Scarsdale, New York
On the 6:12 to Scarsdale, Tyrone and Scott joined for a beer.
The conversation was not to be repeated.
"ECCO, CERT, the whole shooting match," Tyrone whispered loud
enough to be heard over the rumble of the train, "are moving to
NSA control. NIST is out. They all work for the Fort now.
Department of Defense."
"Are you shitting me?" Scott tried to maintain control.
"It'll be official tomorrow," Tyrone said. "Write your story tonight. The NSA has won again."
"What do you mean, again?"
"Ah," Tyrone said trying to dismiss his frustrated insight into agency rivalry. "It seems that whatever they want, they get. Their budget is secret, their purpose is secret, and now they have every computer security concern at their beck and call. Orders of the President."
"Aren't they the best suited for the job, though . . ."
"Technically, maybe. Politically, no way!" Tyrone said adamant- ly. "I think the Bureau could match their power, but they have another unfair advantage."
Scott looked curiously at Tyrone.