Cyber Attack

by Bobby Akart

  Abigail appeared very confident on stage and was receiving exuberant rounds of applause. She completed the domestic policy portion of her speech and was now in the middle of her foreign policy presentation.

  “What is the difference between cyber terror and killer terror? Nothing, my friends! We cannot stand idly by as China and Russia escalate their military activity around the world and use cyber warfare against us. The Russians claim the Arctic belongs to them. But the Chinese think our computer servers, intellectual property and user data belongs to them! Why? Because we don’t do anything to stop them!

  “I submit to you cyber warfare is the fourth dimension of conventional warfare alongside our military’s land, air and sea capabilities. Cyberspace enables our enemies to attack us without declaring victory or leaving fingerprints. If China, Russia, Syria or ISIS was running around America strapping explosives to the desktop computers of our nation’s businesses, governmental offices or critical infrastructure, the media and the American public would be screaming for retaliation.

  “My fellow Americans, cyber attacks are every bit the existential threat as nuclear proliferation because every rogue state possesses this capability. A well-coordinated cyber attack would cost trillions of dollars to our economy and, more importantly, significant loss of life. It is a double-edged sword that favors the weak over the strong. It is a matter of time before our enemies use their cyber capabilities to move beyond identity theft or espionage. A devastating attack could cause damage to our power grid and bring our nation to its knees. Therefore, I submit to you we are in the midst of a twenty-first-century war—World War C. We need to come together as a nation and stand strong against our enemies!”

  Morgan was enjoying the spectacle. Abigail was a superstar and the naysayers would come around. Bill Clinton leaned back and smiled. He mouthed one word, wow. This was a pretty good endorsement from one of the best orators in the modern era.

  “I believe in an America where all individuals are in control of their own lives and no one is forced to sacrifice his or her values for the benefit of others. As a freedom-loving people, we should not be restrained from expressing or communicating our beliefs in front of others. Further, our economic liberties should not be infringed upon as we all try to make a better life for ourselves. We should never be restrained from advancement.”

  Morgan knew Abigail was in her element now as she entered into her stump speech.

  “Our country was founded upon principles we all hold true in our hearts today. The Constitution is our only protection against a heavy-handed government. If the Constitution is not followed and honored, then the power of the federal government goes unrestrained. Once the federal government gains a foothold, it is extremely difficult to reverse that trend. Freedom is the bedrock of our society. Freedom is what makes our great nation exceptional—and our freedoms are under attack, both here and abroad!

  “I believe all of my fellow Americans should be free to live their life as they want to live it. It doesn’t matter what the color of your skin is or who you want to marry. As Americans, you should have a choice free from governmental interference or the judgment of others. When given a choice, my fellow Americans, I urge you to Choose Freedom!”

  Morgan looked around the arena and noticed everyone standing. The crowd was electrified and with every mention of the phrase Choose Freedom, the crowd amped it up and repeated the phrase until Abbie calmed them down. She had command of the crowd.

  “Finally, and most importantly, our Founding Fathers would be appalled at the state of legislative affairs in Washington. I am a direct descendant of John Adams and John Quincy Adams, and I believe they would call upon our nation to achieve unity as Americans. In 1789, John Adams, the second president of the United States, predicted today’s sad state of affairs in Washington.” Abigail looked in his direction. Morgan was extremely proud of his daughter—and so would their Adams ancestors.

  “He said, ‘There is nothing which I dread so much as a division of the republic into two great parties, each arranged under its leader, and concerting measures in opposition to each other. This, in my humble apprehension, is to be dreaded as the greatest political evil under our Constitution.’ Wise words spoken by President Adams over two hundred years ago are frighteningly accurate today.

  “If we could set aside our political differences and simply talk to each other, we might realize our distinctions aren’t as vast as we have been led to believe. I firmly believe our divisiveness comes not from our disagreements about policy, but from our attempts to force those beliefs on those who don’t agree. The pundits talk about the big tent—a coalition that accommodates people who have a wide range of beliefs. I submit to you, unless all of us find a way to live together under such a big tent, our country will continue to suffer.

  “I stand with all of you in this fight. I hope to continue together in the task of repairing and revitalizing our great nation. So, with the support of my family, my colleagues and the lovely people of America, I proudly accept your nomination to become the next Vice President of the United States!”

  Morgan watched as Abigail stood back from the microphone and waved to the crowd, who were on their feet, roaring with approval. The chant of Abbie, Abbie, Abbie intensified around her. Team Clinton was all smiles and seemed very pleased at their choice.

  My daughter will make an excellent president someday—soon.

  Chapter 37

  July 29, 2016

  The Boston Herald Editorial Board

  Conference Room

  Boston, Massachusetts

  “So what’s the good news?” Joe Sciacca asked a decidedly sleepy group of editors. After a moment, there was no answer, so Sciacca continued.

  “Throughout my career, numerous individuals have approached me with the question—why doesn’t the media report any good news? Have you guys noticed that?”

  Julia watched a few attendees nod their heads.

  Sciacca continued. “I can honestly say, for the first time in my career, there is very little good news to report.”

  “The Red Sox won both games of the doubleheader yesterday,” replied a voice from the back of the room.

  Julia squirmed in her chair a little bit as the butterflies flew in her abdomen. So did I. She really loved Sarge.

  “There is that. Otherwise, let’s take a look at some facts.” Sciacca opened his laptop and produced a series of facts and figures and projected them on the wallboard.

  “First category is world financial. That’s you, Sandra. Go!”

  Sandra Gottlieb began to read the list of figures. “Ratio of world debt to GDP is three hundred forty-eight percent, up from one hundred eighty-six percent the year before.”

  “This figure has doubled,” interrupted Sciacca. “Continue.”

  “Puerto Rico, California and New York defaulted on their bond obligations,” read Gottlieb.

  “They requested a bailout,” said Sciacca. “They didn’t get one because the federal government can’t afford it. California is, excuse me, was the sixth largest economy in the world. Now the state is bankrupt.” He paused, so Gottlieb continued.

  “The stock market is down to a little over ten thousand, off from its nearly eighteen-thousand-point high a year ago.”

  “Think about what this means to the capital structure of this nation. Corporations were not expanding and hiring when the market was on a roll. Now they’ve lost a third of their value and are downsizing across every industry. Please, Sandra, just one more.”

  “Unemployment is eighteen percent. The labor participation rate is forty-nine percent.”

  “That, my friends, is the lowest in history. Half of the American workforce can’t find work or has given up completely. We are a welfare state. The unemployment rate number is completely bogus.”

  “What does this mean for the collective attitude of our nation, Rene?” Sciacca switched screens to provide a new list.

  “In a word—malaise,” replied Petit. “Thi
s reminds me of the famous speech by President Jimmy Carter in which he talked about the invisible threat America faced in the form of a crisis of confidence. America is going through the five stages of grief. Last year, the country denied the dire circumstances we faced. Perhaps many still believed in hope and change. Now, Americans are angry. They feel betrayed and let down by their leaders.”

  Sciacca held his hand up to interrupt. “Rene, you followed the racial tensions in Boston and around the country. Do you get the sense Americans are pointing fingers of blame at each other?”

  “I do, Joe. Americans are engaging in class warfare as well as a race war. It just hasn’t escalated to actual gunfights, yet.”

  “I’ve identified the next item on my societal unrest list as lawlessness,” said Sciacca. “Doesn’t any government agency want to enforce the law anymore?”

  “I’ve talked extensively with local law enforcement about this,” replied Petit. “Cops are afraid to act. Every time they make an arrest, dozens of people crowd around the scene with cameras, taunting them. They see their hands as being tied, and as a result violent crime and murder rates are soaring in the urban areas.”

  “Societal unrest is at an all-time high, wouldn’t you all agree?” asked Sciacca. Julia joined the room in nodding affirmative. “Is this confined to urban areas?”

  “Mostly,” replied Petit. “Smaller metropolitan areas are starting to experience these phenomena as well. But let me add, the social unrest is not limited to members of a certain class and race. People who are not normally politically active have joined in the fracas.”

  “Good. This leads me to my third point—gun ownership,” said Sciacca. “There are more guns per capita in the United States than any country in the world. A Japanese naval commander, Admiral Yamamoto, supposedly said at the start of World War II that the United States mainland could not be invaded because there would be a rifle behind every blade of grass.”

  Julia spoke up. “I know the quote, Joe, and some have questioned the attribution to the Japanese admiral. But it does not obfuscate the premise. There are reportedly three hundred million guns in America, and more being bought daily in primarily rural areas of the United States. Ammunition shelves in stores and online have been empty for many weeks.”

  “What caused the shortage?” asked Sciacca.

  “Every time the federal government makes a statement that alludes to gun control or confiscation, sales skyrocket,” replied Julia. “Recently the EPA administrator made a policy speech in which she advocated following California’s new laws limiting the lead content of bullets because of the environmental hazards lead poses. The result was record sales of weapons and ammunition together with massive increases in production by American manufacturers. Sources tell me the EPA is putting these regulations on a fast track for implementation prior to the end of the President’s term.”

  “Oh yes, thank you for reminding me about that,” said Sciacca. “The dems bad blood spilled over in gushes as a result of the Clintons’ snub of the President.”

  “It was the news story of the convention and completely overshadowed Hillary’s pick of our own Senator Morgan as her running mate,” said Julia. “The President never publicly endorsed Mrs. Clinton’s candidacy during the primary season, which infuriated her entire camp and many prominent democrats. He was clearly not welcome at the convention and was relegated to a second-night time slot for his speech.”

  “Is there any fallout?”

  “The President still has supporters, some of which have been very vocal about the snub. There was a protest of sorts when several prominent members of the delegation walked out of the hall during former President Bill Clinton’s introduction of his wife.”

  “Will the two sides come together?”

  “I doubt it, and a bill introduced in both houses of Congress today will make matters worse,” replied Julia.

  “What’s the purpose of the legislation?”

  “Of course, the President still has plenty of supporters. Last year in Kenya, he told the African Union he felt he’d been a pretty good president. If he were allowed to run for a third term, he’d probably win.”

  “I remember that.”

  “It was possibly tongue-in-cheek, but the legislation to repeal the 22nd amendment introduced on the heels of the Clinton nomination suggests otherwise.”

  “Is that the Presidential term limits amendment?”

  “Yes. Not only does the President think he could win a third term, it appears he desperately wants to try.”

  “He’s delusional.”

  Chapter 38

  July 30, 2016

  The Hack House

  Binney Street

  East Cambridge, Massachusetts

  Herm Walthaus was on top of his game. He’d met Wendy at a meeting of a social club at MIT—Improv-a-Do!—where students participate in impromptu computer and engineering challenges. They were paired together by random draw and instantly hit it off. As they worked on the project, they found a lot of things in common besides computing, namely weed and sex.

  “C’mon, Herm, let’s smoke another one,” said Wendy. “I’m soooo chill—hashtag horny too.” Wendy was half dressed and rubbing her breasts on Herm’s shoulders as he studied the computer monitor.

  “Okay, Wendy, but let’s have some fun first.”

  “Yeah, I’m sooo ready!”

  “No, we’ll do that again in a moment. I want to mess with somebody.” Wendy continued to rub on Herm and the distraction might soon pull him away from the task at hand—but teaching that pompous senator a lesson or two temporarily took priority.

  Walthaus watched the vice presidential acceptance speech of Abbie a couple of days prior and inexplicably took her remarks on cyber war as a challenge. Foreign countries were receiving all of the praise for advancements in cyber intrusions. The accomplishments of the Zero Day Gamers were underappreciated.

  “Who?”

  “It’s Senator Morgan’s computer.”

  “Yeah, fuck with that do-gooder. What are you going to do?”

  “Watch.”

  Wendy was now rubbing her hands down his chest and biting at his ears. His loins were feeling the urge. Pot really makes me horny. Hurry up, big boy.

  The day after the DNC speech, Walthaus sent Abbie an email purporting to be a reporter requesting an interview for the UK Telegraph. He planted a miniscule one-pixel-by-one pixel image in the email. He fingerprinted her computer, which provided him the identity of her operating system, browser and security software she was using. When an email contains an image, despite its size, the receiver’s email client has to contact the sender’s email server in order to fetch the image. The exchange of data provided Walthaus the technical details of Abbie’s computer.

  Later that day, he sent another email, which appeared to be a LinkedIn request from another journalist at the UK Telegraph. A button was provided to confirm or deny the request. Abbie chose to deny the request because she didn’t know the reporter. Walthaus designed the email so any form of interaction would result in further fingerprinting in addition to automatically triggering the download of a RAT—a remote access Trojan.

  Walthaus now had complete administrative control of Abbie’s laptop. At this point, he was able to see everything Abbie did on the computer. He was able to open up folders, operate the webcam and download her computer files. He was now ready to launch his attack.

  Walthaus quickly moved icons around on the screen of Abbie’s computer. He took a peek at the pictures folder—just for fun. He intended to install a version of keylogger, but Wendy was growing impatient.

  Walthaus navigated to the settings icon and changed Abbie’s desktop wallpaper. He uploaded an animated gif—a cartoonish donkey copulating with an elephant. There, done.

  “I hope you enjoy that, Miss High and Mighty Senator.” He spun his chair around, leaving the screen open. He grabbed Wendy by her ponytails as she straddled his lap.

  “Now, missy, what’s it
gonna be—smoke or poke?”

  Chapter 39

  July 30, 2016

  2723 N Street NW

  Georgetown

  Washington, D.C.

  Abbie was enjoying a rare evening at home in Georgetown. By all accounts, including from right-leaning pundits, her acceptance speech Thursday night was a huge success. The last forty-eight hours had been a whirlwind of congratulatory phone calls, pressers, and meetings with campaign staffers. She kicked off her Alexander McQueen heels and poured herself a glass of wine.

  She loved her home. Built in the early 1800s, her Federal-era townhome underwent a major renovation by Alaska Senator Lisa Murkowski in 2003 before she moved to northwest D.C. The size was much more than she needed, but her father insisted upon the prominent location.

  Resisting the urge to change into some oversized sweatpants and a T-shirt, Abbie quickly settled on the sofa with her wine. Despite warnings from everyone not to look, Abbie instinctively had to look. She pulled her laptop out of the briefcase and propped her feet on the mahogany and glass coffee table.

  Not too bad. The majority of the criticism of her being selected came from the far left. Abbie knew they would vote for the ticket anyway. Where else would they go? She set the laptop aside and went to the kitchen to pour another glass of wine. She also took a moment to change clothes.

  As she walked back into the living room, she noticed her cursor moving on the screen. Her icons were being shuffled. She ran to grab her laptop, but then remembered the reports of former CBS reporter Sharyl Attkisson’s computer hacking allegations. Despite a detailed report by an independent technical team substantiating the intrusion, the Department of Justice’s inspector general would not substantiate the allegations of FBI or government personnel involvement. The whole affair had been covered up and expertly buried using the White House press machine. Knowing there was nothing of informational value on the laptop, Abbie decided to let it play out.