The Cotten Stone Omnibus: It started with The Grail Conspiracy... (The Cotten Stone Mysteries)

by Lynn Sholes

  When he was tasked with recruiting special Rubies for the newly conceived Hades Project, Tor was the first candidate who came to mind. He found Tor at a science and technology convention in New York. Now twenty-eight and a respected scientist, Tor chaired the consortium of two hundred universities in conceptualizing Internet2, and was giving a presentation on the development of optical transmission service beyond one hundred gigabits per second using photonic crystal fiber. When Mace offered him the position as project director, Tor could not say yes fast enough.

  As Mace sipped black coffee from a DHS mug and stared at Tor’s face in the video monitor, he said, “How long before the phishing e-mails go out?”

  “Within the next twenty-four hours,” Tor said. “Ten million will be sent in the first wave. We’ve developed about a thousand different packages covering everything from PayPal, eBay, major banks, credit card providers, discounts from national retailers, even Omaha Steaks and Linens ’n Things. Some are set up as customer satisfaction surveys and credit bureau alerts. Multiple languages are utilized for international targets. Each package is indiscernible from the real thing. We’ve had them designed to fool even the security experts at the companies we’re faking. All of the components such as graphics and text are pulled in real-time right from the authentic site. It’s the links that are ours. They are what sets the hook.”

  “The first phase of Hades is the most critical,” Mace said. “I have high expectations, Tor.” He could see the rows of floor-to-ceiling server banks over Tor’s shoulder in the video feed. Like seeing a reflection of a mirror in a mirror, they seemed to go on forever into the stark recesses of the master Hades control center. Tor had once told Mace they could generate more computing power than NASA needed to launch the space shuttle—a thousand times more.

  “Just don’t be clicking on any links in any e-mails for the next few days,” Tor said with a grin. “We wouldn’t want your home PC infected with the Hades worm.”

  Mace nodded. “The onion routers will give you total secrecy?”

  “Absolute. We are behind three layers of anonymity with 256-blowfish encryption between the layers.”

  “And you feel confident with the rootkit approach?” Mace asked.

  “Completely. The minute the target clicks on any link, including unsubscribe, the rootkit embeds the worm in their system. And we can utilize cross-site scripting to get them to one of our fake sites. Doesn’t matter whether it’s Linux, Solaris, Unix, or Windows—even Macs. It can’t be detected.”

  “Have you finalized the launch mechanism?”

  “You’ll be proud of its amazing simplicity. Just like my original proposal stated, all computers go out each day to sync their clocks with government clocks. The Worm’s payload remains dormant until we shift the Atomic Clock giving Hades the launch command. All the harvested information from the targets will be placed on floating P2P servers for later retrieval. And like I said, as far as anyone is concerned, we are completely invisible. Because we’re using a distributed, anonymous network, there’s no way to trace IP addresses or, for that matter, anything in the header of the messages. Traffic analysis is also impossible. With the multiple layers of the onion routers, it would take a quantum computer to crack us.”

  “How far are we away from completing our own quantum computer?” Mace asked.

  “Sooner than you think,” Tor nodded. “The CyberSys guy’s kid is just about finished giving us the code. But he’s unpredictable. One minute he’s typing away and the next he’s staring at the ceiling and spouting off the names in a phone book from some city in the Midwest. So depending on his mental state, I believe we’re only a few days—a week—from starting phase two. I call it information exfiltration and networking entrenching.”

  “Clever. So what about our retired banker friend from the cabin in the woods?”

  “What a stroke of luck we had finding him. While he was unconscious, we ran his fingerprints. You’ll never guess who he is.”

  “I give up?”

  “Ben Jackson is actually Benjamin Ray.”

  “I thought he died of a heart attack just before the federal sentencing.”

  “Faked his own death. Been hiding out in the woods ever since. He’s even got a bundle of cash stashed in an old water heater—did have, that is.”

  “You can’t trust anybody these days,” Mace said with a smile. “So he’ll play the part of the desperate kidnapper?”

  “Yep. Once we get the final chunk of code from the kid, we take them both back to the cabin. Jackson will compose a ransom note referring to Devin Olsen who happens to be tied up in the basement. An anonymous call will lead the authorities to the cabin where they’ll find kidnapper and victim dead of an unfortunate gas leak. Identification confirms that Jackson is the previously departed Benjamin Ray—a man used to living like a king and who became desperate for money. That’s why he snatched the kid of a multimillionaire, and it’ll explain why a ransom note was never received—Jackson died before he could send it. A sad story with a sad ending.”

  “You’re a genius, Tor.”

  “I know.”

  “Are we on track to meet all deadlines?”

  “By the time we get to phase five, we will control the global GPS satellite system, time will stand still, communications worldwide will cease, airplanes will be falling from the sky, and ICBMs will be fueling up.”

  “And the Hades Project will live up to its name,” Mace said. “Good work. Keep me informed.” With a farewell nod, he switched off the video feed.

  “He is such an excellent choice, Pursan.” The voice came from behind him, but Mace knew who spoke. He was rarely called by his Fallen name, and hearing it reminded him of when he once belonged to the Order of Thrones, the highest tier in the celestial hierarchy. Such a loss fanned the flame of bitterness to this day, even though it was ancient history. The Hades Project would give him and all the Fallen sweet revenge.

  Mace swiveled around in his chair to greet his visitor. From the far shadowy corner of the room, the Old Man stepped forward. Mace watched him move to a red velvet chair in front of the desk. He ambled stiffly as if his joints were rigid. His hair was the color of ash; his face only barely wrinkled and worn—amazing, considering his age. His clothes were black, and there was a general darkness about him, except for his eyes, which glinted like smoldering embers.

  When the Old Man was seated, Mace said, “You’re right, young Tor is perfect. You might remember, I predicted his talents many years ago at his initiation ceremony.”

  “You’ve always had good instincts.” The Old Man rubbed his face. “The girl is still lost?”

  “No.” Mace held back a smile. “We stole Cotten Stone’s cell phone from her car while she and the priest were meeting with Albrecht. We used it to intercept a message from the girl’s mother. They are in Orlando. We left her credit card alone so we can track her. She has little liquid resources and only one card, so hopefully she’ll keep using it. Just to punctuate Albrecht’s warning, we called the priest’s cell from Stone’s phone and gave him a warning to back off before things got deadly.”

  The Old Man’s face brightened. “Nice touch.” But then his expression darkened. “I am intrigued by this child, this Tera Jordan.” He rubbed his nose, sniffing. “It’s so chilly in here, Pursan. Can’t someone as important as you afford heating?”

  Ignoring his visitor’s sarcasm, Mace said, “I was impressed with her abilities as well. Let’s hope she’s nothing more than a freak and is the only one who can identify us.”

  “The thought of there being others is unsettling,” the Old Man said, sniffing louder. “But I think the chances of that are slim.”

  “Really?” Mace said, inviting his guest to explain. But when the Old Man did not respond, Mace said, “Phase two of your Hades Project will soon begin. Would you like to know the technical details of what happens then?”r />
  “Do I look like I want to know?”

  Rizben chuckled. “I don’t blame you.” He rocked back in his chair. The Old Man was being particularly difficult today. “Can I ask you a question, since you brought up the girl?”

  “Do I not always answer your inquiries?”

  Mace stood and walked around his desk. “Would you like a drink?” He strolled to the glass bar.

  “Nothing for me. You need something to fortify your backbone before you ask your question?”

  Mace didn’t answer, instead he lifted a bottle of Pasion Azteca tequila from the shelf under the bar and filled two shot glasses. The Old Man was right—he did need a drink to give him the balls to question his superior. Mace cowboyed one shot, foregoing the lime and salt. “You have ordered a lot of attention to this child from the beginning, sending Albrecht to Loretto, the constant surveillance, and now the chase. The level of attention to her has risen to what I think is unjustified unless she is more of a threat than you are telling me. And the most puzzling element is your hands-off policy. Why have we spent all this energy tracking, stalking, watching her? If she is such a threat because she identified Albrecht and may be able to identify all of us, including our Ruby children, why haven’t we just taken her out? Be done with it. There have been plenty of opportunities—even to make it appear accidental for that matter. The kid and her mother could have perished in the fire. We could have torched their farm weeks ago. Or set up some sort of a tragic car accident. I can think of a dozen ways.” Mace knocked back the last tequila shot and set the glass down. “I don’t understand.”

  The Old Man nodded, his eyebrows pinched. “I can see why you are perplexed. Down through the eons, I have learned the hard way not to rush things and run the risk of a mistake. Every decision and move I command must be thought out—just like you have done by taking my idea and turning it into the Hades Project. And how we handle the girl must also be well-planned and executed, no knee-jerk reactions.” His piercing eyes locked on Mace.

  The Secretary of Homeland Security broke the burning stare, feeling the heat of the tequila in his belly and the chill in the air. “I understand, and I’m not questioning your judgment. All I want to know is what have you not told me about the child?”

  The Old Man stood and went to the door. Reaching for the doorknob, he turned to Mace. His features hardened, frozen, stone-like in anger. In a reverberating voice that seemed to come from somewhere other than his physical body, he said, “I think God has played a trick on us.”

  souvenir

  After cleaning up and Tera taking another dose of Tylenol, Lindsay and her daughter drove to a nearby strip mall and walked down the sidewalk lined with Disney souvenir shops. Lindsay was deep in thought. What had Tera meant about the person in the sketch being her twin? Tera was an only child. But Lindsay recognized the face immediately. What kind of confusion was going on in her daughter’s mind?

  They entered a busy store called Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho. It was crammed with rows of Disney character toys and costumes, along with the excited cries of exuberant kids. The soundtrack from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs played in the background. Once inside, Lindsay and Tera were totally immersed in a Disney fantasy world.

  Lindsay placed the traditional Mickey Mouse ears hat on Tera’s head, and they both quickly agreed on a Minnie Mouse shirt. Lindsay added a Cinderella nightshirt for Tera.

  Just as Lindsay handed over her credit card to the clerk, Tera tugged on her arm. Lindsay looked away from the clerk, fixing her eyes on her daughter. Tera’s face was all scrunched up.

  “What’s wrong?” Lindsay asked.

  “The ruby people.”

  “What ruby people? What do you mean?”

  “The ruby people are here.” Tera’s eyes brimmed with tears and her bottom lip quivered.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Lindsay said, glancing around. Tourists packed every aisle—no one in particular stood out to Lindsay. “Just stay calm. Okay?”

  Tera nodded, but her expression showed increasing concern. Her little eyes squeezed shut and her hands fluttered at her side.

  The clerk handed Lindsay the receipt to sign.

  As she did, Lindsay whispered to the clerk, “Do you have a restroom?”

  “In the back on the right.”

  “Thanks.” She took Tera’s hand and led her away. “Pretend that you’re looking at more things to buy,” Lindsay whispered. “Don’t look at anything but the stuff on the shelves.”

  Tera nodded again and trained her eyes on the souvenirs.

  Slowly, Lindsay maneuvered through the aisles, trying hard to appear casual, as if she were still shopping. From the corner of her eye, she kept watch on the other customers. “How many?” she whispered.

  “Four.”

  “Where?”

  “Two by the front door.” Tera looked around quickly. “One in the next aisle over and one at the counter.”

  “Okay. Keep smiling and looking at the toys. Don’t let them know we see them.”

  Lindsay spotted a hallway in the back of the store. A sign read Restrooms. The restrooms were at the end along with a third door labeled Employees Only.

  Holding Tera’s hand as they came to the end of the hall, Lindsay opened the third door. It was a stock room, chock full of stacked boxes and overflowing shelves. Moving between the metal shelving, she saw a back window. Lindsay unlatched the window and raised the lower portion. Shoving on the screen, it tore away.

  “Okay, princess, up you go.” She helped Tera stand on a crate so she could climb through the opening. Then Lindsay balanced on the crate and snaked her way through the window. A moment later, she was clear. They were in a service alley, and they appeared to be alone.

  Lindsay stooped down. “Okay, baby, here’s what we’re going to do. Run as fast as we can to the end of this alley, then get back to the parking lot and find the van. Are you ready?”

  “Yep.”

  Hand in hand, they raced down the alley and soon were back on the strip mall sidewalk.

  “This way,” Lindsay said. Darting into the parking lot, racing through rows of parked cars, she finally spotted the van. “I see it,” Lindsay said.

  Just at the instant they reached the van, Tera froze. “Momma, they’re coming,” she screamed.

  Lindsay had already pushed the remote to unlock the doors. She grabbed the passenger door handle and yanked it open. “Get in, get in!”

  But Tera remained rooted to the spot. “Red, red, ruby red!” she cried.

  Slamming the passenger door, Lindsay yanked on the side sliding door and shoved it open. She pushed Tera inside, stumbled in behind her, and with a hard tug, closed it. Lindsay scrambled to the driver’s seat and jammed her key in the ignition switch. The engine turned over and she backed out without even looking for other traffic. She snatched the gear shift into drive and floored the accelerator. With a screech of rubber and a cloud of gray smoke, the van shot out of the parking lot.

  Lindsay looked into the rearview mirror but saw no one following as they sped down the street and merged into the traffic. Who were these ruby people? How had they found Tera and her so quickly?

  Then a pang of doubt shot through her. What if there were no ruby people? What if no one was chasing them and it was just Tera’s overactive imagination—just her daughter’s mixed-up emotions? What if all she was doing was reaching out in some strange manner for attention, unable to cope with the death of her father? What if they were running from nothing but phantoms and ghosts?

  infection

  The woman stared at the computer screen. Her e-mail inbox had thirty-five messages. She could tell by the subject lines that most were spam. There seemed to be no end to the junk e-mail—Rolex replicas, sexual enhancement products, prescription drug offers, hot penny stocks. As convenient as e-mail was, she sometimes wanted to toss the PC and go back to letters
and phone calls. But it was a fast way to keep in touch with her daughter at college and her mother out on the West Coast.

  Delete, delete, delete. She tapped the key again and again after a quick preview of each message. Wait. Firewall update. That sounded important. How often had she been told to keep her antivirus and firewall programs up-to-date with the latest versions and security patches?

  The choices read: click here to download and update or click here to be reminded later. “It can wait,” she said. Dinner had to be started—her husband would be home soon. She would download the update tonight after she wrote a note to her mom. Sometimes the files took a long time to download, and afterward, the PC always required rebooting. Too much trouble for now. It would have to wait.

  The woman clicked the button in the message to remind her later. Then she got up and headed for the kitchen. Her stomach was already growling and she wanted to open that new bottle of Yellow Tail shiraz and sip on it while she cooked. As she left the room, she didn’t notice the LED on the front of her computer glow for a second indicating a quick burst of hard drive activity.

  _____

  “Of course I heard about it. It’s all over CERT-dot-org.” The kid was a third-year information technology major working nights as a maintenance engineer at WebCorps, an Internet service provider hosting sixty-five thousand websites. The company was located in a two-level basement in downtown Cincinnati. “I’d have to be living on another planet not to have heard about it.”

  “Just asking.” His friend, a communications major, stood behind the engineer as he used a cordless Makita to back the mounting screws out of the rack holding the Dell PowerEdge server. “It must have been quite an event to take down so many ISPs around the world.”