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Zusatztext Dieses Lern- und Nachschlagewerk macht den Gesamtzusammenhang und grundlegendeNetzwerkthemen verständlicher; es enthält jedoch keine 'tiefschürfenden'technischen Detailerläuterungen. Damit richtet es sich an diejenigen! diesich generell mit der Computer-Materie auskennen und den Einstieg in einallgemeines Verständnis für die gesamte Netzwerkmaterie suchen. Das Buchist keine theoretische Abhandlung; es stellt das Thema aus der Sichtweisedes Praktikers für Leser dar! die ihre Kenntnisse auch in der Praxis einsetzenwollen! so daß es durchaus als Beratung für die Kaufentscheidung und Einrichtungeines eigenen Netzwerkes dienen kann. Informationen zum Autor Joseph Wambaugh Klappentext "Each wears his cynicism like a bulletproof jockstrap-each has his horror story, his bad dream, his nightshriek. He is afraid of his friends-he is afraid of himself."-New York Times Partners in the Los Angeles Police Department, they're haunted by terrifying dark secrets of the nightwatch-shared predawn drink and sex sessions they call choir practice. "A master storyteller . . . authenticity oozes from this book . . . freewheeling and chilling and certainly Wambaugh's best."-Houston Chronicle Chapter One Territorial Imperative The man most deserving of credit for keeping the MacArthur Park killing out of the newspapers before it brought discredit to the Los Angeles Police Department was Commander Hector Moss. It was perhaps Commander Moss' finest hour. The blond commander was so exultant this afternoon he didn't mind that Deputy Chief Adrian Lynch was keeping him waiting the allotted time. Chief Lynch kept all callers waiting precisely three minutes before coming to the phone, unless his secretary told him it was an assistant chief or the chief of police himself or one of the commissioners or a city councilman or anyone at City Hall who reported directly to the mayor. Moss despised Lynch for having a do-nothing job and a specially ordered oversized desk. Moss knew for a fact that Deputy Chief Lynch had secret plans to increase his personal staff by two: one policewoman and one civilian, both of whom were busty young women. Commander Moss knew this because his adjutant, Lieutenant Dewey Treadwell, had sneaked into Lynch's office and searched his file basket when a janitor left the door open. Of course Lieutenant Treadwell could not receive a specifically worded commendation for his assignment but he did receive an ambiguously worded "attaboy" from Moss. But there was another assignment which Treadwell had failed to carry out, and Commander Moss' stomach soured as he remembered it. It had to do with Moss' IQ score of 107. Throughout his twenty-one year career his IQ had meant nothing to his rise to the rank of commander. Indeed, he had not even known what his score was. He had been a state college honors student in police science and reasoned that no one with an ordinary IQ could manage this. But with the retirement of a senior deputy chief it had been called to Moss' attention by none other than Deputy Chief Lynch who didn't think the promotion board would consider a man for such a high police post who possessed an IQ of only 107. Lynch's own IQ was 140. Commander Moss was livid. He took Lieutenant Treadwell to a Chinatown bar one Friday after work and forced the teetotaler to down five cocktails, promising his personal patronage for the rest of Treadwell's career if he could carry off a most delicate assignment. The ever ambitious, thirty year old lieutenant agreed to slip into Personnel Division that night and change Commander Moss' IQ score from 107 to 141. Commander Moss downed his fourth Singapore sling and said, "Treadwell, I know I can depend on you." But instantly the lieutenant's ambition gave way to fear. He stammered, "If anything ever . . . well, look, ...
