A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [24]
I sent Darnell to get the latest updates.
No use of me trying to fall back asleep. I never had trouble sleeping before I became president. I tried to set up a physics problem in my mind, but I simply wasn’t clicking in.
It is strange how Darnell sees our lives in two sweeping cycles. He’s right that the early days set the tone of our toughness and resourcefulness. Can you believe that the nineteen seventies were nearly four decades ago?
Do I really miss it? Hell, no! Well, maybe.
PAWTUCKET, THE 1970s
Thornton Tomtree clung to the square block of the junkyard by the hair of his rinny-chin-chin, so absorbed in his work he scarcely differentiated between light and darkness. He hand-made a fleet of prototypes with their own bells and whistles and exotic functions.
The great electronic revolution that had growled and growled now burst through the top of the volcano.
Because Thornton did not study the wizardry of his future competitors, he was alone in a technology of one. Yet, how would the Bulldog fit into this brave new world?
Darnell, who was supposed to market it, wondered even more. To what avail was the Bulldog? Darnell did not return to Providence College in his senior year but joined Thornton in the yard. Darnell had already chucked in his entire inheritance, a hundred thousand dollars, which Thornton had no trouble eating up.
The yard had ceased to trade in junk. The bank account—nonexistent. Darnell organized a fire sale.
As the various piles of scrap and paper disappeared, they ended one life and entered into another. Neither of them had inherited Henry and Mo’s love of trash.
Finally, the good stuff went. The stained glass and antique embellishments were carted off, and all that remained was a single shacklike warehouse building and Thornton’s rat’s nest of wires.
Darnell charted the most likely paths the new enterprises would take. Much of it was happening too fast to comprehend. The top new inventors and marketers could not give a rational answer as to where it was all heading. Some companies soared, some crashed. They bashed into one another in merciless attempts to have their product become a standard item.
Darnell and Thornton spoke throughout more than one night trying to evolve a strategy. They knew they would not take the Bulldog into the middle of a battlefield. They also knew they had to remain free of outside control.
It came down to a purpose of being. To what avail was the Bulldog? What road could they take with the Bulldog that others could not follow? What unique niche would this system fill?
Simultaneously, they had come to a dark place. The darkness held the secret. Speed is the seed of greed, Darnell had said.
As each new innovation reached the market, Thornton’s “purpose for being” opened wider. He followed inroads in his mind where Darnell could not follow.
“We must keep the darkness dark,” Thornton said at last. “What’s happening, Darnell? Every computer is trying to outfox every other computer. Highwall technology is trying to turn back invaders. A mad hunt is on to keep security and integrity of a system. This eats up half a researcher’s time. But! What are they doing but reacting to something already taking place? In my own modest way, I can break into almost any line and decode any message.”
“We can’t market that.”
“We can build a system that’s impenetrable. We can have that system in place and grab our corner of the market while the others are playing catch-up. We’ll have it going in.”
“What?”
“Unbreakable encrypted messages and transactions.”
“You sure?”
“I am positive,” Thornton said, holding up a small black box called the Growler, an accomplished highline code and decoder. The Growler also came from a place deep inside Thornton Tomtree, his versions of math, his flirtation with quantum. His natural penchant for secrecy!
“Wouldn’t we be better off just selling the Growler?”
“No way.”
“But it may cost millions to set up one network for one company.”
“We place our small terminals at Harvard, MIT, Cal Tech, Georgia Tech, Stamford,