“So, what are we looking for?” she asked, taking a sip of her extra large Coke. She needed the caffeine to keep functioning.
“Anything that links Nathan to Alamut besides something that shows up on a computer. I don't trust them, try and use them as little as possible, and know how easy they can be fiddled with without anyone knowing the difference.”
The way he put it should have insulted her, as she had spent her entire life writing software to ensure the integrity of computer systems. If you couldn't trust the banking system, who could you trust?
“I suppose you don't have a checking account, credit cards, e-mail, PDA, cell phone or anything like that?”
“You’re right. Everything you do that provides any convenience opens a hole into your life. I don't want people to know any more about me than I'm willing to tell them face to face. Let's get back to the matter at hand.”
“Okay. So, you want some paper documentation to the effect that Nathan was directing an assassination company?”
“Yes. More importantly, who’s now running it.”
“I don't think that it's anything Nathan would have written down. The man hated paper and did all he could electronically. Besides, he had an eidetic memory—all he needed to do was read something once and could quote it back at you two years later.”
Leo went quiet for a while. Then he said, “I think we’re just going to have to look anyway, unless you have any other ideas.”
“How about following the money? That was the original plan anyway, wasn't it?”
“Yes. But that was to find out who was the owner of the Alamut Enterprises. We know Nathan owns that. Though it might be a smokescreen, it proves that whoever does own it can cover their tracks quite easily, including bank transactions ...”
“That can't be right. There are all sorts of tracks and controls involved in banking. And they are the highest level of security. We've been down this track before—banks have defense in depth, multiple redundant security layers, network sniffers, firewalls. The only real successful attacks on internal bank computers have been from the inside, not the outside.”
“Can we get someone from the outside?”
“I still don't know what information we’re going to get.”
“That's it. We are walking around with bulls-eyes on our backs, and we aren't one inch closer to finding out who has put them there or why. So I'm asking for suggestions. I sure as hell don't want to be killed. All I want to do is find out who’s after us, figure out a way to make them stop and then go back to my old life.”
She thought about everything they’d done and realized that he was right.
“I need access to a computer. Find an Internet Cafe, hopefully one without security cameras.”
“Can't they track you when you’re using their computers?”
She smiled. “They won't be able to because I won't be using their computers, just their wireless network.”
They drove around for a while and, after examining and rejecting several, they found one that seemed to fit the bill in a strip mall close to a community college. This time at night it was busy, but not overly so. Even more convenient, it was about three blocks from Jackie's old office. She didn't believe that they could find anything else out about what Nathan had been up to, but would go along to appease Leo.
She flipped open her laptop and booted it up. First off, she concealed that she was accessing the store's wireless connection and sniffed out a packet from their wireless and ran that through some software she’d written that found the password. Typing that in, she accessed a Black Hat BBS system.
There were generally considered two types of hackers—white hat and black hack and a bastard mix of the two, gray hats.
Black hat hackers were often the authors of computer viruses, broke into secured networks and destroyed data among other things. Some black hatters were hired guns of criminal enterprises, stealing personal data, engaging in industrial espionage and anything else that paid very well in dirty cash.
The white hat hackers worked with companies to improve their security, without malice or damage, and were often hired by IT firms to find vulnerabilities in their network and computer security. Many of these people were reformed black hatters who had a very close brush with law enforcement, if not actually having served jail time, for illegal computer activities. The bigger your rep in the black hat community, the more you could charge for your services in the white hat world.
Gray hat hackers sometimes act illegally, sometimes in good will, and sometimes not. Jackie tended to place herself in the camp being a hybrid between black hat and white hat hackers. She usually didn't hack for personal gain or with malicious intentions, but didn't have much of a problem occasionally committing crimes during her technological exploits.
All the camps kept close watch on the others and there was often a seemingly friendly rivalry. As an example, one of the largest black hat conferences was sponsored by Microsoft and was attended by people from the FBI and other three letter government agencies. White and gray hatters often showed up to check out new technology. It was security free for all and the hotel sponsoring the conference one time had their lobby ATM hacked and their corporate network knocked out by over caffeinated geniuses with too much free time on their hands and a reputation to build or uphold.
Since Jackie worked with both camps, she maintained a working relationship with notable names from both sides. There were many aspects of computer security and you couldn't begin to be an expert in all of them. Her area of expertise was narrow and involved cryptography specific to the banking industry. Yes, there were some other aspects of security that she had more than a passing familiarity with, like wireless, but she didn't know much about cell phone security or systems, so she kept a list of contacts like Ryan Reese handy to help fill in the gaps. Though, if she was confronted by say RFID—Radio Frequency IDs—she wouldn't know who the hell to call and would do the best she could with the tools she had, including an innate curiosity and belief that locked systems were meant to be broken into to see what made them work.
She found the e-mail address she was looking for and sent off a quick query. This guy would either help or he wouldn't. She didn't even know his real name, but knew of him by reputation as being a superior hacker in a business full of people with MENSA level IQs. Rumor had it that he had hacked into NSA’s and the FBI's computers just to see if it could be done. And then had the balls enough to walk into the offices of the government agencies and score a big contract as a 'consultant.' Hacking places like the NSA would normally earn you a firing squad, but he had pulled it off, adding to his rep. Besides, having such agencies owing you a favor or two was also handy.
While waiting for a reply, she pulled up the latest copy of the online edition of the Denver Sentinel and couldn't believe what she saw. Not a regular subscriber to any formal media outlet, it was nice to pop in once in a while and see what had been happening in the world. Nathan had subscribed to a number of web-based news sources, but she rarely had the time or the inclination to read the tasteless prattle that qualified as news any more.
“Look here,” she said, tilting the computer screen in Leo's direction. He had been sitting as still as a statue and the only way that she knew he was still alive was that his eyes were constantly moving, looking, watching, observing and probably calculating bullet trajectories.
He glanced at the screen. “Shit. We're in the middle of a firestorm.”
Together they both read through the article. Most of the Denver City Council was either dead or dying, as a result of poison someone put in their coffee at a meeting. The doctors were closed lipped about the poison or the prognosis of their patients, but it didn't sound good. Someone had blown up several IRS and BATF agents in their cars. A member of the US House of Representatives had dropped off the face of the earth, and other members of the government, state, local and federal level, were missing, dying or already dead.
Denver, Colorado, seemed to be the center of either
a terrorist attack or the victim of a lot of very bad luck.
They both finished the article at the same time.
Jackie leaned back and said, “What do you think this means?”
“I can see the Black Hand at work here. There are five fingers, each specializing in a certain way of killing, from accidents of various sorts, car bombs, poisons, sniping and fire. If we broke all of the recent kills down to the way the victims died, we can find the finger behind it. The only one that I don't see in having a victim is the sniper, and he’s been busy after us.”
“What do you think happened to him?”
“He’s probably hiding someplace close.”
Leaning back, he closed his eyes. “We need to look at the overall picture here. Up until now, we've been focused too close on what was happening to us.”
“Big picture?”
“Yes. When I worked, it was only outside the country. From my reading, I think that most of the assassins in the Black Hand did the same. We can verify it by looking at the data you pulled from the Blackberry. Anyway, something big is happening that they’re all working in this country, and specifically this local area. These are high profile targets and they are hitting a lot of them quickly—making all concerned very vulnerable. So, what are they after? Yes, they are stacking up bodies, but is there a common thread between the victims?”
Then it hit her. “I think I might have something.”
She pulled up the news story about Brian Case, the building inspector who was burnt to death in his car. Case had driven Nathan into a white hot rage when he had inspected the construction of the expansion of their office, promising heavy fines if they continued. The delay had cost them tens of thousands of dollars in idle construction workers standing around fiddling their hammers until Nathan had met what she considered venal and arbitrarily interpreted building codes. Nathan had complained to everyone in city government who would listen, but they had all stood behind Case. Now, the city government was headless.
She just wished that she had access to Nathan's computer as he had sent hundreds, if not thousands, of letters to his elected representatives, senators and anyone in power that he could find an address for. He rarely received even a form letter response and was probably labeled as a nut job with his rants being quietly ignored in the hopes that they would go away.
“Well?” Leo asked, pulling her back to the present.
She showed him the story about Brian Case. “They all are people that pissed off Nathan in one form or another.”
Leo read the article and said, “Anybody in power that he didn't piss off?”
“No, and that might be the thread we are looking for. What to do now, I have no idea.”
###
Jim Fox, the Second Finger of the Black Hand, had his work cut out for him. His next target was Fredrick Linn III, the head of the Department of Homeland Security in Denver. The guy was protected very well, and somewhat difficult to find, but for the money he was getting for this gig, Fox would make an extra effort. Besides, he had no loss of love for the DHS. They probably had a four-inch thick file folder on him, but couldn't prove a damn thing. He'd heard from some of his ex-army buddies that the feds had been around asking questions about him, his politics, performance and other snoopy things. Whoever the agency was, he didn't want to be snagged in its net.
There was a little bit of worry about this job. He'd done a lot of work in the Denver area, unusual in two respects because he had only worked outside the country up until that time, and he had only done a single job at each place before disappearing. Spending this amount of time in one area made him a bit concerned. Yes, he had such a low profile that even if they were looking for him, they would have to practically walk on him to find him and most likely not even know that they'd been in contact with him. But the government has unlimited resources and even in randomness, there are patterns that can be discerned.
So he was breaking his pattern in a new and terrifying way. He'd always been fascinated by IEDs, their construction, how they are used, detected and effects. US based terrorists hadn't discovered the utility of such devices, so now was the time.
From his understanding of the target, despite his $140,000 plus yearly salary, he only rated a company car and a driver/bodyguard. The car was standard government issue with no special armor or other protection. Not that it mattered much to Fox anyway, as he had tricks in his bag that could defeat even the armor on an M1 Abrams tank.
After a couple of days watching his next victim, he had a plan. The federal building parking lot turned onto a one-way street, so there was only one way for them to go and it was a narrow street. An army issue claymore mine was something that he had seriously considered and he had a couple stashed away. Instead, he selected an MM-1, “Minimore” command detonated mine. Developed for American Special Forces, it was a third the size of the M18A1 claymore mine, and produced a narrower arc of fragments than the claymore. At 50 feet it produced a pattern 16 feet wide and two feet high, compared with a 50-foot wide pattern for the claymore mine at the same distance.
He wanted to kill his target, not destroy an entire city block and kill everyone in it.
The mine was placed on a wall next to the road and painted to match the fading brickwork. He was dressed in tattered rags, sitting in the shelter of a nearby doorway, sipping from a container of soda hidden in a paper bag—anyone looking would think that he was homeless and quietly getting drunk. He knew he was outside the range of any cameras from the nearby federal building and there were no traffic cameras watching the intersection. There were no convenience stores or ATMs close with their ever present security cameras, and he had an escape route and backup route to get back to his car. Under his wino disguise, he wore khaki slacks, a button down Oxford shirt and tie. Shedding his disguise, he could easily become a businessman making his way to back to his car.
The target's car pulled out of the driveway. He pulled the safety bail on the M-57 firing device, also known as a 'clacker,' back and waited. The light changed as the car pulled to a stop—right within the kill zone.
He squeezed the clacker and ducked.
Chapter 18
Tyrannicide had been analyzing the stories about the killings in Davenport from news sources all over the country. The numbers of stories, their emotional content, readability index and comments from readers caused it to hit a preplanned point, starting a new subroutine. It was apparent that the government was going into crisis mode and the general population was close to panic.
It activated a previously unused mail server and sent a press release to hundreds of thousands of press and blogger e-mails gleaned from weeks of analysis. The e-mail said:
“The Children of the Constitution have struck a blow against those who blatantly violate The Highest Law of the Land. Every sworn office holder will now be held to the standard set by the Constitution. Consequences for those who continue to violate their Oath to uphold and protect the Constitution will be absolute and final. You have been warned.”
The next step was to kill that mail server and remove all traces that it had ever existed. There would be copy cats, and others wanting to take credit, but the next press release would set, in the world's eyes, the authenticity of the original e-mail.
Tyrannicide considered its target list. Two original targets were still alive, but with currently finite resources, they were placed to a lower priority. Soon there would be plenty of resources to deal with this niggling problem. Meanwhile, it issued more targeting packages.
###
The BMW X5 Ken Brody, the Fifth Finger, had crawled under had a wonderful braking system. But it could be subverted without too much trouble. He had developed a special technique for doing so. He found where the metal brake line came down to the rubber hose and worked his way back exactly one inch. Then he worked his way back and drilled a hole in the metal brake line. Before too much fluid dripped out onto the plastic he had placed just for that purpose, he wrapped where the hole was wit
h Cerrolow 117. Made of Tin, Bismuth, Lead, Cadmium and Indium, it was easily moldable to almost any shape and, most importantly, it melted at forty-seven degrees Celsius or a hundred seventeen degrees Fahrenheit—a temperature easily reachable as close as it was to the hot brakes.
Since US Senator Jan Johnson liked to drive the back roads to her home, through some very rough, mountainous country, the plan was to have the brakes fail in an isolated area. The resulting crash would be fatal given the terrain—if not from the crash, from exposure or even other creatures, like a bear.
Checking his work, he nodded in satisfaction and crawled out from under the car. His Blackberry buzzed. Paging through it, he saw that it was another job. He had just set up to kill a US Senator, so the next target was a bit of a letdown. But he wouldn't let that prevent him from approaching it with professionalism.
###
Leo had a glimpse of what was going on around them. He and Jackie had been gathered up into a storm of epic proportions. Nathan White, God rot his soul, was probably at the heart of it. He had apparently put into place various mechanisms for some sort of political ends. How to strike it where it was vulnerable and make it stop before it killed them was the big problem.
He still felt that there was someone pulling the strings, directing the assassins, paying them, supporting them in whatever ways they needed. Based on the money he would have gotten for killing Jackie, he knew that there was one hell of a lot of money being thrown around.
Where did that money come from? According to Jackie, and the numbers that Patrick Lackey had printed out, Nathan had only subverted maybe half-a-million dollars or so. At say, $30K a hit, plus expenses, that money should be gone pretty quickly if not already be gone.
They had taken shelter in a hot sheet hotel.
Jackie was crouched over her computer, having already hacked into a nearby business's wireless network to gain Internet access. What good that would do, he didn't know.
She looked up from her computer and said, “Something of interest here.”
Kill Code Page 15