Trojan Horse

by Mark Russinovich

  Ahmed opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. He went to Rahmani, who had just stopped and was getting out of the car. Ahmed told him she wanted privacy. “As if I never see her naked,” he said. The two lit cigarettes and leaned against the Hyundai, smoking.

  The sun had set and the place was cast in shadows. Saliha glanced about uneasily. The trees were a dark, ominous presence. The water bubbled around rocks and over stones, the sound cold, not cheery as it had been so often. She opened the trunk and lay her clothes neatly inside as she removed them. It was cold and she shivered in the breeze. She removed the ankle-length dark skirt and matching long-sleeved parkalike garment from her bag and slipped into them. She placed her denims and jacket into the bag. She picked up the head scarf and put it on, then closed the lid.

  Rahmani glanced the way they’d come. “Did you hear that?”

  “Just a truck on the highway,” Ahmed answered.

  “It sounded like a car on this dirt road.”

  “I heard nothing.”

  Rahmani had already slipped his .380 pistol into his jacket pocket and now he held it in his hand. He turned his attention from behind him to the woman as she returned. In a moment they’d both be where he needed them.

  Jeff saw the two cars flash their brake lights, then turn off the highway. He came nearly to a stop as he watched them vanish amid trees and brush. He could see there was a stream down there so it was unlikely they’d gone far. He made the same turn, stopping almost at once, and backed the car into a thin spot amid the brush, the branches pressed against the car. He got out, carefully pushed the door closed, bumped it gently to seal it, then followed on foot. The dirt road curved slightly, blocking his view.

  He heard the slam of a trunk before he saw the cars. When he spotted them the little man was holding a gun and waving it about as he barked orders.

  This was nonsense, Rahmani thought. Why am I talking? I know what I have to do.

  Ahmed looked confused as he followed orders and stood beside Saliha. What was Hamid up to?

  Saliha, for her part, knew. She saw the look in the man’s eyes—apprehension mixed with determination. When she saw the gun she had not the slightest doubt what was going to happen. She’d waited too long. “He’s going to kill us,” she hissed.

  “What?” Ahmed glanced at her, then at Hamid. Realization washed over him in a cold chill. Of course. That’s exactly what he was going to do.

  Ahmed smiled. “Hamid. What is the problem, my brother?” he said in Farsi. “We have a duty to perform . . .” As he spoke he slowly reached for the Browning Hi-Power that had been sticking in the small of his back all these hours. Hamid might be highly trained, he might be the master of operations in Europe, but Ahmed saw how nervous he was. He only required an instant.

  Rahmani was sweating. He was angry he’d hesitated at all. Ahmed was prattling on and on about nothing, then suddenly there was the gun he’d given him in his hand. Rahmani snapped off a shot but Ahmed dove away as he did. Saliha lunged to her right. Rahmani fired a shot at her, too, but knew he’d missed.

  From the ground, Ahmed was raising his weapon even as he struggled to his knees. Rahmani fired again and again and again. As the bullets struck him, Ahmed fired but the shot went wild, his bullet ricocheting off into the distance. Then his arm lost strength and the gun fell. Ahmed wobbled on his knees for a moment, then toppled forward onto his face.

  Saliha saw the first bullet strike Ahmed as she pulled up her long skirt and went running for her life toward the highway. She heard the other shots in quick succession. Then, in front of her, was the American. “This way!” he shouted. “I’ve got a car!”

  The two of them ran the short distance to his car. She frantically jumped in as did Jeff. He started it up and shot out onto the dirt road, fish-tailing toward the nearby highway. The rear glass of the car shattered and he heard the zip of a bullet passing very near his head. Then he was on the highway accelerating as fast as he could.

  “The other way!” Saliha shouted. “To the border. There are armed guards there!”

  But it was too late. It was a divided highway with a deep cut between the two sections. Jeff was speeding back into Turkey.

  Rahmani ran to his car and was quickly on the highway, racing after the Ford. He accelerated past two slow-moving semis as he steadily gained on the smaller car.

  “Faster! Faster!” Saliha shouted. “I can see a car behind us. He’s getting too close. Faster!”

  Jeff glanced at the speedometer. Nearly ninety miles an hour. The highway curved and he was forced to slow each time, taking all three lanes to make the turns. He was more concerned with crashing than getting shot. He couldn’t imagine the Hyundai was faring any better.

  Rahmani had caught a glimpse of Jeff. Where had he come from? How was it possible for him to have traced them to this remote corner of Turkey? He thought about his cell phone. That had to be it. The CIA was tracking his cell phone. No, he suddenly thought, not his, but Ahmed’s. Yes, that made sense. They’d been on to Ahmed; that was why his photograph was on Turkish television.

  There was a lesson in this. He’d have to figure out how to carry a cell phone that couldn’t be traced.

  Jeff accelerated after every turn but his speed remained distressingly slow. For bursts he managed eighty or ninety miles an hour, but at the turns he’d drop to seventy or less. The car reluctantly responded when he accelerated. He raced past slower-moving traffic, flashing his headlights repeatedly to press a car out of a lane.

  For all this, behind him Rahmani was slowly gaining.

  Ahead, Jeff spotted a cluster of vehicles. He lifted his foot from the accelerator and slowed, searching for a way around the trucks and cars. Saliha was no longer shouting at him but had turned in her seat and was watching behind them, telling him every few seconds how close was the pursuing car.

  “Who is in it?” he asked.

  “The little man. Ahmed’s boss, I think. He shot Ahmed. He was going to kill me.”

  They reached the cars and to Jeff’s dismay he was forced to drop to just sixty miles an hour. The other car would be on them in seconds. He crowded his way up against another car and leaned on the horn, flashing his headlights. The car braked quickly three or four times to get him to back off.

  Jeff looked to his left, then his right, to see if he could go off the road and get around a car and three semis moving bumper to bumper. The drops on both sides were steep.

  “He’s here,” Saliha said, her voice suddenly rising an octave.

  Jeff slammed on his brakes and the Hyundai was suddenly beside him. He wrenched the steering wheel to the side and banged into it hard, then harder still as he tried to force it off the road. The Hyundai dropped back and Jeff accelerated again, soon reaching the other vehicles. But now they’d thinned and he managed to weave his way through, only touching one of the passenger cars on the rear bumper as he passed him. With clear road ahead he punched the accelerator to the floorboard.

  Saliha had dropped below the passenger seat but now that the car was running smoothly she climbed back up and peered again over the back of the seat. “I can’t see him. I think he’s blocked. Can you find a road off? Maybe we can take one and hide where he can’t see us.”

  There were no exits. The only good news was that there were only occasional cars. Jeff was free to go as fast as the highway allowed. Still, the frequent curves forced him to slow again and again. Finally, Saliha said, “I see a car gaining on us. It’s him, I think. Can’t you go faster?” She jerked the head scarf off and threw it onto the backseat.

  Jeff flew by a slow-moving pickup truck. The highway dipped and ahead was a long straight stretch.

  “He’s catching us!” Saliha shouted. “He’s almost here! Hurry!”

  Jeff saw the car in his rearview mirror. Just as the Hyundai was almost on him he again slammed his brakes. This time the car ploughed into him, clinging to his bumper, trying to flip him around. Jeff sped up but the other car cl
osed at once, quickly pulling beside them. Again Jeff slammed into him then pulled to his left and hit his brakes. The Hyundai shot forward and now Jeff was behind him.

  “Cross over here!” Saliha shouted. “There! See it?”

  The divide between the two stretches was flat now. Jeff braked hard, spotted an informal crossing, and went over to the other side of the highway. They raced back toward the border. “Get into the town!” Saliha shouted. “There are guards. He will have to stop.”

  Jeff could hear a grinding in the rear of the car; metal pressed against a tire.

  “Oh no!” she said. “There’s a car coming after us. You have to go faster!”

  But there was no going faster. It was as if something was pulling the Ford back, keeping it from speeding up.

  “He’s shooting again!” Saliha screamed. “He’s—”

  A wet mist splashed against the windshield and on Jeff, showering the side of his face. He looked over. Saliha had collapsed in the seat, a section of her skull missing.

  Jeff slammed on his brakes and the Hyundai shot up to him. He looked over and saw the driver aiming a gun at him, his eyes wide in excitement. Jeff wrenched the wheel hard over and smashed into the car, hearing the grind of the sides, forcing his car against the other. He pressed harder, then harder, finally driving it off the highway. Jeff followed it to the apron, then fought to crawl back onto the asphalt. When finally he had control, he looked over his shoulder. He could see nothing.

  The black Hyundai had shot off the highway, flying into one of the many small chasms over which they’d raced. For Rahmani, there was no time to think. At one level it all happened in slow motion, on another it was irresistible. He was trapped by the onward motion. He saw the rocky wall at almost the moment the car struck it. Then dark consumed him.

  Jeff looked at Saliha again. There was no doubt at all. He slowed to fifty miles an hour to think what to do. Ten minutes later when he saw an exit he took it. He drove a few miles along a lonely road, pulled to the side, and stopped. Outside he stood sucking air, struggling to clear his mind and steady his nerves.

  As the adrenaline faded, Jeff felt suddenly depressed and anxious. That young woman. He’d never seen anything like her death before. One minute she was struggling to live, the next instant her life was gone. Had he caused this? Was this all his fault?

  His hands were shaking as he ran them over his face, struggling to regain control. Finally, on wobbly legs he went around the car and from the passenger door lifted the woman out, then dragged her into the brush. He lay her respectfully. He returned to the car, retrieved the scarf, and covered her face. Finally, he checked her clothing and located a thumb drive matching those he’d seen in Ahmed’s apartment. He slipped it into his pocket.

  There was nothing to bury her with and he wasn’t even certain he should. Better he made certain she was found. He checked the rear wheels and managed to bend away whatever was rubbing against a tire. Back on the highway he checked markers and made mental notes that would lead someone to this spot.

  With immediate danger past, he wondered where Daryl was.

  57

  MENLO PARK, CALIFORNIA

  PG TECHNOLOGY APPLICATIONS

  11:09 A.M. PST

  The problems with the WAyk5-7863 grid in Washington State had brought matters to a head for Guy Fagan. He and his team had been working on a complex program that was designed to make possible an emergency override of an electrical grid in the event of a cyber-attack. At the minimum it was intended to prevent the kind of cascade that led to massive power outages. These were nearly always the result of an interruption in the delicate balance of supply and demand. As a safety precaution, power generators dropped out of the grid when too much strain was placed on them because of the abrupt collapse of electricity. The new program allowed such generating stations to remain in the grid without danger. It was potentially revolutionary—if it worked. It had in simulations. Only with its adoption would Fagan know if it performed as designed in the real world.

  Though no one was saying so, the pressure he was under to release the new program suggested that someone had made an initial determination that the Yakima grid had been subject to just such a cyber-attack, and there were fears the malware that had caused it was implanted within other grid systems. His oversight committee had met earlier in the day. Fagan’s team had carefully reviewed every simulation for them and it was decided the new program should be released. He was confident it would do what it was designed to do but if it did not, it would cause no harm. That had been a priority in the project from day one.

  Approximately one-third of the electrical grids in the United States would receive the program within the next few minutes. Another third were expected to adopt it over the coming weeks.

  “All right,” Fagan said. There were five of his team in his office. “Here we go.” He sent the program off, confirmed the message had gone out, then turned around to be greeted by grins and applause. “Good job, all.”

  “We’ve got cake and ice cream,” his assistant said.

  “I’d rather have a drink.”

  One of the engineers whispered, “We’ve got that covered.”

  As the software arrived at each operations center, it was opened. In some cases it was installed at once, in others it would be installed within days. It made no difference. The moment the program was opened, the Trojan Horse insinuated itself into their control system, concealing itself where no one looked, doing nothing for now. When the time was right it could call home and inform its creator that it was in place, that they had a backdoor into one-third of the American electrical grid, a backdoor through which any malware could be inserted, an opening for a full scale cyber-attack.

  PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA

  XINJIAN PROVINCE

  URUMQI

  PLA CYBER WARFARE CENTER

  2:30 A.M. CST

  We have successful penetration,” the tech announced to his team standing behind him. “Five of the grids have already called home. The others should within a few hours. Congratulations to us.”

  There was a scattering of applause and wide smiles as he swiveled in his seat.

  “Very good,” Colonel Jai Feng said. “I believe there is refreshment waiting for you all.”

  “Won’t you join us?” the tech asked.

  “I cannot. But you have my congratulations.” Feng nodded to all, then took the stairs back to his office. A success. Just what he needed. The silence from Beijing was ominous. There had been an initial expression of disapproval when his data-altering program had been uncovered at UNOG and Whitehall so quickly. He’d explained how that was inevitable once it was employed in such a cavalier way. But as was always the case even though his warning was true, or perhaps because it was, the accusations against him had been sharp.

  And his hopes had been so high. Had he been given enough time that program could have been spread throughout the West. The havoc his team could have created would have been incalculable. No one would have trusted anything in their computers. True, his own people had made an error but that was something he could have overcome. Given time Feng was convinced this virus would be the most powerful tool he’d ever unleashed on China’s enemies.

  There’d been no word about the two laptops he’d wanted, no confirmation that his Stuxnet countermeasure had found its way into the new Iranian computers. He’d assured his superiors repeatedly that using a mule was unnecessary, that there were secure ways to send it by e-mail but he’d been overridden repeatedly.

  “Colonel?” It was his aide.

  “Yes?”

  “Men here to see you.”

  “Men? What do you mean?”

  In marched three men in suits, one of middle years, the others very young. Feng knew none of them but he knew immediately what they represented. “Ministry of Public Security,” the lead man said. “Come with us, Colonel.”

  Feng lifted himself erect. He blinked as if struck, then blinked again. “I have j
ust performed a great service for the party and our country.”

  Their faces might have been carved from stone. “Come with us, Colonel,” the man repeated.

  Feng hung his head. It was over.

  58

  NATANZ, IRAN

  FUEL ENRICHMENT PLANT (FEP)

  BUILDING J

  1:07 A.M. IRST

  After the body search at the entrance to Building J, Dariush Elahi went directly to his workstation to begin his night shift, nodding to a few co-workers on the way. Since the Stuxnet infection security had been significantly increased. Building J was part of the facilities expressly designed and maintained to create the ultimate air gap. No thumb drives or personal computers were permitted in this new facility. Cell phones were allowed but they had to be turned off and could only be used during breaks or at mealtime.

  Before the acquisition of new computers and the creation of this secure facility, the program had been set back repeatedly. The failure rate of the 12,000 centrifuges spinning out enriched uranium had exceeded half and those that had not failed had nearly all produced useless product. The full scope of the disaster was known only within certain parts of the program. As senior engineer, Elahi was privy to such knowledge.

  They were very close now, very close indeed. Promotions and bonuses had been promised at the time of success. Elahi could hardly wait. Projections from earlier that week said that some time in the next few days they’d have the quantity necessary for the first test. Then they’d see if the engineers had done their job and the bomb worked.

  Elahi lay his cell phone down on his desk as he went to work. A few seconds later, Stuxnet3 made the wireless leap into his computer. This was a virgin system, which had never before been penetrated and the Trojan Horse found a vast expanse of fertile digital space in which to seek, to expand, and to destroy. As the malware moved beyond Elahi’s computer, it encountered itself spread everywhere, like an enormous spiderweb. In fact, there was almost no space left for it. The thirty thousand new computers within the air gap were utterly and thoroughly infected though until now the malicious network remained almost entirely dormant.