Drone Strike: A Joe Matthews Thriller

by David Austin

It was not beyond the realm of possibility that a nation-state without a viable UAV program might have stolen the Reaper to reverse-engineer its technology. In many cases it was easier, and more cost effective, for a country to steal technology than to spend the time and resources to develop its own. And then there was the strategic advantage of being in possession of another country’s advanced weaponry. The weapon system could be studied to determine how best to defeat it if the pointy end of the spear ever ended up being aimed in your direction.

  Claire Nichols was the first to voice what everyone else was thinking. “Forgive my lack of knowledge in this area, General, but if someone has the drone and all its components, would it be possible for them to actually fly it?”

  “That’s an excellent question, Madame Secretary. I’m not as familiar with how the Agency runs it’s UAV program, but if it is in any way similar to what we do in the Air Force, I would have to say the odds are against the attackers being able to operate the Reaper.”

  “Why is that?” Julia Maxwell asked from across the table. “If they have the drone, the ground control station, and the satellite link, what’s stopping them from firing everything up and taking it for a spin?”

  The CIA’s drone program fell under Katherine Clark’s purview, so she answered the national security advisor’s question. “Encryption, Julia. The satellite link between the UAV, the ground control station, and our pilots back on the headquarters compound at Langley, is encrypted. The crypto keys are changed daily, sent to the field, and then loaded into the systems before each day’s missions. If they had time prior to or during the attack, the chief of air operations or the communications officer would have been responsible for destroying the crypto to keep it from falling into enemy hands. The document destruction protocols are similar to those used in our embassies and stations in hostile areas overseas. But as a precaution, we have already changed the encryption keys here at headquarters and sent an update to the field.”

  “So they might be able to connect the ground control station and communication system, but nothing would happen?”

  “That’s correct. Everything would turn on, but the GCS wouldn’t be able to establish the link necessary to control the Reaper.”

  President Andrews jumped back into the conversation. “What would it take, or is it even feasible, to think they could override or break the encryption and make a connection of their own?”

  In the early days of the program, the satellite link beaming video from the drones to commanders in the field had been unencrypted. As a result, the feeds were available to anyone using an inexpensive computer program designed to intercept shows and movies broadcast by satellite television providers. The military first became aware of the issue in the 1990s when drone footage was found on Serbian laptops during the air campaign in Bosnia. Because the unencrypted feeds were intercepted, the drone was not technically considered to have been “hacked” and the breach was undetectable. The problem persisted, unaddressed, as drone operations transitioned from Europe to the Middle East and Afghanistan because the leadership in the Pentagon did not believe their new adversaries had the technological chops to intercept the transmissions. They could not have been more wrong.

  Saddam Hussein had a young relative with a master’s degree in computer science working out of an office in the Baghdad Aerospace Research Center whose only job was to find ways to intercept the broadcasts from U.S. satellites. Then in 2009, Shia insurgents in Iraq, probably trained and funded by Iran’s Quds Force, had been able to download video footage from drones using the movie-pirating software. Laptops seized in military raids on insurgent strongholds yielded hard drives full of captured video.

  But as the government plugged one hole in its drone program by encrypting the video feeds, the Iranians were busy exploiting another. In 2011, an electronic warfare unit belonging to the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps was able to hijack an RQ-170 Sentinel drone by interrupting the signal it used to communicate with its ground control station. They were able to fool the drone’s GPS system and reconfigure the coordinates to make its computers think it was landing at its home base, while it was, in fact, landing at an airfield of the Iranians’ choosing.

  The loss of the Sentinel was a wake-up call for the military and civilian leadership in Washington, and all UAVs were grounded until an unbreakable end-to-end encryption package could be loaded into their electronic brains and accompanying ground control stations. So far, thanks to the algorithm created by a computer scientist working for the National Security Agency, the embarrassing string of UAV misadventures appeared to have come to an end. Until now.

  Clark said, “Sir, working with our counterparts in the military, we have red-teamed our UAV encryption protocols in every manner we could imagine.” Red-teaming was a practice used by organizations or units to have individuals attempt to breach security in order to identify gaps in the systems. The CIA and the Pentagon had put a combined team of internal and external computer scientists and hackers together to try to break any of the encryption protocols a UAV would use during a mission. The mandate covered video feeds, GPS navigation, and satellite communications between the UAV, its ground control station, and the ultimate command and control authorities in the Washington, D.C. area. She continued, “And to this point, we haven’t found any weaknesses in the encryption.”

  Feeling a little better about the fact that whoever stole the Reaper would most likely be unable to fly it, the focus of the conversation shifted to identifying who might have been responsible for the operation. The use of air assets and the technological savvy to disassemble a UAV and its support system probably eliminated foreign terrorist organizations like ISIS or any of the al-Qaeda affiliates operating in the region. Nation-states ranging from the Syrians to the Iranians were considered, but just as quickly dismissed.

  “Mr. President,” the sound of Lawrence Sloan’s voice quieted the room. “As we said at the beginning of this meeting, the investigation is in its earliest stages, but I believe it was Russia who attacked our base.”

  President Andrews mulled over what his DCIA had just said before responding. “I realize we’ve had a few skirmishes and close calls with their troops and mercenaries over there, but I’m having a tough time accepting that President Polovkin would sanction a direct attack on a U.S. facility.”

  Sloan asked, “Sir, do you recall a briefing several weeks ago when I mentioned that a highly placed asset in the Syrian government reported the Russians were planning something big? Something that would make meddling in our election look like child’s play?”

  “Vaguely,” Andrews replied, having sat in on so many briefings that they all tended to run together at some point. He looked to his national security advisor to refresh his memory.

  Maxwell picked up where Sloan left off. “The asset reported he’d been in a meeting where a GRU officer had slipped up and made the comment in his presence.”

  Sloan continued. “President Polovkin has publicly stated his desire on numerous occasions to expand Russia’s sphere of influence in the Middle East, and he’s counting on using their bases in Syria to gain a permanent foothold in the region. We are his biggest obstacle to achieving that goal, and our presence must be diminished for him to step in and fill our shoes. The attack on our base in Jordan may very well be the first overt sign that his plan is in play.”

  President Andrews shook his head. In this job you just never knew what the day had in store when you woke up each morning. Paul Owens tapped his watch with his index finger, implying they needed to wrap it up to give the president a few minutes to prepare for his next meeting.

  Feeling a little better about the situation than when he had walked in the door, Andrews stood and said, “Thanks everyone. Please keep me in the loop with any new developments. And do me a favor. Let’s get a few more details on the UAV encryption protocols from the computer scientist who created the algorithm. The last thing we need is a rogue drone flying around loosing Hellfire missiles on unsus
pecting targets.”

  If only he knew how prophetic his last sentence was.

  CHAPTER 20

  The arrivals hall at Larnaca International Airport in Cyprus was busy this time of day. Incoming flights from Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East delivered a steady stream of tourists looking to enjoy the beaches and rich history of the tiny island nation. The country’s third largest city, after Limassol and the capital, Nicosia, Larnaca was located on the eastern coast of the island and offered all the benefits of a moderate climate and the spectacular waters of the Mediterranean Sea.

  Two men sat at a café, having chosen a table with a clear view of the entrance all arriving passengers passed through after clearing customs. Wearing khaki shorts, a navy-blue polo shirt, and Salomon hiking shoes, Joe Matthews looked like any other tourist as he sipped from a bottle of water while keeping an eye on the people milling around the terminal. The other man at the table was Scott Garrett, a veteran CIA officer and current chief of station in Jordan. They had known each other for years, and Joe had come to think of the older case officer as both a friend and a mentor.

  Nearly a year had passed since they had seen each other, so both men appreciated the opportunity to reconnect on this operation. The last time they were together was when Joe and the guys were working in Iraq as Garrett’s protective detail. The deployment had been eventful and culminated when an assassination team belonging to Iran’s Quds Force ambushed their convoy on the highway between Baqubah and Baghdad. The fact that Scott and Joe were sitting at a café on a beautiful Mediterranean island and the Quds men were not testified to the outcome of the encounter. The attack didn’t end well for the Iranians, but Joe’s team had not come out of it unscathed either, losing a teammate to an RPG blast.

  Garrett absent-mindedly stirred his coffee with a spoon while it cooled. He wasn’t sure when or where he’d picked up the habit. He drank his coffee black so there was nothing in it to stir. But it gave him something to do while he waited and helped him blend in with the other customers. Joe, on the other hand, was blending in by focusing his attention on his encrypted smartphone. His thumbs were a blur as they tapped the screen’s virtual keyboard, getting a status update through a group chat with Chris Ryan and John Roberts, to make sure they were in position.

  The team, and Garrett, were in Cyprus to meet with Tariq Kabbani, the Syrian intelligence officer and CIA asset. Tariq was understandably a little skittish after the firefight that erupted at his last face-to-face. The encounter had claimed the life of the only case officer he’d ever known, so the Syrian had insisted on seeing a familiar face in Larnaca, and the face he wanted to see belonged to Joe Matthews. Even though their relationship had gotten off to a rocky start, the Syrian respected his professionalism and the way his team responded to an unbelievably tough situation.

  And while it was a little unusual for a chief of station to be meeting with an asset, Scott Garrett was the CIA’s most experienced and well-respected officer in the Middle East. In the wake of Greg Jacobs’ death, Langley thought having Garrett handle Tariq would send a message to the Syrian about just how much the Agency valued him and the intelligence he provided.

  Joe looked up from the phone to check the flight status on the arrivals board and glanced at his watch. The plane was on time and due to land in ten minutes.

  “It’s kind of nice getting to work someplace civilized for a change. Is this what it used to be like back in the old days when you were going up against the KGB during the Cold War? Cafés and cocktail parties? Surveillance and dead-drops?”

  Garrett was taking the first sip of his coffee and almost spit it all over the table. “Cold War? Jesus, how old do you think I am?”

  A thoughtful look crossed Joe’s face. “Hmm. Let me see.” He made a show of counting on his fingers, then deadpanned, “You don’t look a day over sixty-five or seventy to me.”

  Garrett just shook his head before returning his attention to the coffee while his eyes constantly scanned the arrivals hall. “But the answer to your question is yes. Back when I was first starting out as a young case officer, the job was more about developing assets and gathering intelligence that would allow the administration back in Washington to make strategic foreign policy decisions.” He paused for a sip of coffee, then set the cup back on the table. “Nowadays, as you are intimately aware, we’re more focused on taking bad guys off the battlefield before they can conduct the next big strike at home. Don’t get me wrong, I have absolutely no problem cleansing the earth of every shithead who wants to do us harm, but we need to strike a balance between counterterrorism and intelligence gathering. Those policy makers back in D.C. still rely on the information we provide, and it’s up to Director Sloan to make sure they get it.”

  Joe couldn’t argue with a word the man said. It was one of the reasons he loved working with Scott. The veteran spook was always willing to share his knowledge and experience with the younger generation of officers and Joe usually felt smarter after one of their conversations.

  He checked his watch again, then looked up at the big board displaying the arrivals. The status on Tariq’s flight had changed from On-Time to Landed. Five minutes early. He picked up his phone and messaged the guys to let them know the plane was on the ground. He finished the text by having everyone insert their earpieces and switch to voice comms through their phone’s encrypted link.

  The team was shorthanded with Kevin Chang and Mike McCredy sidelined, but Joe felt he had a good plan in place, nonetheless. After the fiasco in Syria, Joe and Scott had decided to run Tariq through a surveillance detection route. The SDR was designed in such a way that his movements and direction of travel would appear perfectly normal for a tourist who had come to the island for a couple of days of fun and sun. But by observing him along the way, the team would be able to determine if he was being watched or followed by anyone other than the team of CIA operators.

  The doors separating customs and immigration from the main terminal parted and a group of passengers emerged, most wearing shorts and beach attire, their intentions for coming to the island obvious. Joe was the first to spot Tariq moving through the crowd but gave no indication he recognized the man. In his loose-fitting linen shirt, shorts, and sandals, the Syrian intelligence officer looked like all the other passengers as he stopped at a kiosk to exchange some currency. With his transaction complete, he headed for a nearby counter to sign paperwork and pick up the keys for his rental vehicle.

  As Tariq exited the terminal in search of his car, Scott stood and dropped a few Euros on the table. “Let’s go.”

  Joe relayed, “We have the eye,” letting the team know he and Scott had positively identified their asset and were on the move. He grabbed his well-worn GORUCK GR1 rucksack and slung it over his shoulder as they headed out into the Mediterranean sun.

  CHAPTER 21

  Reaching the short-term parking lot, Joe handed the ruck to Scott before sliding behind the wheel of their rented Nissan Qashqai, a crossover SUV like the Rogue model the Japanese automaker sold in the States. The engine purred to life as he pressed the start button on the dashboard, still shaking his head at the egghead who came up with the name Qashqai. Must’ve been the brainchild of some marketing genius at corporate headquarters in Tokyo. Wondering what the hell Qashqai meant, he had conducted a quick Internet search on his phone while filling out the paperwork for the rental company. The first result that popped up was from Wikipedia, so he knew it had to be true. The name Qashqai referred to the people living in the mountainous region of southwestern Iran. Joe couldn’t believe his eyes. Those damn Iranians were everywhere. After his run-ins with the Quds Force hit squads, he almost refused the vehicle on the spot.

  But that had been three days ago. And after seeing how many of the vehicles were on the roads around the island, he’d decided to hang onto it. Besides, other than the name and the fact that it was right-hand drive because the Cypriots drove on the left side of the road, he was starting to enjoy the mid-size SUV
. Joe would have typically preferred a larger vehicle with more space for people and gear, but on the narrow, ancient streets of Larnaca, the Nissan’s size was just right.

  Scott eased into the passenger seat and placed the bag on the floorboard between his feet. He unzipped the compartment built into its back panel and withdrew a small tablet. Setting the device in his lap, he reached over his shoulder for the seatbelt and buckled himself in before flipping open the tablet’s cover and tapping in the passcode. The screen unlocked, and he checked the settings to make sure it was connected to the cellular network. He then returned to the main screen and tapped an icon that opened a mapping program. Using his thumb and index finger to zoom in on the airport, Scott saw two dots on the satellite image. The first represented their SUV in the airport’s short-term parking lot. The other, in the rental car lot, identified Tariq’s silver Renault sedan.

  Fred Jackson, a technical operations officer in the Directorate of Science and Technology, had hacked into the rental agency’s system and preselected the car Tariq would be assigned. Ever the overachiever when it came to his government-sponsored hacking, Jackson had linked the Renault’s internal GPS system to the tablet’s mapping program. Adhering to the adage of two is one, and one is none, Chris Ryan had placed a tracking beacon under the sedan’s bumper as a back-up, just in case.

  Joe had worked hard to forge a relationship with Jackson ever since the hacker had proved his worth by locating the Iranian hit team’s location just prior to their attack in Washington, D.C. last year. What he didn’t know, and probably never would, was that Jackson had been the architect of an elaborate cyberattack on Iran’s nuclear enrichment facility in Natanz. Joe had seen news stories of the incident and the virus computer security experts called Stuxnet, but he had no idea that the man he’d befriended was behind the attack. But what he had figured out was that the guy’s skills with his keyboard might come in handy at some point down the road. And even though what Jackson had done on this mission was a simple task for a man of his considerable ability, it was exactly the type of operational support Joe had envisioned needing from the hacker.