Leon Uris by A God in Ruins

just doing what any respectable bank would do. But get yourself a new security system.”
    “Like the Bulldog and Growler,” Darnell said.
    It was a fortunate day for Dwight Grassley. Thornton Tomtree and Darnell Jefferson had long envisioned the extent of their own greed. It was plenty, and it converted to the computer’s mistrust of the computer, or more succinctly, man’s mistrust of man.
    First Union of Providence, their insurance company, and their real estate holdings used the initial Bulldog/Growler network. It was filled with bugs, but no one could tap into its secrecy circuit.
    Then came the Air Force after one of its most vital and secret networks had been broken into by a hacker.
    Teams of geniuses in many universities and laboratories went into exercises with theBulldog/Growler, each coming out with incredible praise of attaining absolute secrecy.
    The greening of Thornton Tomtree began when a row of bulldozers moved in to reclaim the land. The first building would house the mainframes, a pair of electronic wizards hand-created by Thornton.
    Darnell made certain that every set of tests was covered by the media. With much publicity, the system sold itself and there was soon a waiting list for installations. Darnell came up with the great name and logo, T3 Industries.
    In a few years T3 Industries had set up networks for over a hundred industries listed in the Fortune 500.
    If demand were to be met, manufacturing capacity had to be increased by several hundred percentiles. Flushed with a generous deal with T3, Dwight Grassley knew he had a cash cow, an endless, endless, endless cash cow. He even got rid of his drug-money accounts.
    As the system built, Darnell Jefferson took it upon himself to push the parameters of Thornton’s personality. It was slow, mushy going. Meeting the press, using wit, building a comfort level into local business and fraternal lunches. Darnell brought in a speech coach, and Thornton responded, slowly. At first, when he went to the rostrum, there was an awkward dry-mouth trembling and jokes that lay flat. A mild beta blocker calmed his trembling. The challenge was great, and Thornton stuck it out and became reasonably proficient.
    The more he spoke, the more those elusive thoughts would clear themselves in his mind and then on his lips. He began to toy with words and got a grip on what was humorous.
    Thornton moved up to college commencements, guest appearances at business and professional power conventions, and learned that stumbling in midsentencecould be endearing. A moment of trembling could make the audience tremble, his shy charm brought smiles, and that old humor, which he scarcely understood, made others howl with laughter.
    Meanwhile, Darnell saw to it that Thornton’s appearances were plentiful and important.
    Darnell understood immediately that this was another page being opened to him in the now-and-future Thornton Tomtree Book of Revelations. Why is he trying to get people to adore him? Darnell wondered. What was his curse, his sin, his burden? He did not seem to return the warmth but always positioned himself as the wise father figure.
    One night at the ultraliberal and prestigious 92nd Street Y in Manhattan, everything fell into place. About three or four minutes into his speech Thornton realized the audience was mesmerized. He crossed the enormous chasm that made an ordinary speaker into a speaker who absolutely controlled his listeners: an orator, an actor.
    To step down from the lectern and shove his hands in his pockets “home style,” to wipe his glasses or remark he’d lost his place, to relieve drama with a funny quip, to drop a curse word.
    Well, Thornton was a sound sleeper, but he didn’t sleep for three days after the 92nd Street Y speech. He was top-of-the-line, just a notch below Kissinger, as an attraction.
     
    Expand they must. It was Darnell’s baby. The Pawtucket Central station would be a state-of-the-art home of two mainframes capable of