Rules of Engagement

by David Bruns

  “Meaning?”

  “Someone with system administrator access could upload a program directly into Trident.”

  Brendan looked around the room and dropped his voice even further. “You mean someone in this room would have had to upload it?”

  Jenkins shook his head. “No, sir. It could come from any Trident network node—as long as the person had system admin access, of course. The system is a viral network. Once you’re inside Trident, everything is connected to everything else, that’s the whole point—complete interconnectedness.”

  Brendan licked his lips. “But you’d see someone upload a file, right?”

  Jenkins grimaced. “Probably … maybe. We’re moving gigs of data every millisecond, sir. A few gigs here or there wouldn’t be noticed, especially on the major hubs.” He hesitated. “Sir, this idea’s really out there. We have internal defenses designed to sniff out malware, there’s no way it could get past them.” He rolled back his chair. “Look, sir, I’m still on duty here. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  Brendan spun his chair to face the wall screens. Around the world, there were thousands of Trident nodes, and how many people with system admin access? Hundreds? The idea that one of them could have compromised the entire network gnawed at him. He wanted to dismiss the idea. Every single one of them had passed a security background check and annual reassessments. These were some of the most trusted people in any branch of government.

  And also some of the smartest. Was it conceivable there was another Snowden out there?

  Brendan didn’t like to think about it, but if there was even the slightest chance that they’d been hacked, he needed to tell someone.

  Martha Raddabat’s executive assistant was an older man with a droopy mustache and a blue and gold bow tie. “Is she in?” He knew he was taking a risk coming to her office without an appointment.

  The EA cocked a skeptical eyebrow at Brendan. “She’s got five minutes before her next appointment. I assume it’s important?”

  Brendan nodded. The man rose from his desk and poked his head in Raddabat’s office.

  She stayed seated when Brendan came in the door and waved him to a chair. He perched on the edge of the cushion, feeling like a plebe on report. This was a stupid, half-cocked idea, he thought.

  “I’d offer you coffee, but I don’t think you’ll be here that long. What’s on your mind?” Her voice was raspy, and Brendan noticed a pile of cough drops on her desk. Bad timing for bad news.

  “Ma’am, I’m concerned about Trident.”

  “You said that in our last meeting. What’s the issue this time?”

  “There’s some latency issues—” He knew as soon as he said the word “latency” that he’d made a mistake. “Delays in data processing, I mean.”

  Raddabat’s face was clouded. “What about the intermittent outages?”

  “They’re gone, ma’am.”

  “Well, that’s good news, right? These delays—are they affecting system performance?”

  “Not that we can tell, but they shouldn’t be there.”

  “I’ve got a bunion on my right foot that shouldn’t be there either, Captain, but I keep walking.”

  Brendan took a deep breath. “But what if we were hacked?”

  Raddabat stared at him for a full three seconds before she said, “I suppose you have some data to back up that idea?”

  “It’s one possibility we’re considering, ma’am,” Brendan said.

  “You’re starting with the worst case and working backwards? I appreciate your logic, but I’ve got an operation to run here.” She unwrapped a cough drop and popped it into her mouth. “The US taxpayers have spent billions of dollars building the most capable network in the history of the world—and it works. Some days I pinch myself. Do you know how many times we’ve dropped a billion or so and the project failed? I’ve been around awhile. It’s happened. More than you think.”

  She softened her tone. “Look, Brendan: The director is happy, the president is happy, the Joint Chiefs are happy, even frigging Congress is off my ass at the moment. And now you come in here and tell me our network might have been hacked? Where’s the data? How did it happen? Who did it? You’ve got to give me something besides your gut.”

  Brendan felt his face growing warm. “I understand, ma’am.”

  “Look, I know you’re just doing your job, but you need to get out of my office now. Bring me something I can hang my hat on and we’ll revisit this.”

  Minutes later, his face still red from frustration and the fast walk back to his office, Brendan was on a secure VTC link with Don Riley at CYBERCOM.

  “Whoa, you look like somebody pissed in your Wheaties, man,” Don said. “What happened?”

  “I did a stupid thing in front of my boss. Look, you were having your team look into the Trident comms outages—what did you find?”

  Don looked sheepish. “Sorry, Brendan, I put the resources on tracking Roshed. The good news is they found something.”

  “Really? You know where he is?”

  “I know where he was. As of last week, our man was in Japan. The midshipmen team I told you about? They were the ones who tracked him down. I’m telling you, these guys are good.”

  “How good?”

  Don looked at him. “Why?”

  Brendan filled him in on his theory—unproven theory—that Trident had been hacked.

  When he’d finished, Don looked doubtful. “Do you know how crazy you sound right now, Bren?” he said, shaking his head. “You jumped right from a few microseconds of latency to the biggest hack in the history of United States intel community? In front of your boss, no less. Really?”

  Brendan gritted his teeth. He knew what it sounded like, but this whole thing smelled wrong to him. He managed a smile.

  “Look, man, can you help me out here? I know you can’t put real assets on it, but are your mids good enough to assess the system and tell me if there’s a problem? Please?”

  Don sighed and rolled his eyes. “They’re here on the weekend. I’ll put them on it.”

  After the call ended, Brendan sipped cold coffee from the mug he’d abandoned hours ago. He swished the bitter brew around his mouth as he thought.

  Maybe he was looking at this backwards. Combing through every Trident node for a possible event would take weeks, if not longer. But what if he could narrow down the field?

  Don’s intel put Roshed in Japan in the last week. The US Seventh Fleet was headquartered in Japan.…

  Brendan picked up the phone and called the ops center. Jenkins answered.

  “Get me a list of every person with system admin access to Trident who was in Japan in the last two weeks.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Yang-do Island, North Korea

  Rafiq hadn’t slept since So-won’s Snakehead system had come to life. He watched the wall screens obsessively, studying how the ships from the various fleets intermingled.

  The timing for his intervention could not have been better. In fact, he worried that his meddling might not even be needed to set off a spark in the region. The Chinese, always quick to defend their perceived territorial rights, were occupying forward positions in contested waters and challenging the Japanese fleet at every turn.

  The Americans were repositioning aircraft carriers in the region, to include the Senkakus, no doubt intending to use the enormous ships and superior airpower as a massive show of force.

  Rafiq had a window of time to act before they arrived.

  He sent for So-won. She arrived in the control room within minutes, her eyes puffy with sleep.

  “It’s time to make our first move,” Rafiq said.

  So-won moved behind a pair of workstations, manned by two technicians. Rafiq changed the view on the center wall screen to zoom in on the East China Sea between Taiwan and Okinawa. A lone Japanese destroyer, the Sawagiri, occupied the ocean, a forward picket for the force surrounding the Senkakus.

  A combat air patrol had just taken off
from Yiwi Air Base on the Chinese mainland. Four Shenyang J-16 jets, the Chinese answer to the American F-15E Strike Eagle. According to the Snakehead program, they were armed with upgraded YJ-8 antiship cruise missiles.

  A perfect choice for his opening move.

  “Take control of the Chinese communications network,” he said to So-won. “Let’s see how well the Chinese pilots follow orders. And how good the Japanese air defenses are.”

  Rafiq leaned back in his chair to watch the scenario unfold. The lack of sleep left him hyperaware, floating in an altered state of wakefulness. More alert, he thought, better able to perceive his next moves.

  His thoughts drifted to Pak. His old friend would be blamed for this. The Supreme Leader would have dear old Pak’s skull for a mantelpiece ornament. Rafiq felt a flicker of guilt, but it passed like a moth in the wind. Pak had served his purpose and Rafiq was free to discard that relationship like he had discarded all the others in his life.

  Save one. Only one relationship in Rafiq’s life had ever mattered. Nadine. If he closed his eyes, he could feel her thick curls brushing past his cheek, snagging gently in the scruff of his beard, the rich, earthy smell of her flesh, the way her body pressed down on his …

  “Chul?” So-won’s voice intruded on his thoughts.

  He opened his eyes and Nadine was gone. A wave of loss passed through him. She was gone.

  So-won’s face held a questioning look. She glanced back at the console. “We wait for your order,” she said.

  Rafiq let the loss morph into anger. Rage simmered in his belly, filling him with heat, energy, power. He stood.

  “Very well,” he said in a clear voice. “Order the Chinese fighters to attack the Japanese destroyer.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Japanese destroyer Sawagiri (DDG-157)

  Captain Akihiko Amori stalked onto the darkened bridge, ignoring the quartermaster’s warning to all the watch standers of “Captain on the bridge.”

  The officer of the deck appeared at his side. “Good morning, Captain.”

  The CO responded with a thin smile. “Good morning, Kiko. Don’t mind me, I’m just an old man who’s forgotten how to get a full night’s sleep.”

  The OOD saluted and moved away.

  The captain stepped onto the bridge wing, letting the moist sea air soothe his mind. The low-hanging cloud cover left him with a hemmed-in feeling, as if the sky itself were falling. A pregnant night, he decided.

  The business of running a modern warship flitted through his mind as he stared at the horizon. Two weeks they’d been on patrol near the Senkakus and already it felt much longer. It was difficult to maintain crew morale when you spent your days carving a racetrack into the ocean.

  Although the Chinese were very active north of their position, his crew had seen no contact with the PLA Navy fleet. It might be good if they did see some action, he thought. A way to break them out of their complacency. He’d studied the Chinese navy a long time, and he was convinced its behavior this time was different. The Spratlys, the Paracels, and now the Senkakus. The Chinese were solidifying their grip on this region of the world, and few would stand in their way.

  There was a buzz of activity on the bridge, and the OOD appeared in the doorway. “Captain, CIC reports two incoming PLA fast-movers from Yiwi Air Base on the mainland.” Another burst of dialogue behind him, and the OOD leaned backwards for a second, listening. “Make that four, sir.”

  “Very well.” The captain followed his OOD back onto the bridge. A routine combat air patrol, no doubt.

  “CIC reports the contacts are on an intercept course with our position, sir.”

  The captain shook his head. Aviators, always showing off. They’d probably perform some low-level flyby to show their incredible speed, then head back home. For a brief moment, Captain Amori considered setting general quarters and lighting up the Chinese flyboys with the Sawagiri’s OPS-24 fire-control array. He smiled to himself, then dismissed the thought. Their orders were not to provoke their PLA foes.

  “Time to intercept?” he asked.

  “Three minutes, Captain.”

  The captain borrowed the OOD’s binoculars and stepped out onto the bridge wing again. At least he could enjoy the show.

  Even though they had their navigation lights on, they came in so fast he almost missed them in the darkness. He managed to catch a glimpse of one jet. It was one of the new Shenyangs, and it was carrying missiles. His ears rang from the thunderous roar of their engines.

  A few seconds later, the OOD appeared in the doorway. “The jets broke to the north, sir. It looks like they’re setting up for another pass.”

  Captain Amori had had enough. He strode onto the bridge and picked up a handset to connect him with the CIC watch officer. “CIC, this is the captain, anything showing on ESM?”

  “No, sir. The scope is clear … wait.” The man’s voice seized with concern. “Incoming contacts. Four, six, eight contacts, moving at Mach two. Bearing two-six-three. They’re missiles, sir!”

  Captain Amori dropped the handset and rapped out orders automatically. “Left full rudder, steady new course two-six-three. All ahead flank. Sound general quarters!”

  The alarm pulsed through the ship like a living thing. The captain believed he could feel the drum of footsteps on steel deck plates.

  “CIC,” he barked. “Range to incoming contacts.”

  “Fifteen miles and closing, sir.”

  “Fire chaff at six miles.”

  “Fire chaff at six miles, aye, sir.”

  Seconds later, the captain heard the chaff canisters on the ship’s deck launch with a pop, and an explosion of tiny metal fibers filled the air around them. The cloud would create an enormous target for the radars on the incoming missiles, much larger than the Sawagiri. At the same time, the wind would carry the chaff cloud away from the actual ship’s location. Hopefully.

  “Captain!” The OOD was pointing out the front windows of the bridge, his binoculars clamped to his eyes.

  Captain Amori could see the points of light on the horizon, closing fast. They leaped across the open sea and slammed one after another into the hull of the Sawagiri.

  One … the deck buckled under his feet.

  Two … the bridge windows shattered inward.

  Three … the blast swept the captain off his feet and smashed him back against the cold steel bulkhead.

  * * *

  Captain Amori snapped awake into a tilted world. He raised his head. The front of the bridge was gone. He struggled to his knees and found the tilted sensation was not his addled imagination. The ship was listing to starboard, the angle increasing with every passing second.

  He pawed at a khaki-clad body next to his. The OOD. He blinked. Kiko’s head was missing.

  He crawled forward and gripped the 1MC handset. “Damage report,” he said. His voice echoed around him. The captain looked again at the where the bow of his ship should be, dark water swirling over the remains of the deck.

  Hopeless.

  “All hands, abandon ship,” he said into the handset. Again, his voice echoed through what was left of the Sawagiri.

  “Captain?” said a petty officer, crawling in from the bridge wing. “We have to go, sir.”

  Amori nodded and let the young man help him to his feet. His left leg would not respond, so he slung his arm over the petty officer’s shoulder for support. Together, they hobbled onto the twisted metal stub that had been the bridge wing.

  Bright yellow rafts had deployed automatically. They bobbed merrily on the black sea, lights blinking. A few heads poked out of the water, far fewer than the Sawagiri’s crew of two hundred.

  The ship groaned and lurched to starboard. Any second now, she would roll.

  “We need to jump, sir.” The water was only a few meters away.

  Amori leaned forward, letting gravity tear him away from the dying Sawagiri.

  CHAPTER 40

  USS Blue Ridge (LCC-19) Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan


  He’d gotten away with it. That was Lieutenant Commander Weston Merville’s conclusion. In retrospect, he wasn’t really sure what he expected to happen. Red flashing lights? Armed men breaking down the door of the server room?

  Instead, nothing had happened. He’d monitored system performance across the Seventh Fleet, and while the ships at sea were whining about latency issues and random comms outages, what network didn’t have those issues?

  Not only had he gotten away with it, he’d outsmarted them all. His gamble had paid off. As usual.

  Not that he hadn’t had some sleepless nights. Merville had installed security cameras around his house and packed a “go bag” in case he needed to leave town quickly. But none of that had been needed—all because he was smarter than the average bear.

  It was as simple as that. Now if these dolts he worked for would just recognize him for the genius he was, his life would be complete.

  The phone on his desk buzzed, signifying an internal call.

  “Merville,” he answered.

  “Weston, it’s the XO. I need to see you in my stateroom ASAP.”

  A finger of doubt probed Merville’s gut. “Right away, sir. What’s it about?”

  “Just get up here.”

  It was nothing, he told himself on the way up to see the XO. He knocked on the door, opening it when he received a gruff “Come!”

  The XO was not alone. A pair of civilians, a man and a woman, occupied the sofa wedged against the wall, visitor’s badges clipped to their lapels. They stood when Merville entered. He tried not to stare at the woman’s sidearm.

  “You wanted to see me, XO?”

  Commander Jason Karrick heaved himself out of his chair, motioning to the visitors. “Agents Mincer and Zach. NCIS.”

  “Like the TV show?” Merville said with a smile.

  The woman seemed to be in charge. She flexed the corners of her lips at his comment.

  “They’re here on serious business, Weston. NCIS believes a breach in the Trident network originated from this ship.”

  It took an act of will for Merville to maintain his smile. “Here? Part of my team? That’s not possible.”