“In the Muslim world, those who have been mesmerized by false prophets will turn away, while our true brothers who have been tempted by the West for too long will rise up. In Iraq, Iran, and Syria, those fighting the infidel will be emboldened. It will take years to recover from this, years of retreat for the West. It will end with a new caliphate.”
Fajer’s eyes had blazed with fervor and Labib had never felt closer to him, or to Allah.
But now he knew some of what he had planned would not happen. There would be no Al Qaeda attack and he could not estimate in advance the full extent of the harm he would cause on September 11. He was certain it would be substantial; it might even be crippling.
Yet this was only to be the first attack. Already he and Dufour were planning a follow-up, which they would unleash before the United States had recovered from the first. Their assault from this time forward would be relentless and unstoppable.
The rear door opened and Fajer stepped in, neatly dressed in a dark charcoal Armani suit. Labib had had no idea his brother was in Paris. He grinned and stood up, taking his older brother into his arms. “As-salaam alaikum.”
Fajer smiled. “As-salaam.” He released his younger brother and greeted Dufour. “How goes it?” he asked in French.
“Excellent, I believe. We are in Allah’s hands,” the young man answered.
“Good.” Fajer found a seat. He could not remember when last he had felt so confident, so certain. Earlier that week he’d alerted George Carlton to look for any government knowledge of, or concern over, the name Superphreak, spelled with a ph. He’d received no alert and was feeling better about the security of the jihad.
“Infidels already die for Allah.” Fajer smiled warmly. “And many, many more will soon follow.”
46
DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY, WASHINGTON, D.C.
DIVISION OF COUNTER CYBERTERRORISM
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 1
3:14 P.M.
As soon as he returned to his office, George Carlton regretted the half bottle of red wine he’d indulged in over a late lunch when he realized whom he was about to meet. He popped a breath mint and willed himself to be more alert.
In the years since 9/11, Carlton had experienced no guilt over his decision to sit on Jeff Aiken’s report. He’d always considered it too lurid and imprecise to have had any impact on his superiors. It would only have raised questions about the kind of operation he ran in those days, and nothing would have happened in response to it anyway. Look at that FBI agent in Phoenix. They’d ignored his repeated reports about Arabs learning to fly commercial airplanes but not wanting to practice takeoffs or landings. He’d been lucky not to get fired.
Only after he was at DHS did Carlton retrieve the report one afternoon and read it in detail for the first time since he’d received it. He’d been chilled by its prescience. In detail it had contained many inaccuracies, though it was difficult to say that the suggested targets hadn’t actually been intended, just not carried out. Of particular note was that Jeff had identified the operation as Al Qaeda.
To think that 9/11 would have been thwarted if the CIA and the FBI had actually acted on the report was fantasy. They’d had other information just as reliable and from sources better known to them, Carlton knew, and had done absolutely nothing. Passing the report up would have been pointless.
And, of course, once the attack actually took place, making certain no one who mattered knew about Jeff’s report had been vital to Carlton’s continued career. Jeff had assisted him in that regard by resigning, rather than going to his superiors.
Not that his superiors would have wanted to know such a report even existed. Carlton was sure there had been others—the Company was, after all, a big operation, and its primary mission was gathering information—and they’d all vanished as quickly as had Jeff’s.
No, all in all, Carlton felt no guilt over his actions. The federal bureaucracy was what it was. He’d have been a fool to have done other than what he’d done. Which didn’t make this meeting any easier. He knew Jeff had lost his fiancée in the Towers, and he’d dealt with him enough in the aftermath to know how emotional he was on the subject. But he liked seeing Daryl and welcomed almost any opportunity to meet with her. In fact, the more seriously he considered divorce, the more often he found his fantasies turning to the Scandinavian beauty.
Carlton smiled at the couple waiting for him and extended his hand. “So good to see you, Daryl. You’re lovely as ever. And Jeff … What can I say? It’s been too long.”
Daryl rose and shook Carlton’s hand, while Jeff ignored the offer. Carlton looked at Daryl as if to say he understood. “This way, please. Can I get you anything?”
Carlton’s corner office was spacious and elegantly appointed. His recent improvement in fortune had let him indulge himself a bit. The Persian carpet was a case in point. He’d spent $30,000 on it, though he’d told staff it was a gift from his wife, who everyone assumed was rich, but it had the effect on visitors he’d sought and had become a symbol to him of the life he soon expected to be enjoying.
Just through his door Carlton hesitated, thinking about holding the meeting from behind his enormous desk. He decided to use the small, intimate, in-office conference table instead. “Nothing then?” he said as they took chairs around the table.
Daryl was stunning as always, dressed today in a trim business suit with a brightly colored floral scarf at her neck, which set off her skin tone to perfection. Jeff, as always, was dressed as in tan chinos, Rockports, a polo shirt, and navy travel blazer. He looked much older than the last time Carlton had seen him. Carlton wondered if time had been as hard on himself.
“I’m all ears,” Carlton said, beaming at Daryl.
“I’ll get right to it then,” Daryl said. “Time is valuable and we both appreciate your agreeing to meet on such short notice. On August eleventh, CISU estimates several hundred computers nationwide were immobilized by various types of malware. There were a number of deaths. You’ll recall the auto worker and hospital deaths I spoke to you about two weeks ago.”
“I do.” Carlton assumed his serious demeanor.
“There were more than one dozen others, all in hospitals. I sent you a list of the activities adversely affected.”
“Yes, some accounting records, software in hospitals, air-traffic-control problems in New Mexico, I think, and some dams. Are those are the ones you mean?”
Jeff felt his skin crawl from merely being in Carlton’s presence. Coming here was a mistake.
Daryl nodded to Carlton. “And it was Arizona, though that’s not important. My team has been following up and we have a much better picture of what took place. I’ve asked Jeff to come because he’s the most knowledgeable on the Superphreak virus. It caused the computers—”
“Excuse me? Superphreak?” A jolt such as he’d never experienced before shot through Carlton’s body.
“That’s right. Does that mean something to you?” Carlton struggled to regain his composure, then shook his head. “We’ve concluded that most, perhaps all of these viruses,” Daryl continued, “were at least in part the creation of a hacker with the cyber handle of Superphreak, so that’s what we’re calling all of them. It’s in the report I filed with you last week.”
A report you never read, Jeff thought.
Carlton smiled and nodded. He struggled to focus on what he was hearing, but could not. In his head, all he could hear was a sound like the crashing of enormous waves. “Proceed, please,” he managed to say.
Daryl looked at him oddly. “Jeff knows Superphreak better than anyone and I’ll ask him to tell you about it in a moment, but for now my team has been able to identify four hundred and seventy-eight separate attacks by Superphreak, all occurring on August eleventh. We have reports of hundreds more that could be related, but we’re not including them unless they’re identical in operation or the word Superphreak has been found.”
“None since August eleventh? That’s encouraging,” Car
lton said hopefully.
“I’m afraid not,” Jeff heard himself say. “It’s the opposite, in fact.” For an instant he wanted to strike the man.
“It sounds as if the danger has passed,” Carlton countered. “If I’m not correct, you’re describing a date-activated virus.”
Daryl said, “Yes, but in nearly every case we’ve determined that the date in some part of the affected computers was off by one month. They actually read September eleventh.”
For a moment Carlton felt no sensation at all in his body. It was as if he were being prepped for an operation, and the anesthesia had been released into his bloodstream. Only the day before he’d planted in Fort Dupont Park a copy of Daryl’s latest report, which he hadn’t bothered to read.
Daryl was still speaking. “… that all the infected computers are to be triggered on that date. We’ve drawn the obvious conclusion but have no proof. We’ve been focused on learning about it, deciding its scope, and persuading the vendors to act.”
Carlton cleared his throat. “If I recall correctly, you believe this is a Russian hacker, interested in financial gain.”
“Not quite,” Jeff corrected. “In fact, we’ve found no hint of a desire for financial gain. Financial and other records are targeted, but the effect is destruction, not theft. And Russians are well known to hire out to all comers.” He stared at Carlton to make certain he’d made his point. This was meaningless but he’d promised. “I learned from Daryl just this morning that Superphreak is programmed to avoid the IP addresses of security vendors and is only targeting U.S. and European computers. The viruses are also employing very sophisticated rootkits. I’ve been working nearly three weeks on Superphreak and I still don’t have a handle on it. In my case, the computers were infected with two viruses, one cloaked, both very destructive. One was meant to erase all data, the other to destroy the operating system. The second succeeded before the first was finished, but I haven’t been able to rid the system of the viruses.”
“We need signatures and patches,” Daryl said. “To get them we need the vendors to take this threat seriously.”
“They aren’t cooperating?” Carlton raised his eyebrow.
“Not particularly. Their honeypots haven’t turned it up because it’s ignoring them, and the rootkits are hiding them from detection on their customer systems.” Daryl paused and looked closely at Carlton to be sure he understood the significance of what she was saying. In a firm voice she said, “I need you to lean on them.”
“I don’t know how much influence I can have, if US-CERT is having no effect.”
“It can’t hurt, George, and we haven’t much time.”
“What about other agencies? The FBI?”
Daryl nodded. “The increase in computer-related incidents hasn’t gone unnoticed. I understand a report was placed on the president’s desk two days ago. He’s referred the matter to the FBI and asked for a detailed report next month.”
“That’s it then,” Carlton said.
“It’s not enough, George. This is all happening so fast there isn’t time for this kind of leisure in responding. Clearly they don’t understand the extent of this thing or the president would not have asked for a report; he’d have demanded action. You know how this works, we all do. They’ll want to prove everything is connected and not random. They’ll require solid evidence, not indicators. They’ll be more concerned with covering their backs than with dealing with this hot potato. And the FBI is hardly the right agency to deal with this kind of threat.”
“Who is, in your opinion?”
“The Division of Counter Cyberterrorism. That’s you, George. That’s why we’re here.”
Carlton was sweating now. He licked his upper lip. For long seconds he remained motionless. All he could think was Superphreak!
Jeff leaned forward. “You’re not going to sit on this too, are you?” Daryl looked sharply at him but Jeff paid no attention to her; his eyes focused on Carlton like lasers.
Carlton drew himself up. “I’ve never sat on anything important. Despite what you think, Jeff.”
Jeff laughed, the sound coming out more like a sharp bark. “You make me sick! I gave you the World Trade Center Towers as targets, the Pentagon, for God’s sake! I gave you the names of five of the hijackers and you did nothing!”
Carlton seemed to recoil. “It’s true, but you gave me a lot of unrelated information as well. But that’s not the point. I passed the report up. I can’t be held responsible if no one believed you.”
Jeff shot to his feet. “You son of a bitch!”
Daryl stood up, taking control. “Jeff! Leave this room now! I’ll take care of this from here.”
Jeff stood immobile, then abruptly turned away and walked stiffly out the door. Carlton leaned back, removed a handkerchief, and wiped his brow. “Thank you. I thought he was going to assault me.”
“But he didn’t,” she said. “Are you all right?”
Carlton drew a deep breath, still staring at the closed door, then slowly released it. “Yes. You see how emotional he can be, though.”
“I don’t want his anger to temper my message,” Daryl warned. “I need for you to lean on the security vendors, to get as much of the government moving on this as possible.”
“You think it’s that serious?” Carlton struggled to regain some composure. He was finding it impossible to get his mind on track.
“I think in eleven days we’re going to wish to God we’d done something more. You can be absolutely certain people are going to ask questions. At the least, we need to show that we did everything we could.”
“Yes, yes,” Carlton hurried to reassure her, “I understand and agree. I’ll see to it at once. Today, in fact.”
“Thank you.” Daryl gazed at Carlton, who’d behaved oddly for most of this meeting, and wondered if she could trust him. “I’m going to see to Jeff now. He’s in no state to be left alone.” She rose. “I guess I asked too much bringing him here. I apologize for that outburst.”
“It’s all right. I respect how he feels. I just wish he could see my position.”
A grateful Daryl shook Carlton’s hand, then left his office. For once, he didn’t check out her ass the minute she turned her back to him.
Carlton staggered over to his desk. His mind was whirling. How could I be so stupid? he thought. Frantic, he replayed his last conversation with Fajer. He had to act, had to do something!
* * *
Jeff wasn’t outside Carlton’s office or in the lobby. Instead, Daryl found him leaning against her car in the parking lot, staring in disbelief at his BlackBerry.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Jeff looked up at her, stunned. “I just received a message from the IT manager’s assistant at the law firm in New York. Sue Tabor was found murdered this morning. She was in a hotel room with the firm’s managing partner. They’d both been tortured.”
47
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
HOTEL LUXOR
EAST THIRTIETH STREET
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 1
5:33 P.M.
Brian Manfield spent the day in two different movie theaters. He’d found them to be as safe a refuge as there was when on a mission. Movie theaters were dark, with a large room to disappear in. They also had several exits; the police would have to be certain the man they wanted was inside to cover them all.
And he liked American hot dogs. He’d been told the very best were sold at baseball games, but he’d never attended one. He found it difficult to believe any could be better than those he’d enjoyed that day.
Manfield’s mind had not been on any of the movies that played across the screen, though. Instead, he’d relived the experiences of the previous night. Extracting the information from them had not been difficult. Threat alone had been sufficient to learn everything they knew. Once satisfied, he’d slit both their throats before taking a shower.
They were long dead as he dressed, making certain no blood was on his clothes. Th
e hallway had been clear when he’d left the room, and there was no security camera to avoid. A clerk had been at the front desk, but Manfield had turned his face and was on the street within a moment.
He finished his third hot dog of the day and wondered what they put in them. They had to be unhealthy, but he didn’t care. Wonderful. He glanced at his watch. It was time.
Outside, the city was beginning to slow from the bustle of the day. He walked eight blocks to the Hotel Luxor, glad to stretch and get the exercise, then positioned himself in the shadows of the alley across the street, checking first to make certain he had the alley to himself. Removing the pistol, he screwed the silencer onto it, then slipped it into his right jacket pocket. He had a good description, but it could apply to any number of men. He’d need to be certain first. From here he could cover both directions to the hotel. He hoped the man would be back soon.
There was much to do and, as always, little time in which to do it.
48
MOSCOW, RUSSIAN FEDERATION
DMITROSVSKY ADMINISTRATIVE DISTRICT
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 1
6:38 P.M.
The two-bedroom apartment was spacious and well lit, with a southern exposure. It was new, and empty of all furniture, which only heightened the sense of size. It was everything Boris had promised.
“It will be like living in a gymnasium,” Ivana said.
The building manager who was showing it to them smiled agreeably.
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