by John Lyman
“After that, some of the most brilliant computer guys working at the NSA and the CIA were drafted and transferred over to the new U.S. Cyber Command where they quickly went to work writing code for one of the most sophisticated and elegant worms ever developed. For security reasons, they never gave it a name. Usually only computer geeks who want to tout their work to other geeks do that, but the press dubbed it Stuxnet, an amalgam of some of the key words in the software code that had no real meaning. After some trial runs on some identical controllers and centrifuges purchased by the United States, the worm was smuggled into the computer network inside Natanz using the same method we used to insert the beacon ... and there it sat, just waiting.
“When all was ready Stuxnet finally struck and the Iranian centrifuges began spinning out of control. Now comes the good part. Our guys had thought to add a bit of code that made the Iranian’s believe everything was working perfectly. There was no warning—no bells or whistles sounded to let the Iranians know that something was wrong. I mean, they just sat there in their control room, blissfully unaware that over a thousand of their centrifuges were tearing themselves apart in a metallic whirlwind. They didn’t have time to shut them down because there was no warning. It was beautiful!”
Trent smiled at the thought of all the Iranian centrifuges spinning wildly out of control. “I don’t know if anyone else in this room can appreciate what I’ve just said, but the historical significance of this cyber attack is truly mind-boggling. All previous cyber attacks had always been against other computers, but this was the first time in history in which a cyber attack was used to cause actual physical destruction. It was brilliant. We destroyed a large portion of a uranium enrichment facility belonging to an enemy state ... one that had threatened to wipe Israel off the map, and we did it without ever firing a shot. We set their nuclear program back at least two years, and the world is a safer place because of it.”
Eduardo’s hands trembled uncontrollably in his lap as he glanced over at Pope Michael. “What did I tell you, Marcus? If these people can develop something as elegant and sophisticated as Stuxnet, then surely someone who had the power of the universe at his disposal would have no problem in developing something infinitely more powerful.”
The look of pride on Trent’s face slowly began to fade. “He? I’m afraid I’m not following you, Acerbi. Are you saying you can put a name behind this so-called monster computer?”
Eduardo’s eyes looked hollow as he stared back at Trent without answering.
“Mr. Acerbi, if you or anyone in your party is holding back information about this cyber attack, then we need to know about it ... and we need to know about it right now. There’s a definite time factor in stopping a worm, especially if it has the global implications you mentioned earlier.”
“Thank you, Mr. Trent,” Eduardo finally said. “You’ve finally heard what we have come here to tell you. Earlier, you all wanted to know what Pope Michael and I—two men who don’t fit your criteria for sharing classified material, could possibly offer you in the way of valuable information that might well preserve your way of life. You postured and boasted of how successful you were at protecting your secrets, but up until this moment not one of you has asked the right question.”
“And just what question would that be, Mr. Acerbi?” Peterson asked.
“The source, my friends ... the source. You’re about to be hit by a computer worm powered by a computer the likes of which the world has never seen before ... a worm that will set us all back to the Stone Age, and not one of you has asked where your destroyer will come from.”
CHAPTER 25
The mess hall cook laid the last trays of freshly-baked pound cake on the counter and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a dish towel before peering through a small round window in one of the metal kitchen doors. Although he couldn’t hear what was being said, he could see the two Israeli security men standing just beyond the doors, and thirty feet away, sitting around the long table, were his targets. Glancing around to make sure he was still alone in the kitchen, the cook was finally free to reveal his latest creation.
Arching his stiff back, he looked around one more time before walking back into a small break room behind the walk-in cooler. Taking time to exhale slowly, he stood in front of his locker for a moment before opening the thin metal door and pulling out a small nylon backpack. He could feel his heart pounding as he walked back into the kitchen and carefully placed the backpack on the counter before removing the safety tape from a thin metal wire that extended from a small hole in the side.
Now, as he had been trained to do, he closed his eyes and ran through a mental checklist, repeating the steps to himself before taking another deep breath and opening his eyes. With his decision made, he could feel the tension slowly fade from his body. It felt as though he were watching events rather than participating in them. After all, what did he really have to be afraid of? Wasn’t he about to enter the glorious afterlife that had been promised to him by the men who had given him the backpack? They had assured him that he wouldn’t feel any pain, for there was enough C4 explosive inside the compact nylon bag to shatter his nerve endings before the chemically induced signal ever reached his brain to alert him to the fact that he had just died. He would never feel the hundreds of metal ball bearings inside that would tear his body apart before they found their true targets—the group of people seated at the long metal table.
Without hesitating, the cook reached out and grabbed the backpack by one of the straps while holding the end of the wire with his free hand. He then peered through the window in the door one more time to make sure the people at the table were still together. Now, the only barriers that lay between him and his intended targets were the swinging metal doors and the two Israeli security men who would soon be vaporized after he entered the mess hall and pulled the wire that would send him to heaven and everyone else to hell.
“Freeze!”
The startled cook swung around to see a man crouched in the classic handgun combat position with a Glock pistol aimed right at his midsection. It was Graham Childs, and he was well aware that at this distance and in this enclosed space, the explosion would rip both of them apart. Without waiting, he raised the Glock slightly until the white-outlined sights were lined up with the center of the cook’s forehead. Both men stared at one another, each weighing his options—watching for the blink of an eye or the twitch of a finger. The cook’s grip on the thin metal wire tightened.
“I said freeze!”
Hearing Childs’ shouts, the security men peered through the windows in the kitchen doors and instantly saw what was happening. “Run!” they shouted to the group seated around the table. Beads of sweat were beginning to form across Childs’ forehead as he kept his aim steady on the forehead of the cook. He knew the men on the other side of the door had already shouted out a warning, and he needed to gain only a few more seconds to allow them to hustle everyone into the stairwell behind the solid concrete wall.
But time had run out. The cook spun on his heels and hurled himself against the swinging doors just as Childs fired two quick shots before dropping behind a row of steel ovens. Two holes sprang from the back of the cook’s head as his already dead body dropped straight to the floor, but in his death throes his twitching hand had somehow managed to pull the wire.
The massive explosion rocked the kitchen, turning the metal doors into deadly, spinning blades that flew over the steam table and into the mess hall before slicing through the two security men who had bravely warned the others. The tiny metal ball bearings that followed shot in all directions faster than the speed of sound, ripping through walls, chairs, and tables in a circular pattern as the fiery explosion roared through the enclosed space, setting everything ablaze in an inferno that began to melt anything that wasn’t made from steel or concrete.
Despite the fact that he was sitting with some of the best trained men and women in the world, it was John who had been the first to react to the
security men’s shouts. Grabbing Ariella, he had flung her toward the stairwell just as Alon jerked both Eduardo Acerbi and Pope Michael from their chairs and pushed them ahead of him as everyone ran for the stairs.
After the deafening first effects of the explosion had been felt, those who had made it into the safety of the stairwell lay crowded together on the stairs behind a thick concrete wall that had just saved their lives. Looking out into the smoky darkness, they could see small fires blazing in what remained of the mess hall—and there were bodies.
Coughing in the acrid smoke, the blackened face of Graham Childs suddenly appeared at the foot of the stairs, startling the already shocked survivors. In one hand he held the Glock pistol, while the other hung down at his side, dripping blood. Miraculously he had survived when he had ducked behind a row of heavy steel ovens just before the cook triggered the explosion.
“The emergency lights should be coming on at any moment,” he said, his voice raspy from the smoke. “Stay where you are until we check the rooms upstairs. There could be more bombs.”
As Childs was making his way up the stairs past the people huddled in the stairwell, the emergency lights flickered on, allowing everyone to see who had made it out alive and who had not. Lev Wasserman had been the last man to make it behind the concrete wall, but behind him six bodies could be seen smoldering in the tangled mass of twisted metal and wires that hung down from the ceiling.
Besides the bomber and the two security men, they could see the top half of Clyde Richards’ hulking figure extending from under a bent portion of the metal table, while the bodies of Carl Smith and Daaruk Khadri lay bleeding against the far wall.
Lev turned his head away and coughed in the thickening smoke. “We can’t stay in this stairwell any longer. It’s starting to draw all the smoke upward like a chimney!”
Moving quickly, the remaining survivors made their way to the top of the stairs and stumbled into the reception room just as a group of soldiers with fire extinguishers rushed down into the smoke-filled stairwell. In the hallway outside, a team of British Special Forces soldiers had just arrived, their eyes wide with the adrenaline rush of suddenly being thrust into a defensive combat posture.
“How in the world did someone manage to sneak a bomb inside a secure facility like this?” Lev wheezed.
“Had to be an inside job,” Alon said, “which means there might be others. We need to get out of here.”
“I agree,” Childs said, wincing as he held his injured arm. “Follow me.”
“Why don’t you let me take a look at that arm first?” Ariella asked.
Childs held back but Ariella persisted. “Come on, I was a medic in the Israeli Army, and I don’t want the man who just saved our lives dying from loss of blood.”
OK ... just a quick look, Miss. Then we really need to go.”
Childs winced again as she slowly turned his arm. Something had obviously pierced the bicep just above the elbow and had exited the other side.
“Well, whatever hit you is no longer there, but we need to stop the flow of blood.” Spotting a soldier with a first aid kit, Ariella motioned him over and grabbed a gauze bandage that she used to stem the flow of blood from Childs wound. “There, that should hold you until your little train can get us out of here.”
“I’m afraid the train’s out of commission, Miss,” the soldier behind her said. “Someone blew the engine and the tracks, and ...
“And what?”
“They shot the two Israeli security men outside the door.”
Like a raging bull, Alon burst through the doors and stared down at the lifeless forms of the two Israelis. “Did any of your men see anything?”
“They’re looking at all the cameras now, sir,” the soldier replied. “Best to stay put until we know who we’re looking for. The dogs are sniffing for more explosives.”
Alon ran back inside the reception room and motioned to the group. “This looks like a coordinated attack. We have to go ... now!”
Suddenly, the walls around them shook as a second explosion rocked the tunnel outside.
“Is there another way out of here besides the main tunnel?” Zamir shouted.
“Yes, sir,” Childs said. “There’s a small ventilation and maintenance tunnel off to the side of the platform outside, but it’s filled with pipes and wires ... it’s pretty tight.”
“OK. I’m staying here to coordinate things with the British military, but you and Alon have to get these other people out of here right now. I’ll ask the British commander to send a couple of his best soldiers with you. Where does that tunnel lead?”
“Saint Michael’s Cave ... right below us. It ends about 300 meters above the sea. There’s a machine room before you reach the large cavern they call the cathedral room. From there we can make our way out through the main entrance.”
Everyone saw the look of determination spreading across Pope Michael’s face. “Saint Michael’s Cave ... sounds perfect. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 26
At the palace in Babylon, Adrian Acerbi paced the marble floors in his room before sitting down in front of his computer. He had spent the last two days thinking of ways to escape his guards, but so far all of his attempts to leave the palace had been thwarted by the overwhelming security presence.
The sound of keys rattling in his door startled him, and as he spun in his chair, two security men entered without knocking and stood aside as his mother swooped into the room with an angry expression on her face. Ever since their trip to Turkey, she had become distant to the point of outward hostility, and as she approached his desk, Adrian turned away, refusing to acknowledge her presence.
“Adrian, my dear, they tell me you haven’t touched a bite of food since yesterday. Come, you must eat.”
“I’ll eat when you stop treating me like a prisoner and let me go see my father!”
“Please, Adrian ... be reasonable.” Colette threw up her hands. “I want to see your father as much as you do, but he has forbidden it. These attempts of yours to slip past your guards are absurd. Everything we do is for your own good. We simply can’t have you traipsing all over Iraq looking for ways to travel to Paris all by yourself. Anyway, we’ve received word that your father has checked himself out of the hospital and no one’s heard from him since.”
“Checked himself out of the hospital? Where is he?”
“Obviously you weren’t listening. I said no one’s heard from him since. I have no idea where he is. Apparently he left the hospital against doctor’s orders. No one even saw him leave.”
“Then he must be doing better. Why hasn’t he called?”
“I don’t know, my son. Your father is a complicated man ... he’s disappeared before in the past, you know.”
“But he would never leave us ... I know it!”
“I’m sure there’s some logical explanation, Adrian, but you can’t spend your days wasting away in your room. I have a surprise for you. We’re taking a trip.”
“A trip? To France?”
“No, my dear. To Turkey.”
Adrian’s expression collapsed. “You mean back to those old ruins?”
“Yes. There’s something there I want you to see.”
“But why not go to Paris instead? Once we’re there father is sure to contact us, and ... Adrian jumped back when he saw his mother’s body suddenly blur in a hazy jumble of undefined edges. It was like looking at a television image that had suddenly frozen before restarting again at a different scene. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to pretend he hadn’t seen it as he looked closer.
Suddenly her image blurred again, but this time there was something there—something else inside the undefined outline—and it wasn’t his mother. The image wavered back and forth as if it were unsure of what world it existed in or what form it should take, and for a split second Adrian thought he could see a monstrous, twisted face contorted with rage, until finally the fleeting image once again stabilized into the more comforting reflection of the thing t
hat had once been his mother.
Adrian recoiled in horror. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t know what you are, but you’re not my mother!”
Colette turned to the two guards. “Take him. Tie him up if you have to, but I want him out front and inside my car in ten minutes. We’re going to the airport in Bagdad.”
CHAPTER 27
Evita Vargas sized up the man sitting across the small table from her as the waiter brought coffee. “So, you teach medieval history at Cambridge, Professor Wehling. Sounds interesting.”
“Actually, the correct term is medieval European history, Dr. Vargas. My interest lies mainly in the history of Europe.”
“Well, since it’s obvious I’m no historian, how can I help you?” Evita’s nose crinkled when she inhaled the aroma from her coffee. “I mean, since you already seem to know so much about me, then you’re probably aware that I’m an epidemiologist. Are you doing research looking for some new clue to explain the plague that ravaged this part of the world in the 14th century?”
Wehling peered over the rim of his cup before setting it down on the table. “Do you believe in God, Ms. Vargas?”
Evita’s smile evaporated. “Just what is it you’re really after, Professor Wehling?”
“I’m after you, Evita. Do you mind if I call you Evita?”
This guy is a stalker! Evita looked down at the pistol lying in her open purse. “You’re old enough to be my grandfather, Professor Wehling ... if that is your real name, and I already have a boyfriend. Thank you for the coffee. Now, I really must be going ...
“Back to work? We both know who you really work for, Ms. Vargas, and I can assure you my interest in you is not romantic. Besides, anyone who pays attention to current affairs is aware that you are presently involved with Cardinal Leopold Amodeo, the Vatican’s Secretary of State, who, by the way, just happens to be missing ... yet for some reason you don’t seem overly concerned.”