Aruba Mad Günther

by T L Yeager

  “India. That’s where I grew up. I’m probably more American now than I am Indian, though.”

  “Why’s that?” Ross asked.

  “I spent many years in the US for education. Undergraduate and master’s degrees in computer science and engineering. Both from MIT.”

  “Oh wow. That’s a top-notch place. How the hell does a MIT grad end up here? Doing this?”

  Anas eyeballed him. Ross had an air of congeniality, like a salesman you didn’t know was selling. Still, the conversation was engaging, which was a refreshing change. Anas went on to explain how he’d paired up with an MIT alum before he finished his degrees. Clayton was a serial entrepreneur from California. He’d heard of Anas and wanted to be partners.

  As he talked, Ross settled in, listening and nodding. He seemed to hang on each word, interested in the unfolding of the story.

  “I built a network doming application. It sat like a bubble over a network. I integrated artificial intelligence to separate normal traffic from intrusion attempts. It won the engineering competition at MIT. We put it in place over a test network and let teams of students try and hack in. The dome caught them all.” Those were the best days of his life. The high horse of innovation is a prideful and rewarding place to be. Clayton had turned it all to greed.

  “You must have felt very proud of yourself.” Anas felt around in Ross’s tone. There was usually a condescending qualifier hanging in people’s words—like technology was for geeks who didn’t know how to experience pride. Ross leaned in for more.

  Anas explained how Clayton was a born salesman. If a potential customer wasn’t interested, he’d drop a hint to Anas. “A little intrusion might encourage them to sign,” Clayton would say.

  “That’s illegal though, right?” Ross asked.

  “It is… I’d hack their network and leave a harmless Easter egg. Anonymous, of course... Since Clayton had just been there, he’d be the first person they’d call. We landed every one of those accounts.”

  “Wow, that’s pretty ruthless.”

  As Ross’s comment fell, Anas was remembering the times it happened. Clayton did more than suggest it. We’ve got to keep up the momentum, he’d say. But it’s up to you. I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Anas hated that he’d been sold. In the end, Clayton was nothing more than a greasy salesman.

  “Companies would back up trucks full of money. It was pure profit. We did it for a year. The day after my birthday, a friend called to congratulate me on selling the business.” Anas felt the lump in his throat that always returned with the memory. “I couldn’t reach Clayton for four days.”

  Ross leaned closer. It was as if he could read Anas’s mind.

  “The lawyer said it would be difficult to fight without paperwork. Clayton’s name was on all the company records,” Anas said.

  Ross’s face drooped in astonishment. “He gave you something… Didn’t he?”

  Anas looked down. It was embarrassing to admit his stupidity to a complete stranger. “Sold the business for almost four hundred million dollars. Kept it all and never even bothered to apologize.”

  38

  Kavita’s Café, Aruba

  “What’s happening, PTang?” Maddie asked. It was Pich Tang’s handle. It bore more pomp and circumstance than her 90-pound Cambodian frame deserved.

  “Mrs. Gunt, how you doing?” PTang asked.

  “Mrs. Gunt, huh… I’m okay. Thanks for sending the text.”

  “You hear from husband and daughter? Everyone worried for you. We hear that you’re not with them.”

  “Not yet, PTang. They came down before me. I didn’t make it in before these guys took over.” Maddie took a breath before switching gears. “Listen, I need your help.” PTang was a brilliant human being but chit-chat was not in her wheelhouse. Maddie had learned early that despite her need for small talk, Pich responded more favorably when you focused on the point. “Tell me what you know about their tech.”

  “Okay.” Her breathing quickened. “Mrs. Gunt, they’re using two different web processes. One for people inside hotel and one for people out. Reporter from nearby hotel picked up the inside webpage. Inside they have just little bit information. Outside webpage has much more. Inside, they provide, how you say… need-to-know information for hostages. On the outside webpage they say much more. The outside webpage is being randomly rotated to different servers. Ummm… This make it hard to shut down. Also, they are using homegrown VPN tunnels. Very sophisticated from what I read. These are virtual private networks...”

  “Give me some credit, PTang. I don’t know much but I know what a VPN is.”

  “VPN protects data with encryption and makes source access very hard. The webpages themselves are very simple. Basic WordPress on both. Everyone explore outside but not much to work with. VPN feeding page and no one crack it yet.”

  Within the hacker community, PTang was a white hat goddess. Anytime a new web source became the focus of media attention, the hacking public took it upon themselves to see how deeply they could dive into the site. White hats would graciously communicate any security flaws they uncovered. They’d often be paid a fee for their service and take credit for their work after the fact. The fee promoted the white hat lifestyle and the credit raised their position on the ethereal hacker leader board.

  Most black hats would sell any loopholes they found on the dark web. Otherwise, if they were Luddites, they’d get to work immediately corrupting files or installing software to track or defame the source.

  The NJF webpages were no doubt the source of intense focus on the web. Governments and hobbyists alike were all working their keyboards in search of a vulnerability. If they found it, they’d wiggle through it like a rat and take up residence.

  “I haven’t played with it myself,” PTang continued. “Just scanning the threads to see what’s being tried. Only found one thing. Interest you, maybe... We make good on our threats.”

  The phone fell silent.

  The words rung familiar to Maddie, but she couldn’t place them. “Give me more, PTang.”

  “We make good on our threats. At the bottom of the outside webpage. We make good on our threats. We see this in many Cyberlock attacks.”

  “That’s right,” Maddie replied. “The calling card.”

  “Font is same as cryptos. Size… same also.” PTang’s already brisk pace had increased. “Only ransomware community notice something like this.”

  One of PTang’s many specialties was testing the company’s software that prevented unauthorized database encryption. Cyber ransom attacks had become a profitable black hat business. Cyberlock was the preeminent open source trojan preferred by the black hat community. They’d gain access to an organizations network, plant Cyberlock and encrypt company files. A ransom would be demanded. If the target company paid, the private key required to decrypt the files would be provided. If not, then the files remained locked for eternity.

  Maddie was one of three product directors at Summit Cyber Security. Ransomware was one of her service lines. Everyday engineers coded the monitoring software. PTang tested it.

  “Everyone say, why drop a fake tell?” PTang continued. “No correlation. They do it on purpose, I say. Not sure what it means but it’s something. We see this before. Small world. I hear you say this before, Mrs. Gunt.” PTang laughed.

  “Yes. A very small world,” Maddie agreed.

  “Let me ask you a question, PTang. What about the inside web? Could you do something with that?”

  “Humm. Umm… Ohh…” PTang made odd noises as she thought. Maddie could picture her staring at the floor, her supercomputer of a brain racing through countless variables. In her spare time, she served as a sparring partner for chess masters. One of the stipulations was that she not disclose the outcome of the contests. They asked her back time and again. If demand was any indicator, then PTang’s chess game was as good as her hacking skills.

  “Might be fun. No one else able to try. Prob
ably a physical machine. No VPN. Maybe on a network with VPN source. Worth a try. How far you from the wi-fi?”

  “About sixteen miles at the moment. But I can get you closer. They’re evacuating the area around the resort.”

  “Get me close as you can. Line of sight, at least. Maybe send me satellite image of location where you can be relative to resort. Then we work on how to connect.”

  “It’s going to be later today or tomorrow.”

  PTang drew in her breath. “You need my help… I not sleep. Your family, my family. Mi casa es su casa… how they say.”

  “You’re the best, PTang.”

  PTang’s legendary status at Summit Cyber Security was established on day one of the job. When she’d arrived, everyone waited to see what the strange skinny Asian had to offer. Maddie didn’t come until later, but she’d heard the stories time and again.

  On her first day, PTang reported to her manager’s office. He was about to take her to see her new desk when she pulled a stapled document from her Hello Kitty backpack.

  “What’s this?” the manager asked.

  “A list of network vulnerabilities,” PTang replied.

  “Where?”

  “Here.”

  “Here, as in this company?” the manager asked.

  “Yes. I get into webpage and intranet both. Could have gone much deeper. If we fight hackers, we need to be much better.”

  Ewing Patrick, the company’s founder, was heralded for his architectural prowess. He claimed, that given the opportunity to build a network from the ground up, he’d deliver an impenetrable fortress. Summit was not in the business of building networks, however. They were in the business of protecting existing ones. The only network he had the opportunity to build from scratch was for his own company.

  The manager leafed through the document. It was a functional specification that outlined the attacks, suggesting strategies to close each of the gaps.

  “Can you reproduce this live?” the manager asked.

  PTang shook her head.

  “Our company president architected the network. We’ll need to tread lightly on his ego.” By the time day one ended, PTang had already proven she was a tech rock star.

  “I’ll be here. Waiting, Maddie. Day. Night. Whatever you need.” The comment was about as heartfelt as Maddie had experienced from PTang. There was an unspoken closeness between them. A woman in a girl’s frame, she hadn’t ever known family in the traditional sense. Maddie had taken to her from the start and sensed that she’d assumed some semblance of that station. The trust in her, matched with encouragement and support, were alien in her terrestrial existence. Online PTang was hailed for her skill, but in the physical world, she garnered stares. To Maddie, she was like family.

  “It goes without saying, PTang. I knew you’d be willing to help. I’ll be in touch. Now get back to work.”

  She laughed. “Yes, Mrs. Gunt.”

  39

  Surfside Resort, Aruba

  “My mommy works on computers, too.” Isabelle didn’t look up from her coloring this time. The comment came at a lull in the conversation between the men.

  “Is that right?” Anas asked.

  “She catches bad guys on the internet.”

  “No. Really?”

  Isabelle turned in her chair now. “You’re not a bad guy, are you, Mr. Anas?”

  Anas eyes fell toward the floor. If she only knew how bad— how traitorous this conversation. How false and adulterous the food and candy.

  “Come on, sweets. What kind of question is that? Mr. Anas brought us food and crayons. A bad guy doesn’t do that.”

  Anas’s gaze returned. He met eyes with Ross who wagged his head and glanced toward his daughter.

  “Okay,” Isabelle said, turning back to her work.

  “Getting left with nothing for your work,” Ross continued. “That must have sucked.”

  Ross was a big man. Big enough to make you worry if you were on the other side. Despite the fact, there was a kindness, a non-threatening aura.

  “I went back home to India. Fazul and I were… reunited.”

  There was another lull in the conversation. Ross cocked his head and leaned closer still, waiting for him to continue.

  “There’s more to it than that, right?” Ross asked, hinting encouragement. “I mean I can see getting pissed off, but how did you end up here?”

  “Daddy! You said a bad word. The one that starts with P.”

  Anas couldn’t hide his laugh.

  “Sorry, sweets,” Ross said, covering his mouth with a fist. “You’re right. I won’t do it again.”

  Isabelle returned to her coloring and Anas continued. “Family pressures can be persuasive. I had an uncle, a cleric in a small town outside the city. Everyone knew his views, they knew he had radical ideas. Fazul was spending time with him. I was with Fazul. At first, we had tea and harmless conversation. Then this uncle told me stories. He talked of how the West manipulated opinions. How wealth was the new imperialism. They used the economy to oppress people. How we were puppets in their game to accumulate the wealth of the world.”

  Ross sat forward in his chair resting his chin in a hand.

  “Your situation was proof. You’d seen firsthand what he was telling you. Like a tinder bundle ready to catch.”

  “Exactly.” Anas felt like he’d been dragging invisible weights behind him. Talking eased the burden with each passing word. “I had come from the West. The hook of prosperity was already sunk into my mind. All that lost money. Some of it was my money and I wanted…”

  “Revenge,” Ross finished. “Justice.”

  “Yes. That and much more.” Anas turned his attention away and relived the indoctrination that followed.

  “That’s crazy. Right place, right time. You were ready to hear how people were bad.”

  Anas checked his watch. “I should go.” He rubbed his wet palms on the legs of his pants.

  “Alright,” Ross said, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. “But I get it. That’s a good story. One people would understand. You could turn that into a book and sell a couple million copies.”

  As he said it, the swollen knot on his head caught Anas’s attention. It had turned a darker shade of purple as they talked. And yet, here he was, understanding, justifying.

  “All I did was use my Western education,” Anas said, surprised at himself. “I used what I learned from the startup working with Clayton to take money from companies... In America, mostly. Some in the UK. My uncle was a lieutenant. When I told him about how I had hacked computers, we got to talking about whether we could do it for money. If I could make it work, a cut of the proceeds would be mine. The rest would go to fund the war. A war to accumulate money and persuade minds. A war of nonviolence.”

  Ross stayed back, arms crossed. He nodded along with the story.

  “I wrote a program. It could take control of vital information. Documents and things. The company could get them back if they paid. Some of the small ransoms were in the news. Hospitals and universities, mostly, because they’re public. The big money came from corporations. In some cases, millions at a time.”

  Ross drew down one eye in a skeptical gaze. “Okay, that all makes sense, Anas. What I don’t get is how you got from there to here.”

  “There was talk of doing something big. Something public… but for money. There was talk about changing the rules. How success would allow us to influence the world stage. We are soldiers, Ross, not suicide bombers. Our men execute a mission and live to fight another day. The leadership made it known they were open to ideas. I was here on Aruba when I came up with the concept. All of this was my idea.”

  “Your idea?”

  “Yes. The concept was mine.”

  “But this isn’t your thing. You’re a computer guy. A smart one, by all accounts.”

  He was right, of course. But a life filling the coffers with ransom money wasn’t enough. Anas had achieved the ultimate hack. Already he would
go down as one of the most successful of all time. But the hook was set, his time in America made him a slave—there was never enough money or infamy.

  “The technology part was what got me excited. I knew I would need someone to help with the military aspect. Perhaps my biggest mistake was recommending Fazul.”

  A jolt of nausea hit his stomach. Ross could not know that his life, and that of his daughter, were on the line. It hadn’t been part of his original plan. The execution deadlines were Fazul’s idea. Now a child’s life was tied to the concept—a child who reminded Anas of his own sister. A sister lost to violence herself.

  Anas wanted the first deadline to be a soft one. Pay quickly and no one gets hurt. Refuse and we escalate the threat. Fazul spit at the floor when Anas used the word soft.

  “So you said you were living here? Ross asked.

  “I travelled around to different places—kept moving to avoid having the source of the online attacks identified. I also changed routes of approach online. This brought me to the Caribbean.”

  “Why the Caribbean?”

  “Many people do not know, but there are cables that run under the sea.” Anas used his hands to illustrate. “These are network cables filled with optical fibers. They link the continents. Without them, the internet is much slower. The cables shorten the distance data must travel. Three of the biggest intersect in the Virgin Islands. The places where they surface are called landing points. There are several in the Caribbean. One here at Baby Beach, in fact. The closer I am to where these cables land, the harder it is for my actual location to be pinpointed. Attacks can be routed through Africa or a South American country. If I am far from a landing point, the triangulation becomes easier.”

  “I had no idea. That’s fascinating.”

  Anas nodded his head. He’d explained this only once before when he reasoned to his brother and uncle why he needed to leave India.

  “Plus, it’s a good place to live.” Anas smiled. He was backing away from the conversation now.