by Tim Washburn
The view is breathtaking, with visibility stretching for miles. In the far distance, he can just make out the top of the newest skyscraper towering over Oklahoma City. He pulls out his phone and snaps a few pictures to show Holly, his wife, after work. Little does he know the photographs will be the last he takes of ordinary life.
CHAPTER 4
White House Situation Room
President Thomas Aldridge strides into the Situation Room and waves down those rising to their feet. He pulls out his chair at the head of the table and sits. In addition to General Vickers, the others parked around the table include the director of Homeland Security, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the director of the CIA, director of National Intelligence, the vice president, and the President’s chief of staff, Isabella Alvarez. All are members of the President’s National Security Council, with the exception of Alvarez. In addition to the principals, deputies and aides line the perimeter of the room.
“I want to know how the nation’s most secure networks were infiltrated and I want to know who’s responsible.” Aldridge turns his gaze on Vickers. “Earl, how could they have hacked an array of supposedly closed systems?”
“Sir, we’re just beginning our investigation. The discovery of the infiltration only came to light when we received the message. It’s unacceptable, but finding how and who is going to take some time. With your permission, sir, I’d like to videoconference in two of our top computer experts.”
“General, I don’t care who you conference in, but I want some damn answers.”
Vickers nods to one of the technicians, and the large screen at the front of the room comes to life. On it are two people sitting side by side. “Sir, on the screen are Zane Miller and Alyx Reed, two of the best we have at Cyber Command and the NSA.”
President Aldridge turns his attention to the screen, where the names are superimposed under their images. “Mr. Miller, how extensive is the damage?”
“Sir, we’re in the very early stages of the investigation, but I believe we should assume they have access to most everything on both the NSA and Department of Defense networks,” Zane replies.
Alyx takes advantage of the momentary pause. “This is not a pimple-faced teenager hanging out in his parents’ basement. Whoever they are, they’ve most likely been in these computer systems for months, if not years.”
“How did they gain access?” Aldridge asks. “These networks aren’t connected to the Internet.”
“You need to eliminate the idea of closed networks from your brain,” Alyx Reed says. “If something is connected to a computer, it’s hackable. Period. End of story. All software code has flaws. They’ve probably exploited several zero days to penetrate our networks.”
“What the hell is a zero day?” Aldridge asks.
“An unknown vulnerability in the software,” Zane replies. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, sir, but it could be months before we discover who the real culprits are, if at all. That said, the sophistication of this infiltration does lead me to believe a nation-state is involved.”
“For what purpose?” the President asks. “So they could post a graphic with this ‘vengeance is ours’ bullshit? That makes no sense. And why now?”
“Probably some type of triggering event or the last piece of the puzzle finally fell into place,” Alyx says. “If they’ve hacked the DOD network, how big a stretch is it to think they’ve also hacked some of the military weapon systems? We’ve known for years that our computer systems are vulnerable, but there’s so much dysfunction in this town nothing ever gets done. It’s only when the shit hits the fan that someone takes notice and decides to do something.”
General Vickers bristles at her comment. “Young lady, don’t forget who you’re talking—”
Aldridge waves a hand, cutting Vickers off. “She has a valid point, Earl. Seems we’re always playing catch-up.” Aldridge leans forward in his chair and stabs the table with his index finger when he says, “If this country is under attack, I need to know who the culprits are and I need to know today, not months from now. I want every agency with cyber capabilities working to unmask these bastards.” Aldridge turns his gaze on Martin Caldwell, secretary of defense. “Marty, get the troops working to discover if any of our weapon systems are compromised.”
“That’s a tall order. We’ll have to scour through millions of lines of computer code and that takes time, sir.”
Aldridge sighs and runs a finger around the inside of his shirt collar. “How can we narrow it down? Which systems, if hacked, would do the most damage?”
“Duh,” Alyx Reed says from the screen. “The nukes. There’re four hundred fifty ICBMs set on hair triggers that are controlled by computer code that was out of date when it was installed. That’s where I would start.”
“The nukes are secure,” Admiral Henry Hill, chairman of the Joint Chiefs, says. “The command and control systems are isolated from any and all outside networks.”
“I don’t know what it takes to get through to you, Mr. Four Stars,” Alyx says, her voice laced with a touch too much disdain. “Anything controlled by computer code is hackable. It could happen with an infected flash drive, a piece of malware that slips through the system, or a careless employee. And that’s just off the top of my head. Even here at the NSA, we have tools to gain access to air-gapped networks. You can bet the other side does, too. You need to wipe the thought of unhackable networks from your brain. They do not exist.”
“Duly noted, young lady,” Admiral Hill replies. “But I stand by my statement—the nukes are secure, Mr. President.”
Revved up, Alyx charges in. “Forget the ICBMs for a moment. What about the ballistic missile submarines? Are they secure? Are they unhackable?”
“The nukes are secure,” Hill replies, crossing his arms.
President Aldridge shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Do you know something different, Ms. Reed?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I think all of those stars on the admiral’s shoulders are blinding him to reality. When those submarines surface there’s a Windows XP chip on the engine that broadcasts the maintenance schedule back to base. We’re talking an operating system that’s years out of date and has more holes than a round of Swiss cheese. That XP chip is also connected to the submarine’s control systems. And while we’re talking about this tiny computer chip on a multibillion-dollar sub, that maintenance data is shared with other contractors via an unclassified network. Does that scare the hell out of you?”
Aldridge stands and leans forward, placing his palms flat on the table. “Admiral Hill, priority one is to determine if any of our nukes are compromised. Assign as many people as you need—hell, assign a battalion or two—but I want an answer before the end of the day. As for the rest of you, find the culprits. General Vickers, develop our options for a cyber counteroffensive. These people are playing in the wrong backyard and the big dog is about to bite back. We’ll reconvene in one hour. And to be perfectly clear, I want answers.” The President turns and strides from the room, Isabella Alvarez hurrying to catch up.
CHAPTER 5
U.S. Cyber Command
Zane Miller unclips the microphone and steps around the table to kill the camera and the hot halogen lights. The temperature in the room is edging in on the inferno level and both occupants are perspiring. Alyx unclips her microphone and stands, arching her back as if feline blood was flowing through her veins. Lithe and lean, her movements are fluid. “So how did you get the name Zane?” she asks.
“Really? You just humiliated the chairman of the Joint Chiefs and you want to know about my name?”
“Four Stars is an overconfident asshole who doesn’t have a clue. So, Zane?”
Zane shakes his head. “My grandfather and my father were both big Zane Grey fans. I tried to read Riders of the Purple Sage and only made it halfway through. Not my taste. So Zane it is.” He works his way around the table and takes a seat in front of his laptop. “Back to the matter at hand. Who?”<
br />
Alyx bends down for a couple of toe touches before arching her back again. She walks over to her workspace and sits. “Well, we haven’t done much to piss off the Chinese lately, so my money’s on Iran, North Korea, or Russia. Could be North Korea and Iran in some type of collaboration. Those jackasses are passionate in their hate for us.”
“Could it be ISIS?” Zane asks.
“Too sophisticated for them. Unless they’re working in tandem with one of our enemies. But I think that’s highly unlikely. Hell, everyone on the planet would love to wipe those ISIS assholes off the map. Even if they are capable, which I find highly unlikely, they’re too busy watching for missiles up the ass to organize something like this.”
Zane navigates to the NSA gateway and enters his credentials. “I’m going to look for cross talk chatter about the hack. You?”
Alyx rests her long fingers on the computer’s keyboard and begins to type. “Look for clues, maybe a partial IP address. Probably a dead end. These people aren’t amateurs and I can guarantee you they’re spoofing. But, who knows, I might get lucky and find a stray address that slipped through. I think Mr. Big Man is going to be disappointed when his one-hour deadline arrives.”
“I’m not sure the President fully understands what’s required to find the hackers,” Zane says. “Unless . . .”
“Unless whatever surprise they launch points a finger?” Alyx says, leaning back in her chair. “Might be too late then.”
“Think they’re bluffing?”
“To what end?”
“Maybe hacking our most secure systems is the big payoff. Something they can pound their chests about,” Zane says
“Bullshit. Send us a message—and then stand up and give us the finger? I don’t buy it. Whoever is responsible has been planning this for years.”
Zane wipes the sweat from his forehead. “Meaning they probably have something big in the works.”
“Don’t worry, Zane. Four Stars says we’re safe . . . the conceited asshole. All those weapon computer programs are older than Methuselah.”
Zane takes a moment to survey his new partner. Tall at five-eight, Alyx’s bottle-black hair is sheered close to the skull on one side while the other half remains long, cascading down to conceal a portion of her face. The shorn hair reveals a left earlobe studded with piercings to match the one in her left nostril. He wonders what the rest of her body would reveal. “You married or have a significant other?”
“No and no. Have a couple of fuck buddies available when needed.” Alyx glances up from her keyboard to see the blood rushing to Zane’s cheeks. She smiles. “You?”
“Was and no. I spent four years in the army and the marriage was a hastily arranged affair we both thought we wanted. It began to unravel almost as quickly as it began. We were both deployed at alternating times. Probably had something to do with the unraveling.”
Alyx straightens in her chair. “Might have something.”
“What?”
“Maybe a partial IP address. Three numbers.”
Alyx copies the partial address and pastes it into a browser on the NSA’s network. She taps her foot, waiting for a response. The odds are long, with only three numbers and over six billion possible number combinations. She groans when the screen fills with nearly a million hits. “There has to be some way to narrow this down,” she mumbles out loud.
“Can you exclude locations?” Zane asks. “Focus the search on known IP addresses associated with bad actors?”
“I used fairly narrow search parameters. Or I thought I did.” Alyx begins typing. “Let me try something else.” Going with her gut, she narrows the search parameters and the list of possibilities is narrowed to a hundred, all clustered in one region. “I can’t say with one hundred percent certainty, but I believe the partial IP address resides somewhere around Shaoxing.”
“Are you suggesting the Chinese are behind the hack?” Zane asks.
“Not necessarily.”
CHAPTER 6
Weatherford
Gage Larson pulls a rag from his back pocket and mops the sweat from his face. Although he’s working 260 feet above the ground, what little breeze exists only stirs the stifling heat around. The heat makes his job twice as difficult and exacerbates the fact the equipment is not cooperating. Today he’s attempting to replace the brake pads, and every damn bolt he tries to unscrew is being a pain in the ass. Much like the brakes on a car, the braking system is used to slow or completely stop the turbine in times of emergency. Although blade pitch is used to control the turbine’s speed, the braking system is the fail-safe to keep the turbine from destroying itself in high winds. Two skinned knuckles into the procedure, he finally breaks the last bolt loose. As he works the ratchet, his mind drifts to Holly.
Married for two years, Holly broke the big news almost eight months ago—she’s pregnant. Now she looks like she swallowed a watermelon, and Gage is slowly coming around to the fact that he’ll soon be a father. It’s not that Gage doesn’t want children—it’s more a matter of money. He’s making about half of what he made in the oil patch and Holly’s paycheck as a teacher barely covers the debt on the new tractor and ten head of cattle they purchased last year. By the end of the month, they’re lucky if they have two quarters to rub together. Being able to afford everything raising a child demands is a concern weighing heavily on Gage’s mind. He thought about selling some of the cattle or the tractor, but the cattle are moneymakers and the tractor is an essential tool. He sighs. He’s going to have to come up with a plan because the baby’s coming despite his misgivings.
Gage works the last of the bolts loose and pulls the heavy caliper away from the large steel wheel. The wind sends a blast of brake dust up his nose and he sets the caliper aside and stands to clear his nostrils. In the distance, an AWACS plane is taking off from Tinker Air Force Base in Oklahoma City. The large round radar dome mounted at the rear looks like a foreign appendage, much like a suckerfish on a shark. Gage recalls one of his buddies telling him the jets travel all over the globe, spending days in the air while being refueled by aerial tankers. That same friend also told Gage that Tinker Air Force Base has a big red X on it if something were to ever happen. But that’s a worry for another day, Gage thinks—or hopefully never.
Watching the jet climb higher into the azure sky sparks a yearning that he quickly tamps down. While the crew flies off to parts unknown, Gage knows, without a college degree, he’ll likely be working similar jobs the rest of his life. He did attend the local college to pick up a certificate that allows him to work on the turbines. And it’s not that he lacks intelligence—he’s plenty smart. It’s just that he finds the classroom boring, especially discussing this theory or that theory without ever accomplishing a meaningful task. Gage is more of a doer. He turns away and pulls a bottle of water from the ice chest and unscrews the cap. After guzzling most of it, he pours the remainder over his head and tosses the empty bottle back into the ice chest and returns to the job.
Working to install the new brake pads, a task he’s performed numerous times, his mind drifts again to Holly. She moved to town her junior year of high school, and it took Gage most of the year to convince her to go out on a date. That date stretched into their senior year, but the relationship hit a rocky patch when she left for Norman and the University of Oklahoma. She couldn’t understand why Gage didn’t want to “better himself”—her words—by getting a college degree. During her sophomore and junior years the relationship withered on the vine. Gage dated around, but spent most of his time moping. The other girls around town weren’t like Holly. Not even close. His greatest fear was that she’d find a frat boy and move to the other side of the world. During her senior year, when thoughts turned to life after college, she and Gage would share an occasional dinner when she was back in town. It wasn’t until Holly decided to return home to begin her teaching career that the last fragments of the smoldering fire reignited. Two years later they married.
A smile plays across
Gage’s face as he recalls the honeymoon in Cancún. But the smile quickly fades because thinking about their time frolicking in the sun and bedroom is not going to do anyone a bit of good, especially with Holly eight months pregnant. He knows. He’s had his hand slapped more than once. Pushing those thoughts aside, he returns to the task at hand. After replacing the last brake pad, he reattaches the caliper to its mounting on the wheel and ratchets down the bolts. He stands and stretches his back before moving over to the side. In the distance, sunlight dances off the surface of a pond while, closer in, a pair of hawks cut lazy circles in the cloudless sky. Gage enjoys the view, having no clue how quickly it will all change.
CHAPTER 7
North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD)
Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Station, Colorado
If it flies in, out, through, or over North American airspace, NORAD tracks it. Tucked inside Cheyenne Mountain on the outskirts of Colorado Springs, the North American Aerospace Defense Command is also responsible for providing early warning of enemy attacks via missile, aircraft, or space vehicles over the United States and Canada. Using an array of sensors scattered around the globe, NORAD can detect a missile launch as soon as the rocket engines fire. Once moved to Peterson Air Force Base in a cost-cutting move, NORAD is back home in Cheyenne Mountain after the military brass decided the highly specialized equipment might be safer surrounded by several thousand feet of granite. So back NORAD went, the mountain acting as a natural shield against a possible electromagnetic pulse.
Carved out of the mountain during the height of the Cold War, the interior campus covers nearly six acres. The information from those thousands of sensors is fed into NORAD’s supercomputers and the output is funneled into the Cheyenne Mountain Operations Center, a dimly lit room in the heart of the complex. Inside, large video screens are mounted high on the walls, and the floor space is occupied by U-shaped desks, computer monitors, and staff. Also scattered around the room are enough hardwired phones to open a telephone betting parlor.