by Reece Hirsch
At the end of the hallway, Chris pushed through double doors into a cavernous gym. At the far end of the facility was a full basketball court with a lone figure in a green hoodie shooting baskets from the foul line—Paul Saperstein. He must have heard them coming, but he didn’t look their way.
A jump shot caromed off the rim, and he darted to retrieve the ball.
Teal hurried across the court to catch up with Chris. “Paul, I told him that you couldn’t see him now, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Saperstein finally turned to face them. He was still youthful, but there were lines around his eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there a few years ago when Zapper had moved out of his Stanford dorm room and into proper offices. Saperstein’s curly brown hair was scruffy, he needed a haircut, and his jeans looked lived in. Chris was reminded of a child star trying to play the role that made him famous a little longer than was believable. Saperstein was many things, but a prodigy was no longer one of them.
Still, Saperstein was entitled to a few quirks. After all, he had accomplished something that not so long ago would have seemed unthinkable—he had perfected a new utility, the Internet search engine, which was now nearly as essential as electricity or water. And based upon the power of Zapper’s proprietary algorithms, which were constantly being refined by an army of programmers, Zapper had a virtual monopoly on that utility.
Saperstein reached out and shook Chris’s hand. “Thanks for coming out at this hour, man,” he said. Then, to Teal, “I’d like a few minutes with Chris.”
“Sure,” Teal said, quickly retreating across the blond, parquet hardwood floor.
After Teal was gone, Saperstein pulled back and hurled the basketball as hard as he could, hitting the backboard with a resounding metallic smack. “Those thieving bastards!” he shouted, his voice echoing to the rafters. When the ball came back to him, he drop-kicked it across the gym.
Saperstein seemed slightly calmer after the outburst. “Sorry, but this company is my life’s work. I put everything into it. They do not just get to steal it away.” He retrieved the ball and shoveled a bounce pass at Chris. “You play? You’ve got the height for it.”
“Used to. A little,” Chris said, tossing up a short jump shot that bounced around the rim and fell in. “You think it’s really that bad?”
“Hard to tell at this point, but probably,” Saperstein said. “This isn’t like when a laptop is stolen out of the backseat of a car. Nine times out of ten that’s going to be someone who just needs a laptop. But whoever was behind this breach was very sophisticated. They went to a lot of trouble to get behind our firewall, and they had to have known what they were after.”
Saperstein dribbled the ball once and looked off into the middle distance. “Sometimes I walk around this campus, with all these employees, and I think this is going to be here for a while. But it’s all based on information . . . and being just a nanosecond faster than our competitors. It’s so easy to lose that edge. IBM lost it, Netscape lost it, and so did AOL and Yahoo.”
“And the algorithms are that edge.”
“They are. Which is why this theft cannot be allowed to stand. I am not going to just let some team of hackers—or even the Chinese government—tear my company down.”
“Have you tried contacting the State Department? If China is really involved, then this is a matter of international relations.”
“One of the first calls I made was to the White House. They answered too. I gave ’em enough money last campaign.”
“And?”
“They’re not going to do anything. Sure, the president has talked tough on this issue. And the Justice Department did file an indictment against some Chinese military hackers as a sort of shot across the bow. But it’s not like the White House is going to intervene on behalf of my company.”
“But aren’t there national interests at stake if China produces a search engine that can compete with Zapper?”
“There are, and I wish the administration fully appreciated that,” Saperstein said. “Hoodu, the second-largest search engine in the world, is based in China, and they’re planning to enter the US market later this year. If they arrive with better search results and billions of dollars in the bank, it’s not inconceivable that they could replace Zapper as the dominant search engine. Not in one year or two, but you know how fast these pivots can occur in the tech sector. What those myopic politicians don’t get is that if Hoodu becomes the top search engine, the Chinese could take their economic espionage to a whole new level.”
“It would be like handing them the keys to the front door and the security alarm pass code,” Chris said.
“Exactly. And a Chinese company would also be a lot less inclined to play ball with the NSA in their domestic surveillance programs.”
Saperstein dribbled the ball, practicing a feint to the basket, then pulling back for a jumper that bounced off the front of the rim. “So why did you want to see me?”
“I think I can help.”
“I agree. That’s why I brought you in.”
“But I think I can help in a different way than the other members of the security team. I want you to send me to China.”
“Really. To do what exactly?”
“I’d like to take a shot at tracking down the people who stole your property.”
“Look, Chris, I realize that you have certain, well, situational skills that can be very valuable, but we’re probably talking about the Chinese government here. This isn’t like a knock-and-talk where you convince some pimply-faced hacker to return stolen IP.”
“I appreciate that. But I’ve been pursuing APT1 for years now.” The series of corporate hacks widely attributed to the People’s Republic of China (PRC) were commonly referred to as Advanced Persistent Threat 1. “I’ve been watching them rob my clients blind time and again with impunity, and I’m starting to believe that the only way to make real headway on this is to have boots on the ground there. My boots.”
“But what exactly would you do?”
“I won’t know until I get there. But if I hit a brick wall, then I’ll just pack it in and come home.”
“What would the objective be? I realize that we’re never going to retrieve those algorithms, especially if they’re in the hands of government-affiliated hackers.”
“Granted,” said Chris. “But if this is what we think it is, then maybe I can gather hard evidence that the PRC engineered the intrusion.”
Saperstein nodded. “Well, if we had that, we’d have some leverage with the State Department.”
“Right,” said Chris. “One would hope. And if they still didn’t help, and we took that evidence to the press, then they’d have to take action against Beijing. What do you say?”
Saperstein lined up his feet on the free throw line and stared at Chris for a long moment. “Well, this is a bit of a Hail Mary, but you know what they say about desperate times. Yeah, go to China.”
“Thanks. After we’ve gathered more of the forensics, I should have a better idea of where to start.”
“You’ll have all the resources that you need for this. But you understand, of course, that this is off the books,” Saperstein said. “You are not acting on behalf of the company when you’re over there. We can’t be seen to be taking actions that are adverse to a foreign government—even if that government is acting like a bunch of thieves.”
“Understood.”
Saperstein palmed the basketball. “You know, running a global company like Zapper is a little like running a country.”
“You have your own foreign policy, don’t you?”
“Yeah, we have to. And sometimes we have to go to war.”
Chris nodded. International corporations were much like nation-states. And when the comparison broke down, it often favored the corporation. After all, which was more of an actor on the world stage—ExxonMobil or L
uxembourg?
“Well,” Chris said. “I’m something less than an army.”
Saperstein shot the ball, made the basket. “That’s all right. I’ll settle for anything you can win us in single combat.”
Single combat . . . It was an apt metaphor for Chris’s work defending corporations from cybercriminals and hackers. Whether the adversary was a black-hat hacker or a hostile corporation, the battle often felt like something out of antiquity: two champions struggling to the death in the no-man’s-land between the assembled forces.
It was 4:00 a.m. and Chris was still a little groggy, but his head was clearing as he began to contemplate his trip to China. If Saperstein’s single-combat analogy proved apt, then Chris wondered who on earth he’d be facing, and on what terrain the battle would be joined.
2
Tao Zhang did not like Tokyo. Everything was too bright, too fast, too new, and, most especially, too vertical. Many cities were filled with sky-high office towers, but Tokyo truly embraced that verticality, stacking businesses one on top of another. Tao passed a grocery store and, glancing upward, noted a restaurant one floor above, a nightclub above that, and a men’s clothing store above that. He couldn’t discern what came next as the low sun glinted off the mirrored tower.
There was plenty of new construction at home too, but the PRC had a way of making even brand-new structures seem dusty and tired as soon as they were up. Visiting Tokyo was like looking into the future—a future Tao hoped would never arrive.
He strode quickly through the swarming streets of the Shinjuku district, past the sky-high LCD ads as tall as buildings themselves, past the image of a giant, grinning cartoon cat, past the enormous faces of American celebrities hawking bourbon and luxury cars. It was late afternoon on a cloudy spring day, and as the day darkened the LCD screens seemed to glow brighter. But Tao was no gawking tourist. His attention was focused on Ryuichi Naruse, the man he was following.
Naruse was ten yards ahead of him and seemingly unworried about being spotted in the crowded streets of Tokyo. He had been following Naruse for three days, from an investor conference in Osaka to an electronics show in Tokyo to business meetings at the Ritz-Carlton. The night before a woman who was clearly not Naruse’s wife had spent the night in his room. Tao didn’t think that she was a prostitute but more likely a mistress, judging by the ease they displayed in public together. Whoever she was, Tao was glad that she had parted ways with Naruse that morning. He wanted to avoid a situation where he might have to kill her too.
Tao preferred to have a better sense of a target’s habits when planning a hit, but there had been no inside source to provide that sort of information. Naruse’s movements were difficult to predict because he was on a business trip and outside his routine. It made Tao’s job more challenging because it required improvisation. He had to remain vigilant, and when the right moment presented itself, he had to be ready.
To further complicate the job, there was a deadline. One way or another, Naruse had to be dead by noon the next day.
Tao heard a wail and saw that in his rush he had plowed into a young boy, no more than six years old, breaking his mother’s grip on his hand and knocking him to the sidewalk. His mother—a small woman with a tired, fine-boned face—stared ninja stars at him as she tried to create a human barrier to keep the crowd from trampling the boy.
As the pedestrians coursed around them to avoid the mother, Tao reached down and lifted the boy to his feet. The boy, who wore a bright-blue windbreaker, seemed grateful but not particularly rattled. He was too young to realize just how fragile he was and how quickly he could be injured.
The mother said something stern to Tao. He didn’t speak Japanese, but no translation was needed. She was grateful that he had stopped to help but was not letting him off the hook for causing the incident.
Tao gave what he hoped was a gentlemanly bow of apology and then hurried on, certain that he had now lost his target.
He ducked and weaved through the gaps in the crowd, nearly dancing, trying to make up the lost ground. If his man turned off onto a side street, he would never find him that day. Tao didn’t want to have to return to his hotel and spend another night in Tokyo.
After a few minutes, just when he was ready to give up, he spotted Naruse turning off the boulevard and strolling down a side street. Tao dropped back farther and farther as the pedestrian traffic grew sparse, watching as Naruse stepped through an arched gateway into Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden. It was strange to find a place as peaceful as the garden so close to the Times Square–like tumult of Shinjuku. There were people admiring the cherry blossoms, but closing time was nearing, and the crowds were thinning out. The setting wasn’t perfect, but it was probably the best opportunity he was going to get. The Ritz-Carlton was full of security cameras, and the city streets were too crowded no matter the hour. That was the problem with Tokyo as the setting for a hit—there were too many damned people.
Tao grabbed a brochure as he entered to look more like a tourist. As he followed Naruse from a distance, he made a point of stopping frequently to scrutinize the brochure. The park had once been imperial gardens reserved for royalty, but they had been destroyed toward the end of World War II. After the war, the grounds had reopened as a public park.
Naruse walked slowly across a grassy expanse blanketed in fallen cherry blossoms, or sakura. From Tao’s viewpoint, his target seemed to have entered a pink-and-white snow globe. A breeze began to blow, causing the blossoms to rustle on the ground. It was a lovely sight, and Tao hoped that Naruse appreciated it. It would be a shame if he were simply lost in thought, dwelling on whatever misstep had brought him to this pass. Life was too short—especially Naruse’s life—to ignore moments of beauty like this.
Of course, Tao had no idea what was running through Naruse’s head. Nor did he know what his target had done or not done to cause Tao’s client to want him dead. There was no need for Tao to know those sorts of details, and it was safer if he didn’t. He did know that Naruse was a senior vice president of a Japanese consumer electronics company.
The target never once looked back to see if he was being followed. He stopped for a moment at a koi pond and gazed down at the muscular, orange fish that churned the green water, twisting to the surface, hoping to be fed. Tao could have walked up behind Naruse there, but the spot was too open. Someone might see him from across the meadow.
If Naruse had turned then and walked back across the open field, he probably would have lived another day. Although Tao was anxious to return home, he wouldn’t have minded that much. He did not feel eager to kill this man. He was a hit man, but he wasn’t doing it for the money. He had no choice.
But instead of returning, Naruse checked his watch and looked back toward the park’s gate, probably gauging how close it was to closing time. Then he stepped gingerly over the red, arched wooden bridge before him. He probably wanted to enjoy the gardens just a bit longer.
At the crest of the bridge, Naruse stopped again to observe the pond’s water lilies and scattering of floating cherry blossoms. The sun fell below the clouds, and for one brief moment before sunset the garden was bathed in a soft, bright light. It was the kind of light that was the embodiment of nostalgia, like a reprise of morning before the coda of evening.
On the other side of the bridge, a narrow brick path led up a hillside among cherry trees and Himalayan cedars. When Naruse descended the other side of the bridge, taking careful steps on the steep incline, Tao began his approach.
Naruse’s head rose slightly from the path when he heard the quick footsteps on the wooden bridge behind him. He didn’t turn, probably because that might be perceived as rude. But he was listening.
By the time Naruse turned around, perhaps expecting an attendant warning him that the park was closing, Tao already had his knife drawn and was only five yards away. He would have preferred to use an automatic pistol and a silencer, but th
at would have looked too much like a professional hit. He couldn’t even use a common handgun, because there was no such thing in Japan. Nearly all forms of gun ownership were forbidden in the country, and the annual number of gun-related homicides was in the single digits. If he had used a gun to kill Naruse, the incident would have grabbed headlines for weeks in the Japanese press.
The knife was nothing special, just a sharp kitchen blade. This needed to look like a routine robbery gone wrong. Tao took the last long strides closing the distance to the target, the knife in his hand glinting in the sun. Pollen and blossoms drifted lazily in the air, heightening the sensation that time was slowing down.
Naruse saw the knife and gave a jolt of recognition. He looked in Tao’s face, his eyes registering confusion. If he knew his attacker, he might at least understand what was happening, but he did not. Naruse spun around and attempted to scramble up the stone path through the trees, but it was too steep, and he pitched forward onto his knees.
Tao plunged the knife into Naruse’s lower back near the kidney. It required some force to drive the blade in deep. Then he slid it into the side of the man’s neck, which was much easier, and blood began to spurt onto the brick path. He would be dead in minutes.
As adrenaline coursed through his body, Tao quickly checked Naruse for weapons and valuables. Nothing notable in the man’s pants pockets. In order to make this look like a robbery, he would need the wallet, so he turned Naruse over to face him. He lifted open the sport coat and extracted a brown leather wallet from the inside pocket. Tao made a point of not looking in Naruse’s eyes.
The victim’s hand reached up and clutched Tao’s wrist, the one holding the wallet. Now Tao could not help but look at the man. Surprisingly, Naruse still seemed alert, but the light in his eyes was fading as fast as that brief flash of sunlight a moment before. Tao gazed into the target’s eyes and studied his face in a moment of thrilling intimacy.