Cyberwarfare

by Pendelton C. Wallace

  He shook it off and headed for the showers. Chris made everything sound so easy. Where was he going to find someone who could run those departments?

  Chapter 3

  A true safe house did not exist. In this accursed country, the FBI, CIA, NSA, Homeland Security, and a dozen other covert agencies he never heard of had eyes and ears everywhere. That day, he felt relatively safe in the outskirts of Kirkland, but Uncle Sam could invade their space at any time.

  Assad al Allah, a nickname meaning Lion of God, wasn’t concerned for his own life. They could burst in, guns blazing, and send him to paradise where seventy virgins awaited his pleasure. It was the mission that concerned him. If the Feds charged in, could he save the mission?

  Assad, a short, slight, dark man, checked the security monitors. A dozen hidden cameras guarded the house. Motion detectors were a pain when some stray dog wandered into their yard, but they would be a gift from Allah when the black-clad SWAT teams arrived.

  Before they installed the first computer, the first router, they secured the premises. They took great care to dig an escape tunnel. It often amazed Assad how much effort his brothers in Syria took to plan and fund these missions.

  To secure their network, buried deep in the dark net, Assad and his friends built a system that spoofed other networks and bounced around the globe to keep their IP addresses safe.

  All of this to make one safe house. He had a dozen of them. When the FBI broke down the doors of this house, he and his followers would escape and be up and running in the house in Seattle or Bremerton or Tacoma before the Bureau swept this one. Praise be to Allah; they were unstoppable.

  The bombings at the Boston Marathon, in Paris, Berlin, and Madrid moved the cause forward. Raids at crowed theaters and synagogues raised his spirits. How many of his brothers had already sacrificed themselves for the glory of Allah?

  But those actions were child’s play. In a way, they were proof of concept missions building up to the greatest attack ever planned. When they were done, the Great Satan would be cowering on its knees. He and his little crew here in Microsoft Land, with thousands supporting their efforts in other countries, would do the impossible.

  The Great Satan built its empire on technology. They were the masters of the world at high-tech. It was that same technology that would doom them.

  There was a steady hum of voices behind him as he labored at this workstation. A dozen other Muslim men, all trained in the United States, some even born here, worked as one to institute Allah’s will.

  “I’m ready, my brother,” a heavy young man said to Assad. “We can do the test anytime you are ready.” They spoke English because not all of them spoke Arabic.

  “What’s your target?”

  The rotund young man smiled. “I thought we’d start out inauspiciously. I picked out a Subaru Outback. It’s here in the Seattle area so we’ll hear the news when it goes wild. When you give the word, my program will take over control of the car and crash it.”

  Assad al Allah smiled. “And you’re sure this is repeatable?”

  “Of course.” The programmer opened a can of Coke. “If this works, and by the grace of Allah it will, we will be able to take control of virtually any car built after 2012, anywhere. We can take over thousands of them at a time, millions.”

  Assad placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And you’re sure that we can increase the speed enough to assure a fatality in the crash?”

  “It won’t be a problem.”

  What originally was the living room housed four more workstations. At each station, a keffiyeh-wearing man labored diligently at Allah’s work.

  “Daaim, how are you progressing?” Assad moved to a tall, thin man with dark hair and hatchet features.

  “Just watch.” He pressed a few buttons on his keyboard and the microwave oven sitting on a butcher block came to life. He got up, grabbed a fire extinguisher and headed to the kitchen. “It takes several minutes to reach the flash point.”

  The microwave hummed and vibrated. “I turn up the power to max before I start the machine.”

  The two men hunkered down behind a thick plastic shield.

  Assad smiled to himself as he watched the accursed machine run. How many of these devices do the infidels have in their homes? Almost every house has a microwave, but most of them are not yet connected to the Internet. Only the modern ones will be able to start fires.

  As the thoughts passed through his mind, the microwave exploded, sending hot metal and plastic all over the room. A roll of paper towels a couple of feet away on the butcher block caught fire. What remained of the microwave burst into flame.

  “See, it can start a fire.” Daaim quickly extinguished the paper towels. “But, there’s no guarantee that American housewives store combustible objects near. Out of a thousand devices we detonate, only a handful will start a fire.”

  “That’s all right.” Assad headed back to the living room. “They will cause enough fires to instigate chaos. With all the infidel fire departments called out, there will be more fires than they can handle. Allah willing, we may start a huge urban fire.”

  Assad sat at his workstation and brought up the Cayman bank account. He had set up the accounts with extreme caution. If the infidels ever caught on to them, it would take them months to follow all the false trails and blind leads to their money. They preferred to deal in cash, but Assad’s sense of irony made this too delicious.

  They bought lists of credit card numbers from their Chechen neighbors. Their brothers hacked large retail chains, banks, even government databases, to mine the credit card data. The Chechnyans were Muslims, but more interested in making a few bucks than saving the world.

  Assad’s program ran small charges against the stolen accounts. A few dollars here and there so the owners wouldn’t notice. The charges went to false companies Assad set up to be the initial receptacles for the money. The money was aggregated and sent around the world to make the true recipients all but untraceable.

  They were only small charges, but there were millions of them a month. From the USA to Britain to Europe, Australia, and Asia, Assad stole little bits until he amassed a fortune.

  And it cost a fortune to keep this operation going. He must not only pay for the expenses of the operation inside his great enemy, but also for work, materials, and supplies in his homeland and Europe. This was truly a global enterprise. With Allah’s help, they would bring the decadent Western World to its knees and open the way for the Great Caliphate the Prophet foretold.

  ****

  It started at 6:02 a.m. The first computer showed an animated gif of a cartoon baby laying in its basket, crying. By 6:05, every computer on the network had the crying baby… And a pop-up box saying that the owner’s data had been encrypted. To get the data released, the user was to send three hundred dollars in Bitcoin.

  The employees at YTS were in an uproar. People dashed from desk to desk. Voices were raised. Excited people dumped papers on the floor.

  Gosh darn it! This was impossible. Bear sat at his workstation and stared at the screen. Impossible! YTS Digital Security was the best in the world. No one, NO ONE, could hack into their systems.

  Yet there it was. The CryBaby virus, taunting him from his own workstation. To make matters worse, the crying wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t even turn off the sound on his computer.

  Bear had a love/hate relationship with the black hat hackers. David Brigham Jones, known to his friends and co-workers as Bear, loved the hunt. He considered himself the world’s top cyber security analyst. Unfortunately, Justin McCormick, his life-long friend and boss, didn’t.

  Bear built YTS with Justin. He went to school with Justin. He stood by Justin while he served his seven years in purgatory for hacking into the New York Stock Exchange and manipulating stock prices when he was sixteen, forbidden by Homeland Security from touching a computer. Bear was employee number two at YTS Security. He knew every bit as much as Justin, but Justin got all the accolades. />
  It popped Bear’s cork when Time magazine ran a cover story on Justin titled “The Most Dangerous Man in America.”

  Bull pucky. Without Bear there was no Justin McCormack. Yet Justin was publicly degrading his supposed best friend.

  Justin humiliated Bear at the morning standup. Every morning, the team members met for a standup meeting, taking a couple of minutes each to say what they did the day before, what they were working on that day, and any obstacles in their path. It was routine.

  But Justin turned it into a public drubbing.

  “I guess we don’t need to ask what Bear’s working on.” Fire flashed in Justin’s eyes. “What’re you going to do about it?”

  “I’m not going to pay any fucking ransom.” Bear saw the astonishment on his co-workers’ faces. He hadn’t sworn since grade school. “Oops! I’m sorry. Did I say that out loud?” His face turned read. “We’ll wipe all the servers and rebuild them. We have good backups.”

  Bear’s system of redundant Storage Area Networks (SANs) saved every file to mirrored servers every few minutes. In case one went down, the other took the load seamlessly. He had daily backups, so they could never lose more than one day’s work. For high priority files, he did hourly backups.

  All for nothing. The CryBaby virus locked up all the files on all the servers and workstations, mirrored or not. He needed to get his off-site backups and rebuild to the previous day’s datum. A whole day lost. Plus, all the work that wasn’t going to happen that day as they repaired the damage. Crud.

  “I want to know how this happened.” Justin said.

  The other employees kept quiet and took a step away from Bear.

  “We won’t know until we’re back up and running. Most ransomware like this comes in attached to an email or as a link to a website. Until I can look at everything that came in yesterday, I won’t know.”

  Bear glared at his frenemy. Justin was everything he wasn’t. Tall, built like a linebacker, steely-blue eyes. He fit in any environment.

  Bear looked at his socks and sandals. He knew he was no prize. Short and stubby, wild red hair, and a bushy beard. His superpower was his brain. Only Justin’s was better, and he knew it.

  “Tina, Jay, and I will rebuild the servers in a quarantined environment,” Bear said. “When we’re sure they’re clean, we’ll move them back to production.”

  Justin pursed his lips. “This is just a Band-Aid. Until we find out how they got in, we’re vulnerable.” Justin turned his back and walked to the large window overlooking downtown Seattle. “We’re supposed to be the best in the world. If you let this happen, it could cripple our business.”

  The accusation stunned Bear.

  “Our clients come to us because we keep them safe,” Justin said. “If we can’t keep ourselves safe, how can we keep our clients safe?”

  The heavy red hair on Bear’s arms bristled. “No hacker is as good as we are.”

  “You think? I’m wondering if you’re still up to the task.” Justin turned and walked out of the room.

  Chapter 4

  Mary Beth Henderson loved the changes to their offices. After a would-be murderer bombed their building, Cat and Ted rebuilt in Twenty-First century style. Gone were the garage-sale desks and wobbly chairs. Mary Beth had never worked in cubicles before, but it seemed homey to sit in a group with the three other women on her team in a little cloth-covered bullpen.

  Best of all, Ted insisted they build a picnic area, complete with a gas barbeque, in the parking lot for employees to take their breaks. Flaherty & Associates occupied the mezzanine of an old warehouse in the industrial area of Seattle with no good restaurants within walking distance. She had never worked anyplace that cared for their employees like Flaherty & Associates.

  Mary Beth passed through the heavy glass door into the patio. Green lawns, a couple of potted trees for shade, a gurgling fountain, and cement benches produced a little oasis in the concrete jungle.

  She sat on one of the picnic tables and opened her canvas lunch bag. She retrieved the Chinese chicken salad and a can of Diet Coke. After a deep drink of the Coke, she stopped and thought.

  Life seems different now. Cat’s gone. She just walked off and left the business to Ted. That isn’t a big deal, really. Ted’s a good guy. But he’s a guy. The business was built by women for women. How will we fare with a man leading us?

  And can I do my job without Cat? Would Ted understand the things Cat knew? Could he even understand a woman’s life?

  Her cell phone rang.

  “Hi, Abiba,” she said.

  “Mrs. Mary Beth, I just got a call.” The British accent seemed so normal to Mary Beth now. “Normally, this is something I would pass on to Mrs. Flaherty, but she’s gone now. I think you should take it.”

  “Ah… Okay. Who is it? What’s it about?”

  “The woman wouldn’t give me her name. She wanted to talk to Mrs. Flaherty. Said she was referred by a friend. When I told her Mrs. Flaherty wasn’t available, she almost hung up. I had to practically beg her to stay on the line.”

  Mary Beth munched a bit of salad. “What did she want?”

  “Her husband abuses her. She wants to talk to Mrs. Flaherty about her options.”

  “You can patch me through to her.” Mary Beth put down her fork.

  “She already hung up. I convinced her to come in for a meeting though. She’s on her way.”

  “Crap. Is Cat’s office available?’

  “It’s ready if you need it,” the cultured voice on the phone said.

  Mary Beth put her lunch back in the sack. This is big time. Could be dangerous. The kind of thing Cat handled so easily. What’m I going to do?

  ****

  Mary Beth watched from Catrina’s window as a red Toyota Highlander pulled into the parking lot. A woman with long brown hair, wearing athletic shoes and scrubs, stepped out. She stood by her car for a moment, then shook herself and headed towards the front door.

  Mary Beth read her body language. She doesn’t seem too sure of herself she thought as she headed to her own desk. She could see the front door and Abiba’s desk from her workstation.

  The etched-glass door opened, and the woman stepped in. She was very good looking. Chiseled features, straight nose. Must be a nurse or something. She constantly touched a tissue to her nose.

  “I … I … called a little while ago.” The woman’s voice was shaky.

  “Hello.” Abiba rose from her desk. With her size, she should have been scary, but somehow, she projected a loving grandmother feeling. “Let me get Mrs. Henderson for you.”

  “No. I mean … I’m not sure. A friend of mine recommended Catrina Flaherty, but I don’t know about anyone else.”

  “Just speak with her . . .” Abiba said.

  “No.” The woman turned towards the door. “This was a mistake.”

  Mary Beth leapt to her feet and met the woman at the door. “Hi, I’m Mary Beth Henderson.” She held out her hand. “I didn’t get your name.”

  The woman stared at her a moment. “I didn’t give it.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea? Coffee? Water?”

  “No. I think I should leave.”

  Mary Beth looked into her eyes and gestured toward the office. “Won’t you just come with me?” She saw the pain in the woman’s eyes. “I know where you are. I was there once. Catrina rescued me and my kids. She found us a safe place to stay. She gave me a job. She encouraged me to make something of myself. I wouldn’t be who I am without her. I really do understand.”

  The woman’s face softened. “Well, maybe.” She took a deep breath. “Tea could be nice. Do you have Earl Grey?”

  Mary Beth nodded towards Abiba.

  “I’ll bring it to Mrs. Flaherty’s office.” Abiba headed towards the break room.

  “C’mon. Let me show you the way.” Mary Beth led the woman through the maze of cubicles to the back of the building. “This is Cat’s office. No one uses it now, so it’s a good place for us to talk. No
one will interrupt us.”

  “Thank you.” The woman sank into a loveseat behind a glass-topped coffee table. “Where is Cat? She was recommended to me. Why can’t I see her?

  The detective held the door open for the woman. “Cat is on an extended leave. She didn’t tell us where she was going.” She sat on the other loveseat at a ninety-degree angle from the woman. “Let’s start again.” Mary Beth extended her hand and flashed a warm smile. “I’m Mary Beth Henderson. I’m a private investigator here.”

  The woman took her hand in a weak grip. “I’m …” She paused to think. “I’m Jane. Jane, uh … Williams.”

  Mary Beth smiled. “Good to meet you, Jane Williams.”

  Abiba entered the office carrying a silver tray with three cups and tea service. They looked miniscule in Abiba’s giant hands. The women were silent while she poured the tea. Then Abiba sat next to Mary Beth.

  Jane stared at her for a moment.

  “Oh, it’s okay.” Mary Beth waved a hand at Jane. “Abiba sits in on all client meetings. She’s more than just a receptionist, she has a … ah … unique way at looking at our cases.”

  “Mmmm –“ Jane moaned.

  “She was rescued by Catrina Flaherty, too. Her husband and mother-in-law were going to circumcise her daughter.”

  Jane gasped. “How do you circumcise a girl?” She was sorry she asked the question.

  “The shaman cuts out the girl’s clitoris with a sharp stick, while the mother and grandmother hold her, Mum.” Abiba turned, blinked her eyes, looked out the window, and signed.

  “We’re here to help you.” Mary Beth put a packet of Splenda in her tea. “Tell me about your kids, your husband.”

  Jane bowed her head and closed her eyes, as if in silent prayer. “He’s a good man. A good provider. But he’s so old fashioned. He wants my daughter covered up from head to toe. He’s very strict. When we upset him, he belittles us. He tells me I’m an affront to God in front of my children. He calls my daughter a whore.”