Arthur Hailey - Overload

Aesthetic frills which appeared in other departments-decorative furniture, carpets, paintings, draperies-were forbidden here. There were no windows; all light was artificial. Even the air was special, with hilmid1tv controlled and temperature at an even seventy degrees. All who worked in the Computer Center were subject to closed-circuit TV surveillance and no one knew when lie or she was being watched by the utility's equivalent of Big Brother.

Movement of individuals in and out of the center was rigidly controlled. Security guards, operating inside bulletproof glass cubicles, and speaking through microphones, scrutinized every arrival and departure. Their orders allowed them to assume nothing. Not even a known, friendly face which they saw each working day was permitted to pass without an inspection of credentials.

Each person moving through the security area (always singly; more than one at a time was not allowed) was enclosed in an "air lock"-in effect, a small prison, also of bulletproof glass. After entry, a heavy door at the rear clanged shut and was bolted electronically. Another door in front, equally formidable, was opened when a guard was satisfied that all was well. If suspicions were aroused, as sometimes happened, both doors remained closed and locked until reinforcements, or proof of identity, arrived.

No exceptions were made. Even the company's chairman, J. Eric Humphrey, never got in without a temporary visitor's badge and careful scrutiny.

The reason for ultra-precautions was simple. The center housed a priceless treasure trove: A computerized record of eight and a half million GSP&L customers, with their meter readings, billings, and payments-all going back years-plus details of shareholders, employees, company equipment, inventories, technical data, and a multitude of other intelligence. One strategically placed hand grenade in the Computer Center could have wreaked more havoc to the giant utility's system than a wheelbarrow load of high explosive employed against high voltage lines or substations. The center's information was stored on hundreds of magnetic disc packs. There were twenty discs to a pack, and each disc-twice the size of a normal LP recording-contained the records of one hundred thousand customers.

Value of the computers was about thirty million dollars. Value of the recorded information was incalculable.

Nim had come to the Computer Center with Oscar O'Brien, their purpose to observe the dispatch of what was officially a "Consumer Survey" mailing but what, in fact, was the baited trap in which it was hoped to snare the Friends of Freedom leader, Georgos Archambault.

It was Thursday, four days after the Sunday "think group" session in the general counsel's home.

Many hours had been spent since then, working on the questionnaire scheme. Nim and O'Brien had decided eight questions would be posed. The first few were simple. For example:

Does Golden State Power & Light provide you with satisfactory service? Please answer yes or no.

Further on, there was room for more expansive answers.

In what ways do you believe that Golden State Power & Light service could be improved?

And:

Do you have trouble understanding the details on your Golden State Power & Light bills? If so, please tell us your problem.

Finally:

Golden State Power & Light apologizes to its customers for inconeniences as a result of cowardly attacks on company installations by small-time, would-be terrorists who act in ignorance. If there are ways in which you think such attacks could be ended, please give us your views.

As Oscar O'Brien observed, "If that doesn't make Archambault hopping mad, and tempt him into replying, nothing will."

Law enforcement authorities-the city police, FBI, and the District Attorney's office-when informed of GSP&L's idea, had reacted favorably. The D.A.'s office offered help in examining the thousands of questionnaires when they began coming back.

Sharlett Underhill, executive vice president of finance, whose responsibilities included the Computer Center, met Nim and O'Brien after they were checked through Security. Mrs. Underhill, dressed smartly in a light blue tailored suit, told them, "We are running your Consumer Survey now.

All twelve thousand copies should be out of here and in the mail tonight."

"Eleven thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine of the damn things," O'Brien said, "we don't care about. There's just one we're hoping to get back."

"It would cost us a lot less money," the finance chief said tartly, "if you knew which it was."

"If we knew that, my dear Sharlett, we wouldn't be here."

The trio walked deeper into computer country, past rows of softly bumming metal and glass cabinets, stopping beside an IBM 3800 laser printer which was spitting out questionnaires, ready for mailing in window envelopes.

The top of the single page read:

Golden State Power& Light

CONSUMER SURVEY

We would appreciate your answers,

in confidence, to some important questions.

Our objective is to serve you better.

The name and address followed, then a perforation across the entire page. Below the perforation was the instruction:

TO PRESERVE YOUR ANONYMITY

TEAR OFF AND DISCARD THE TOP

PORTION OF THIS FORM.

NO SIGNATURE OR ANY OTHER

IDENTIFICATION IS REQUIRED.

THANK YOU!

A return business-reply envelope, requiring no stamp, would accompany each questionnaire.

Nim asked, "Where is the invisible ink?"

O'Brien chuckled. "You can't see it, meathead. It's invisible."

Sharlett Underhill went closer to the printer and opened the top. Leaning forward, she pointed to a bottle containing a clear, apparently oily liquid; the bottle was inverted and from it a plastic tube ran downward.

"This is a special assembly put on for this job. TI-ie tube feeds a numbering device linked with the computer. The bottom half of each page is being imprinted with the invisible number. At the same time, the computer is recording which number goes to what address."

Mrs. Underhill closed the cover. At the back of the machine she removed one of the completed questionnaires and carried it to a metal desk nearby.

There she switched on a portable light on a small stand. "This is a 'black' light." As she placed the paper under it, the number 3702 leaped out.

"Damned ingenious," O'Brien said. "Okay, so now we have a number. Then what?"

"When you give me the number which requires identifying," Mrs. Underhill informed him, "it will be entered into the computer along with a secret code, known only to two people-one of our trusted senior programmers and me. The computer will immediately tell us the address to which that particular questionnaire was mailed."

Nim pointed out, "We're gambling, of course, that we'll have a number to give you."

Sharlett Underhill fixed the two men with a steely glare. "Whether you do or not, I want you both to understand two things. I was not in favor of what is being done here because I do not like my department's equipment and records used for what is essentially a deceitful purpose. I protested to the chairman, but be seems to feel strongly about what is being done and I was overruled."

"Yes, we know that," O'Brien said. "But for God's sake, Sharlett, this is a special case!"

Mrs. Underhill remained unsmiling. "Please bear me out. When you have given me the number you hope to get-and I will accept one number only-the information you want will be drawn from the computer, using the secret code I mentioned. But, the moment that has happened, the computer will be instructed to forget all the other numbers and related addresses. I want that clearly understood."

"It's understood," the lawyer acknowledged. "And fair enough."

Nim said, "Changing the subject, Sharlett, did your people have trouble defining and separating that seven-square-mile area we specified?"