“We guessed they would respond with SLCMs. Damages?”
“Unknown. Without our spy birds and contact with operatives in country, we can do little more than make estimates from trajectory. All sites were military.”
“Which is a shade kinder than Syria was with them.”
“Yes, sir. If I were Syria, I wouldn’t depend on such restraint.”
Barlow reached for a glass of water next to his bed. Grundy handed it to him. He drank half the contents and handed it back. “I suppose we should be thankful the power outage has made war a little more difficult.”
“That leads me to the bad news, sir.”
“I thought the missile attack was bad enough.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.” He paused. “Cities in Syria are coming back online. Somehow they have power again.”
“How?”
“No one knows, sir.”
“Israel?”
“Dark as before.”
“Not good. Not good.” Barlow rubbed the center of his chest.
Act 4
Eight Months
31
Meetings
General Holt stepped into Jeremy’s office. He had aged several years in the last eight months. Still robust. Still strong. Still in possession of a steel-trap mind, but the strain had taken a toll. He spent much of his time at Fort Meade helping rebuild Slipper—the secret Internet protocol router network for the military. Jeremy was confined to overseeing the security of Mount Weather’s computer systems and tracking down the Moriarty worm. With more and more military bases and radar instillations online and other communications following, he had been able to make some headway but not nearly enough. He could demonstrate that the malignant, self-writing program had started on the West Coast, probably Southern California.
“I have a message for you, Jeremy.”
“Since when did you become a messenger boy?”
Holt took a chair near one of the several computers in Jeremy’s workstation. “I’m doing a lot of work I never imagined I’d be doing.”
“I hear that. How are things at USCYBERCOM?”
“Moving along. Most of our systems have been rebuilt and some of our specialty software reconstructed. To tell the truth, I thought we were better protected than we were. We took a much bigger hit. If someone had asked me if all this could happen, I would have wagered my stars that it couldn’t, and you know how much I love my stars.”
“I do know that. I’ve grown fond of my one star.”
“You wear it well.” He leaned back. “Know anyone in San Diego?”
“Not really. Been there a few times. I know a great pizza place.”
“Good, because I’m going to ask the president to send you on a little trip if he can spare an aircraft.”
Jeremy understood the comment. Some aircraft were operating—mostly those kept in hardened centers in Nebraska, California, and Alaska—but getting other craft off the ground was proving difficult and time consuming. A little rewiring could get a bi-plane airborne, but most modern aircraft were fly-by-wire. The controls were operated with computer assistance. In the first few weeks, a few aircraft had been pulled from museums. Jeremy knew several World War II fighter planes, like the Corsair 4AU, had been used to patrol the skies. Even getting those in the air required herculean efforts, and pilots often flew without full instrumentation.
“What’s in San Diego?”
“North Island Naval Air Station for one. You got an e-mail through Slipper. Someone hacked the system to send you a love note—of sorts.”
“Someone hacked the system? Again?”
Holt nodded. “Kinda embarrassing, isn’t it?”
“I need the parameters of the hack—”
Holt waved him off. “We’re working on that. Right now, I’m concerned why someone singled you out for this message. Any ideas?”
“Sir, I don’t even know what the message is.”
“It’s short, Jeremy. Just one word: Oatmeal.”
Liam Burr looked out the window of his Brussels office and saw lights. Street lights. Office lights. Traffic lights. Headlights and taillights of cars that could not run a few months ago. People strolled the streets again. Repairs were made to damaged buildings. The city looked as it did this time last year—except for the hovering shadow figures drifting on the night currents.
“Warms the heart, doesn’t it, Mr. Burr?”
Liam turned to see Fred Pierce. He hated the man. He also feared him. During his university days, Liam learned to play poker from an exchange student. He also learned some of the terminology. Pierce was a man with an ace up his sleeve. He said the right things, kowtowed at the appropriate times, and made suggestions that were too much like orders.
“It does. I don’t understand it.”
“Neither do I. Well, not completely. I’m sure our friends had something to do with it.” He stepped to Liam’s side and joined him in his city gazing. “At least the citizens are not asking questions.”
“They should. I would.”
“Yes, sir, but you are several levels smarter than they are. Most people in the world will not question a benefit. They just take it and believe it’s all free.”
Liam studied the man next to him. “And you, Pierce? Are you smarter than they?” He nodded at the scene out his window.
“I like to think so. I’m pretty sure it’s one reason I’m here and not out there.” He turned and took a seat on the sofa in the sitting area. “I’ve spent a lot of years convincing people they need something one of my clients has: shampoo, sport shoes, weight-loss drinks, and clothing. When I became a political consultant, I found the work to be the same. I sell my service to the politician, and then I sell his or her ideas to the voters. People respond the same.” He chuckled. “You know, I used to believe the old maxim, ‘You are the message.’ Ever heard that?”
“I have. You don’t believe it?”
“To an extent, but it’s largely false. The message is the message. The person is just baggage. Take someone running for president. If he wears a nice suit and doesn’t vomit on himself while on camera, people will listen to him. If he has money to run a decent campaign, he stands a chance of getting elected. It’s not just American politics. Let’s face it, people don’t vote for the most qualified, they vote for the least offensive. I can give you a list of politicians who are not smart enough to find their way out of a revolving door.”
“No need.” Liam put his hands behind his back and turned to Pierce. “So now you’re saying I’m stupid?”
Pierce grinned. “No, sir. You’re the exception that proves the fact. In fact, I believe you are the smartest man I’ve ever met.”
“Even smarter than you?”
“By far, Mr. Burr, by far. I’m not brilliant; I’m skilled. There’s a difference. Also, I sacrificed my conscience on the altar of income. Forgive me, but so have you—no, wait. That isn’t quite right. You already had more money than a man can spend. You sacrificed your soul on the altar of power.”
A caldron of fury boiled in Liam’s gut. “You may wish to watch yourself, Signore Pierce.”
“Sometimes honesty is offensive, Mr. Burr. I am what I am because I am brutally honest with myself. I manipulate everyone but myself. It is how I survive. And just to be clear, I fear only two things: failure and that thing in the black hat and coat. He really scares me.” A second later. “He scares you too, but that’s not why you do what you do.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. You know he can bring you more power than you ever imagined. You will become the most powerful man in the world, and I will be the one trumpeting your arrival. I can’t do what you do. It’s not in me. I don’t have the smarts. But you can’t do what I do. You don’t have the skill. Together, we will change the world, and maybe Shade will let us survive. Maybe.”
Liam wearied of the conversation. He didn’t want to argue. He knew he would lose. “Are they ready?”
Pierce stood. “Yes, sir. The
other nine members of the New European Union are waiting for you.”
The conference room was well lit and warm. Tablet computers rested in front of the EU members. Unlike most of the rest of the world, Belgium, Italy, Central Asia, Germany, the Netherlands, Turkey, Denmark, Russia, Iran, and Luxembourg were back in the twenty-first century. Half of the members were not part of the old EU. The addition of Iran, Central Asia, and Russia were inconceivable before the Event, but—at least in Liam’s mind—the EU needed broader horizons. Some had taken to calling the group the Northern United Treaty Organization. The moniker had been first coined by Pierce. “Easier to sell, and it shows a change has been made,” he had said. NUTO was the organizing and governing force for much of Europe and Asia. Every day their influence grew, partly because they were the first to be back online in communications, manufacturing, and food distribution. People thrived wherever NUTO sank its roots. No one knew how, but countries whose leader associated with the group came online faster than those who didn’t. NUTO citizens found life returning to normal; non-NUTO countries continued to suffer from hunger, disease, and anarchy.
“In America, business leaders say people change when it hurts too much to stay the same.” Pierce had sounded proud of the advice and stated it as a proverb proven by centuries of experience. “Do you know when most people quit smoking?” He had asked Liam in a private meeting. “When they’re diagnosed with cancer. Fear of death is a powerful motivator.”
Individually they were not the mightiest countries, but together they formed a formidable unit. Their mysteriously regained electrical, digital, and communications systems melded them into a unified global player. They could produce goods and food while other countries struggled to do so.
Liam walked into the room like a battleship pulling into port—powerful, unstoppable. He looked around the table at the six men, three women, and their aides.
Liam sat at the head of the table as newly elected president of the NUTO.
“I trust everyone is well,” he said in English. He flashed his best winning smile and received polite smiles in return. “I wish to address the idea presented in my brief sent to you last week. Did everyone receive the document?”
Everyone in the group had.
“Very well, with your permission I will summarize, and then we can discuss.” Liam didn’t need their permission and didn’t wait for it. “We are fortunate to be ahead of the rest of the world in our recovery. While most of the world still struggles to return to normal, we are largely there. Still, we have challenges. My country and yours have lost a great deal of data. Processing paperwork from several billion people is impossible. Anyone can claim to be anyone else. We can create New Euros for banks based on recovered records, but most of those records were erased by the aggressive acts of the US and Israel.”
He let the last phrase hang in the air. Computer security experts from several countries had noticed bits of code similar enough to the Stuxnet attack of 2010 that took out so many Iranian centrifuges used to process uranium, code that qualified as a digital fingerprint despite denials by the US and Israel. No one on the continent believed them, certainly not Iran.
“The damage they caused will take years to clear up. Sadly, we cannot unwind the clock. We must deal with what is before us. We owe it to our citizens—to the world. A civilized world operates on information. Banks must be able to distinguish their customers from those claiming to be customers. What is to prevent an unscrupulous person from taking the identity of someone else? What would keep someone from claiming to be me or you? Nothing, my friends. Nothing. We must find a way to identify our citizens quickly and accurately.”
“And you think this RFID chip will help us achieve all of that?” The Russian representative was a brutish man in appearance, a Neanderthal in a suit, but his mind was as sharp as any Liam had encountered.
“I do. Many people have photo IDs, but those are easy to fabricate. We’re already receiving many reports of false identification cards and documents. Of course, that is secondary to the fact that bank records, health records, and just about everything else has been destroyed. Only paper remains. We need a system that will help government, business, banks, medical institutions, schools, and the like get back up to speed quickly. A simple implanting of a radio frequency identification chip under the skin of the hand will facilitate secure business and make certain everyone receives only their share. This way we have a unified set of records. Every purchase, doctor’s visit, and government handout will be recorded on the chip, which can be read with a simple device and uploaded to our new servers.”
“People might object,” the Chinese representative said.
“Yes, some might. That is their choice. Soon, I believe, they will see that this is best for all of humankind. The needs are great. Even now, people are taking unfair advantage of food distribution, collecting multiple times from different distribution facilities and hoarding. This problem will be eased as more and more stores open with food for purchase. Paying with debit cards and checks is still not possible, and frankly, I don’t think we should return to those days. The European Union brought a single currency to its member states. Now we have new members. Imagine the work involved in converting Russian or Chinese currency to the Euro or some other standard.
“Will some consider this an infringement of their right to privacy?” Liam continued. “Certainly, but all of us in this room know there is no innate right to privacy. This is for the greater good. He looked at the Chinese representative, a small man with a big ego. “How many people died from starvation in your country?”
He hesitated before saying, “We are still assessing the problem. In the outlying regions, many died because of the cold. Those in agricultural areas did better. The cities…half a billion maybe. India was worse.”
“That is the problem. There are too many people. Governments and aid organizations must be able to work quickly. This is the best way.”
“Manufacturing will take some time,” said the Belgian. She was petite but known to have a bite.
“A good observation, but I have a surprise for you. There are hundreds of millions of chips just waiting to be used.” Liam enjoyed their confused looks. “A company in North Korea already has a stockpile of the tiny chips. This is not a new idea. It has been talked about in many countries.”
“They will make the chips available to us?” the Chinese rep asked.
“Yes, they will. They were starving even before things went dark. They are in a difficult way. We have what they need.” A dark figure appeared at the back of the conference room. Liam stared for a moment. No one else saw Eli Shade.
Shade was smiling.
32
Donny
Jeremy had seen many aircraft in his career and flown on several, but this was his first time in the rear seat of a USAF F-15E. He had been told the fighter was one of several sequestered in underground hangers. The military couldn’t house all aircraft in hardened, below-grade facilities, but they knew enough to keep some underground. This F-15 had been sheltered in Nebraska. Jeremy was thankful for forward-thinking paranoids.
He had traveled by car to Thurgood Marshall International Airport near Fort Meade, a civilian airport pressed into service. Not that commercial planes were flying these days. The trip across the country passed quickly once Jeremy adjusted to the small confines of the cockpit and the gut-turning takeoff. Thankfully, the pilot showed no desire to give Jeremy the ride of his life. Being a general had its perks.
There had been almost no conversation on the trip. The pilot, an Air Force captain, looked weary. Jeremy didn’t need to ask. Men like him had been on constant duty since the Event. They had seen too much.
From the air, Coronado looked like a vacation spot. Jeremy was pretty sure the view from the ground was less spectacular. As the F-15 banked for approach, Jeremy saw a bay full of small boats. “What’s with the boats, Captain?”
The answer came through Jeremy’s helmet speakers. “Fishing,
General. A lot of people along the coast have taken up fishing to eat. A few of the commercial fishing boats are operating, but most are still out of commission. Not enough parts to go around.”
Jeremy had done his research on San Diego. In some ways, it had fared better than most megacities. The eighth-largest metropolis in the country, it was populated by people in every financial strata and from almost every country in the world. Its mild climate made it one of the most survivable cities. It had one other advantage: It was a military town, and bases were the first to receive power. The Navy operated several bases in the county. San Diego was Navy country.
But they also had their own set of challenges. Population for one and minimal agriculture near the city for another.
North Island Naval Air Base had been one of the busiest of the military installations and had made progress in getting planes into the air. Navy personnel moved around the buildings and aircraft. Most of the aircraft looked as if they hadn’t been moved in nearly a year. They hadn’t.
A sailor in a Humvee waited near the taxiway. The pilot rolled the aircraft from the runway to the tarmac and stopped near a fuel truck. It was good to see more vehicles in operation, disheartening to consider how many gathered dust. Mechanical and electrical supplies trickled in to most bases according to their perceived importance to national security, relief work, and proximity to the warehouses. Some factories were producing parts but at a limited rate. Those in the first areas to receive power had to rebuild much of their equipment, and ironically, they depended on other factories that made the parts.
The man by the Humvee came to attention as Jeremy approached, brought up a salute, and held it until Jeremy responded in like kind. “General, I’m Petty Officer First Class Irwin Dupont. I have been assigned to drive you to your location.” Jeremy noticed the man had a sidearm strapped to his hip. He glanced around the field and saw every sailor was packing. He understood. He still wore one when he went into DC to see his wife.
Digital Winter Page 26