Scs Quotes

No one can fail to be impressed by Monreale, ablaze as it is with over an acre and a half of superb mosaics, all completed within five or six years, between 1183 and the end of the decade. It lacks the gemlike perfection of the Palatine Chapel, the Byzantine mystery of the Martorana, or the sheer magic that streams down from the great Pantocrator at Cefalù. Its impact is chiefly due to its size and its splendor. But this impact, like the cathedral itself, is colossal. Wandering slowly through the vast length of the building, one might be forgiven for thinking that virtually every Bible story is here illustrated. Nor would one be very far wrong; but there is one particular mosaic—and not a narrative one either—that should on no account be missed. Look now to the second figure to the right of the central east window. There is no problem of identification: in conformity with the usual canons of the time, the name runs down the side of the halo for all to read: SCS. THOMAS CANTUR. Whether or not it bears any resemblance to the martyred Archbishop we have no idea;*3 it remains, however, the earliest certain representation

Aldo might be the only one who belongs in SCS-8. But he’s come a long, long way. He passed that science test—and the fact that he did isn’t half as amazing as the fact that he even bothered to try.

Although tapping into underground fiber-optic lines is much more difficult than tapping into a copper cable, the technique has been perfected by the NSA. For cables buried in foreign countries, the task of gaining access to them was given to a unique covert organization named the Special Collection Service (SCS), which combined the clandestine skills of the CIA with the technical capabilities of the NSA. Its purpose is to put sophisticated eavesdropping equipment—from bugs to parabolic antennas—in difficult-to-reach places. It also attempts to target for recruitment key foreign communications personnel, such as database managers, systems administrators, and IT specialists. The

SCS-8.