by Ted Halstead
Chen, with difficulty, broke contact with Wang's gaze and asked, "What is the target?"
"The Shanghai Stock Exchange," Wang replied, observing Chen for her reaction.
Chen did not attempt to hide it. It was astonishment.
The Shanghai Stock Exchange was the world's fourth-largest, with a market capitalization of over four trillion US dollars. It was one of the best protected cyber targets on the planet.
Wang's smile told Chen her reaction had been seen and understood.
"You don't see how such an attack could be possible. First, as with the attack you helped mount on the shaming signs, we have help from someone inside the Exchange's network. Next, most of the network's security measures are focused on preventing data removal or alteration. We're not going to do either," Wang said.
"You're going to shut down the Exchange completely," Chen said with a sharp intake of breath.
"Yes," Wang said, pleased that Chen had come to the realization on her own.
"But there have to be multiple backups to, well, everything," Chen said. "There's no way we'll be able to keep the Exchange down long, even if we're initially successful."
Wang nodded. "Not long, perhaps. But panic will grow with every passing minute the Exchange is offline. And it will take much longer before everyone is reassured that nothing was stolen."
Chen frowned.
"So, are we doing all this for at best a few hours of chaos? Just to prove something as important as the Exchange is vulnerable? If we can't remove or alter any data, there's no way Forward could make any money from the attack…"
Chen's voice trailed off as she saw Wang's smile grow wider.
Finally, Chen shook her head.
"I'm an idiot. Of course, advance knowledge of the shutdown could be used to make profits once the Exchange reopens."
Wang nodded. "Yes. We will need to avoid doing too well, though. There is certain to be an investigation afterward to uncover those people who made the greatest profits. They will become the prime suspects."
"And I suppose Forward needs money to carry out the struggle," Chen said, trying to keep cynicism out of her tone.
Wang heard it anyway and smiled. "Believe me, there are less risky ways to make money in today's China. And if I weren't sure what we make from this attack will go towards ending Party rule, I wouldn't be sitting here."
Just a glance was all Chen needed to be sure Wang was being honest. Like any pretty woman, Chen had been told many lies and knew how to tell them from the truth.
Besides, no woman with Wang's looks would ever want for money.
Chen made her decision.
"I'm in," she said decisively. "When will we attack?"
Wang laughed, a silvery sound that made Chen's heart lurch.
You love Tang, she told herself fiercely.
And it was true. Chen really did love Tang and believed she would never betray her.
Chen was discovering, though, that anyone could be tempted.
"We will attack when you are ready," Wang said, handing Chen the USB drive she had held up before.
Her hand barely touched Chen's as she did so.
It didn't matter. Chen's heart had lurched before. Now it nearly stopped.
Wang added, "Based on the work you did before, we're sure you won't need long. When you've finished, please upload it to Forward using your Gateway just as before."
Not trusting herself to speak, Chen simply nodded.
"Good. On behalf of Forward, I want to thank you. We have more attacks planned if this one goes as well as we hope. Never forget that you're an important part of our struggle against tyranny," Wang said.
Moments later, Wang was gone.
Chen sat still on her sofa for several minutes, her head spinning, trying to regain control.
What had just happened?
Shaking herself, Chen made two decisions.
The first was to say nothing to Tang about the visitor other than two true statements. A woman had dropped off a USB drive containing information. And Forward needed Chen's help to use that information to launch another attack against the government.
The second was even more straightforward.
No more in-person meetings.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Health First’s Cape Canaveral Hospital
Cocoa Beach, Florida
Bob Hansen had flown into Cape Canaveral Air Force Station Skid Strip with a team of six other FBI agents the same day the rocket exploded. The small FBI jet's landing on the asphalt runway had been bumpy, just as he'd been warned.
The "Skid Strip" had been built in the 1950s to provide a landing spot for the SM-62 Snark, a long-range nuclear cruise missile later rendered obsolete by the development of ballistic missiles. The Snark had no wheels and so literally had to skid to a stop for data to be retrieved when it was being tested.
Wheels would not have been necessary if the Snark had ever been launched against the Soviet Union.
Now used only by Air Force cargo aircraft to deliver satellite payloads, Hansen's flight hadn't been cleared to land on the "Strip" until General Robinson had intervened personally. Which hadn't happened until Hansen's flight was already on its way.
So, Hansen had not arrived in the best of all possible moods.
Now, this county sheriff was trying his patience even further.
As anyone who knew Bob Hansen could have testified, patience was not a quality he possessed in great supply.
One of Hansen's first steps in any investigation was to review incident reports from local law enforcement.
The report of a possible explosion just over the bridge from Cape Canaveral had leaped from the page like a flare. Doubly so when the information included the fact that the deputy sent to investigate had been sedated with the injection of an unknown drug.
"Sheriff, I understand your concern for the health of your deputy. I'd be worried about one of my agents if he were lying in that hospital bed, too," Hansen said, gesturing towards the unconscious deputy.
So close, Hansen thought, trying to avoid visibly gritting his teeth. He'd talked a doctor into administering a mild stimulant to wake the deputy so he could give Hansen a description of whoever had drugged him. But the sheriff had turned up just before the doctor could give him the shot.
"But whoever did this is almost certainly a foreign agent, and right now is probably on their way out of the country," Hansen said.
"You already said that," the sheriff said stubbornly. "Next, you're going to tell me they blew up that rocket this morning."
Hansen was under direct orders not to tell anyone other than his superiors in the FBI anything he learned during the investigation.
Instead, he just glared at the sheriff and let his silence do the talking.
For the first time, the sheriff seemed to hesitate but then shook his head.
"If that's true, then why not just kill him? If foreigners did this, why run the risk of leaving him alive?" the sheriff asked.
It was a good question, and one Hansen had already asked himself. There was only one explanation that made sense.
Orders.
Whoever carried out the attack had been told not to leave any bodies behind. Which suggested a government that cared about American retaliation, not terrorists who would proudly boast about blowing up a rocket in Florida.
Plus, nobody so far had tried to claim credit for the attack.
But Hansen wasn't going into any of that with this sheriff.
So, try another tack.
"Your deputy was investigating a report of a possible explosion, right?" Hansen asked.
"That's right," the sheriff said with a frown. "But he radioed back that there was nothing to report."
"Uh-huh," Hansen said. "Are you sure that was your deputy on the radio? Did whoever he was talking to know him?"
That made the sheriff stop and think.
"Well, no," the sheriff said slowly. "I remember approving the dispatcher's shift schedule. We
just hired someone new, and she would have started on the graveyard shift. She would have been on her last hour or so when he called in."
Then the sheriff shook his head and reached for his radio. "If that was him. I've got to get some men back there to check that area again thoroughly. We looked again when we found him unconscious but didn't find anything."
Now it was Hansen's turn to shake his head.
"Don't do that. I've got men there already. There was an explosion underground. That's why you got reports of a dust plume just before dawn." Hansen said.
The sheriff swore and then pointed at his unconscious deputy. "Look, I want the people who did this just as much as you do. But you saw the note they left. How can you guarantee the warning they left is an empty threat?"
"I can't," Hansen said. "All I can do is tell you what I did before. I talked to our medical experts, and none of them know of a drug interaction that could do what the note claims. But I won't lie to you. Especially if these are foreign agents, they could be using a drug we've never seen."
Hansen paused. "I think it's a lot more likely this is a bluff to buy time. One that's working. And every minute we stand here talking is more time they have to get away."
The sheriff scowled and shook his head. "Look, he's got a wife and two kids. You don't know him, but I do. He's a good man, and I'm not going to risk his life based on a guess. Now, you can get a court order and make a doctor give him a shot, but I'll bet by then he'll be awake anyway."
Hansen had already considered getting a judge to do just that but wasn't so sure that one would cooperate. And the sheriff was right. It would take too long.
"Fine," Hansen said evenly. "One last thing for you to think about, then. Like you said, you know him, and I don't. If we could ask him, would he want us to give him that shot?"
That made the sheriff stop and think.
Finally, the sheriff swore and said, "He never called for backup. I know he's going to be kicking himself over that. And he should because he knows better. If he finds out I stopped you from waking him up long enough to let whoever did this get away, he's going to be even madder than I am now."
Hansen had asked the doctor who had come with him to the deputy's bedside to wait while he spoke with the sheriff, and he was still standing nearby. Trying, unsuccessfully, to look like he wasn't listening to every word.
Now the sheriff gestured to the doctor and said brusquely, "Give him the shot."
The doctor nodded and removed a syringe he had already prepared from one of his pockets.
"Sheriff, for what it's worth, I told Mr. Hansen earlier I was willing to do this because I think it's safe. Your deputy is sleeping, not in a coma or anything close to it. The stimulant dose I'm going to give him might not wake him up. But there's no way it's going to hurt him," the doctor said.
With that, the doctor administered the injection.
At first, Hansen thought the doctor had been too cautious with his dose because there was no reaction from the deputy.
There was no change in the digital readouts on the many pieces of equipment hooked up to the deputy either. Hansen didn't blame the sheriff for his obvious relief as the deputy's breathing continued normally.
After several minutes, though, the deputy's eyelids fluttered open. He looked around weakly, obviously disoriented.
"Where am I?" the deputy mumbled.
The doctor replied, "Cape Canaveral Hospital. How are you feeling?"
The deputy shook his head. "Throat hurts, but not too bad. My head aches, but I've had worse. What happened?"
"We were hoping you could tell us," the sheriff said.
"Sheriff," the deputy said, grimacing as he tried to sit up straighter in the bed.
The sheriff shook his head. "Just lie still. I've got a man from the FBI with me. He's got some questions for you about whoever did this."
"FBI," the deputy repeated and then shook his head.
"This won't take long," Hansen said. "First, how many were there?"
The deputy was still for a moment, clearly thinking about his answer.
"I only saw one. But I'm pretty sure there were three," he said finally.
Hansen nodded. "Describe the one you saw."
The deputy described Kharlov, adding, "He had an accent, but it wasn't really strong. I think he's been here for a while. My guess would be he's from somewhere in Europe, probably eastern Europe."
Hansen nodded again but was thinking to himself it probably meant the man had capable language instruction. Not that he had been living in America for a while.
And he certainly wasn't Chinese.
"Why do you think there were two others?" Hansen asked.
"There were two names on the work order that supposed Internet service company tech showed me. One was supposed to be him. The other name was a woman's, who he said was still in the tunnel," the deputy said.
"Ok, and the third person?" Hansen asked.
"Well, I'm sure that was a woman. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was an arm across my throat. I'm sure it was a woman's," the deputy said bitterly, shaking his head again.
"So, you don't think the woman's name on the work order was the person who attacked you," Hansen said.
"No," the deputy said. "I heard someone in the tunnel moving after the man exited. And I had the manhole in view the whole time."
The deputy paused. "Unless there was another way out of the tunnel that would have let her get behind me."
Hansen shook his head. "There wasn't. It was dug by a company that went bust after the dot com boom bottomed out in 2000, and there was only one way in or out."
The deputy looked relieved, and Hansen sympathized. Letting someone get the drop on you was bad enough. At least three to one odds made it a little easier to swallow.
"One last thing. Why didn't you call for backup?" Hansen asked.
The deputy sighed. "I should have. When I saw the van, I called the company on its logo, and they said they had no reports of Internet outages. So, I already knew something was fishy when I saw that guy coming out of the manhole. But I had him cold, so I thought I could handle it."
"Back up a second. Describe the van you saw," Hansen said.
The deputy did, right down to the company on the logo and its license plate number.
Hansen nodded. Maybe this would finally give them something concrete to go on.
Then Hansen gestured to the FBI specialist he’d brought with him.
“This is a sketch artist. Please work with him to help us produce an image of the man you saw we can distribute to border crossing points. If we hurry, I still think we have a chance to stop them,” Hansen said.
“Happy to do it,” the deputy said, and Hansen could hear the sincerity in his voice.
“I got a real good look at him,” the deputy added.
“Good!” Hansen replied. Just as sincerely.
The saboteurs might have succeeded with their mission, Hansen thought. But getting out of the country might not be as easy as they thought.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Approaching Ziyou Island
South China Sea
General Yang Mingren glanced over at the Army Commander, General Shi. He appeared to be enjoying the helicopter trip to this artificial island even less than Yang, and that was saying something.
It was the second helicopter flight today for both of them. Even with extra fuel tanks, no helicopter in China's inventory had the range to travel straight to this newly built island. Instead, they had to take one flight to a helicopter carrier and then another to the island.
It had been the first time Yang had seen a Type 075 helicopter carrier, and he had to admit it was impressive. Well over two hundred meters in length, he'd been told it carried thirty helicopters along with a detachment of Marines.
The first Type 075 had started sea trials in 2020, just a few months after a minor fire on board had been extinguished and the damage repaired. A second was now operational, and a third
was under construction.
Yang hadn't bothered asking why they'd needed to move to a different helicopter rather than wait for the same one to be refueled. He already knew the rule was for every hour a helicopter spent in the air, it needed two for maintenance.
It wasn't quite that bad for his own service's jet aircraft. But close.
Besides, it had been good to stretch his legs for a few minutes. And even better to use a real bathroom.
Yang had smiled when he heard how quickly Shi turned down the lunch offer before the second flight. But the truth was, his stomach had lurched too at the thought.
Flying in a helicopter over the Pacific was a challenging experience even for a pilot like Yang, who had plenty of time at the controls of planes facing rough weather.
That was the problem, though, Yang realized. This time, he wasn't at the controls. Without the distraction provided by a frantic struggle to keep his craft in the air, Yang had nothing to think about but his stomach.
Yang looked down at the rapidly expanding dot that the pilot had announced was "Ziyou Island" and shook his head.
Who named these, anyway? "Freedom" from what? All the amenities of civilization, even the few ordinarily available at a forward Chinese military base?
The last report Yang had read said the base wouldn't be ready on time. Shi had insisted it would and offered Yang this opportunity to see for himself.
It would also offer them the rare chance to talk with no one else nearby to overhear.
The closer they got, the more "Ziyou Island" made Yang think of an anthill he'd kicked over as a child. Everyone was moving quickly.
A few soldiers were even running from one spot to another.
The only stationary objects were the ships. Several surrounded the island, laden with supplies of various types.
Several temporary buildings were indeed in place. There were also plenty of tents.
Yang was glad they wouldn't be on the island long enough to experience sleeping in one.
The helicopter finally settled on a crudely marked landing pad, gently enough to avoid the "clack" of his jaws coming together that had marked their arrival on the helicopter carrier.
Islands did have one advantage over ships. They weren't always moving.