Cyberwarfare

by Pendelton C. Wallace

  “What does this mean to the consumer, Suzanne,” Janet asked off screen.

  “Chaos. With trucks and the railroads down, they can’t deliver food to the local stores. With the refrigeration failing, the food supply will run out in two or three days. These attacks, if they are attacks, have effectively put our entire food chain supply in danger.”

  “What’s your recommendation?”

  “There are going to be massive runs on the stores. I recommend that our listeners get to their nearest supermarket and stock up right now. I would go so far as to say that if this situation continues for more than a few days, we may see food riots in the streets.”

  The pictures switched back to Janet Peterson. “Thank you, Suzanne. I’m sorry to cut your report short, but we’re getting a live feed from the Oval Office. Ladies and gentlemen, President Jackson Ford.

  The screen showed a gaunt, tired-looking President Ford sitting behind his desk in the Oval Office.

  “My fellow Americans,” the President began. “Today, the United States of American has come under attack as surely as it did at Pearl Harbor or nine-one-one.”

  This is his Roosevelt moment. Janet thought.

  “I want you to rest assured that this attack will not go unpunished. When we determine who the perpetrators of this cowardly attack are, and you can rest assured that we will, we will punish them to the full extent of the law.

  “I made an announcement a couple of months ago that any cyber-attack on the United States of America will be responded to with nuclear weapons. This is our first challenge. You can be sure that we will respond and that this will never, never happen again.”

  Janet Peterson appeared again on TV screens all across America. “There you have heard it. President Jackson Ford stated that the United States will invoke the Ford Doctrine and retaliate with nuclear weapons. Wait a minute, we’re getting in another report.”

  She looked off beyond the cameras.

  “Okay, this is just in. An American citizen has been arrested for launching this attack. We don’t have a name yet, but sources close to the investigation say he is a cyber-security expert from Seattle, Washington.”

  ****

  Hope paced the floor in her office, constantly wiping the tears from her eyes and wiping her nose with a tissue.

  Christ burst through the door. “Hope, I’m sorry it took so long. I was in court when I got your message …”

  “Chris!” She threw herself into his arms. They felt so strong and comforting. She nestled her head against this chest. “They’ve taken Ted …”

  “Wait a minute. Slow down. Who’s taken Ted. Where did they take him?”

  Hope sank down on her office chair. “The FBI. No one knows where they took him or why.”

  “They can’t just whisk a citizen off the street. They must have a reason, a warrant.” Chris pulled out his cell phone.

  “Can you do something?”

  “Let me think.” Chris began pacing. “I need to call my investigator. But Ted’s my investigator. Who do I call? Cat’s gone.”

  “How about Mary Beth? She’s taking over for Cat.” Hope blew her nose again.

  “I don’t know her very well. I’ve seen her around Ted’s office. I don’t know how good she is.”

  “Well, do SOMETHING!”

  Chris selected the number on his phone. “God damn it.” He slammed down his phone. No signal.

  He was silent for a moment. “Wait a minute, maybe this might work.”

  He brought up his text messaging screen and typed.

 

  < the office is in chaos. ted’s been arrested.>

 

  Chris waited impatiently while his screen said “Mary Beth is typing.”

 

  < Good. See what you can find out.> He put his phone back in his pocket.

  “What?” Hope asked.

  Chris let out a long breath. “I read somewhere that even when the phone system is down, you can send texts. They run on different networks.”

  Hope grabbed Chris and hugged him tight.

  “She says they’re already on it. She’s working with her contacts to see what’s going on. So far, nobody knows anything. She’ll keep digging until something turns.”

  Hope buried her face in his chest and sobbed.

  “Listen, I know someone at the FBI. We went to law school together. Maybe she can help.”

  Hope’s head popped up. “She?”

  “Yeah. I dated her at the U. I’m pretty sure she’ll help me.”

  Chris opened a new chat window.

  “You still have her number on your contacts list?” Hope asked.

  “I save everyone’s number. You never know when you might need them.”

  Chris began typing.

  < Barb, this is Chris. … Chris Hardwick.>

 

  < It’s been a while. I need a favor. This is really important.>

  Chris winced as Barb answered.

 

  Chris gulped a breath down.

  < I’ve said I’m sorry. But that’s water under the bridge. I need help and I figure that if anyone can help me, it’s you.>

  He was relieved to see her answer.

 

 

  Before he could finish, he saw that she was typing.

 

 

 

 

 

  “No! No, no, no.”

 

 

 

 

  Chris turned to his fiancée. “She says she’ll look into it. It might take a little while. She doesn’t want to appear to anxious.”

  Hope rose and pulled Chris back into a hug.

  He tenderly wiped the tears from her eyes. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him. We’ll find out what’s going on.”

  At that moment, his cell phone chimed.

  It was from a David Jones.

  “You know David Jones?” he asked Hope.

  “Yeah, I think he’s the guy Ted just hired.”

  Chris opened the text.

 

  Chris pulled out his pen and a small notebook from his suit coat pocket.

  >ted is on private flight to St. Elizabeth’s Hospital campus in Anacostia, in southeastern D. C.>

  Chris let out a deep breath

 

  “The Patriot Act. Holy shit. Ted loses all of his rights under the Patriot Act.” Chris thought for a moment.

 


  Chapter 24

  The Alaska Airlines Boeing 737 settled onto final approach for D.C.’s Reagan National Airport. Chris always flew Alaska and Boeing. He was a Seattle boy and wanted to keep his travel dollars in the local economy.

  In the morning he would appear in federal court to plea a writ of habeas corpus to get Ted’s release. He knew it was a lost cause. Under the Patriot Act, anyone could be picked up

  without a warrant and held indefinitely if the government deemed them a potential threat. In the

  name of security, the country gave up constitutionally guaranteed rights.

  An Uber driver delivered him to the Embassy Suites near the convention center. Not a luxurious place, but good accommodations for the money. After checking in, he went to his suite and logged into the Wi-Fi. Scanning his emails, he found nothing to help his case.

  Next, he made another Google search on the Patriot Act, looking for something to use.

  ****

  The following morning Chris stood in front of the Federal Courthouse in Washington, D.C. It was an unremarkable building, compared to all the flagrant classical architecture in the city. Built of white marble, it was a rectangular building with no ornamentation, totally modern.

  A half-dozen news vans jammed the curb. Reporters shoved microphones in his face as he made his way to the building.

  “Mr. Hardwick, is your client …?

  “No comment.”

  He always pictured himself walking up the fanned-out steps of the portico to the Supreme Court when he thought of practicing in D.C. Instead, he walked into this plain building and checked in through security.

  Chris found his way to the courtroom and took a seat behind the defense table. Thomas Whitlock, Esq. and a nicely dressed young woman entered and took the other table. Chris saw the anger in Whitlock’s eyes.

  He’s pissed that I’m wasting his time.

  A crowd of people fought for seats in the spectators’ section. Reporters jostled with sketch artist for the best views.

  The clerk and bailiff entered through a side door.

  “All rise,” the bailiff said.

  As the occupants of the courtroom came to their feet, a short, squat man with a bad comb-over in judge’s robes entered the room.

  “Federal court in and for the District of Washington, D.C. is now in session,” the bailiff said. “The Honorable William Tate presiding.”

  Judge Tate took the bench. “You may be seated.” He turned to the clerk. “What do we have on the docket for today?”

  Chris looked up and to the right. The computer screen in his head brought up numerous articles about Judge Tate. Crap. He’s a real hard-liner. We don’t stand a chance.

  The clerk rose and handed the judge a folder. “Higuera v. the United States.”

  Chris rose. “Christopher Hardwick for the defense.”

  “Thomas Whitlock for the people, Your Honor.” Whitlock sank back into his chair with a sneer on his face.

  “Mr. Hardwick, I see that you are challenging the Patriot Act.”

  Chris rose again. “Your Honor, we are challenging the right of the United States to hold an American citizen prisoner without charges and without access to his attorney. This is simply a writ of habeas corpus.”

  “Mr. Whitlock?” The judge turned towards the prosecutor’s table.

  “Your Honor, this is a total waste of the court’s time. It is spelled out explicitly in the Patriot Act that the government may hold any person, citizen or not, for an unspecified time if the government deems that person a threat to national security.”

  “Mr. Hardwick?”

  Chris took a breath. This is it. “Your Honor, there is no evidence my client is any threat to national security. He is an upstanding citizen, a business owner, and a valued member of his community. There is no rational reason or evidence for his arrest in the first place.”

  “What the defense doesn’t acknowledge,” Whitlock opened his hands to the court, “is that this is classified information. The government is under no obligation to present the evidence to anyone. If the attorney general deems a person a threat to public safety, then he has the authority to detain them.” Whitlock turned to the prosecution table and accepted a paper from his second chair. “We are wasting the court’s time here. It was found in Duncan v Kahanamoku that habeas corpus may be suspended under extraordinary circumstances.”

  “What are the extraordinary circumstances?” Judge Tate asked.

  Whitlock looked at Chris, holding his lips together. “It’s classified.”

  Chris stood. “Your Honor, in both Hamdi v Rumsfeld and Hamdan v Rumsfeld, the Supreme Court ruled that even when being tried for terrorist/insurgent activities, American citizens have the right to file a habeas corpus petition.”

  The judge shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hardwick, but this is an easy ruling. Under the Patriot Act, the government has the right to detain and hold any person they deem a threat to national security. This arrest has been certified by the attorney general of the United States.”

  Chris looked at the court reporter. “Your Honor, I understand there is a bit of a split in precedent. I’d like to make an adequate record to send this up on appeal.”

  “Okay.”

  “The Fifth Amendment states, ‘No person shall be held to answer for a…”

  “The court is well aware of the Fifth Amendment, Mr. Hardwick.”

  Whitlock chuckled under his breath. “Counsel, the people are also aware of the Constitution.”

  “Really? Then where’s my client’s due process? He’s being deprived of his liberty without a hearing?”

  “Under the Patriot Act, the attorney general performs the investigation,” Whitlock responded.

  Chris accessed the Second Amendment in his head and quoted word for word. “In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial…”

  The judge tapped his gavel on his desk. “Speed it up, Mr. Hardwick.”

  Chris looked at the judge. “Your Honor, my client has an absolute right to confront his accuser. How can he do that if we don’t know under what grounds he’s being held?”

  Judge Tate shrugged. “It’s an excellent question. One the Supreme Court has hinted at but never resolved. Your failure to present me such a case supports the government’s claim that they can, in times of terrorism, hold individuals. Much like Article I, Section 8 provides Congress the power to promote general welfare. It includes the ability to quarantine. In emergencies the government has extraordinary powers.”

  “But there is no evidence of exigent circumstances,” Chris implored. “My client has a right to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation! How can the court determine if there’s an emergency if the prosecution won’t provide any information?”

  “Satisfied with your record?” Judge Tate asked. “Got enough for an appeal?”

  Seething with disappointment, Chris relented. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “The court denies defendant’s writ without prejudice. It finds the United States has met its burden under the Patriot Act, stating there are exigent circumstances to hold defendant without disclosing confidential information in the interest of national security.”

  “Without prejudice?” Whitlock asked in disbelief.

  The judge left the door open.

  “Yes. I may very well change my mind in a few weeks. You can’t just go holding people indefinitely. Mr. Hardwick feel free to refile your case in the future.”

  Chris sank into his chair. Couple of weeks to try again. Couple of months to appeal. God damn it. Where do we go from here?

  ****

  The prison guard opened the door and stood aside. Ted entered the small room. It was a typical interrogation room, blank white walls, two-way mirror, two steel chairs, but no table. The chairs faced each other.

  Without a word, the guard slammed the door. Ted was alone. He guessed that someone watched him from behind the mirror.

&nbs
p; Time passed slowly. With nothing to occupy his mind, Ted slumped in one of the chairs and closed his eyes. He wished he had Chris’s mind. Chris could call up movies on the screen in his head and entertain himself for hours. Ted was just a normal Joe.

  Without a clock in the room, and without his smart phone, Ted had no idea how long he’d been in the room.

  Finally, the door opened and a middle-aged woman with short brown hair and a pair of reading glasses dangling around her neck entered the room. Ted rose.

  “Please, sit, Ted.” The woman was wearing a gray pants suit. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m Dr. Moore.”

  Ted sat and faced her. “Is someone going to tell me what this is all about? Why am I here?”

  “That will become plain enough in the course of this interview, Ted.”

  Growing up in the barrios of East L.A., Ted’s contacts with The Law had were not positive. Then there was the time he was arrested for hacking during the Millennium Systems case. He saw no reason to cut this neat, polite woman any slack. “I want to see my lawyer.”

  “Ted, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not possible?’ I have a constitutional right to see an attorney.”

  “No, Ted, you don’t. You have been arrested under the Patriot Act. Your civil rights have been suspended.”

  If I can’t talk to Chris, how am I going to get out of here?

  “Ted,” the doctor said, “I’m going to show you a series of sketches. I want you to tell me what happened leading up to the sketch, what’s happening in the sketch, and what happens after the sketch.”

  Ted sat up straight. “What kind of bullshit is this? I’m not talking to anyone without my lawyer.”

  Dr. Moore seemed the soul of patience as she repeated, “Ted, I’m going to show you a series of sketches. I want you to tell me what happened leading up to the sketch, what’s happening in the sketch, and what happens after the sketch.”

  Ted shook his head and looked at the floor.

  The woman put on her glasses, opened the folder, and handed Ted a pencil sketch on cardboard backing. “Ted, look at this first sketch and tell me your story.”