Never Forget

by Richard Davis

  ‘And you better believe that if any of these governments were even to get a whiff this technology exists, they’d do whatever it takes to get hold of it. They’d shell out hundreds of millions of dollars for it. Maybe even kill. So that’s why I concealed the truth in LA: I didn’t know if I could trust you. Still don’t.’

  I looked at Ellen. She was dumbstruck.

  ‘But I don’t get it: why would a libertarian design such a thing? I understand these nationalists pretended they were cypherpunks to secure Lawrence’s help; but why did he think it was a good idea to undermine TOR?’

  Manek uttered a bitter laugh. ‘I told him the same damn thing. Told him he was opening Pandora’s Box. But his view was that the hack had to come eventually, and it was better for it to be in the hands of libertarians. There was no dissuading him; and so, since he’d made it clear I was the only other person who knew about it, and not even his team knew I knew, I resolved that all I could do was keep mum.’

  I took a deep breath. I felt giddy – sick. All of a sudden, these nationalists were far more powerful than I’d ever imagined.

  They had dirt on every person doing their best to hide their dirt. They had technology countries would kill for…

  I took myself in hand. ‘This USB stick – the one with the dirt on five elites – where is it? Obviously it’s only the tip of the iceberg, but it might be useful to see some of the folk under their thumb. Also: I want to see proof they have this technology.’

  A defeated nod. ‘It’s upstairs. But—’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘After you interrogated me in LA, I encrypted it, then deleted the key, so even I couldn’t unlock it.’

  My jaw tightened.

  ‘But listen,’ he continued quickly. ‘While I did encrypt it, I was reluctant to make it completely inaccessible – I knew that the information might end up being life-or-death – so I used a weaker algorithm. An algorithm that can, in fact, be broken in just a couple of hours with a brute-force attack. But it’s not a simple procedure: you’d still need a supercomputer to do it – like the ones at the NSA; or, at a push, a highly-classified private contractor.’ He paused. ‘I really can’t tell you much more about what’s on it: I was reluctant to look at it myself in any depth, because I knew the information was so dangerous.’

  I nodded slowly. Already I had someone in mind – someone in San Francisco, no less – who might be able to get me a supercomputer. But first, I needed the USB stick.

  I stood. ‘Let’s go get this USB.’

  Without any resistance, Manek led me and Ellen up the spiral staircase to the hackers’ space, where he picked up an innocuous-looking thumb drive from a desk and handed it over. And at that moment, I was damn grateful we’d taken him alive: there was no way I would’ve picked it out from the masses of equipment in the room.

  Thirty seconds later, we were on the second floor with Vann, and Manek was sitting with the three other hackers.

  Ellen, Vann and myself formed a huddle that let us keep an eye on our captives without being overheard. Immediately, I filled Vann in.

  His eyes rounded. ‘That’s… huge,’ he said simply.

  ‘So I’m thinking Scott Brendan,’ I replied pragmatically. ‘He works for SAIC, the private contractor known colloquially as NSA West, and which is bound to have a supercomputer. And not only are their offices in San Fran, but it’s a Sunday, meaning it’s the ideal time to get inside surreptitiously. I can probably get a phone-number for Scott online.’

  ‘Scott Brendan?’ probed Ellen.

  ‘Aside from Vann, my closest friend in the world is a man called Morton Giles – the guy who hunted me during my con-artist career, and who became my mentor at the FBI. Three years ago, Morton Giles took on a new protégé: Scott Brendan. I’ve only met him a couple of times, but if Morton Giles trusts him, we can, too.’

  I paused.

  ‘As it so happens, he’s already sacrificed a lot for me. Back in 2013, Mort also helped me try to retrieve my son, and as a result, the FBI gave him the third degree. But though they were unable to nail him – largely because he had so many powerful contacts – Scott was shown the door due to his association with Mort. So he moved west, to SAIC.

  ‘But we can trust Scott, there’s no doubt in my mind. He’s the sort who puts what’s right above what’s easy.’

  Ellen sighed, then nodded. She trusted me. And I could tell she appreciated that I hadn’t sugar-coated things.

  ‘So how about you call Scott, then the two of you go pay him a visit, while I stay put?’ said Vann. ‘We need to keep an eye on Manek till we know this USB’s the real deal.’

  I nodded. ‘I’ll try and call Scott now from the landline here. But there’s someone else I want to see before Scott, if possible.’

  Both Vann and Ellen raised eyebrows.

  ‘When I first saw these nationalists in Joshua Tree, I had a powerful déjà vu, and I think I’ve managed to place it. Vann, remember when we were in Iraq with the HRT, and we worked with the tech guys in the Fourth Brigade, Second Infantry Division – The Raiders, we used to call them?’

  Vann nodded.

  ‘Well, I got friendly with one in particular – Matt Soghoian. Then a few years after Iraq – in 2008 – I was in San Fran for business, and heard that Matt had started an internet security company. When I paid him a visit, I remember he told me that not only did he spend most his time fending off hackers from the Chinese government, but that he’d also taken some unorthodox steps – namely, hacking these hackers back, switching on their webcams, and creating a catalogue of mug-shots. He showed me some, and I think that’s where I remembered these nationalists from.’

  I let this sink in. Ellen said:

  ‘But how do we know we can trust this guy? Have you heard from him since then?’

  ‘I haven’t. But seeing that we trusted him with our lives in Iraq, and he didn’t let us down then, I reckon we can trust him again. Besides, I remember he told me that what he’s been doing – hacking back – is technically illegal, so, given that he’s vulnerable himself, I don’t think he’s likely to be too loose lipped.’

  I paused. ‘And finally, we need more information, so I reckon it’s worth the risk.’

  There were reservations in Ellen’s face, but she said nothing.

  ‘Vann, how will we stay in contact?’ I said, moving the conversation on. ‘We have to consider your burner compromised, since its number was in the memory of my burner when we were captured. So I say we use the nationalists’ walkie-talkies on a friendly frequency.’

  Vann nodded. ‘Less discreet, but it’ll do the trick.’

  ‘Okay. I’m gonna head upstairs, and use a computer and landline.’

  I went upstairs and booted a computer. First, I searched for Scott Brendan, and thankfully found his details in the white pages. Next, I searched the address I remembered as Matt’s, and got a result suggesting the house was still in his name. Finally, I picked up the landline, and dialed Scott’s home number.

  It rang on and on – it was, after all, early Sunday morning. At last, a drowsy response:

  ‘Hello?’

  I could see him in my mind’s eye. Slim frame; eyebrows frowning; intelligent, diffident face creased with tiredness.

  ‘Scott, it’s Saul.’

  A pause. ‘My God, Saul Marshall,’ he said softly.

  ‘I know this wasn’t how you envisaged our reunion – or maybe it was – but I need your help, Scott. Shit’s hit the fan.’

  ‘I bet.’ He was trying to sound nonplussed, but he wasn’t. That was unsurprising. He was one of the good guys, but he wasn’t a cool customer. I knew this would be tough for him.

  ‘Fill me in, Saul.’

  I smiled. No questions asked. Loyal to the last. And so, quick as I could, I gave him the run down: the true nature of the sniper killings; the prospect of another imminent attack; the technology we could be up against; and the favor I desperately needed.

  He was silent a spell.
‘Saul, if these people have this technology, it’s – huge.’

  ‘So can you decrypt this USB?’

  ‘Dear Lord.’ He was scared – I could hear it.

  ‘Scott?’

  ‘I can. We have a Cray Supercomputer at SAIC. Not quite as powerful as the NSA ones, but they’ll be able to brute force it alright.’ He paused a beat. ‘Meet me at the corner of Battery and Sacramento at seven thirty: the office is just round the corner. Since it’s Sunday, I should be able to get you in. The place is closed.’

  ‘I’m bringing Ellen – that would-be victim I mentioned. That okay?’

  ‘Yes. Just make sure you both look innocuous.’

  ‘Anything else you need me to do?’

  ‘Pray this technology isn’t real.’

  Chapter 21

  Sunday, December 12, 6:07 a.m.

  No sooner had I grabbed a walkie-talkie from the car and handed it to Vann than Ellen and I were back on the road, powering over the Golden Gate, and crawling through the city in the direction of Matt’s in Lower Haight. Soon enough, we arrived 769 Page Street – a terraced Victorian affair. We climbed the stairs and hit the doorbell.

  Thirty seconds later, Matt Soghoian threw open the door. He was fully dressed – he’d always been an early riser – and had a big smile on his soft, rosy-cheeked face.

  ‘I don’t believe my eyes – Saul Marshall!’ He grabbed me into a bear hug. ‘You son-of-a-bitch: haven’t see you in years, then you just turn up at my front door!’ He turned to Ellen. ‘And who’s this?’

  ‘A good friend of mine: Ellen Kelden.’

  He shook her hand. ‘Come in, come in.’

  As he led us into the living room, Ellen and I exchanged a positive glance. He was clearly onside. But we knew we needed to cut to the chase.

  The living room was large. In the far corner was an oversized desk supporting three high-powered computers – clearly his office area. To one side, a muted TV. And near the door, a sofa next to a coffee table cluttered with the breakfast we’d clearly interrupted.

  Matt gestured to the sofa. ‘Sit, I’ll make coffee.’

  ‘Listen, Matt, I won’t beat round the bush,’ I said abruptly. ‘We’re here because we desperately need your help, and time is tight.’

  His face went serious. ‘I heard rumors, Saul, that you’d landed yourself in serious trouble a couple of years back, but I didn’t know what to make of them.’

  I nodded. ‘It’s true enough, but this isn’t about that. In fact, it may be best for you not to know what this is about, exactly – it may put you in the firing line. But either way: I think you have information that might make a big difference. That might even save lives.’

  He nodded. ‘We were shoulder-to-shoulder in the trenches. I’m at your disposal.’

  I smiled. ‘Here’s the deal. A few years back, you showed me some of the stuff you were working on, showed me the mug-shots of a specific team of Chinese hackers you’d been collecting by switching on their webcams—’

  ‘Saul,’ Matt broke in, looking uncertainly at Ellen.

  ‘I remember you said it was illegal, Matt. But you can trust her.’

  He gave a small nod. I continued:

  ‘Basically, I need to see those same mug-shots again, and hear everything you know about the folk in them.’

  He furrowed his brow. ‘That’s all well and fine, but I’m gonna need more to go on. China have an eye-watering number of cyber warriors – at least 20,000. And while I don’t have that many mug-shots, I’ve got enough.’

  I grunted. Although I’d thought it might not be so simple, I hadn’t expected quite such a needle in a haystack. ‘Okay.’ I thought a beat. ‘I remember you were particularly interested in them because they’d been responsible for taking down the White House’s website and replacing it with text that read: Protest US Nazis. Just after the US accidentally bombed the Chinese embassy in Belgrade during the Kosovo War in 1999.’ I clicked my fingers. ‘Byzantine Amber, you called them.’

  Matt made a knowing smile. ‘Byzantine Ember – the code-name I assigned them.’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  Matt led the way to his office area, sat at the central computer, and, after a few clicks, brought up a page with the words Byzantine Ember across the top, containing fourteen miniature mug-shots. He clicked the mug-shot on the top-left of the screen.

  The image filled the screen. It was one of the men who’d abducted Ellen. Sitting in a squalid-looking office, wearing a wife-beater.

  ‘Guessing we got a hit,’ said Matt, registering the recognition in my face.

  I nodded. ‘We do.’

  I looked at Ellen, who was frowning at the screen; she then turned to me, and nodded – as if to say that, while she didn’t recognize him, she understood who it must be.

  Matt hit a key, and the next image filled the screen. Lanky, come from the dead. Staring us down with his steely gaze. Again, I nodded my recognition to Matt. And this time, there was recognition in Ellen’s face, too. She was leaning in, almost holding her breath.

  Matt continued cycling through the photos, and we were confronted with a parade of familiar faces – all six men from Joshua Tee, the other guy from LA – as well as a handful of unfamiliar faces. Finally, Matt brought up the fourteenth and final mug-shot. Immediately, it stood out as an anomaly. For one thing, it was a woman. For another, instead of a wife-beater or Tee, she was wearing a People’s Liberation Army uniform.

  And there was something else that separated her – something more intangible. The look of unbridled fanaticism in her eyes.

  This was the ringleader. The woman who’d ordered our death by fire.

  ‘That, as you might’ve guessed, is the team leader,’ said Matt.

  ‘Hold on: am I to take it from her uniform that this team is part of China’s People’s Liberation Army?’

  Matt hummed. ‘It’s not that simple. We’re used to thinking of an army as a top-down organization, in which there’s someone at the top of the food chain sanctioning all activity. But the PLA’s different. A group like this can get together, start working, and if they’re doing useful stuff, the PLA will take them under their wing. But at the same time, they’ll remain somewhat autonomous.’

  I pointed at the screen. ‘You know anything about this woman?’

  Matt clicked the image, and brought up a text-box on the bottom-right. ‘Ah yes, I remember her,’ he said. ‘Yuelin Lie. She actually formed this group immediately after the Belgrade bombing. That in itself is hardly surprising: the incident sparked a world of fury in China. But there’s another twist: her father – a dignitary called Delon Lie – was one of the three casualties. That might explain this group’s uniquely malicious activity towards America over the years: it was fueled by a very personal animosity.’

  ‘Uniquely malicious activity?’ I asked.

  ‘You see, whereas most Chinese hackers simply steal our data, this group – while they did conduct plenty of theft – also frequently sought to wreak further havoc in the process. For example, they once launched a denial-of-service attack against the US Department of Energy and the Interior – that is, took their website offline – in the early noughties.’

  ‘So we’re talking nationalists with a particular vitriol for America?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  I looked at Ellen. I could see her mind ticking over.

  ‘You got any more information on Yuelin?’

  ‘A little. Born Beijing, 1979. Into a family with deep ties to the Chinese Communist Party. Elites. In 1996, she enrolled in Tsinghua University in Beijing – their version of an Ivy. Then, shortly after she graduated, she set-up Byzantine Ember in 1999, which she led till its abrupt disbandment in 2013.’

  I nodded slowly. ‘The thing is: while I get why Yuelin might have a unique vitriol towards America, I don’t understand how she found fourteen men willing to dance to her tune. Surely she must exist on an extreme fringe?’

  Matt looked at me hard. ‘I’
m not sure you understand the levels of anger and mistrust there is toward the US in China – and the seismic impact that embassy bombing had to further sour their perception of us. When our planes dropped those bombs, while it was quite clear to the international community it was an accident – their embassy had recently changed address, and our army hadn’t logged their new address into their database – the Chinese simply refused to believe this. And not just the general population, but elites, too. In fact, many felt it was part of a wider US plan to undermine China: China’s number two at the time described it as a carefully crafted plot of subversion.’

  I remembered what Vann had said – that the Chinese had a conspiracy mentality when it came to America. Matt continued:

  ‘But whether the Chinese en masse saw it as an accident or not – and most did not – there was a near ubiquitous perception that it was yet another humiliation in the long line of humiliations that made up China’s recent past. 100,000 protesters turned up at the US embassy in Beijing and bombarded it with rocks.

  ‘So while, yes, the likes of Yuelin are an extreme fringe, it’s entirely possible she’d be able to recruit thirteen likeminded men at that point in time, given that the mentality of the average Chinese towards the US was already one of hostility. Given that they’re taught from childhood about their historical humiliations, and the imperative of righting those wrongs.’

  ‘Wuwang guochi,’ Ellen said quietly, echoing the slogan Vann told us earlier. ‘Never forget national humiliation.’

  Matt nodded solemnly. I took a deep breath. The true nature of what I was up against was hitting home. A nationalist team brought together by outrage at an act they perceived as American murder; forged in the fire of an overwhelming sense of injustice.

  And for their ringleader – the one driving them, radicalizing them – it was a personal injustice rolled into a national one. A double whammy.

  On the plus side, we’d already taken out six of them. So, if Yuelin’s team was simply Byzantine Ember, there was only eight left – Yuelin included.