Alcatraz
Dusk saw a group of eight warriors, fully outfitted with the weapons of their choice and other tactical gear, standing adjacent to the southeast dock. They checked themselves and each other over, making sure nothing had been forgotten. Their mission was simple: destroy the New Society.
Rick shook Seyfert’s hand. “You sure? Your leg okay now?” Rick pointed at the SEAL’s bullet wound from many weeks ago.
“Yeah, it’s good. I’m more concerned with the folks I don’t know,” he said so only Rick could hear him. Seyfert looked over his shoulder at the four new guys who would be watching his back on this mission.
“Dallas and McInerney swear they’re good,” Rick told his friend. “But Pitt agrees, and that should sell them.”
Seyfert nodded. “We’ll see. MARSOC, Army, and two civvies.” The SEAL shook his head and gave Rick a sideways glance. “A couple years ago, I wouldn’t have even considered taking civilians with me. Some dumbass convinced me otherwise.”
Both men smiled.
Seyfert squinted at Rick’s father and daughter, who had shown up with a group of others. Sam went to talk to the new kids, who were hugging the giant, Ship, and his friends.
“What are you doing here, Pop?” Rick asked his dad.
“Making sure your dumb ass doesn’t get on any boats,” Paul answered, and folded his arms. All three men smiled again.
Sam looked up at the new people. She spoke to the one who didn’t have a short haircut, “You’re the one who helped Dallas, right?”
The man smiled and shook his head. “We helped each other. Dallas is good people.”
Sam didn’t smile. She glared across the bay at the shadow of San Francisco, dread filling her. When she turned her gaze back to the man, he was still smiling. “Please be careful. A lot of people don’t come back when they go in there.” She nodded toward the city. She didn’t know why, but suddenly she was hugging the new guy.
“Are you kidding?” he asked. “Have you seen this guy?” It was his turn to nod and he threw a glance at his huge friend. “Zombies are afraid of him.” He cupped one hand next to his mouth and said in a loud whisper, “So am I.” He winked at her, and she did smile. “We’ll be careful, I promise.”
“It’s time,” Pitt announced.
More handshakes, some hugs, and not a few kisses were transferred as the eight men boarded a fishing boat.
Both sides waved as the vessel pulled away.
Sam put her hand in her father’s. “Thanks for not going this time.”
“Hey, I promised I would come back from Boston, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did.”
The orange glow from the west winked out as the sun settled beneath the waves.
“I always keep my promises, kid.”
“Do they?” she asked and pointed to the departing boat.
Epi-prologue
There are four common definitions of a virus. The first definition is probably what most English speakers envision when they hear the word: An ultramicroscopic, metabolically inert, infectious agent that replicates only within the cells of living hosts, composed of an RNA or DNA core, a protein coat and, in more complex types, a surrounding envelope.
A disease. That’s the second, informal definition.
The third meaning is: a corrupting influence on morals or the intellect; poison.
The fourth and final listing in Webster’s is: a segment of self-replicating code planted illegally in a computer program or system, often to damage or shutdown a system or network.
Near the end of the twentieth century, a group of computer geniuses working for a private military company created a computer worm. It was a virus that was specifically designed to attack programmable logic controllers; the software that controls the automation of electromechanical processes. Stuxnet was the name given to the virus.
Another group of geniuses took Stuxnet and mutated it. They re-wrote some code such that Stuxnet would do worse things than bother the processes of an assembly line computer, or the software that turns streetlights red. Why couldn’t the virus disrupt the spin cycles of centrifuges used to enrich uranium in Iran? Or shut down the power grid for the southeastern portion of Pakistan? Why couldn’t it make the fuel rods in a nuclear submarine stop cooling?
Several iterations of the worm came and went as did the names of the worm itself. The destruction mounted, especially with the different uses for the virus. No matter the variances of the weapon, or what it was used to destroy, one thing was always the same: the delivery system. There was only one way to infect a closed system with the worm. Someone had to use some type of storage media; a flash drive, a compact disc, a memory card, to upload the virus into a system not connected to the internet. Someone not friendly to whatever system needed to be corrupted. A spy.
The problem with spies is that, inevitably, they get caught.
The last group of geniuses to play with the virus, which had evolved far beyond the original Stuxnet, worked solely on the delivery system. They needed to find a way to infect a closed system with the worm from afar. Initially, they tried radio waves and microwaves, both of which were successful, but both of which were easily detected and thwarted. There was an attempt at using photons, but that never panned out. A biochemist came up with an idea at an impromptu meeting of the minds in a burger joint at two in the morning: what if brainwaves could be used? What if a person’s brainwaves could be infected with the worm and they could unknowingly carry the virus into whatever installation was on the target menu?
So, the smart folks worked. And worked and worked. It was challenging and it was fun. Furthering the efforts of those that had come before them, they figured out how to attach the viral payload to a human subject using virtually any electronic device. Furthermore, the subject could infect any electronic device merely by standing in close proximity to it. Once infected, the subject suffered no ill effects and was completely unaware they were carrying the virus. Using human brainwaves as a carrier, the subject could and did infect anything that was targeted. Because the delivery system worked using beta wave bursts, the upload was almost instantaneous. The scientists stopped calling the transition of the virus an upload and began referring to it as The Graft.
The final iteration of the virus was called Abaddon. It was the pinnacle of virus technology. The ultimate code. It could shutdown anything and it did.
What happens when someone creates the best of something? A new shampoo, a new toy, a new car? Someone else must make a better one. In the case of a computer virus, someone must create an antivirus.
The National Security Agency Cyber Division decided to quit screwing around when closed government and military computer systems began displaying symptoms of infection. The NSA recruited a new army of computer geniuses from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and a small, private software company and put them to work. In months, they had a working prototype of an antivirus, with the same beta wave delivery system that Abaddon used. In a twist of karmic genius, the name given to the antivirus program was Rama.
Trials began in a small town in Massachusetts. Some infected technology was uninfected and things looked good. The idea was to kill the virus with the antivirus. If Abaddon struck, Rama struck back. Theoretically, if your car won’t start? Abaddon had infected it. Car stars now? Rama fixed it. Early-warning missile detection system infected? Rama to the rescue. Where Abaddon was designed to shut things down, Rama was developed to either prevent the initial attack, or start an infected system back up again.
It worked.
When the infected system was jump-started, the antivirus would then seek out resources to repair the damaged system, appropriating any extra power or code needed to wipe out any traces of Abaddon.
A meeting was called about the fate of Rama at Vantel, the research company which had been employed to help sort out an antivirus. Vantel had the resources from private sector contacts that a university, no matter how prestigious, didn’t. Several of the high-level sta
ff that had been working tirelessly perfecting the antivirus were to present their product prototype to their clients: the NSA and the US Army. Twelve people sat around a beautiful mahogany table in very expensive wheeled chairs. Drs. Crisp, Copper, and Childs represented the Vantel Corporation. Nauls, Bennings, Palmer, Clark, and Fuchs from the NSA were present, as were Major Gary and Colonels MacReady and Windows from the US Army. The last of the twelve sat at the far end of the gorgeously polished table, keeping to himself. He had arrived with the clients, but hadn’t been introduced.
One of the scientists who had initially worked on the source code for Rama, Dr. Donald Copper, had also stepped in to perfect the delivery system. The doctor voiced some trepidations at the client meeting about hijacking unsuspecting people’s beta waves and using their brains as vectors for an antivirus. He stated that once an individual was infected with Rama, they couldn’t be uninfected. There was no way to remove the antivirus from a host. The military and three-letter alphabet agencies involved countered with the fact that infection of a human didn’t matter. There were no side effects. Moreover, should a person carrying Rama move near any type of vulnerable system, they would immediately transfer the code to that system, inadvertently protecting the system from Abaddon.
Copper countered by theorizing that the Rama infected person would not only infect any machines with a programmable logic controller, but all machines with any type of computer code. In addition, any infected human being that approached another human being would immediately infect them and so on and so forth. With Rama also being able to be transmitted via microwaves, radio, cellular service and television signals, the scientist told his superiors and his clients that should Rama escape into the general populace, the entire population of the planet would be infected in a matter of days, maybe hours.
Former Colonel Nauls, (U.S. Army ret.) now of the NSA, glanced at Dr. Copper after Copper had informed the board of his hypothesis and asked, “But that’s good, right?”
Bennings and Norris agreed, stating once Rama was everywhere, Abaddon would be extinct. Drs. Childs and Crisp, two more of the computer scientists, spoke out against Copper, a man they had worked with for years. They said that Rama was a good thing. A necessary evil to combat a worse evil. “Plus,” Crisp added, “there are no side effects. Relax, Donald, this will work.”
“I know it works, that’s what scares me!”
“Donald, please,” began Childs, “there’s no need to—”
The man at the corner end of the table sat up in his chair, interrupting Childs by moving. Everyone looked at him and suddenly the room was very quiet. “I would like to hear what the good doctor has to say.”
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“You may call me Brooks.”
Colonel MacReady cleared his throat and spoke to Copper, “Don’t worry about him, just continue.”
“Mr. Brooks, gentlemen, I think Rama is dangerous. We don’t have enough data to release this program. Yes, it does what it’s designed to do, but do we really want to infect machines and people with this?” Copper had used the word “infect” like it was something dirty. “We should acquire some volunteer test subjects and perform as many tests as we can think of.”
“While Abaddon runs amok?” Norris asked, incredulous. He continued as if he were speaking to a child, “I think not, Dr. Copper. Tomorrow could see us vulnerable to a missile attack from any number of hostile nations, or one of our power grids could shut down, or maybe a jetliner will crash into the White House. No, Doctor, we need this as soon as possible.”
“Rama is ready for trials now,” Crisp volunteered. “We just need something to try it on other than what we have here.”
Copper noticed Brooks make an almost imperceptible nod to MacReady. MacReady stood up, immediately followed by Colonel Windows and Major Gary. “Doctors, the United States Government thanks you for your hard work and the service you’ve done for your country. We no longer have need of your services. Your staff will be moved from this facility back to MIT within the hour. You have the rest of the day to clear out your desks. No electronic media will be allowed out of the facility and personal media will be confiscated and replaced by week’s end. Your security clearances will be revoked at the end of the day, so don’t dally.”
“What?” Childs and Copper stood. “That’s ridiculous! We’ve dedicated half a year to this project!”
“And you will kindly notice quite a large sum in your bank accounts that wasn’t there previously,” MacReady stated. “This is in addition to the funds paid to Vantel. Your staff has also been compensated according to their level of contribution. Again, thank you, gentlemen.”
Macready stuck his hand out to Crisp, who stood and shook it. Childs was beginning to get irate, but Copper looked scared. Childs began to raise his voice and put his hand on Crisp’s shoulder. Childs felt a hand on his shoulder and spun to see who had touched him.
“Doc, it’s done,” Brooks informed him, turned, and strode from the office. The NSA men followed him out without another word. The military men began to shake hands with each other and Crisp. Crisp looked at Childs. “Was there something else, Alan?”
Childs, defeated, answered softly, “No.”
The Vantel and MIT staff were escorted from the building at 4:48 PM the day of the meeting. Except for Crisp, he was nowhere to be seen and when the staff asked their soldier escorts where he was, they would only say that he would meet them at MIT. Every single staff member was incensed. They were pulled, some quite literally, from their labs and put on a bus. They were not allowed to take cell phones, tablets, MP3 players, or any other type of media storage device, even if it had been personal property.
Doctor Copper feigned anger, but in actuality, he was terrified. Doctor Copper was scared because he was a thief. He had stolen one thing in his entire life and the pilfering had happened a half an hour before the client meeting and before he was forcibly put on the bus back to MIT. The purloined item was a hard drive the likes of which this computer expert had never seen. A crystal-based storage system that he wasn’t even supposed to know about. The drive had an immense capacity, but only one item was stored on it.
The bus arrived at the Cambridge campus just before seven in the evening (traffic). The staff and scientists scattered, all moving into various buildings. Copper made a break for it with his prize. He had no idea what to do with his small, lead-lined box, he just knew he couldn’t get caught with it. He walked briskly toward the Kendall Square T subway station. He reached the station at 7:18. It was a Friday, so the place was packed with people looking to move about the city or travel home to the suburbs.
Copper moved toward the restroom through the throng of folks waiting for the train. It took him a moment to get there. Pushing open the door, he strode across the blue floor, shouldered the backpack he had been carrying, and stood in front of a urinal to relieve himself. He put his hand against the cool yellow tiles as he urinated a day’s worth of terror onto the porcelain. Feeling better, he zipped up and heard the door to one of the stalls open. Thinking nothing of it, he moved to wash his hands. The automatic faucet turned on when his hands moved in front of the small green sensor. The water was cooler than the tile and he had a moment to wonder if the faucet could be infected by Abaddon and Rama before he looked in the mirror.
Brooks was standing behind him. The man shook his head in disgust. “Dumb, Doc. Just dumb.”
Copper, wide-eyed, spun to face the newcomer and felt something punch him in the stomach. At the same time, he heard an odd sound and pain flooded his abdomen. He fell against the sinks and put his hand to his middle. It came away bloody and he looked up at Brooks, who was holding a small pistol with an extremely long barrel.
“Suppressor.” Brooks raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Pretty cool, huh?”
Copper threw his backpack at the assassin, who deftly caught it and fired twice more at the now fleeing man, missing both shots. The doctor made it to the door and out, but t
here was no place to go. A train was pulling away, but the station was still overcrowded with people. Copper limped to the left and jumped down on the tracks, running as fast as his damaged body would carry him. Hot, sticky blood streamed from the wound onto his crotch and leg. The pain had subsided a bit, but it still hurt like hell.
The tunnel lights threw an eerie white glow, but it was enough that he could see by. Lungs burning, he ducked into a pitch-black alcove and tried to catch his failing breath. He pressed his left hand to his wound, which was about an inch to the left of his belly button. It didn’t feel as bad to him as he thought a gunshot wound should. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the small box and clutching it hard.
“It wasn’t in the backpack, Doc, where is it?”
Copper froze, terrified, his mind frantically seeking avenues of escape. “Give me that and I’ll let you go,” Brooks promised, pointing toward the hand holding the box. Not that Copper could see him pointing, in the darkness. The white lights from the tunnel illuminated the killer with an outline that looked like a full-body halo. His head looked all wrong. “You’ve got a .22 slug in you, but it isn’t as bad as you think. Give me the box and I’ll get you to the hospital, we can work this out.”
“How…how can you see me in here?”
He tapped his head twice with his index finger. “Night vision. The box?”
Copper passed the box to Brooks but dropped it and it opened. The man with the gun bent down, keeping his eyes on Copper, closed the box, and picked it up. A train was approaching down the tracks. Brooks had to raise his voice over the sound of the oncoming train. “We use .22s ‘cause they really don’t make a lot of noise when suppressed. Thanks for this, Doc.” He held up the small case, shaking it. Then he held up his pistol.
The train riders noticed no muzzle flashes as they thundered down the tracks. The suppressor took care of those. Even if the massive vehicle wasn’t as loud as it was, no one would have heard the five suppressed rounds leaving the barrel of the weapon unless they were very close and even then, your average citizen wouldn’t have realized what the sounds were.
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