by Reece Hirsch
They sat like that on the floor for a while as their heart rates came down.
Finally, Han said, “You’re going to be good at this work, Tao. I can tell.”
“It’s not work I would have chosen,” Tao said. “But if I’m going to do it, I should do it well.”
“It’s like hunting,” Han said. “A hunter who is unskilled makes a mess of things, wounds the prey, causes unnecessary suffering. Some deaths are better than others.”
“I understand, but I need to know one thing.”
“Yes?”
“How long will I have to do this? When will my brother be set free?”
“I don’t know the answer to that, but if you do your job, you’ll get what you want. The men on the other end of this will honor the bargain.”
Tao looked him in the eye. “And do you know these men? Is this something that you know about them?”
“The bargain will be honored.” But Han glanced away as he said it, and Tao knew that he didn’t really know.
Tao was bound to kill men he didn’t know for other men who he didn’t know, all in the hopes that someday mercy would be shown, and his brother and he would be released from this bloody pact. As Bo Han said, some deaths were better than others.
You would think that hanging up your shingle on the Deep Web as a paid assassin would attract a fair amount of user traffic, but it didn’t seem to. Despite the anonymity of the Deep Web, even those who wanted someone dead were generally smart enough to avoid reaching out to a complete stranger to do the job. Although juvenile pranksters were probably tempted to email him just to see if he was really a hit man, even they must have sensed that it was best not to mess with whoever was behind the handle Red Sun.
That was fine with Tao. He was only interested in carrying out hits that originated from Mr. Chen and his group of powerful crony-capitalist friends, the ones that would bring his brother Wenyan closer to freedom.
Tao’s apartment was in a gray high-rise apartment building that seemed less like a place where people lived and more like a place where they were stored. His unit was a one-bedroom flat on the eighteenth floor, where nothing was ornamental or personal, aside from a few photos of his brother and family.
Tao booted up his computer, opened the message’s attachment, and found information on the target: a photo and his home and work addresses—in the United States. There was also the information for a contact in San Francisco who could provide him with assistance if necessary. The target, whose name was Chris Bruen, looked a little like a rumpled professor. An accompanying message informed him that Bruen was an attorney for the US-based search engine Zapper and that he had killed two PLA-affiliated hackers and a PLA officer as retribution for the extraction of certain Zapper trade secrets. Apparently, he wasn’t as benign as he appeared.
Tao didn’t usually get this much information about the reason for a hit, and it made him suspicious. Perhaps his client wanted to impress upon him the importance of the assignment, let him know the stakes were higher this time. There was a political component to this, and if the FBI or another foreign law-enforcement agency became involved, then this was going to be his most difficult job yet.
If this was a high-value target, then that should mean he would receive extra credit if he was successful. Tao wondered if this might be the hit that cleared the ledger and set his brother free. As soon as the idea came to him, he discarded it. If he allowed himself to carry that hope, it would crush him when it didn’t come true.
Tao’s payment was also included in the message, in the form of a digitally signed transfer of fifteen thousand dollars in bitcoins, half of his contract price. If Tao had been in it for the money, he would have been highly skeptical of accepting payment in the wildly fluctuating online currency.
Bitcoin transactions were all accounted for in a master transaction log, known as the blockchain. The blockchain’s ledger verified and time-stamped all bitcoin transfers to make sure the same bitcoin couldn’t be spent twice by its owner. The blockchain was maintained by a decentralized network of computer operators, known as miners, who received bitcoins in return for the contribution of their work and computing power to maintaining the system. Bitcoin transfers were encrypted, but not as elaborately as the Deep Web, with its onion-routing system. Nevertheless, it was very difficult to link a bitcoin transaction to a real-life identity. Bitcoin and Silk Road had made murder for hire available to anyone who wished someone dead. God help the world if that information became more widely known.
Tao found himself looking forward to visiting the US. Like most people he knew, he had grown up on American TV, movies, and music. He realized that he had never really thought of the US as a place where people actually lived and worked. It had always existed for him in his mind as some sort of obscenely opulent music video.
But what he was really looking forward to was getting back to work. It had been nearly two weeks since the hit on Ryuichi Naruse in Tokyo. When he had looked into Naruse’s eyes on that blossom-strewn cobblestone path in Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden, he knew that something had changed about his relationship to his work. It was there in his brain like a tumor, but he didn’t yet know whether it was malignant or benign.
In San Francisco he would find out.
20
As Chris swiped his security badge and walked through the door of the law firm’s computer forensic lab, Zoey swiveled around in her chair to face him, backlit by an array of glowing computer monitors.
“We’ve got it.”
Most of the Reynolds Fincher offices boasted breathtaking views of San Francisco Bay and Embarcadero, but in the forensic lab the floor-to-ceiling windows had been replaced by whiteboards—a security measure that served as a reminder that, even on the thirty-eighth floor, you were never safe from prying eyes.
On one of the whiteboards, Zoey had created a diagram of the evidence that they’d assembled while tracking APT1 over several months. Photos of the Datong Road facility in Shanghai were taped to the board, with black magic-marker lines radiating outward to scribbled hacker handles, photos, and bits of correspondence.
Chris greeted her with a kiss and sat across from her. “That’s good news. Would you care to be more specific?”
“The smoking gun.”
“A little more specific than that too.”
“There are email exchanges here between Li Owyang and a Security Officer Yu that clearly provide the link between Owyang and Ma and the PLA. They also show that the PLA targeted Zapper.”
“How are the forensics?”
“It would be nice to have the entire laptop, but this is clean. No one could say that the hard drive was tampered with, and we have clear dates and times for everything. It’s irrefutable.”
“I’m not sure that matters.”
Zoey frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Saperstein and Marty Lewin are concerned about making this thing public. They’re afraid that if word gets out that their algorithms have been compromised, the market won’t like it.”
Zoey shot him a frustrated look. “But, but—the Chinese stole from them!”
“Don’t get me wrong. They want it to stop, but they’d rather deal with this quietly through diplomatic back channels. The State Department may threaten the Chinese with the embarrassment of disclosure, but everyone would prefer that it not come to that.”
“But they should be embarrassed,” Zoey said. “What they’ve been doing is outrageous. It gives hacking a bad name.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Chris said, sitting down next to Zoey.
“Here,” she said, pointing at the screen, where an email string was displayed.
OWYANG: I’m surprised that you’re hiring outside contractors.
YU: It’s an important assignment, and we have heard very good things about your skills.
OWYANG: You’ve heard correctly.
What’s the target?
YU: Zapper.
OWYANG: Big time. What do you hope to get?
YU: We want the most high-value information available, which will probably mean having a persistent presence behind their firewall. We’d like to extract the proprietary algorithms for their search engine—that’s the prime target—but we would also like to see financial projections, board minutes, strategic planning documents.
OWYANG: Very ambitious.
YU: Of course, they must never know that they’ve been hacked.
OWYANG: You don’t ask for much, do you? I know some of the members of their security team. They’re not lightweights.
YU: We know it won’t be easy, and that’s why we’re bringing in you and Ma to supplement our considerable resources. Of course, you will also use members of our Datong Road team.
OWYANG: You want us to teach your team our latest tricks.
YU: Yes, and we’re paying you handsomely for that service. You are aware that we don’t have to pay you?
OWYANG: Yes, of course. We’re proud to serve the national interest.
YU: Good.
Reading the email exchange, Chris felt sick to his stomach. Owyang and Ma hadn’t even been willing participants in the Zapper hack. They clearly did not have the option of saying no to the PLA. He wondered once again whether he could have somehow avoided killing them. When he recalled the incident, the entire sensory experience enveloped him: the heat; the close, still air in the apartment; the sickening smell of blood. Chris knew he must be suffering symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, but recognizing it didn’t make it feel any less crippling.
Zoey placed a hand on his knee. “Chris? You okay?”
“Yeah, just thinking it through.”
“I think it’s more than that,” she said.
“Well, yeah, it is.”
“But you’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Something I’m still trying to process.”
“You’re not that mysterious, you know. You’re thinking about Owyang and Ma, aren’t you?”
Chris’s pained silence could not have been clearer.
“You aren’t to blame for their deaths.”
“Aside from the fact that I pulled the trigger.”
“You know you didn’t have a choice.”
“See, that’s the thing. I’m not so sure about that anymore.”
“Yeah, well I am. I know the kind of person you are, and I know you’re not capable of something like that. I wouldn’t be with you if you were.”
“Thanks,” Chris said.
Zoey stood and came to his side, hugging him against her hip. “Dude, you need to stop torturing yourself.”
He nodded. “I’ll try.”
She stepped back and, in an obvious effort to change the subject, held up a black flash drive. “So copies of all of the emails between Oywang and the PLA officer are on this drive. What do you propose we do with it?”
“We have to turn everything over to Zapper and the State Department. It’s not our call to make.”
“I don’t like it,” Zoey said. “Very unsatisfying. We have APT1 dead to rights. There are public records showing that Yu is a high-ranking PLA security officer, and the emails are from a governmental domain.”
“I’ve been wanting to nail APT1 for years, just like you. But I don’t want you keeping any copies of the hard drive or those emails.”
“That goes without saying,” Zoey said.
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
Chris checked his watch. “I gotta go. Richard Grogan wanted me to have lunch with him.” Grogan was chair of the firm’s corporate group.
“Grogan. Must be serious.”
“Maybe he just wants to have a friendly chat. Promote collegiality, that sort of thing.”
Zoey rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.”
Chris chose Yank Sing, arguably the best dim sum restaurant in the city, for his lunch meeting with Richard Grogan. The place had a few advantages for this sort of occasion. First, the food was excellent. Chris was particularly partial to the shrimp dumplings and green onion cakes. Second, Yank Sing was a place where you could get in and out very fast because, almost as soon as you sat down at the table, the wait staff began running dim sum carts up to your table.
Grogan was in his early fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and deep-set, alert blue eyes. He was an outstanding M&A attorney, but those same qualities also made him an annoying person to talk to. He never gave anything away without a quid pro quo, and he never let anyone off the hook. If Grogan was taking the time to have lunch with him, then Chris was certain of one thing—he must have something Grogan wanted.
“So how goes it?” Grogan led off.
“Good. Things are good.”
“I was afraid we were going to lose you earlier this year. What an unfortunate mess that was.” Grogan was referring to an incident six months ago in which Chris and Zoey had been suspects in a joint FBI/CIA investigation of a cyberterrorism threat involving a highly sophisticated computer virus known as Lurker. “So you’re back in the old routine now?”
“Like nothing ever happened.” That wasn’t exactly true, Chris thought. He still held a bit of a grudge over the way the firm had summarily suspended him from the partnership at the first whiff of suspicion from the FBI.
“Glad to hear it,” Grogan said. “I also heard something about a trip to China for Zapper.”
“That’s right. I’m advising them on an intrusion.”
“China, cyberterrorism, hackers—my practice seems pretty dull in comparison.”
“Oh, it all sounds a lot more exciting than it really is.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard. The Zapper team seems to be buzzing about your trip to China. Apparently, it’s viewed as a big success.”
“I’m glad they feel that way.”
Grogan paused, clearly hoping Chris would share details of the mission to China.
“I’d love to fill you in, but Zapper has bound me to strict confidentiality, even within the firm,” Chris added.
“Of course. Understood.”
Grogan recognized that Chris had cemented his position as Zapper’s primary lawyer with the trip to China, and that was why he had invited him to lunch. And as if that weren’t maddening enough for Grogan, he wasn’t even permitted to know what Chris had done to gain that status.
A waitress appeared with a cart full of covered trays. Grogan waved her away, but Chris countermanded the signal, saying, “Trust me, you want the barbecue pork buns.”
Grogan leaned forward, suggesting that he was about to get to the point. “I want you to know how much I value you as a partner here.”
“Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”
“I’m aware of the very close relationships you have with many of my clients, so I thought it would be good for us to take a little time to catch up. Present a united front and all that.”
“Sure. Good idea.” Chris thought he knew now where this was headed.
“I know you’ve forged some close bonds with Paul Saperstein at Zapper, Dave Silver at Blue Cloud, and quite a few others.”
“Well, going through a major security breach together can be a bonding experience.”
“Exactly. I imagine so. And so my point is that I want to make sure that you’re happy here, getting what you need.”
“Like I said, I’m good.”
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t like the way the firm handled your recent situation.”
“I appreciate that. So you voted against the suspension?”
Another person would have paused at that remark, but with Grogan it was more like the barely perceptible shifting of gears in an expensive car. “No, I felt I didn’t have any choice but to vote for it, but I thought things
could have been handled much better.”
Chris shrugged. “Thank you for that at least.”
Grogan was well aware that Chris was very close with many of the firm’s top tech-sector clients, clients for which Grogan was the RA, or responsible attorney. RA credit for a client like Zapper was a significant matter because that company accounted for tens of millions of dollars in billings for the firm. As the RA for Zapper, Grogan pocketed a decent percentage of those revenues in compensation. Chris was designated as the AIC, or attorney in charge, for the matters that he handled, but there was less financial reward for that.
The problem for a person in Grogan’s position began when a partner like Chris’s relationships with important clients became so strong that Chris could take the client with him if he chose to leave the firm. Grogan feared that, after being suspended from the partnership over the recent incident, Chris might leave Reynolds Fincher with several of his major clients in tow. If Chris did that, Grogan stood to lose millions in compensation.
“I want you to know that I’m going to talk you up when I file my annual report with the Compensation Committee. I’m going to let them know just how integral you are to my practice and my clients. If there’s something else I can do to support you, you just let me know.”
“Well, you could always give me some of your RA credit.”
They stared at each other over plates of sea bass and Peking duck. And then Grogan laughed heartily. A little too heartily. “I almost thought you were serious there. Good one, Chris.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” Chris smiled and dug into his food. Now Grogan was really going to start worrying about keeping his clients.
When Chris returned to the forensic lab after the lunch with Grogan, Zoey asked, “So how was your meeting with Grogan? What did he want?”
“Well, I don’t think our conversation had the effect that he had in mind.”
“How’s that?”
Chris paused for a moment—so long that Zoey snapped her fingers to get his attention. “Hey, you still with me?”