Armchair Safari (A Cybercrime Technothriller)

by Jonathan Paul Isaacs

  Derek reached around the inside of her blouse to undo the bra strap. He started fumbling with the hooks, unable to release the clasp. Lucy pushed herself up to him and kissed him deeply on the mouth, then took her hand and pushed him in the middle of his chest until now Derek had fallen back on the bed. Before he had had time to react, Lucy straddled him so that their hips were pressed together. Now it was Derek’s turn to watch as she reached up behind her back and undid the bra. The cups sagged, and Derek moved his hands up to feel her bare skin. He still couldn’t understand what was happening. He touched her, felt her erect nipples, the flesh behind them, and just felt like he was floating as he closed his eyes.

  She shifted her weight slightly on top of him. Derek felt like his crotch was going to explode—he was being smashed from her sitting on him, not that he didn’t like it, but it just built up that much more tension.

  Opening her eyes, Lucy started unbuttoning Derek’s shirt. She undid the first two up at his chest, and leaned forward and started kissing his neck. Then the next one, and her lips moved down to the center of his pectorals. Two more and she had his shirt undone. She slid her hips down to his thighs and ripped his shirt out from his pants, exposing his bare chest and torso. Derek saw a small smile twist up the side of Lucy’s mouth—he was fit too. Her eyes were shining as she took him in. Then her gaze got down to his abs and stopped cold. The smile slid off her face.

  Derek instantly knew why.

  The wound from where he had been hit in the side by an AK round had long since healed, but the scar that remained was a nasty, brutish reminder of how close he had come to dying in Fallujah. It had cost him a kidney and months in a VA hospital. The gash that remained started from the top corner of his pelvis and weaved in a ragged line up his side. The color had faded from deep red to a healthy pink to flesh colored now, but the texture was wrong; it was new skin that glistened differently in the light, and it stood out like a stoplight even in the dim visibility of the bedroom.

  Lucy stared at the scar intently. After a moment she lifted her head and met his eyes. Again, Derek felt more embarrassment. Why did she have this effect on him, making him always so self-conscious around her?

  She cleared her throat. “Is that... from...?” she asked softly.

  Derek hesitated. Then he nodded.

  She studied the scar for another moment. Derek became afraid that she was going to stand up and walk out.

  And then, swiftly, she bent forward and kissed the top of the scar with her lips, a soft, tender embrace that brushed her mouth against his abdomen and left a moist spot on his skin. Then she moved a little and did it again. And again. Lucy started kissing down the line of the scar, as if she were trying to wish away the hurt from an injured child who had scraped his knee on the sidewalk. Derek felt his throat tighten and his eyes moisten, not knowing or understanding how anyone could pity someone as fucked up as he was.

  Lucy shifted her hips further down past Derek’s knees and kissed down to where the scar met his belt. She glanced up at him and their eyes met for a moment. Then she gently undid the clasp, pulled the straps free, and undid the button of his pants. She kissed over to his navel. Derek watched as she unzipped his fly. She leaned back and started to pull his boxers and trousers down along his thighs. A moment later Derek found himself naked from the waist down, his anatomy standing at full attention.

  They stared at each other for what seemed like forever. Then, slowly, Lucy’s hands went to her own waist and she began to push down her miniskirt, wriggling free of her clothes until soon she too was bare.

  “You’re so beautiful,” said Derek.

  The small smile at the corner of her mouth reappeared. But she didn’t speak. Instead, she shed what remained of her blouse until she was completely nude, with the only covering on her that remained being the layers of tattoos upon her arms.

  Lucy crawled back up onto the bed and slid over Derek until her face was next to his. Her bare body settled down onto his and he could feel the warmth of her skin pressed against his own. She started to kiss him again. He wrapped his arms around her, held her hair in his hands, and just took her in as much as he could as they started to grind against each other. A moment later and he slipped inside of her. Both of their breaths caught for a second and then they moved their bodies in rhythm, together. Derek let his head fall back and closed his eyes, for once not feeling like the abandoned, lonely soul that he was.

  38

  In virtually all major FBI investigations, a significant international nexus develops. To balance the FBI’s interest in addressing the international aspects of its investigations with the requirement to respect the host country’s national sovereignty, the FBI must rely on the capability of the host country’s law enforcement community. This is accomplished through the liaison partnerships developed by the legal attaché and reinforced through elements of the international law enforcement community such as Interpol, the FBI’s National Academy, and numerous working groups, task forces, and training initiatives. These efforts foster interagency cooperation and are extremely productive in the pursuit of traditional law enforcement matters, and even more so as we seek to identify, disrupt, and prosecute terrorists.

  -From Overview of the Legal Attaché Program, International Operations, www.fbi.gov

  San Antonio, Texas.

  Stephen LaRue had already called Beth and let her know he wouldn’t be home for dinner. At least he was in town, not phoning her about another last minute flight he needed to take to an undisclosed location. Instead, he lifted yet another binder off his desk and started flipping through the pages. For an elite cybercrime and counter-threat organization, it was ironic how investigations always seemed to involve huge amounts of paper.

  LaRue preferred it that way, actually. He found it difficult to be constrained to a computer screen when it came to taking in large amounts of information and looking for connections. And that’s what a lot of his work was about within the FBI. Matching patterns. Looking for non-obvious relationships that led to identifying the origin of the threat.

  Such work wasn’t confined to cybercrime. When Pan Am flight 103 exploded over Lockerbie, Scotland in 1988, the ensuing investigation had to dig through countless pieces of wreckage in search of things that would indicate what happened. The flight had luckily—if that description was appropriate—exploded over land instead of the ocean, narrowly avoiding sending any evidence irretrievably to the bottom of the sea. Hundreds of investigators searched with helicopters and on-the-ground sweeps to collect what would eventually amount to over four million pieces of wreckage that were painstakingly reassembled in a nearby airplane hangar. Upon review, investigators found a 20-inch hole in the forward fuselage that appeared consistent with an explosion in the cargo hold. The debris from the nearest baggage container also had blackening and pitting consistent with what would have happened had a high-energy event taken place inside of it.

  At this point the investigators knew they were dealing with a suitcase bomb. The scorch marks and residue became a unifying vector for the lab. Pieces of a Samsonite suitcase with the same telltale signs were gathered and flagged as being the container from which the explosive had exploded. They found shards of a circuit board from a Toshiba cassette player—perhaps innocuous by itself, except that it was similar to how a Semtex bomb seized months earlier by West German police had been concealed. Other fragments of an electronic timer matched those found on a Libyan intelligence officer arrested for transporting Semtex-related materials. Again, patterns. The investigative team started to understand the what and how of what they were dealing with. They needed to lock down on the who.

  The breakthrough had come from an unlikely source. Baby clothes.

  The investigators found a blue infant’s onesie that carried the label Malta Trading Company and determined that it had been inside the suitcase carrying the explosive. Other clothes with similar scorch marks were traced back via the clothing manufacturer to the same retailer on the island
of Malta. Two FBI inspectors visited the store and interviewed Anthony and Paul Gauci, who quickly identified every piece of clothing in question—and were able in some cases to produce identical items still for sale. What was more, Anthony Gauci remembered additional items that he had sold to a male person “speaking the Libyan language,” items that the inspectors had not asked about but that had been identified amongst the wreckage as also having explosive residue. Gauci recalled this particular patron because of the unusual way in which he had shopped, gathering a multitude of items without regard to size, style, or color.

  Meanwhile, the German Bunderkriminalamt had helped the FBI identify the Samsonite bag as item B8849, transferred via connection from Air Malta Flight 103 over to the Pan Am flight at Frankfurt airport. No passenger made the same connection. Investigators from the FBI, Scotland Yard, West Germany, and a half-dozen other countries all worked together to profile the mystery shopper, interview people who had potentially crossed his path, and draw up the evidence to be able to indict. It was difficult to maintain such a broad, international investigation up to every participant’s standards, to say the least. Witnesses were interviewed by each country’s legal system in order for testimony to be admitted locally, and international politics often put pressures on what information would be shared between agencies. Ultimately the bomber was identified as one Abdelbaset Ali Mohmen Al Megrahi, a Libyan agent who was convicted and handed down a life sentence to be served in the United Kingdom.

  That was how the FBI worked. Patterns. And that’s what LaRue was looking at right now.

  Pro-Tem, the company that Netertainment had hired during their Denial of Service attack several weeks ago, had managed to trace a limited amount of the assault back to a few of the origination points during the attack. This was no small feat given how the botnet used falsified IP addresses to mask where the commands came from. But one node appeared to be a chat server based in Europe and used by the attackers in other activities. Once that was established, the FBI ordered an agent to do what any sort of curious person might do: log on and chat.

  The chat transcript was spread out in meticulous order across LaRue’s desk. The FBI agent was masquerading as a hacker named 2nakeS attempting to get back into the DDoS game after a long hiatus. Most of the early stuff didn’t look very valuable. Someone called DarkZeus357 had begun chatting cautiously with 2nakeS, but it was mostly sparring and a little bullying.

  2nakeS: hi there how r u?

  DarkZeus: hi

  2nakeS: u done any more bot attacks?

  DarkZeus: yes a few

  2nakeS: I heard about Der Spiegel, that was pretty good

  DarkZeus: how u know about our work

  2nakeS: word gets around I guess. How long were they down

  DarkZeus: had them down for a few days

  2nakeS: how big did you go? I have some bots

  DarkZeus: we have plenty. Don’t need your help

  The notes indicated that at that point, DarkZeus actually attacked 2nakeS’s chat client with a DoS and the agent had to log off. Interestingly, the logs also showed that at the same time DarkZeus was probing another site: Netertainment, with continued jabs and feints to see what they might be able to get past Pro-Tem.

  After a number of sessions DarkZeus357 appeared to warm up to the idea of helping a fellow hacker and showing off his prowess. 2nakeS worked hard to pump up DarkZeus’s ego, continually praising his skills as they began to talk shop.

  DarkZeus: hi how are you?

  2nakeS: good and u? whats the weather like, its raining a lot over here

  DarkZeus: it always rains where I live hehe

  2nakeS: where r u? I am in Canada

  DarkZeus: I live in the UK

  2nakeS: how old r u?

  DarkZeus: 20. My name is Liam

  2nakeS: I’m Matt. I’m 21. u go to school?

  DarkZeus: no I work. No university level jobs over here anyway

  2nakeS: yeah I worry about work after I graduate too but honestly I make too much money doing ddos hehe

  DarkZeus: =)

  2nakeS: how is business? I took down an online gambling site last week

  DarkZeus: wow how was it

  2nakeS: down for 3 days. Got them to pay 20k

  DarkZeus: congrats

  2nakeS: I tweaked some of the code on that website you showed me. Great reference thx

  DarkZeus: np =)

  2nakeS: you done any lately?

  DarkZeus: 1 or 2

  2nakeS: how much $

  DarkZeus: they didn’t pay

  2nakeS: really?

  DarkZeus: no

  2nakes: r they still down

  DarkZeus: no, ddos got blocked. I understand that yours got thru tho?

  2nakeS: yes

  DarkZeus: u maybe want to write some scripts for us?

  2nakeS: sure

  DarkZeus: I will send you some stuff that we’ve been using for you to take a look at

  2nakeS: great. U write it?

  DarkZeus: no, a friend in Romania

  2nakeS: ok

  DarkZeus sent a dedicated chat client that he had hacked so that they could correspond outside of a public chat room. Perhaps as a gesture of friendship, the account had been set up with the password “2nakeS.” The FBI agent started chatting via the dedicated client, fishing for more information.

  DarkZeus: how r u?

  2nakeS: great! Cold here

  DarkZeus: I like this time of year where I live. Do you have that code ready?

  2nakeS: I have a little more to do still. Don’t worry, I’ll get it to you soon =)

  DarkZeus: I’m not worried =)

  2nakeS: I used some of the scripts you sent over to get started… I see you have like 5 different bots in there. U testing new bots?

  DarkZeus: yes. For big networks

  2nakeS: what’s the biggest bot network you’ve ever used

  DarkZeus: you wouldn’t believe me if I told you

  2nakeS: come on try me

  DarkZeus: 130.000 zombies

  2nakeS: bullshit

  DarkZeus: serious

  2nakeS: are all of those yours?

  DarkZeus: no we had to rent a bunch thru 5socks.net

  2nakeS: wow how much did that cost?

  DarkZeus: a lot hehe

  2nakeS: u guys must be loaded to pull that off. How big was your payoff?

  DarkZeus: they didn’t pay. They blocked it, believe it or not

  2nakeS: you’re kidding

  DarkZeus: no… that’s why need your help altering some of the scripts =)

  2nakeS: so you paid for that rental out of your own pockets?

  DarkZeus: we’ve made good coin through some of our work. Not just ddos.

  2nakeS: like what?

  DarkZeus: hacked credit cards, stuff like that

  2nakeS: wow. U need to teach me!!! =)

  DarkZeus: lol maybe someday. Need to replace our own stuff right now. Same credit cards got turned off so can’t use them any more

  2nakeS: so when I get this script done, how are you going to rent another bot network to use it?

  DarkZeus: we have a plan to get alternate funding. Wait and see =)

  Going through the chat logs made LaRue feel like a Peeping Tom watching some oblivious couple having kinky intercourse. But it took undercover work to get this sort of information and develop a case. At least in the Cyber Crime Unit, LaRue wasn’t being thrown back into the field work of his early career-- blood, assault, drugs, and traumatized victims afraid of getting whacked at any moment.

  Yet for all the progress they were making, the patterns were still not developed. Much of the evidence was circumstantial. LaRue was curious about the mention of alternate funding. What did that mean? Would DarkZeus use his own bot net to extort some smaller businesses and rebuild his reserves? Would he steal more financial account information from somewhere? Whatever he was planning, it sounded like it was big.

  It was getting late in the evening and LaRue found hi
s attention waning. He closed the file and stood up to stretch. He’d continue with fresh eyes tomorrow. Just as important, he had to be patient. It took time to develop a case and it had only been a few weeks since Netertainment had been attacked. LaRue would contact the British and Romanian Legal Attaché offices with what they had around the stolen credit card statements. Maybe they could discern additional connections, but as of right now a casual mention in a chat log didn’t prove anything by itself. The team had to keep searching for corroborating references. They needed more.

  39

  The City of Hamilton, Bermuda.

  It was Tuesday, and Adele Thompson was hard at work at Bermuda Bank of Commerce. Her new employee Benjamin was taking a lot more training than she had bargained for. Ben was as nice as they came, but a bit dim, and normally it would have been out of the question for the bank to hire him. But he was the nephew of the president. That changed things. And while she wasn’t yet sure what she was going to have him do, Adele was pretty confident that it couldn’t be anything to do with money.

  “No, Benjamin, that’s not right,” she corrected as she watched over his shoulder. She was starting him with some of the smaller business accounts, and he was counting one of the cash receipt bags from the night before. My Lord up in heaven, the boy can’t even add. “Check your math again. You’re off by one hundred and eighty dollars.”

  Benjamin paused, as if the idea of having to repeat math required some sort of special deliberation. Then, slowly he moved the bundle of bills back to the right and started counting again.

  Adele watched. It was painful. The boy moved slowly, one bill at a time, putting tens and twenties into separate piles like she had taught him. Then he picked up the twenties and started counting them. When he finished with those he typed the total into the calculator, and moved on to the tens. So far, so good. No—scratch that. He was off by ten. Now he was into the fives and counting those. He was slowing down, as if somewhere in that foggy brain of his there was a realization that something was amiss, but then he shook his head as if to deter an annoying insect and continued to plow along. He missed one of the fives, too. Did the boy just have a missing number in his mathematical vocabulary? Was it like how the number thirteen was always absent in elevators belonging to tall buildings? Adele watched as he moved into the ones, started counting... stopped... then went backwards to start again.