The Gift of Giving and Gratitude

By Anthony S. Policastro

At sixteen I knew I wanted to be a novelist. But when I sat down to start my book, the page remained blank. Writer's block at sixteen? Hardly. My pages remained blank for another dozen years or so, but my dream stayed with me. Then one day I was able to type "The End" on a page and I knew I accomplished the first step of my dream.

Years later I realized that when I tried to write a novel at sixteen, I had not experienced enough of life to form an opinion, a viewpoint, a voice. I needed to live life more, experience all of its intricacies and continually search for my voice. Maybe, this is what they call maturity. Maturity as a person, maturity as a writer.

That revelation stayed with me and is still with me and I am always open to trying new things, going to new places, meeting new people. Don't get me wrong, you don't have to climb Mount Everest or ride in a gondola in Venice to effectively write about those experiences – there is plenty of information in books and on the Internet to allow you to virtually experience them. You just have write so your readers can experience whatever comes out of your imagination.

So when my wife suggested that we volunteer our time at the Helping Hand Mission here in Raleigh on Christmas Eve to help distribute food and toys to the less fortunate, I was thrilled. Not only because it would be a new experience, but mostly because we would really be helping people less fortunate than us. And here's another important epiphany of life…perspective. You really get a reality check on your life when you see others who have much less than you. You become very grateful for what you have and you feel lucky. (You can experience a bit of what we did by viewing my photo stream on Flickr.)

It's the same with writing. When you constantly compare your writing to luminaries like Sara Gruen (Water for Elephants) or Jodi Picoult, who writes fiction about real issues that are pertinent today, you think your work is substandard because it doesn't sell and you are not a full time writer. Well, you should never imitate any writer; you should be your own writer. Yes, always shoot for the stars, but don't be undaunted by the success of others. And when you find your true voice, you should be grateful because many writers never find it. You should feel lucky and grateful like I did on Christmas Eve when I handed boxes of food and a turkey to fellow human beings who had a lot less than most of us.

Giving a Helping Hand

Take a look at all the other wonderful volunteers who gave their time during this season of giving in the following photo essay on Flickr.

Or visit the Helping Hands Mission web site to see how you can help.

It Really is a Wonderful Life

Now that it is Christmas Eve,

I thought I would re-post my piece on the classic film "It's a Wonderful Life" from last year. The film aired on NBC TV Saturday night (12/13/2008) and you guessed it my wife and I watched it and enjoyed the airing all over again.Anthony S. Policastro

In light of the current US economic situation, the film is a testament to the dire consequences of greed.

It Really is a Wonderful Life

By Anthony S. Policastro

I thought I would re-post my piece on the classic film "It's a Wonderful Life" from last year. The film aired on NBC TV Saturday night (12/13/2008) and you guessed it my wife and I watched it and enjoyed the airing all over again.

In light of the current US economic situation, the film is a testament to the dire consequences of greed.

My wife and I were watching Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life” on NBC the other night for the 100^th time or so. We both have seen the movie so many times we can recite the actor’s lines as they say them. We watch it every year just as we put up a Christmas tree every year. Although we have seen the movie many times, we both thoroughly enjoy watching it again often saying, “This is one of my favorite scenes,” or “I can’t wait to see this part.”

I started thinking about this film and why it is still popular and why it is so timeless. After all, the film debuted in movie theaters on December 20, 1946, it is in black and white and the lifestyle and mores of the era are those of our parents and grandparents depending how old you are. Some of the actors and scenes are corny by today’s standards, but the film remains highly popular. In addition, it was considered a box office flop because it did not generate the anticipated revenue.

As I watched it I could see that the film was made like a well written novel. Great characterizations, conflict, drama and George Bailey’s (played by Jimmy Stewart) self realization that his problems were nothing compared to all the things he had done and all the people his life had touched. All the plot points are resolved in the end and two major themes emerge: self sacrifice to help others and that family and friends are all that matter.

This is the stuff of great novels like GONE WITH THE WIND, THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA and others that speak a universal human truth that lives on through each generation. A truth that is not anchored in time and relevant to the values of any era. This is the kind of story telling all writers would love to write and it is the universal thread that keeps us writing against all odds.

If you have never watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” it is one of those films that should be required watching to become a member of the human race. It’s a film you should watch if you are writing a novel because it has all the elements of great story telling.

Here are links to additional information on the film.

A great review by Tom Dirks on filmsite.org

Photos and videos on The Internet Movie Database

Photos and information at Reel Classics

It Really is a Wonderful Life

By Anthony S. Policastro

I thought I would re-post my piece on the classic film "It's a Wonderful Life" from last year. The film aired on NBC TV Saturday night (12/13/2008) and you guessed it my wife and I watched it and enjoyed the airing all over again.

In light of the current US economic situation, the film is a testament to the dire consequences of greed.

My wife and I were watching Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life” on NBC the other night for the 100^th time or so. We both have seen the movie so many times we can recite the actor’s lines as they say them. We watch it every year just as we put up a Christmas tree every year. Although we have seen the movie many times, we both thoroughly enjoy watching it again often saying, “This is one of my favorite scenes,” or “I can’t wait to see this part.”

I started thinking about this film and why it is still popular and why it is so timeless. After all, the film debuted in movie theaters on December 20, 1946, it is in black and white and the lifestyle and mores of the era are those of our parents and grandparents depending how old you are. Some of the actors and scenes are corny by today’s standards, but the film remains highly popular. In addition, it was considered a box office flop because it did not generate the anticipated revenue.

As I watched it I could see that the film was made like a well written novel. Great characterizations, conflict, drama and George Bailey’s (played by Jimmy Stewart) self realization that his problems were nothing compared to all the things he had done and all the people his life had touched. All the plot points are resolved in the end and two major themes emerge: self sacrifice to help others and that family and friends are all that matter.

This is the stuff of great novels like GONE WITH THE WIND, THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA and others that speak a universal human truth that lives on through each generation. A truth that is not anchored in time and relevant to the values of any era. This is the kind of story telling all writers would love to write and it is the universal thread that keeps us writing against all odds.

If you have never watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” it is one of those films that should be required watching to become a member of the human race. It’s a film you should watch if you are writing a novel because it has all the elements of great story telling.

Here are links to additional information on the film.

A great review by Tom Dirks on filmsite.org

Photos and videos on The Internet Movie Database

Photos and information at Reel Classics

For All Writers - There is Hope

I highly recommend reading my post on authors who self published:

With all the doom and gloom with the economy and Wall Street, I wanted to share some light and hope with all the struggling writers out there who dream of becoming a published author one day.Anthony S. Policastro, The Writer's Edge, Nov 2008

Someone was Playing with my Head

I awoke to something tickling my nose. When I scratched it, I snagged a daddy long legs spider crawling on my face. I instantly swatted it away and jerked up to a sitting position. The vertigo was next and the snow white clouds swirled in the crystal blue Carolina sky as if they were in a giant mixer. I still had the neural bracelet on (See The Neural Bracelet for more on that). Actually, I couldn't get it off – it seemed like it was crazy-glued to my wrist. My head had that empty feeling like an echo chamber.

The hollowness was suddenly filled with a voice that seemed to be nowhere, but everywhere.

"Just think about what you want to say," the voice said.

"Huh? Who is this? Where are you?" I thought.

"Jake Stone. Just think of something!"

I wondered if I were dead. They have mental telepathy in heaven, right?

"You're not dead. Now get up and walk to the front of your house. I want to see if buildings interfere with the transmissions."

"You heard that!"

"All you have to do is think of something and your thought gets transmitted to me."

"What are you talking about?"

"The bracelet is a communications device connected to your nervous system and directly connected to your brain."

"I did die or this is a some crazy dream."

"It's not a dream. Now go to the front of your house. Just do it."

As I walked, I could feel the grass swat my sneakers so I made a mental note to cut the grass over the weekend.

"You're going to cut your grass over the weekend. You just decided you would," Jake said.

"This is getting really scary. How do I get the damn thing off?"

"Tap it twice and it will release."

As I approached the driveway that ran along the side of the house, I caught something in the corner of my eye. It was black and veered out into full view – a para-military type dressed in black and holding an Uzi with a long barrel. With my brain already on red alert, I instantly darted back into the woods behind my house. I could hear things swishing past me and then a basketball-sized hole blew out of an old oak tree in front of me. Pieces of hot bark hit me in the face.

"Run! Run! We've got you covered!" Jake echoed in my head.

"Bull!" I thought.

This was my land and I knew every nook and cranny of the 1.4-acre lot. I headed for a hollow, fallen oak tree large enough to crawl into, but then I thought, it would be the first place he would look.

"Head for the highway! The tree is a coffin," Jake said.

"Damn!"

I ran to a thicker part of the woods that would lead to the highway and give me additional cover. The only problem was the thorn bushes were slicing my hands and arms as I plowed through the underbrush. I looked back and he was closer. I ran faster and looked back again, but when I turned I saw a tree coming at me. I slammed into the trunk; the pain was excruciating. I felt myself falling and then there was nothing. I opened my eyes and everything was blurry. I was laying in a small gulley on a bed of rotting black leaves. The pain in my head intensified when I saw him standing over me.

"Jerk! What are you running from?" The voice was faintly familiar.

He pealed off the black ski mask and went for the Uzi. I'm dead, I thought. This is it. My whole life flashed in front of me like a never ending slide show.

"Oh my…you idiot!" I shouted. "What are you doing dressed like that?"
"I wanted to show you my cool Halloween costume I got at the thrift shop." It was my friend and neighbor, Dennis, who often plays practical jokes on any unsuspecting victim. "I got this new paint ball gun, too." He brandished it like it was a trophy.

"You were shooting me with that?" I said. I touched my face and my fingers turned red from the paint ball that hit the tree earlier.

"I wanted to test it."

"You're such an idiot!" I shook my head and looked down at my wrist. The neural bracelet was gone.

"Hey. Help me look for a silver watchband I think I lost. I just had it. It must be around here somewhere."

We looked all around the area and even back-tracked where I had been, but never found the bracelet.

The Neural Bracelet

I decided to work from home today because of my near death experience the previous night. (See my earlier post, "I Just Sat There…Stunned" for that adventure.

Later in the afternoon I went out to the mailbox and pulled a pile of mail out. Heading back into the house, I noticed a sealed envelope by the front door. "What now?" I thought. I knew instantly who it was from – the envelope was blank so it had to be from Jake Stone, the covert operative who has been feeding me sensitive, classified information for this blog after reading my thriller, Dark End of the Spectrum. So he claims.

I was about to pick it up when I thought it could be laced with anthrax or some other deadly substance. I went into the garage and put on a pair of workers gloves and proceeded to pick up the envelope. It was thin so I immediately ruled out a bomb, but still. I went back into the garage and put on a facemask I use when I paint rooms. I slowly opened the envelope holding it as far away as possible. It held a single piece of cream-colored paper and I could tell most of it was blank. I opened the page and lettering instantly appeared.

"Check the fourth rock in the back." It said and within seconds the lettering faded away. It was from Jake Stone. He had sent me an earlier note that also faded. (See the Starbucks Caper) This is the 2008 version of Mission Impossible, but he's no Mr. Phelps.

I walked to the back of my house to where I have several stepping stones sloping downward with the grade of the land. I stopped at the fourth stone. It didn't look disturbed, but I wasn't taking any chances. I picked up a rake near the tool shed and went back. I carefully placed the tines of the rake under the edge of the stone and lifted. At the same time I ran towards the house in case there was bomb. Nothing happened and I hoped none of the neighbors were watching. I slowly approached and looked at the indented earth where the rock had been and saw something shiny. It was an anti-static bag – a gray silver metallic bag used to protect electronic components from static electricity and X-rays. The bomb was in there, I thought. Then again why tell me where it is. Was I being too paranoid? I opened the bag and spilled out the contents. A flexible silver watchband bounced onto the brown earth except it didn't have a watch. A small sticky note on the band said, "Try it."

Ok, was I dumb enough to slip it on? Was it the neural bracelet Jake had mentioned in his earlier note that connects directly to your brain through your nervous system? I was too curious to let it go. It would gnaw at me. I slipped the bracelet on. Nothing happened. I'm thinking who buries a sophisticated piece of electronics under a rock in my back yard? Was I really expecting something to happen? I suddenly felt like I was being watched. Worse yet, my thoughts were more vivid – they echoed in my head and I thought I was floating. Everything around me, the trees, the plants, the grass appeared virtual like they were a passing thought. My thoughts took on more significance. And then it struck – a white noise that took the color out of everything with the fury and sounds of a hurricane. What was once my colorful reality turned into a white liquid swirl that slowly numbed all my nerves. The last thing I remembered was someone calling my name.

I Just Sat There…Stunned

I just sat in my car trying to clear the fog out of my mind when my cell buzzed and danced in the cup holder where I forgot it before entering the Japanese restaurant. (See my last post, Drugged, Kidnapped and Left to Ponder my Fate about that harrowing episode.) I knew instantly who it was from the familiar ring and photo displayed.

"I'm so glad to hear from you," I said to my wife.

"Where are you? I called the police and they are ready to file a missing person's report!" Wow, I didn't realize how loud my phone could be. I tried to turn down the call volume, but I couldn't remember where the buttons were located.

"I'm sorry, but they put something in my beer and I passed out. Then they took me to some dilapidated farmhouse where there was a gun fight…

"Are you drunk? Are you having an affair?"

"No! No! Are you nuts?"

"I can't imagine why it took so long to meet a guy about your book, who you've never met, never seen and who sounds really dangerous…people disappear all the time…you should have called…" I could hear the tears falling in the background.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." I let out a deep breath. "I'll be home in few minutes. I didn't have my phone; everything happened so fast. I'll be right home."

"Okay." I could barely hear her, but I heard her pain.

I started to drive out of the parking lot and the phone came to life again. There was no caller ID.

"Hello."

"You're lucky to be alive," the voice said. "Now you can work with us and stay alive or take your chances with them."

"I'm not dealing with this bullshit!" And I hung up.

As I drove home I noticed a car that I thought was following me, but then again maybe I was being a little too paranoid.

Drugged, Kidnapped, and Left to Ponder my Fate

The next thing I remembered was being violently pushed forward and the tightening of the seat belt on my shoulder and chest. My head hurt and I'm thinking how I could have a hangover on one beer. I had a hard time focusing on any thoughts. In my last post, Is Jake Stone a Hoax? I passed out in a Japanese restaurant and now I suspect there was something in the beer. The last thing I remembered was a Japanese businessman rushing towards me and then everything went black.

I looked around and the blackness of the night surrounded everything except for a faint yellow bug light about 100 yards away burning on the front porch of a small house. Suddenly, the blackness seemed to escape out the driver's side door as the dome lights sprayed the inside of the car.

"Let's go," said a clean shaven, military type guy dressed in black. He grabbed my arm and helped me out.

"Who are you? Where am I?" I managed to get out through the fog in my mind. The man ignored me.

As we approached the house, the bug light revealed that it leaned to the right. Now, I'm a lot more alert as I feel the adrenalin seep through my body.

"It is safe to go inside?" I said assessing my options to make a run for it.

"As safe as it will be," the man in black said.

We walked up three creaky steps to a small front porch with a gabled roof. The multiple coats of white paint curled away from two narrow pillars that supported the roof. The military type knocked on the door five times and five more knocks came from the other side.

The door opened and a thirty-something man with a crew cut appeared wearing a black flack jacket and a shoulder holster with a 9mm tucked inside. The two nodded.

The house smelled musty and the floor moaned as we walked through the narrow kitchen into a small, dark hallway that opened into a small living room. A single lamp with a dented black shade dimly lit a brown, worn sofa with a large jagged hole in the middle backrest. A robust man with deep wrinkles and lines in his face sat on the end of the sofa next to the table lamp. His eyes were in shadow.

"Sit down," the man said in a raspy, crackling voice. The military type next to me pointed to a worn and smelly recliner facing the sofa. I sunk so low that my butt touched the floor and I instinctively gripped the armrests. The man in shadow smiled slightly.

"I'm Jake Stone," the man in shadow said.

"How do I know?"

"I left you a Starbucks gift card with information that faded away within three minutes," he said.

(See my post, The Starbucks Caper – Is This for Real? about that incident.)

"About a cyber terrorist plot to take over the cell phone network and the power grid. The barista gave you the gift card with the information."

"Okay, so you are real?"

"Your book..."

"Dark End of the Spectrum?"

"…is too accurate."

"It's fiction."

"Where did you get the information?"

"I made it up."

"Some of it's true. You must have a connection."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I wrote a book and that's it!"

Jake Stone took a sip from a tumbler on the end table.

"You know a lot of people pawn off the truth as fiction."

"Oh, really?"

"This could get dangerous. You sure you want to continue running my information?"

"How dangerous?"

"Your family."

"I'm not convinced. I don't even know if people are reading it. I don't get much traffic."

"You will and then things could change."

"I'll deal with it."

"You won't be able to once it starts."

"You sound like you don't me to run your stuff."

"I just want you to know what you're getting into." He took another sip from the tumbler.

"Okay, fair enough."

He got up and extended his hand. I took it and we shook.

"Thanks," he said revealing his cold steel blue gray eyes. They made me shiver.

The two military types appeared behind me like unpleasant shadows. We headed for the kitchen, but never made it – two booms erupted so loud they seemed to stop time momentarily. The military types slammed me down and I hit the floor hard. I thought the house exploded. The gunfire shattered the windows in the living room and destroyed most of the wall. We crawled into the kitchen and one of the guys in black went out. I heard others join him and then we rushed into the black SUV parked close to the house. Another military type jumped in and the driver hit the gas hard. We took off down a dirt driveway and skidded onto a paved road nearly toppling the SUV. The guy next to me grabbed my face and held his hand over my mouth and nose and I thought this was the end. Everything vanished. I woke up in my car in the mall parking lot where I left it to go to the Japanese restaurant. It was three am and my head pounded in pain.

Is Jake Stone a Hoax?

It's been ten days since I last heard from Jake Stone, and now I'm thinking this whole thing was a farce. Maybe one of my friends pulled it off as a joke and is laughing his a-- off right now. I'm even thinking of un-publishing my earlier posts to avoid further embarrassment. Until I got a phone call on my cell and the number was all zeros. I pushed the call button and listened. (If you've read my earlier posts, you'll know Jake Stone is an alleged covert operative who claims he has information that will shock the world. See my earlier post Operative Reveals Cyber Terrorist Plot for the details.)

"This is Jake Stone. We need to meet now. Can you get to Kanki in Crabtree in twenty minutes?" The voice is disguised by one of those electronic voice scramblers. He sounds like Stephen Hawking.

"Yeah, I think so. It's rush hour so…"

"Sit at the Hibachi bar. Order a Kuronama. I'll find you."

I rushed out of work and headed towards the mall thinking he'll never show – he doesn't exist. It's one of my friends pulling this off. And what's a Kuronama? I didn't know until I got to the Kanki grill and ordered one.

The young bartender placed a long tapered glass in front of me filled with black liquid and a golden head. I took a sip. It's Japan's version of dark beer. Asahi makes it and it has a smoky taste with hints of honey. I'm hooked on it.

I look around for Jake and see only one other person, a middle-aged Japanese man in a blue suit sitting several seats away. He's drinking a light beer. Now I realize how Jake would find me – the dark beer. It serves as confirmation that I am who I am. Clever. But, I'm still not convinced Jake Stone is real. I imagine a bunch of my friends will pop out any minute laughing like hyenas at what they pulled off. In any event, I'm in a nice restaurant with a great tasting beer.

I check my watch and fifteen minutes have passed. Half the beer is gone and I'm feeling pretty good. Actually, too good for only a half a glass of beer. Another ten minutes pass and I finish the beer. I'm feeling pretty buzzed and wondering if the alcohol content of the beer is higher than most. I usually don't get this buzzed on one glass of beer. Now my head feels really heavy and I'm having a hard time holding it up. I put my hands on my head trying to steady it. This is so weird, I'm thinking. I just need to rest for a short time and I'll be alright I tell myself. I place my head down on the bar. Actually, I can't hold it up anymore. The rest feels really good and my eyes are slowly closing. The last thing I remember was the businessman coming towards me with a hurried look on his face. I try to put my hand up to stop him, but I can't feel it anymore. Something lifted me from under my arms and then there was nothing.

All of this started with the introduction of my novel, Dark End of the Spectrum.

Mysterious Text Messages, Neural Bracelets, and Direct Brain Communications

So I receive a text message on my phone at work and I don’t know who is it from because the number is ten zeros. I open the message and it says,

“Call 555-4237 as soon as you receive this message, JS."

Now I know who is it from – Jake Stone, the mysterious, covert operative, who has claimed that a secret group of powerful and well-funded individuals have hacked into the cell phone network and taken control. See my earlier post Operative Reveals Cyber Terrorist Plot for the details. Naturally, I call the number thinking it’s not going to work. Numbers with 555 prefixes are not assigned. My phone connects instantly no rings. A computer-generated female voice with a French accent says:

“Go to the fax machine, code 4237.”

Now, I’m thinking how does Jake Stone know my office has a fax machine? I guess you can assume most do even though most business communications are done with email.

I walk over and peer down at the gray display. The machine is sleeping. I linger there for a short time and then the machine awakes. The display says, “Internet fax – enter password.” I enter 4237 and wait. Seconds later, the machine rolls out a fax. It’s blank except for my name on the top in faint gray type. I wait some more thinking another sheet might come out. Nothing. Ok, another Mission Impossible message with appearing and disappearing type. I go back to my desk and drop the fax next to my phone and I notice there is blue fuzzy type where my fingers held the paper. I gently rub my hand over the paper and more type appears. Ok, its heat-activated text. I quickly start typing the information into my computer.

“Our government has developed a wireless device, a wrist band that connects directly to your neural system and communicates directly with your brain sending communications over your neural network. When connected, transmissions sound like voices in your head and you cannot know who’s speaking until they identify themselves. You just have to whisper to communicate back. The wireless frequency it uses is undetectable and comes across the radio spectrum as white noise. You must get one to stop ICER.”

I barely finished typing and the text begins to fade. I rub my hand over the paper again, but it doesn't work anymore. Within seconds the paper is blank and I’m thinking I don’t want any part of this. And I discover that that 4237 spells ICER on a telephone keypad.

Maybe, I shouldn't have written Dark End of the Spectrum.

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What is the secret society called ICER?

In the last piece of information I received from Jake Stone, the covert operative, he wrote that a secret group of powerful and well-funded individuals calling themselves, ICER, have hacked into and taken over the cell phone networks. He wrote that they took control of a special device installed by Homeland Security after 911 that can reprogram any computer wirelessly from aircraft to PDAs. Well, I was curious about ICER and did Google and Ixquick searches.

Curiously, ICER stands for the International Computing and Educational Research Workshop held every year at a major university in different countries since 2005. The first workshop was held at the University of Washington in Seattle and this year’s conference will be held this weekend (Sept 6-7) at the University of Newcastle in Sydney, Australia.

Here’s the mission statement of the workshop from the 2005 ICER workshop web site:

“Computing education, as a research discipline, is the study of how people come to understand computational processes and devices, and how to improve that understanding. As computation becomes ubiquitous in our world, understanding of computing in order to design, structure, maintain, and utilize these technologies becomes increasingly important both for the technology professional, but also for the technologically literate citizen. The research study of how the understanding of computation develops, and how to improve that understanding, is critically important for the technology-dependent societies in which we live.”

I don’t think Jake Stone was referring to this ICER. First, they are not a secret society; they are an open educational organization of computer professionals, educators and developers. Besides, I don’t have any proof what Jake Stone says is true. For all I know, he could be making this stuff up from my novel, Dark End of the Spectrum.

Interestingly, Wikipedia also has a listing for ICER. It is image compression software used by NASA on the Mars rovers, “Spirit” (MER-A) and “Opportunity” (MER-B).

From Wikipedia:

“ICER is a wavelet-based image compressor that allows for a graceful trade-off between the amount of compression (expressed in terms of compressed data volume in bits/pixel) and the resulting degradation in image quality (distortion). ICER has some similarities to JPEG2000, with respect to select wavelet operations.

The development of ICER was driven by the desire to achieve high compression performance while meeting the specialized needs of deep space applications.”

I also could not find the meaning of the photo-enhancing ICER acronym, if it is an acronym.

Operative Reveals Cyber Terrorist Plot

In my last post, The Starbucks Caper…, I thought I was going to meet the mysterious Jake Stone, who claims he was a covert operative for the CIA, NSA and other secret groups and that he has top-secret information to reveal that will shock the world. Instead, I received a Starbucks gift card and a letter with time sensitive ink. As I read the letter sitting in my car, the ink began to vanish. Luckily, I was able to photograph most of it with my phone before it disappeared. Here is what he wrote:

"A secret group of powerful and well-funded individuals calling themselves ICER have hacked into a newly developed wireless device installed in cell towers by Homeland Security after 911 that can reprogram any computer from aircraft to PDAs. The hackers also turned the device into a powerful weapon that can kill any living creature in its swath using cell phones as tracking devices.

It is believed these people can hack into any computer system including the power grid, banks, and other critical infrastructure systems with this technology.

No one knows for sure which cell towers contain the devices so the devices cannot be destroyed unless every cell tower in the US is disabled. They are fully integrated into the cell tower equipment and whoever is controlling them now changed our access codes so we can’t get in to turn them off. These devices were built with the highest security levels available…512-bit encryption…we couldn’t break the code in 200 years using all the computer power of all the computers on the Internet. We would have to destroy at least two thirds of the cell towers in the country to stop them.

JS"

The Starbucks Caper - Is This for Real?

You won’t believe this, but after I arrived home from work yesterday my phone chimed – a text message from Jake Stone, the alleged CIA, NSA operative I mentioned in my previous post, Clandestine Operative Hints at Cyber Terrorism Plot.

The message said,

“Go to the Starbucks closest to you and order a tall Caffe Misto. Pay with your debit card. JS”

What no time? Now I’m thinking this is so melodramatic like a cheap spy movie from television’s black and white days. So I immediately drive to the nearest Starbucks – a freshly built, clean structure that had yet to earn its handful of regulars.

An older man, white beard, glasses and wearing a cheap imitation of a captain’s hat and faded jeans, sat alone at one of the wired tables near the entrance. That’s him, I thought, but then why would he make himself so obvious? I went in and ordered the Caffe Misto. I handed the barista my debit card and waited for her to swipe the card and hand it back. Instead, she walked over to the barrister preparing my coffee and spoke in whispers. This is it, I thought, I’m dead meat. I danced nervously at the counter ready to bolt out at the slightest movement.

“Sir, your coffee,” he said.

With that he handed me my coffee and debit card.

“Sorry for the delay. We have to check all the cards now. There's a theft ring in the area.”

Popeye sitting outside must be my man. I started for the door and stopped as two little girls about five or so ran up to him followed by their mother, a thirty something woman wearing a billowing summer dress that made her look forty. Nice cover, I thought.

“Oh, sir this is for your trouble,” the young man said holding up a sealed Starbucks envelope.

“What is it?”

“A gift card.”

“For my trouble?”

“Yeah.”

I leave and notice Popeye and his crew have sailed off. Back in the car, I open the envelope. It’s a gift card all right with a form letter thanking me for buying Starbucks coffee. I throw it down on the seat and start the car. I’m about to pull away when I notice letters forming on the back of the letter. It’s new information from Jake Stone.