Cyberwarfare

by Pendelton C. Wallace

  It was a whole new world.

  The Northlake Tavern was still packed with college students and still served the best pizza in the world, but times changed.

  Bear looked worse than Ted. “When was the last time you went home, dude?” Ted asked.

  Bear lifted his Arnold Palmer and quaffed a long drink. “I don’t remember having a home.”

  “You guys makin’ any progress?” Ted asked.

  “We’ve cleaned up our systems,” Bear said. “We’re back on-line. We’ve checked all our clients, and they’re either clean or we scrubbed them. We still don’t know where the virus came from, or how it got in.”

  “I know where it came from.” Ted paused as the server brought their Lumberjack pizza. It was loaded with meat, grease, calories, and trans-fats; a school boy’s dream.

  “Okay, smart guy.” Bear reached for the first piece. “Where did it come from? How did it get in?”

  Ted looked around to make sure no one was listening to them. “You’re not gonna believe this.” Ted slid a slice of pizza onto his plate. “There’s a reason I asked you to meet me in a safe place. This may be the biggest news in a decade.” He paused. “It’s embedded in the operating system. Think about it. If the ransomware didn’t come in through email and didn’t come in through the Web, where did it come from?”

  Bear sat up and his eyes cleared. “No way.” He wiped the grease off his red beard. “You have proof of this?”

  Ted shook his head. “We’re working on it. But, I mean, how else did it get in millions of computers all over the world on the same day?”

  “How?” Bear asked. “I mean, those guys are the best. How could they let something like that though?”

  Ted sat back and took a sip of his beer. “I don’t know. I need someone to help me figure it out. I need the best white-hat hacker in the world to find this for me. Do you have any ideas who I can talk to?”

  “Holly crap, Ted. You don’t need the best white-hat, you need the best black-hat. This is big. It may be the biggest hack in history. Whoever figures this out is going to be famous.”

  A smile spread across Ted’s tired face. “Like I said, any ideas who can help me?”

  Bear glared into Ted’s eyes for a moment. “You offering me a job?”

  “I hear rumors.” Ted paused to let that sink in. “I heard you might not be too happy at YTS.”

  “Mmmm … ” Bear brushed the crumbs from his crimson beard as he polished off a piece of pizza.

  “Look, Bear, let’s not fool around. I need help. Ever since Cat left, I can’t keep up. I have more business than I can handle. I have a couple of assistants, but they’re not world-class. I hafta run a business with two departments. I need you to run the cyber-security part for me.”

  Bear took another bite of pizza and rolled his eyes. “Hmmmm …”

  “There’s gonna be complications,” Ted said. “You were my mentor. I used to work for you. How’s that gonna to work?”

  “The only way it can work,” Bear said, “is if I don’t work for you. I’ll work with you, but I need independence in my department.”

  Ted nodded. “I get that. I agree. But there’s something you need to be honest about. We’re working with a lot of women. Catrina built the business by rescuing displaced women, giving them jobs, and letting them excel at what they’re good at. You have two self-trained hackers in your group who are just such women.”

  Bear nodded.

  “I can’t emphasize this too much. They’ve all been misused by men. They’ve been beaten, raped, threatened. They’re all wounded birds clinging together for mutual safety.”

  “So?”

  “So, you’re a world-class asshole. One might even say a misogynist.”

  Bear winced at the accusation but kept quiet.

  “You’re grumpy, short with people, and have no patience with anyone who you think isn’t smart. You’re going to be surrounded by those kinds of people. You’re going to have to work with them and not scare them off. I won’t have anyone destroy Catrina’s business. I’m just a placeholder until she comes back.”

  Bear contemplated that for a moment. “This Catrina, I’ve heard of her. Never met her. We don’t exactly run in the same circles. Who is she? Why did she leave her business with you?”

  Ted helped himself to another slice of heaven. “That’s a long story. She was a police woman. Her husband, also a cop, badly abused her. When she left him, he started a campaign of harassment against her in the department.”

  Ted thought for a moment. How much of this story is pertinent to your question? “She sued the Port of Seattle Police Department for sexual harassment; won the biggest settlement in history.”

  “Hmmm …”

  Ted knew Bear wasn’t particularly in tune with women’s issues. As far as Bear was concerned, women should stay home and take care of the kids, as witnessed by his harried wife and their six offspring.

  “She set up Flaherty & Associates to help women in the same predicament she was in. She’s saved hundreds of women. She’s kind of a legend in the women’s movement in Seattle.”

  “So, what’s that got to do with your situation?”

  “A couple of months ago she broke a case. Remember the Chinatown Killer?”

  “Ah … yeah.” Bear sprinkled parmesan cheese on his last bite of pizza.

  “The serial killer turned out to be her boyfriend. The man she thought was her true love.”

  “Oh my God.” Bear’s brow scrunched up.

  “Yeah.” Ted took a breath. “When it was all wrapped up, she just left. Took off to who-knows-where and left me to run the business. Honestly, Bear, I’m in over my head. I need help. I need you to run the cyber-security business, and I need to find someone to run the investigative department.”

  Bear put down his fork and wiped his beard again. “You gave me a lot to think about. How about salary? Benefits?”

  “Decide if you’re interested, then we can talk details.”

  ****

  The fog didn’t creep in on cat’s paws. It roared in like charging lion. Within moments, the visibility was near zero from the bridge of the U.S.S. Douglass Roberts, DDG-157, an Arleigh Burke class guided missile destroyer cruising along the eastern half of the Formosa Straits.

  “It’s lookin’ pretty ugly out there,” the helmsman said over the console to LTJG Emily Thompson, the Officer of the Deck.

  “Boatswain, stand the foul-weather watch and sound for fog,” she called, a note of an apology there. He had to wake the watch.

  “Aye, Ma’am.”

  “Con, how’re we doing?” the lieutenant asked.

  “Forty contacts, Ma’am,” Ensign Bishop at the radar station answered. “I see thirty-eight. AIS lists thirty.”

  Lieutenant Thompson walked to the starboard bridge wing. She only had about a hundred yards of visibility.

  She turned to the other officer on the bridge. “Make five knots Conn.”

  Ensign Bishop hesitated. He was still new and had to think about his orders.

  “Helm, make turns for five knots.”

  “Make five knots, aye,” the helmsman echoed.

  The quartermaster made a note in the navigation log.

  “Ma’am, something funny just happened,” Bishop said.

  Lieutenant Thompson moved to the radar station. “What?” she asked, looking over the con’s shoulder. The screen looked perfectly normal to her.

  “The screen went dark for an instant, then came back up. Like it was rebooting or something.”

  “Sir, we’re making five knots,” shouted the helm.

  “Very well,” said Ensign Bishop.

  Thompson yawned and looked around to see where she left her cup of coffee. “Restart it. Quartermaster, note it in the log.” The hair on her arms tingled.

  It was a horrible time to be on watch. At 1:23 a.m. the night chill cut through her pea jacket, even though the temperatures would reach towards three digits at the height of the day.
The fog seemed to seep into her every joint. How long had she been on duty?

  The Captain had fired the navigation officer on the previous day when the destroyer went dangerously off course. The navigational team stood half and halfs—two teams taking six hours shifts. Lieutenant Thompson now stood her second day in a row.

  “I’ve got a contact two thousand yards off the port stern, Ma’am,” Ensign Bishop said. “He’s CBDR.”

  Ugh. Collision course. “Do you have an AIS contact for him?” She wanted to talk to this guy.

  Ensign Bishop scrolled to select the vessel on the console. “No, Ma’am.”

  Thompson grabbed a pair of binoculars, went to the port bridge wing, and had a look back on her port quarter. Nothing. Damn fog.

  She stomped back into the bridge. “Probably a fishing boat.”

  Thompson picked up the handheld mic and checked to see if the VHF radio was on channel 16, the international destress frequency all vessels were required to monitor. She keyed the mic.

  “Unknown vessel on course one-seventy-five at twenty knots approximately twenty miles east of the Pescadores Islands, this is US warship one-five-seven. Identify yourself.”

  There was no response.

  “Combat, bridge, we have an unknown contact on course one-seventy-five at twenty knots. Likely a Russian or Chinese fishing boat.”

  “Bridge, we’re tracking him.”

  The lieutenant sighed. The Formosa Strait was known for its traffic congestion. A hundred miles wide, the strait between mainland China and Taiwan was one of the busiest ocean superhighways in the world. All the traffic going from China’s factories transited the straits before heading into open waters and courses to the American coasts or around Africa to Europe. The fact that a fishing boat either didn’t have AIS, the international ship tracking system, on board or turned it off, wasn’t surprising.

  There were forbidden fishing grounds off the islands, and any pirate fishing captain taking the chance to fish there wasn’t going to broadcast his position, and he sure didn’t want to meet a U.S. warship.

  She glanced at the radar screen where Ensign Bishop watched the ship nervously. They had twenty minutes, and she wasn’t sweating it. She just didn’t want to call the Captain and wake him. “Any change?” she asked.

  “No Ma’am.”

  “Conn, come to course zero-two-zero.”

  Ensign Bishop looked up to check his instruments. “Helm, right five-degree rudder. Steady on course zero two zero.”

  The helmsman piped up, “Right five-degree rudder. Steady on course zero two zero, aye.” He paused to turn his small black plastic wheel to the right. “My rudder is right five-degrees, coming to course zero-two-zero.” The ship swayed lazily to the right. Driving one of America’s most powerful war ships was more like a lazy game of cricket than a hot soccer match.

  “Sir, my course is now zero-two-zero.”

  “Very well,” Ensign Bishop acknowledged.

  Time passed slowly. Thompson checked on the radar from time to time, but felt they were safe. She heard the reassuring blast of the fog horn.

  The quartermaster made an entry in the log-book every three minutes since they were within thirty kilometers of land.

  The navigation system kept the ship on a steady course. The automatic pilot was off, but the ship followed near the line charting its course.

  Butterflies fluttered in Lieutenant Thompson’s stomach. Something didn’t feel right. She double checked the radar and the nav system. Everything looked good. Putting binoculars to her eyes, she scanned the waters around the ship, but with the fog, couldn’t see anything.

  ****

  Assad sat back in his chair and watched the big screen TV on the wall. The eyes of his Islamic brothers were glaring at the screen.

  “Are we in?” Assad asked.

  “Allah be praised,” the tall thin hacker answered. “If they didn’t notice the reset when we took over, we’re ready to go.”

  Assad thought about it. Another test, one of so many. This time they had to get it right. The last time they took control of a Navy ship, they botched it. They left a trail for the Navy to follow, although the fools hadn’t found it yet. This time had to be perfect.

  When they launched their attack on the United States, everything had to be perfect.

  “Where are we?” he asked his tall comrade.

  “All is going according to schedule. We placed a ghost fishing boat, moving the target into the path of the container ship. Their radar does not show the container ship, and we’ve shut down the AIS on the container ship. The destroyer can’t see it.”

  “It’s just a matter of time.” Assad asked.

  “Yes. It is inevitable.”

  ****

  Lieutenant Thompson rubbed her eyes and drained the last of the nasty liquid in her coffee mug. Her hair itched. No, it was more like a tingle.

  “Quarter-master are we on course?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Something feels funny. The lieutenant thought. I don’t know … something’s just not right.

  “Ma’am,” the boatswain shouted. “There, off the starboard bow.”

  Thompson ran to the bridge wing. She looked into the fog. She could see nothing.

  “What did you see?”

  “Lights. Red and green. They were pretty far apart.”

  She strained her eyes, peering into the fog. Wait. Did she see something. Maybe a green flash?

  “Conn, come here,” she shouted. “There,” she pointed. “Do you see that?”

  The conning officer put his binoculars to his eyes. “I don’t know … maybe … oh my God! Ship off starboard bow.”

  “Sound collision,” Thompson yelled. “Right full rudder.”

  “Right full rudder,” the helmsman echoed back.

  “Don’t you mean left rudder?” the conning officer asked.

  “Engines back full.” Thompson glared at her junior officer. Really? They were about to fight the ship, and then she would lose her job.

  From out of the fog, she saw the huge bow of a container ship looming over the destroyer’s side. “Brace for impact.”

  ****

  Captain Richard Gordon didn’t so much wake as suddenly come to life. A giant metal object sliced through his cabin. He slammed against the bulkhead and grabbed on to a loose pipe. Where the hell did that pipe come from?

  The ship rolled over on her side. She hung there for a moment as if deciding whether to live or die.

  The giant metal object slowly receded from his stateroom. The deck was gone. His hands felt wet and slippery as he held onto the pipe over the rushing sea.

  He heard the inflow of water. What happened? Had they shut the watertight doors?

  ****

  Lieutenant Thompson staggered to her feet. “Rig for collision. Shut all watertight doors.” The claxon alarm thundered over her head.

  “Damage report.”

  “We’re taking on water in compartment four. All doors shut. All pumps working.”

  The executive officer charged onto the bridge. “What in the hell just happened?”

  “We were rammed, Sir. It looks like a big container ship from what I saw.”

  “Holy shit! Were you guys asleep up here?”

  “Sir,” the damage control officer shouted, “compartment four is completely flooded.”

  “Oh God! That’s where the captain’s quarters are.”

  Chapter 7

  Ted waited at the corner of First and Pike, where he expected to meet the star reporter for The Seattle Times. Above him the red neon sign said Public Market, and behind him was a labyrinth of small stores, open-air green grocers, meat and fish markets, and rows upon rows of flower vendors.

  Ted admired Dan Rider. Dan had just returned from a trip to the Middle East where he broke a story about how ISIS was developing the capabilities for cyberwarfare.

  “Dan, glad you’re back in Seattle in one piece,” Ted said, reaching out his hand.

/>   Ted first met Dan when Dan interviewed him and Chris after they foiled the terrorist plot to blow up a cruise ship on Canada’s Inside Passage years ago. Dan had written several stories on Ted’s adventures in the intervening years.

  “There were times when I thought I’d be coming home in a box.” A couple of decades older than Ted, Dan’s gray hair and blue eyes reminded Ted of an eagle. He was taller than Ted, but then again, who wasn’t?

  “I’m glad you could meet.” Ted led Dan towards the Pike Place Market. “I’m dying to hear what you learned about ISIS’s capabilities.”

  “This isn’t altruistic, Ted.” Dan patted Ted on the shoulder. “I need some background information for my story. You’re the best IT guy I know. I want to pick your brain.”

  They entered the Pike Place Market and walked to the staircase in back. Down a couple of flights and they were on the mid-level, between the market above and the waterfront below, home of Ted’s favorite lunch spot, El Puerco Lloron.

  “You’re not going to believe what I found.” Dan got in line to order. “What they’re doing is frightening. They’ve learned how to hack cars, home and business electrical systems, appliances. It’s not a matter of if they’ll attack, it’s when.”

  Ted whistled. “Man. It’s like science fiction. I know this kinda stuff can be done, but I always expected the threat would come from China, or Russia, or North Korea. To have a terrorist organization have that power in their hands. They might as well have nuclear weapons. They could bring down our economy.”

  A startled look came over Dan’s face. He cried out, grabbed at his chest, and fell to the ground.

  The people in the outdoor café screamed. Some ran, some crowded close to see what happened.

  Ted dropped to his knees. His friend’s face turned pale then faded to blue. “Someone call nine-one-one. He’s having a heart attack.”

  “My pacemaker.” Dan gasped.

  Ted felt for his pulse. Fast and weak. Oh, God, I need help.