by John Lyman
Armed only with the knowledge that they were on their way to a meeting concerning the computer worm that had struck Israel, the participants were anxious to hear what information the Israelis had managed to gather about the mysterious cyber attack. A cyber attack anywhere in the world had great national security implications for any country, so when they had received orders telling them to drop everything and make their way to Gibraltar in twenty-year-old cars, this covert group who had lived in the shadows for most of their adult lives thought nothing of making their way to a meeting that was about as shadowy as they came.
Seated up and down the long metal table, the list of attendees was impressive. The first to be introduced by Danny Zamir was Doug Peterson, the deputy director of the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency. Better known to those within the agency as the DDCI, Peterson had been recruited from the ranks of the military’s Special Forces Command by his former commander and current director of the CIA. After leading several spectacularly successful missions in Afghanistan, he had risen through the ranks, and in less than five years he had been promoted to his present position as underboss in one of America’s premier intelligence-gathering institutions.
Accompanying him was a thin, hawkish man by the name of Carl Smith, who was introduced as the man who headed up the CIA’s Counterintelligence Center and Analysis Group, the section that oversaw cyber warfare operations. He was happily chatting up Shane Trent, a close friend who worked at the National Security Administration and had been a pioneer in the development of computer viruses and worms used to hack computer and communications systems used by rogue nations and terrorist groups.
Seated across the table from them was a dark-haired woman who turned out to be the senior cryptologist for MI6. Her name was Gwyneth Hastings, and she was listening with rapt attention to Smith and Trent, for in the cyber warfare world the two men enjoyed the status of rock stars.
The final two members of the newly arrived group were less well-known to the others. The first, Clyde Richards, hailed from the ASIS, the Australian Secret Intelligence Service, and the other, Daaruk Khadri, a slight, dark-skinned man with intelligent shining eyes, was a ranking officer in the DIA—India’s Defense Intelligence Agency charged with psychological operations, cyber-warfare, electronic intercepts, and the monitoring of sound waves—a new threat the Indian government had seen lurking on the horizon.
Looking around the room at all the impatient faces staring back at him, Eduardo Acerbi leaned forward on the green tablecloth and cleared his throat. “First off, I’d like to welcome everyone to this meeting. The very fact that you are all here is a testament to our ability to communicate the seriousness of our situation to your superiors ... a situation that grows more menacing by the hour and, if I am correct, will have world-wide implications for every man, woman and child on the planet in the weeks to come. In case none of you have noticed, we are joined by His Holiness, Pope Michael.”
All eyes turned toward the tall blond-haired man wearing a black sweater seated at the end of the table.
Gwyneth Hastings was the first to break the awkward silence. “I don’t want to be the one to rain on anyone’s parade, but this is without a doubt the strangest intelligence briefing I’ve ever attended. I can tell you right up front that I have no intention of discussing any classified material in front of a group of civilians, including a businessman who now lives in Iraq after his late son tried to wipe out half the planet ... nor should I feel obligated to divulge anything to a church leader who I doubt possesses anything even remotely resembling a security clearance ... even if he is the pope.”
An awkward silence followed as everyone waited for Pope Michael’s reaction. “Well put, Ms. Hastings, but I must inform you that, as the head of the Catholic Church, I’m also the sovereign ruler of a country, and therefore I possess the highest security clearance in that country. I might also add that I answer to a higher power, and I give you my solemn vow that nothing of what we discuss here today will pass from my lips without your prior approval.”
Hastings’ face turned crimson with the realization that she had just spoken to a man many believed to be Christ’s Vicar here on Earth, and she had done so in the same manner and tone she usually reserved for the frequent head-butting sessions that she had been forced to endure for years in the male-dominated, rough-and-tumble-world of intelligence gathering. Not only that, but she had probably just offended a sitting head of state. Taking in a deep breath, she pursed her lips and lowered her head briefly before peering back up into the pope’s blue eyes. “My apologies, Your Holiness. That was incredibly rude of me. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Ms. Hastings. You’re obviously a very talented professional, or you wouldn’t be sitting at this table right now. Personally I’m relieved to hear that you take matters of secrecy so seriously, and as far as Mr. Acerbi is concerned, I must argue in his defense that he saved millions of lives by putting a stop to his son’s murderous rampage ... at great personal cost to himself I might add.”
Hastings was taken aback by the pope’s calm demeanor. “Of course, and my apologies to you as well, Mr. Acerbi.”
Folding his thin arms across a short-sleeved, white shirt, Daaruk Khadri sat back from the table as he took in every word. There was still one question on everyone’s mind that had not yet been addressed, and he intended to ask it before anything else was said. “Regardless of Ms. Hastings’ rather brusque approach, I happen to know that she’s still one of the best agents MI6 has ever sent into the field, and her concerns are valid. I don’t think it’s too much for us to ask why Pope Michael and Mr. Acerbi are sitting here, especially since neither of them are members of the scientific or intelligence communities. From what I’ve heard, Mr. Acerbi recently suffered a stroke, and the press is reporting that the pope has been missing from Rome for several days now without explanation.”
Eduardo lifted a trembling hand and silently refilled his cup of tea. Years spent in endless corporate battles had made him immune to the occasional insult laced with questions concerning personal motives behind his decisions. “Please, allow me to begin by saying that it was necessary for me to feign illness in order to escape from a rather delicate situation ... but more on that later. As for my association with Pope Michael, let me just say for now our two interests coincide and I’ll leave it for him to explain his absence from the Vatican.” Eduardo glanced up at the clock on the wall as a sudden tremor in his hands caused his drink to spill out onto the table.
“Are you alright, Mr. Acerbi?” Hastings asked, her eyes showing genuine concern.
“Yes, my dear. Thank you. The activity of the past few days has been a bit of a strain for a man of my age, so let me get right to the point. I’m sure by now that you have all been informed that the state of Israel has been dealt a crippling blow to their computer-based infrastructure. They’ve experienced a cyber attack the likes of which the world has never seen before, and it has reached into every corner of their computer-based technology. However, the most ominous thing about this attack is the power behind this computer worm. No government on Earth possesses the computing power needed to do what this thing is doing, and from what I’ve observed it’s fairly obvious that it’s about to spread around the globe via the internet and infect the computer infrastructures of every country on Earth.”
Carl Smith looked up from stirring a third spoon of sugar into his coffee. “I’m afraid I find that hard to believe. I mean, if a computer as powerful as you describe existed, the NSA would have come across some evidence of its existence by now.”
“I can assure you that I didn’t travel all the way here to make up some fantastic lie,” Acerbi said. “Think about it for a moment. What would be my motive? I’ve come here at great personal risk to tell you that every computer system in the world will soon be infected by an entity with a definite agenda in mind. The secure communications networks of every country on Earth will no longer be secure, and I’m talking about thousands of
different ultra-secure software programs developed by some of the greatest minds in the field of computer science. Not only that, but security cameras all over the world will soon be serving as eyes for whoever is behind this, which means they’ll be able to watch the activities of millions of people all around the globe, including those in military and intelligence institutions. In the weeks to come, every government and personal computer currently plugged into the internet will be monitored by an unknown entity, and I haven’t even mentioned things like communications satellites, cell phones, and the power grid ... which includes nuclear power plants. The implications are terrifying. Everything from the family car to our household refrigerators are now run by computers, and soon all of them will be at the mercy of someone or something who’s created a computer powerful enough to do the things I’ve just described.”
Smith continued to stir his coffee without drinking. “May I ask how you came into possession of this information, Mr. Acerbi?”
“I’ve seen it. It’s in an underground facility six stories below my compound in Babylon.”
Zamir’s entire frame stiffened while some of the others either gasped in disbelief or rolled their eyes. Twirling a pencil in his hand, Shane Trent’s attention vacillated back and forth between Acerbi and the pope. “With all due respect to both of you, if what you say is true, then we should have computer scientists from all over the world sitting at the table with us right now. Do you have pictures, schematics, crude drawings ... anything to back up your story?”
“I’m afraid you have only my word. We’ve come here to appeal to you to send an armed force into Iraq and see for yourselves.”
“An armed force ... into Iraq?” Hastings sputtered. “Been there and done that. Remember the weapons of mass destruction that never materialized?”
“Which is exactly why they’ve located it there ... buried beneath the sands of the desert under the palace I purchased in Babylon.”
“And how pray tell did this monstrous computer get there without your knowledge?”
“Suffice it to say that it was done right under my nose using funds siphoned off my many business interests, and once the people who built it knew I was aware of its existence, my days were numbered. Unfortunately, I didn’t understand the entire scope of their operation until I reached Paris and learned of the computer worm that had begun to spread around the world.” Acerbi paused for a moment as he stared at all the disbelieving faces glaring back at him. “There are forces at work here that none of you understand, but whether or not you believe me, I can assure you that everything I say is true. If you’d like, I’d be more than happy to call your bosses so that they can remind you of why you are all here, although at this point I can’t guarantee you that my call will be secure.”
Doug Peterson sipped his coffee without taking his eyes off Eduardo. “This isn’t a corporate boardroom, Mr. Acerbi, and whatever decisions we make here today concerning our future actions will be backed up by our bosses. I can also tell you that this so-called cyber takeover of the world sounds a bit like bad science fiction to me.” Peterson looked over at Gwyneth Hastings. “What about you, Gwyneth? Anything strange buzzing over at MI6 about a super computer we know nothing about?”
“No. We’re constantly monitoring for new viruses and worms, and to date we’ve uncovered every new computer that’s come out of the box. We have classified layers of security that are so effective and so secret that most computer security experts are unaware they even exist. We’d definitely know if there was some kind of monster computer out there that was capable of doing the kinds of things Mr. Acerbi just described.”
“Are you sure about that, Ms. Hastings?” Acerbi asked.
“Absolutely. Some of the best hackers in the world make runs at us every day, and I’m not just talking about some smart college student with some time on his hands, but the brilliant, lone-wolf types who drop out of places like MIT to become legends in the geek world of computerdom. Not once have any of these computer superstars made it past even our first and most basic layer of security. Frankly Mr. Acerbi, what you’ve just described is impossible.”
Danny Zamir slammed his fist down on the metal table with enough force to rattle dishes all the way to the other end. “Are you people kidding me? Israel is already experiencing a digital meltdown of biblical proportions, and the man who knows what’s happening is sitting right in front of you. We can’t afford to take this threat lightly, and if there’s even a small chance Mr. Acerbi is telling us the truth, then we must act. This isn’t exactly our first rodeo you know.”
Clyde Richards, the husky Australian, sat down next to Zamir after retrieving second helpings of bacon from the chow line.“I think we all realize this isn’t your first rodeo, Danny boy, but how do you know this cyber attack wasn’t just aimed at Israel? I mean, you people have enemies all around you who probably spend every waking moment of their lives trying to figure out how to break into your secure communications networks. If you’re looking for a bad guy in all of this, I’d be looking at Iran after the cyber attack you conducted against them last year.”
“Are you referring to operation Olympic Games?”
“Yes ... an operation you yourself were involved in, my friend. After the Times broke the story, it became almost a matter of public record that the United States and Israel were joined at the hip in developing a cyber weapon that destroyed thousands of Iran’s uranium-enriching centrifuges in Natanz.”
Shane Trent glared across the table at the big Australian. “Let me remind you that you’re talking about a program that’s still highly classified.”
Zamir’s face turned red. “Classified! Since when do you include members of the press in your security briefings at Fort Meade, Mr. Trent?”
“Now wait just a minute, Zamir! That never happened. The leaks about our joint cyber warfare program didn’t come from us.”
“He’s right,” Doug Peterson said. “We suspect they came from someone with contacts inside the White House. These kinds of leaks have been plaguing us for years now despite the best efforts of some very dedicated intelligence officers who are trying their damndest to protect our country from those who would like to see us wiped off the map. As far as I’m concerned, whoever leaked the details of operation Olympic Games to the press is guilty of high treason. I can guarantee you that if one of our people had been involved they’d be in jail right now. Think about it for a moment. We finally found a way to stall a hostile government from developing nuclear weapons without bombing the hell out of them, and then the liberal media can’t wait to tell our enemies how we did it. For your information, there were three subs sitting on the floor of the Arabian Sea just waiting for orders to launch their missiles into Iran if the cyber attack didn’t work, but because of the success of our cyber warfare program we were able to destroy the Iranian centrifuges without firing a single shot or harming a single living soul. So much for good intentions.”
Zamir could see the CIA man’s frustration building. “I know, Mr. Peterson. Two of those subs sitting on the floor of the ocean were ours. We’re on the same side ... remember?”
Pope Michael continued sipping his coffee as he watched the intelligence people go at it. “Well, it seems to me that, since the genie is out of the bottle so to speak, maybe one of you would be so kind as to enlighten us about this cyber weapon of yours?”
“What for?” Trent asked. “I mean, with all due respect, Your Holiness, what good would that do?”
“Well, for one thing, Mr. Trent, I believe it may have some bearing on our current situation.”
Peterson nodded his head. “Go ahead, Trent. I don’t suppose it can hurt anything at this point.”
“OK, boss ... if you say so.” Trent’s shoulders visibly slumped. “The code name for the project was Olympic Games, as you’ve already heard from Mr. Zamir. Several years ago, a few of our more talented computer engineers were working with some nuclear experts in an effort to come up with a way to stop the Irani
ans from developing a nuclear bomb without going to war. In the course of their discussions, they discovered that the computers running the highly temperamental centrifuges used by the Iranians to enrich uranium were especially vulnerable to a cyber attack. For one thing, the programmable logic controllers—the specialized computers that ran the machines, were virtually undefended. I mean, they didn’t even have the basic anti-virus software most people use every day on their home computers. Also, the centrifuges the Iranians had purchased from the Pakistanis would routinely spin out of control and tear themselves apart, so they thought if they could engineer a computer worm that would cause them to self-destruct on a regular basis, it wouldn’t necessarily tip the Iranians off to the fact that their computers had been sabotaged. But there was a problem. Even though the controllers were undefended, they were surrounded by an air gap, meaning they weren’t hooked up to the internet, which probably accounts for their lack of security. That’s when our friends in Israel became involved. We needed Mr. Zamir’s intelligence assets in Iran to somehow physically access the controllers inside the plant.
“Working together, we developed a bit of computer code known as a beacon. Essentially, this beacon would map the operations inside the Iranian facility and report back to NSA headquarters with a description of how the plant operated. But we still had to figure out a way to get the beacon into the logic controllers. We finally hit on the idea of using Iran’s own scientists who routinely carried their laptops home with them and then back to work the next day where they plugged them into the computer network inside the facility. An agent inside Iran simply waited until one of the nuclear scientists left his apartment and inserted the beacon code into his laptop using a thumb drive. When he went to work the next day and plugged it in ... voila! We were in. Pretty soon we knew more about the crown jewel of the Iranian nuclear program than the Iranians did.