that　day　he　had　540；000　in　cash　in　a　storage　locker　in　McLean；　Virginia；　under　an　assumed　name　and　no　one　was　the　wiser。　He　was　going　to　quit　spying　when　that　figure　reached　a　million。　And　when　his　enlistment　was　up；　he　was　going　to　walk　out　on　Lucy　and　the　kids　and　fly　to　South　America。
　It　was　typical　of　Terry　Franklin　that　he　intended　to　delay　his　departure　until　he　received　his　discharge。　When　he　entered　his　new　life　he　would　go　free；　clean　and　legal；　with　no　arrest　warrants　anywhere。　He　would　go　in　his　fake　identity。　Petty　Officer　First　Class　Terry　Franklin；　the　college　kid　from　Bakersfield　who　had　knocked　up　Lucy　Southworth　in　the　back　seat　of　her　father's　station　wagon　at　a　drive…in　movie；　married　her；　then　joined　the　navy　…that　Terry　Franklin　would　cease　to　exist。
　It　was　a　nice　bundle：　540；000；　plus　30；000　for　these　three　disks。　A　lot　of　money。　But　not　enough。　He　wasn't　greedy；　but　he　had　to　have　a　stake　big　enough　so　that　he　could　live　on　the　interest。
　He　had　been　very；　very　careful。　He　had　made　no　mistakes。　He　had　never　spent　a　penny　of　the　money。　The　spying　was　going　smooth　as　clockwork。　These　Russians；　they　were　damn　good。　You　had　to　take　your　hat　off　to　them。　They　had　never　called　or　spoken　to　him　after　that　last　meeting　in　Miami　almost　three　years　ago；　right　after　he　received　orders　to　the　Pentagon。
　The　operation　was　slick；　almost　foolproof；　he　reflected　as　he　inserted　the　third　disk。　The　calls　always　came　on　an　evening　when　his　wife　was　out；　sometimes　with　her　bowling　league；　sometimes　at　a　friend's　house。　The　phone　rang　once；　and　if　he　picked　it　up　there　was　no　one　there；　merely　a　dial　tone。　One　minute　later　it　rang　again；　once。　Then　a　minute　after　that　it　rang　one；　two；　three　or　four　times。　The　number　of　rings　that　third　time　was　the　message。　He　was　to　check　dead　drop　one；　two；　three　or　four；　and　he　was　to　do　it　as　soon　as　possible。　He　usually　left　the　house　immediately；　cruised　for　at　least　an　hour　in　his　car　to　ensure　he　wasn't　being　followed；　then　headed　for　the　dead　drop。　And　the　information　would　be　there。　Spelled　out　in　block　letters　on　the　back　of　an　empty；　torn　cigarette　pack　would　be　the　file　name　he　was　to　photograph；　the　classified　puter　codes　necessary　to　gain　access　and　a　telephone　number　to　call　the　evening　he　was　ready　to　transfer　the　disks；　when　the　whole　sequence　would　begin　again。　No　one　saw　him；　he　saw　no　one；　all　very　slick。
　He　chuckled。　The　cigarette　packs　on　which　he　received　his　instructions　were　always　Marlboro　Gold　100s；　and　it　had　occurred　to　Terry　Franklin　that　someone　had　a　subtle　sense　of　humor。　As　he　worked　now　and　thought　about　the　money；　he　savored　that　sardonic　twist。
　They　must　be　watching　the　house　to　see　when　he　was　home　alone。　Of　course　someone　was　servicing　the　drops。　But　how　were　they　getting　the　puter　codes　and　file　names？　Oh　well；　he　was　getting　his　piece　of　the　pie　and　he　wasn't　greedy。
　〃Ask　me　no　questions　and　I'll　tell　you　no　lies；〃　Terry　Franklin　muttered　as　he　removed　the　final　disk　from　its　slot　and　tucked　it　into　its　own　little　envelope。　He　grinned　at　the　monitor　screen；　then　tapped　keys　to　exit　the　file。
　Now　came　the　tricky　part。　Three　years　ago；　when　he　had　first　been　told　by　the　Soviets　that　they　wanted　copies　of　documents　from　the　puter　system；　he　had　written　a　trapdoor　program　for　the　software　of　the　main　puter。　The　job　had　taken　him　six　months；　it　had　to　be　right　the　first　time…he　would　get　no　second　chance。　This　program　acplished　several　things；　it　allowed　Franklin　to　access　any　file　in　central　memory　from　this　terminal　here　in　the　repair　shop；　a　permanent　secret　〃doorway；〃　thereby　defeating　the　built…in　safeguards　that　gave　access　to　classified　files　only　from　certain　specific　terminals；　it　erased　the　record　of　his　access　from　the　3…W　file；　which　was　a　security　program　that　automatically　recorded　who；　what　and　when；　and　finally；　it　allowed　him　to　access　the　3…W　file　to　see　that　his　footprints　were　indeed　not　there。
　This　trapdoor　program　was　his　crowning　achievement。　He　had　once　seen　a　written　promise　from　the　software　designer　that　un