Cyberwarfare

by Pendelton C. Wallace

  The plane continued its descent. It seemed as if time was flashing by on one hand and frozen on the other. Huang was drenched in sweat.

  “Descending through ten thousand,” Padma said.

  Below them, Huang could see the white waves breaking on the rocky coast-line. He could feel each beat of his pulse.

  There was no such thing as seat of the pants flying in China. There was no private aviation. You went to school, you studied, you trained, and eventually you won your license. No one grew up flying small planes out of grass-roots air strips. This was the first time Huang had attempted a landing without communications with the tower. He felt an overwhelming urge to urinate.

  “I’ve got an Airbus A380 on the port side,” Huang said.

  “Five thousand.”

  Huang took a deep gulp and throttled back on the engines. He saw San Francisco International Airport with its crossing sets of parallel runways ahead of him.

  “Begin landing checklist.”

  Padma held the laminated check list in her hand. She began going over the items as Huang performed them.

  “Two thousand feet.” Padma sounded as nervous as Huang felt.

  “Lowering flaps. Lowering landing gear.”

  They were approaching runway ten from a forty-five-degree angle.

  “Twelve hundred feet.”

  Huang spoke into the microphone. “This is Asiana Flight thirteen-forty-one entering downwind for runway 10R.” He only hoped that someone out there could hear him.

  Their rate of descent slowed, and the plane pitched up. Huang trimmed the nose back to level, so he didn’t frighten the passengers.

  At eight hundred feet, he turned onto cross wind. Airliners just didn’t do this kind of stuff. They normally approached the runway from straight in.

  He stepped on the left rudder pedal and turned the yoke slightly to the left. The plane turned onto final approach and settled in.

  Huang silently said a quick prayer to his ancestors and kept his eye on the runway. The four white stripes perpendicular to the runway flashed beneath him. The plane continued to settle. He pulled back tenderly on the yoke and slowed the rate of descent.

  There was a slight jolt as the wheels touched the runway. “Reverse thrust,” said to Padma.

  Before Padma could move, the plane burst into a fireball as the Airbus A380 dropped on top of them.

  ***

  Los Angeles’s Korea Town is the most densely populated three square miles in the United States. From a decaying urban center, the area lifted itself up to become the place to go and be seen amid funky art deco buildings and modern steel and glass.

  Kathy Nugyen’s father, Chun, owned his own little piece of paradise. Rocky’s Beer and Liquor stood at the corner of Eighth and Wilshire. His father opened the store shortly after arriving from Viet Nam and Chun wasn’t going to let it go down. Rocky’s had paid Kathy’s way through the University of San Francisco and law school.

  The day started out as normal as any other day. Chun rolled up the steel gate guarding the store front and unlocked the doors. Almost immediately, customers dragged in.

  The afternoon was its usual slow self. Chun took inventory and restocked shelves in anticipation of a busy night. By nightfall, his wife, Seong, joined him behind the register. Customers flowed into the store and the cash register rang.

  Then the power went out.

  “Damn. I’m tired of this cheap old building with bad electricity.” Chun fumbled under the counter for a large Maglite flashlight. He kept it there as much for a weapon as a light.

  He lit his way to the back room and checked the fuse box. None of the fuses were burned out.

  “Chun,” Seong, his Korean wife, called back to him in her sing-song voice. “I no think it our problem. All lights on street are out.”

  He stepped out onto Wilshire Boulevard. Horns blasted in the night. People walked around with stunned looks on their faces. “It like zombie movie,” Chun tossed back over his shoulder to his wife.

  The city was plunged into darkness. As far as he could see in either direction, the only illumination came from auto headlights.

  Chun stepped back inside and took a key from the drawer below the cash register. He returned to the back room and inserted the key into his Honda 3500 generator. It sprang to life and the lights came back on in his shop.

  “Don’t know if this good or bad for business,” he said as he returned to the sales floor. He checked under the counter for his sawed-off pump-action shot gun. It was loaded. He made sure a box of shells was handy. “We be ready for anything.”

  Sirens filled the night. Police cars and ambulances tried to make their way through the jammed-up streets. In many places, they had to drive on the sidewalk to make any progress.

  Traffic signals were out, and there were collisions at nearly every intersection.

  The small TV screen on the wall opposite the cash registers went to a special report. “The mayor declared a state of emergency,” the good-looking young Latino man said on the screen. “A curfew has been imposed. He urges everyone to return to their homes or shelter in place. Do not go out on the streets.”

  Chun looked out his front windows. Obviously, no one was paying attention to the mayor’s order.

  Chun watched a group of young Hispanic men swagger down the middle of the street. They stopped at a Lexus driven by a good-looking blonde woman.

  “Hey, mama, you wanna come out and play?” one of the men shouted.

  The man pulled on the handle and found it locked.

  He and his friends began to push on the car, rocking it back and forth on its springs. “C’mon out, little bird,” the man cooed.

  Chun saw the woman grab her cell phone. She screamed and threw the phone across the car.

  The men continued rocking the car. It rose higher on each push.

  Chun retrieved his sawed-off shotgun.

  “You come out now,” the Latino shouted, “or we’ll make you sorry you didn’t.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Okay, Chico, torch this muthafucka.”

  A slight man popped open the gas tank cover and unscrewed the cap. He pulled off his T-shirt and stuffed it down the hole.

  “You come out or we’ll burn you out.” The man pounded on the windows.

  The woman screamed in panic.

  “Torch it!”

  The slight man pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the shirt. It smoldered as the flame caught.

  The gang retreated from the car. The woman popped open her door and began to run. She didn’t get far.

  “Whoa there, mamacita.” The Latino man grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him. “Let’s see what we got here.”

  “Let her go!” Chun stepped out from the safety of his store into the street.

  “Huh?” The Latino turned to see the source of the interruption.

  Chun brandished his shotgun. “Let her go or I shoot.”

  “You’re gonna hit her too, with that scatter gun.”

  “Maybe. But you’ll hurt her if I don’t shoot. Maybe it’s better for her if I make it quick for her?”

  “We can take him, Tony,” one of the gang members said.

  Tony was quiet for a second. “Nah, let her go. That skinny bitch ain’t worth it.”

  The man released his grip. The woman stumbled forward, falling to her knees. Chun moved to her and helped her up.

  “You come with me. Be safe in my shop.”

  He backed towards his door with the woman tightly in his grasp.

  The gang members slowly turned away.

  Seong waited breathlessly at the door. “Why you do that? You put us in danger.”

  “I can’t stand by and watch,” Chun said as he ushered the woman into the shop.

  “You no think. They remember. They come back and burn store.”

  A pained look spread across Chun’s face. “I didn’t think of that.”

  The Lexus in the street exploded, the fireball rea
ching high into the dark sky.

  The gang found some bricks and threw them through an electronics store window. Gang members broke away the glass still in the frame and jumped through the window.

  From nowhere, people off the street followed. A woman reached for a box with a big-screen TV. A man shoved her to the floor and took the box himself.

  Fire broke out in a building down the street.

  Chun retrieved a chair from the back room and settled himself in front of his door, shot gun in lap.

  Looters piled up in front of his store.

  “You stay back. I’ll shoot,” Chun shouted.

  Someone threw a brick through his window. The shattered glass was everywhere. Chun felt the cuts on his arms and face.

  He reacted instantly and fired into the crowd. People screamed. Some ran in panic, trampling others in the crowd. Several more bricks flew towards Chun. He was hit in the shoulder.

  He fired rapidly into the crowd, pumping after each shot to eject the spent shell and load the next. He felt no fear. If he could stand up to a column of North Vietnamese tanks, he could handle this.

  The crowd ran in panic. He reached in his pocket to insert another shell into the magazine. A brick hit him square in the chest. The shell went clattering along the sidewalk.

  Another brick hit him in the head and he went down. The crowd surged forward. He felt with his hands for his shotgun. He couldn’t find it in the mass of running feet.

  He heard Seong scream from inside the store.

  Chapter 17

  Jennifer Hussaini sat in the dark on the sofa with her legs up and backed turned so she could look out the window. It was the second night she hadn’t slept.

  A light rain pattered against the glass. She held a half-empty glass of chardonnay in her hand and tears stained her cheeks.

  Where is he? How could he not get in touch with us for two days? The kids were asleep. They didn’t feel the absence of their father as acutely as she did. Something was wrong.

  She picked up her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

  “I’m sorry, but all circuits are busy. Please hang up and try again later.”

  Shit!

  Devi, her next-door neighbor, told her traffic was impossible. With all the electricity out and the traffic signals not functioning, travel was a nightmare. Policemen were stationed under every traffic signal with their flash lights, but the flow was painfully slow.

  Maybe Sam’s caught in traffic somehow. But that doesn’t make sense. He could walk to work, but why was his car gone? Did he have a meeting somewhere he had to drive to? Could it be that he couldn’t get home?

  Why hasn’t he called? She shook her head. Of course, he can’t call. The cell towers aren’t working. How many times have I tried to call him and couldn’t get through?

  The sky to the east was turning a soft pink with the dawn’s light. The start of a new day.

  School was closed, so the kids would be home by themselves. No big deal. They’d done that a hundred times before. She had to get ready for her shift at the Kaiser hospital, but how would she get there?

  It was in downtown Bellevue. She couldn’t walk the twelve miles. Did she dare drive? Would she even be able to get close?

  Her fear instantly turned to anger when she heard the lock on the door click.

  She leapt to her feet and ran to the door as Sam opened it. Anger melted to relief.

  “You’re safe! Thank God. I was so worried.” She threw her arms around his neck and clung on to him like a sailor to a life jacket. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you call us?”

  Sam pulled her arms from around himself and took off his jacket. “I was at work. We had an emergency with the power outage. I couldn’t leave until it was resolved.”

  He looks so tired.

  Sam tossed his jacket onto the sofa and went into the kitchen. “The phones were all down. We didn’t have time to find a solution.”

  Jennifer felt a lump of ice in her gut. “Ari’s home. Devi told me he came home last night, and he’s home tonight. Doesn’t he work in your group?”

  Sam’s eyes flared, and he stared at her for a moment. “Why do you question me? If I tell you I was at work, I was at work.” He reached in the refrigerator for a bottle of water. The light did not come on.

  “Sam, I’m not questioning you. I just want to understand.” She placed both of her hands on his chest. “We were so worried. Not hearing from you for two days.”

  “That is my work. That is how I put this roof over your head, how I put food on your table, how I buy obscene American clothes for you and your daughter.” He shoved her away from him. “I’m tired. Exhausted. I need to rest.”

  He walked towards the bedroom. She followed.

  “Can’t you at least explain to me? To us?”

  He turned on her with fire in his eyes. “You need to know what I tell you. Nothing more. You are a woman. Allah says to be subservient to me. You don’t ask questions; you obey orders.”

  She froze, her eyes opened wide. “Sam … Samir … I thought we worked through that before we got married. I’m an American woman. I converted to your religion, but I’m not your chattel.”

  Sam flung his water bottle across the room. “You whore!” he shouted. “You decadent American. We will follow the Quran in this house. ‘Men are the protectors and maintainers of women, because Allaah has made one of them to excel the other.’ You will all do what I say. You will not question me.”

  Jennifer took a deep gulp and stood toe to toe with him. “Get those ideas out of your head. Neither Amira or I are second-class citizens. Get over it. You treat us as full-blown people or you get out. I can’t this stand anymore.”

  His backhand sent her crashing into the bureau, sending small perfume bottles and combs flying.

  “You will follow Allah’s will. Don’t even think about leaving. If you leave me, I’ll hunt you down. I’ll kill you both, you fat American cow and your slut daughter.”

  Jennifer slipped to the floor and fought back tears.

  “When this is all over, we will go back to Syria. We will be welcomed as conquering heroes.”

  “Wh … when … what is over?”

  “You’ll see.”

  ****

  . White House Situation Room: Everyone jumped to their feet in the as the President entered. Tall, with a full head of gray hair and piercing blue eyes, Jackson Ford was Hollywood’s Central Casting’s vision of the perfect President.

  The President scanned the room. The white walls were down, hiding the array of high-tech equipment. His National Security Council stood around the mahogany table in front of their black swivel chairs. Aides for each of the principles stood around the perimeter of the room.

  “Good morning, all,” President Ford said as he took his seat at the head of the long, mahogany table. The back of his chair was six inches higher than the other seats in the room. “Let’s skip the preliminaries and get right to business. What the hell’s going on?”

  The momentary silence was eerie. The whisper walls absorbed most of the sound, leaving an other-worldly hush in the room.

  “Mr. President.” Rebecca Clarke, the National Security Advisor, took the lead. “We have an unprecedented situation on the West Coast.”

  The President gave her a harsh glance.

  “All power west of the Rockies went down. Power companies are working hard to find the source of the problem, but it appears to be a software glitch, not a hardware failure.”

  “And all of the other issues CNN is reporting?” the President asked.

  “Sewage systems in five major cities have failed. All traffic control systems are down.”

  “Air Traffic Control is down over the entire country,” General Robert Waldorf, Chairman of the Joints Chiefs of Staff, interrupted. “The military is up and running, but all civil aviation is grounded.”

  “And Atlanta?” The President drilled his National Security Advisor with his look.

  “Ah … As far a
s we know, the problems in Atlanta are not related to the West Coast events. It appears that an independent group of hackers took Atlanta down.”

  And so it went. Disaster after disaster plagued the struggling region.

  “When are we going to be back up and running?” the President asked.

  “There’s no way of telling,” the Secretary of Defense answered. “It could be a couple of days, it could be a few months. Until we find the problem, we won’t know how to fix it.”

  The President shook his head and exhaled. “Okay, what are we doing about solving the problem?”

  “We’ve got all of our best people working on it,” the SecDef replied. “NSA and the Cyber Command have made it their number one priority.”

  The President thumbed through his Morning Book and looked to his right at the Vice President. “Violet, let’s turn to the bigger question. Why? Why did this happen? Is there a presence behind it?”

  “I think that’s a question for the DNI. Mr. Johnson?”

  Hiram Johnson, the Director of National Intelligence, cleared his throat. The small man with wire-rim glasses and a bad combover flipped through the pages of the Morning Book. “We don’t know yet. We don’t have enough intel. We’re scouring all of our sources, but we don’t have enough facts yet to give a good opinion.” He flipped his book closed.

  “Whoever has the wherewithal to stage an attack like this, if it is indeed an attack, must be limited to a few players,” the DNI continued. “No single hacker in his mom’s basement could cause all of this damage. It could be Russia, China, or North Korea; they all have the capacity. The UK could, but they would never move to harm us. I can’t believe Germany has developed its cyber-warfare capabilities enough to do this. Iran may or may not be on the list.” He stopped to take a deep breath. “Then we have to look at non-government organizations. We’ve been getting reports on the growing capabilities of ISIS. We have bits and pieces, but nothing to indicate they’re capable of this. There are private corporations with the technical knowledge to do such a thing, but I can’t think of any way such an attack would benefit them.”

  “What about the Russian Mafia?” the Vice-President asked.