Supervirus

by Andrew W. Mitchell

  He returned to his folder and dismissed the thought from his mind.

  ALERT AT JOINT FORCES COMMAND

  Near Denver, Colorado

  Earlier that day

  It was before dawn and General Jose Carrillo was on his way to the base. So much for holiday vacation. At least it was after Christmas. And hopefully it would be taken care of by New Year's. But the closer he got to the base, the more Carrillo started to feel he was dealing with a challenge beyond his abilities. It started with the coffee.

  It was tough being away from his family so often. Yet his family was precisely the reason he worked so hard. He pondered this riddle every day: mothers and fathers toil away to raise and protect their children, who grow up and repeat the cycle.

  He pulled out of the driveway. He thought of a moment the day before, when he had been in his cozy den, basking in the warm afterglow of Christmas with his family. His wife was snuggled in blankets, napping on the sofa. Carrillo sat next to her. Carrillo's octogenarian mother rocked silently in a chair by the fire. His youngest son — who, at seven, was by far his youngest child and a feat of biology to be Carrillo's son at their ages — rolled in pajamas at her feet. She asked him in a highly accented English, Tell me, Joey Carrillo, what are you going to be when you grow up? And he said, I'm not sure... maybe a herpetologist? And Carrillo and his mother looked at each other and laughed. They didn't know what a herpetologist was. And what's that, Joey? she asked. Oh, that's someone who studies reptiles and amphibians.

  He smiled as he drove. Joey already knew things that he didn't. Carrillo got wiser with age, but the younger generation grew up smarter, and he was left protecting a world that was changing under his feet, one that he couldn't fully understand anymore. It was difficult, but it was the only way.

  His thoughts drifted to the purpose of his drive. He had the entire drive to think about what they had told him on the phone. What had they told him on the phone? He reached for his coffee thermos to wake himself up.

  There was no thermos. He looked down from the wheel: no thermos. He had forgotten to bring it with him. Did I make coffee this morning? he asked himself.

  A chill went up his spine. He couldn't remember. He could remember getting the phone call, showering quickly, putting on his uniform, running downstairs... He knew he had walked through the kitchen. And he made coffee every morning. But he simply couldn't remember whether he had taken the time — at least a minute — to make coffee ten minutes ago.

  The more he tried to remember, and couldn't remember, the more panicked he became. Sweat broke out on his brow. It was the second time this month that he had forgotten his thermos this way. Am I losing my memory? He was beginning to suspect that he was. He was a little young for his memory to start failing him, but it had to happen sooner or later. He hadn't told anyone about it.

  He focused on the road. Keep your cool, General. No one cares whether you made coffee. There is coffee at the base. Now let's think about that attack. He remembered everything they had told him about the attack.

  This attack was unusual. The computer network of the U.S. Department of Defense was under attack. That was nothing new. Thousands of attacks occurred against the DoD network on a continuous basis, of all imaginable shapes and sizes, from all corners of the globe. The number of attacks originating from China alone on a given day was mind-boggling.

  And many of the attacks, such as the one that was bringing him to the base, were able to get into the Defense computer network, at least partway. That was nothing new either. Securing the Defense network was an ongoing race — a race that the defenders inevitably lost sometimes. New vulnerabilities in Microsoft Windows and Unix systems were discovered on a daily basis. Whenever that happened, hackers around the globe started launching attacks to exploit and explore the new vulnerability. Meanwhile, the DoD, Microsoft, and the open source computing community developed patches to be installed on computers and remove the vulnerabilities. It was a race, between the patch and the attack, and sometimes the attack got there before the patch.

  Carrillo pulled up at the JFCOM compound, and showed his ID at the checkpoint.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He parked his Jeep, headed in, and was briefed.

  “This is crazy,” he said. “The attacks are originating from America?”

  “That is correct, sir. We have identified a small number of IP addresses from which the attacks are originating.”

  “That makes no sense,” he mused. “Why would such a good attacker leave an obvious trace like this? We're going to have them in no time.”

  Most probably, the attackers were actually located outside the U.S. and hijacking computers in the U.S. to launch attacks from those computers. But a skilled attacker would at least cover his tracks better by using more IP addresses, minimizing his visibility and making it harder to trace the attacks back to his real location.

  “Yes, probably, sir. If he stays put long enough.”

  “Is he that fast?”

  His briefer hesitated. “The attacks used a variety of exploits. Some of them little-known. And they came rapidly. I personally don't think I've ever seen an attack this good.”

  “But he hasn't hit any mission-critical systems?” The Department of Defense layered and compartmentalized its defenses, with the so-called Defense in Depth strategy, so attackers had to breach many layers of defense to get to critical systems.

  “No, sir. Our intrusion detection systems identified attacks between 0500 and 0530 hours and then they stopped.”

  “So what's the point?” He paused. “Could this be a script kiddie?” A kid with an unusual skill for hacking.

  “Frankly, sir, script kids usually have only one exploit at a time.”

  “Right. It looks like recon. For a big attack on our inner layers. But then why would they let us see them?”

  The question hung in the air.

  “There is one idea that keeps occurring to me, sir.” He coughed. “Someone could be challenging us. A signal.”

  He held his head in his hand. “Of course. A signal. Or a test.” Carrillo got up and started pacing. He pondered the timing of the events. Could a terrorist attack be on the way? It was almost New Year's. The Western New Year, that was. The Chinese New Year came later. “When will we have a location?”

  “We're working on it, sir.”

  Carrillo dismissed him and sat back at his desk.

  Who are they and what are they doing, he kept asking himself. Carrillo was waiting for answers. What to make of this strange attacker, who had penetrated their outer systems — easily — and then stopped?

  He had been making frequent visits to the Control Room, to stay connected to what was going on. But they didn't have a positive ID on the threat, and they didn't work as productively when he was breathing down their necks. So he limited his presence in the Control Room to regular visits, and returned to his office in the meantime and thought and waited.

  At the desk he jotted notes and asked himself, Is there a threat here? It was a strange question. The usual questions were: How big is the threat? How much damage has been done? Did it touch critical systems? Where did it come from? What was the motive? Should we consider retaliation, or sending it up the chain for some other reason?

  In this case, the question was, Is this an attack? Is it a threat?

  The General was a man of intellectual discipline. He was not afraid to ask tough questions. And there was a tough question here. Getting it wrong could hurt the Department, the country, his career, or some combination thereof.

  This was when the General, waiting and thinking, giving the Control Room time to come up with something, asked himself a philosophical question. What is an attack? More specifically, Can the power to attack, without a motive, be an attack? Because that was what Carrillo was looking at: the power to attack, without a clear motive and no damage done to date.

  The extensive philosophy and terminology of the DoD had an answer to this question: the power to atta
ck, all by itself, was a “threat.” The capability to attack is a threat. But that's not what I mean, Carrillo thought, tapping his desk. A threat was something that could happen, but this had already happened.

  He decided that there was no choice: when in doubt, you had to consider it an attack. A threat was like a message, or a signal. But if you didn't understand the signal, you were under attack.

  His briefer returned in a hurry. “This is worse than we thought, sir. Looking bad. This morning the attacks didn't stop, like we thought. They changed their signature. They — it — has been spreading for a while now.”

  It looked like a computer virus, spreading from computer to computer. But it kept changing, trying different techniques, like a hacker. It looked like a rapidly mutating computer virus. It had spread onto the outermost computers of the Defense network and was moving to more secure networks.

  “Is this a program or a human?”

  “We don't know, sir. We've never seen an example of either one being able to do this.”

  “How far?”

  “We're not exactly sure, sir. The signature keeps changing. We are working on it. But it's going far, sir. Really far. It's walking through.” His voice quivered a little. He was shaking.

  “What's it doing on these machines?”

  “It's using CPUs and communicating with other infected systems. We're working on it.”

  “How soon will you have an answer?”

  “Hopefully within an hour, but I can't guarantee it.”

  Carrillo took a deep breath. He had already decided what he had to do. “Let me get this straight. It's walking through the whole network. We're not sure what the extent is. We're not sure where it came from, and we're not sure what it's doing.”

  “That is correct, sir. We hope to answer some of those questions soon.”

  “In your opinion, how much damage could this attack cause?”

  “Sir, we're not sure of the threat.”

  “Right. What's the worst case?”

  “It could take down large portions of the network.”

  “You're referring to the Defense network, correct? It could take down large portions of the entire Department of Defense network, Pentagon, CENTCOM.”

  “Yes, sir. For all we know. We don't know for certain, but it looks quite powerful.”

  He looked to the side. For all we know was exactly the point, echoing his earlier thoughts. “We're going Code Red. Do you copy?”

  There was a pause. “Yes, sir.”

  “That's Code Red. Give Code Red. I'm calling the Secretary,” he said, walking to the corner and picking up a red phone. “He's going to want to know what this is.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He's going to want to know whether we should alert the President.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I need a report ASAP. Ten minutes. What it's doing, and where it's coming from.”

  PREETI AND KOGINKA

  11 hr 59 min to Birth

  Preeti had her legs crossed, eyes closed, and hands folded in her lap. She was resolutely detaching her mind from the environment of the cabin. Her thoughts were directed back toward the U.S.

  She was trying to connect in her thoughts with the Divine Mother, and Koginka.

  But she could not share this with anyone. For weeks, she had been wondering what to say to Kenny. She and Kenny were growing apart. He knew it, as she did. The more she studied under Koginka, the further apart she and Kenny became. She was on a journey, a path he did not want to take, on which he did not want to follow her and which wasn't meant for him. What could she possibly tell him? And some of the things she was learning — he would have thought they were crazy. She knew that. She knew they sounded crazy, and they sounded crazy to her, too, sometimes. She believed in Koginka. She felt the Divine Mother through him, and she trusted him. She knew Kenny wouldn't believe her; no one would believe her. And she was sworn to secrecy. There were dark forces among them, shapeshifters that were running the government, and the media, sucking the life-force from people. She knew it sounded crazy. Kenny would think she had lost her mind.

  And now Kenny was helping the government. She had thought about that. She felt like the victim of cosmically bad luck. But it was not a surprise. He had always worshiped technology. She had been so frustrated to discover that her fate — this beautiful path of discovery that had changed her life — had pitted her against her boyfriend. Why did Kenny have to work for technology, and now for the government? Kenny had been one of the few people in her life she trusted, and now her trust in him was deteriorating.

  Now she was on a government plane, going to a government base. She had been terrified at first. That morning had been her worst nightmare, finding herself faced with government people, surrounded by darkness. But she was starting to think that there was a rhyme and a reason to it all. It was not irony, or bad luck, that she was wrapped up in the government. It was meant to be. She wasn't sure why, but she felt that there had to be a reason she was thrust into the darkness.

  She tried not to be afraid. Everything happened for a reason. She remained strong, and tried to reach Koginka in her thoughts.

  Loxahatchee National Wildlife Refuge,

  outside Fort Lauderdale, FL

  Twenty or thirty women sat in a ring on the floor, in the center of a lodge inside the state park. The interior of the building, normally used for Boy Scout meetings, had been redecorated with hangings, rugs, and incense. Preeti would have been at this gathering, if she had not been on a plane to Fort Tortuga with Kenny and the rest.

  Each woman had in front of her a mesa — a piece of cloth, about the size of a placemat, with crystals and beads attached to it. The crystals on each mesa were connected to spirits. Each of these women meditated over her mesa at least once a day to connect with the Spirit World.

  There was a white man in the circle, the group's guru (although he avoided the term “guru”), who went by the name Koginka Xua Salvador. Koginka was known to the group as a man with profound spiritual powers. They knew he had the ability to connect directly to the Divine Mother, to cut karmic ties that individuals have with past lives, to talk to animals, to read what a person has written in a journal without having looked inside it. They knew he had clairvoyant insight, even about people he had not met.

  At a previous meeting of the group, he had once asked: “Do you think it is a coincidence that all of you, here in connection with the Divine Mother, are women?” It was not at all a coincidence, he had explained. “The energy of the world is imbalanced. All around us, the spirit of the Divine Mother is being killed by patriarchy. We must do our work to address this imbalance.”

  The “work” that the group did, like the group itself, had no formal name. But the work involved chanting and praying for long hours, with little sleep. The group met to do this work when Koginka perceived a crisis in the spirit, a need to protect the Divine Mother. At such times, he would call the group together and they would do their work for days or a week.

  On that day, at 4:45 p.m. EST, as the plane with Preeti and the others approached Fort Tortuga, Koginka welcomed the group by saying:

  “You all know why we're here.” They were there because they believed that, with the coming of that New Year, the world would end according to a prediction of the Maya calendar.

  Several weeks prior, Preeti had met a girl named Lindsay, who worked in the natural health aisle at a Whole Foods not far from Kenny's house in Cambridge.

  “I will seek permission from Koginka,” Lindsay had said.

  Preeti was instantly attracted to Lindsay because Lindsay was not only a yoga teacher, like herself, but also had training in a wide variety of forms of natural healing. In the course of their conversation, Lindsay revealed that she had had a difficult past that involved drug abuse and a hyper-intense sexual life. Yet she struck Preeti as a perfect model of how to be centered and calm.

  Lindsay attributed her recovery and her current spiritual peace to a shamanic t
raining program that was run by Koginka. She told Preeti about a workshop that Koginka was running soon, and Preeti decided to go along with Lindsay. Preeti learned that, even though Koginka is a white man, his teachings are a reflection of the Kogi people of South America, a small and old-fashioned clan that shuns contact with the outside world and which appears to be in danger of extinction.

  Before Preeti could attend the workshop, Lindsay explained, Lindsay would have to seek permission on Preeti's behalf from Koginka, with whom she was in contact, since he was, after all, her guru. The next day Lindsay came back with a response.

  “It is your destiny to attend the workshop,” she reported happily. “Koginka told me that you are destined to be his student.”