#RedTeam Attack

by S J Grey

  “Nothing is off limits. That’s what you told me.”

  Mark huffed a noisy breath. “Can I ask—”

  “Nope.”

  When Mark looked at him, there was a wolfish smile on his face. “You, Caleb Rush, will be an asset to the agency. Don’t make me regret this.”

  Despite the brightness of the day, the wind blew, bringing a bite of ice to the air. Mark huddled into his down jacket, but Caleb didn’t mind the cold. He’d go for a walk on the beach tonight, to clear his head, and he preferred it when the sea was wild and the sands were empty of all but the hardiest dog-walkers.

  It didn’t take long to reach the café, an airy and high-ceilinged space adjoining an independent bookshop. Vivid mosaic tiles patterned the floor, while the walls were bright with posters of classic album covers. The place reminded Caleb of his years at University. They served good coffee, too.

  Emma was there already, sitting at a table against the far wall. She waved to them, and the men went to meet her.

  “Hey.” She greeted Mark with a hug and kiss, before hugging Caleb. “I’ve not ordered yet. What do you both want?”

  “I’ll get these,” said Caleb. His social skills were rusty, but he was trying. He could sit and make small talk for half an hour. He checked their drink preferences and headed for the counter, to place the order. It was quiet at the moment, in the late-morning lull before the lunchtime rush. He called in here most days, to feed his caffeine addiction on the way to the office. Slow but steady, he was rebuilding his daily routine, piecing his life back together.

  He was meeting a contact in here tomorrow—a guy who went by the handle of Sonic. Caleb had outsourced work to him before, and tomorrow he hoped to recruit him to the Red Team. This was the first time they’d meet face to face. It’d give Caleb a chance to see how much of a pain in the ass the guy was. If he could be trusted.

  With the drinks being prepared, Caleb sauntered back to the table. Emma and Mark held hands, their heads close together. Cute. They looked up, and he dropped into the free chair.

  “This place wasn’t open, before,” he said. Before he went to jail.

  Emma smiled. “It used to be a record shop, back in the day, and then it started selling CDs and DVDs, hence all the posters.”

  “That’s right. I bought a Shihad album here.” Look at him, engaging in friendly conversation. Like a normal person.

  The drinks arrived, and that filled a minute of arranging the mugs on the table. A small group of customers spilled through the door, and Caleb stared at them. He stared at everyone. It was second nature, now. These looked like office workers—the women in short skirts and thick tights, while the guys wore suits and overcoats.

  Caleb turned back to Emma and Mark but tugged down his beanie. He craved anonymity even more than he wanted caffeine in his veins.

  “You’re not listening,” said Emma.

  He looked at her. Her eyebrows were raised. “Sorry.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I am now.”

  “Did Nic come to see you about the video?”

  “Yeah. What did she tell you?”

  “I saw her at the station this morning. She was visibly upset, so I asked if she was okay, and she unloaded onto me.” Emma’s gaze was steady. “She wants to know who’s behind it. She asked if I knew anyone who could get it taken down, and I thought of you.”

  “Did she show you the video?”

  Emma shook her head. “No, and I didn’t ask to see it. Nic said it’s a clever fake.” She widened her eyes. “Oh my God, you think it’s real?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I was reading about deep-fake videos the other day,” she said. “Could it be one of those?”

  “It’s unlikely. The ones I’ve seen have the lip movements superimposed, like the one of Mark Zuckerberg, or they have a plain background, like a green screen in filmmaking. This one doesn’t.”

  Emma looked stricken. “So you think it’s real?”

  Caleb nodded.

  “How do you think it was done?” Mark joined the discussion.

  “The footage of her looks legit. It might have been superimposed onto another clip. But if that’s the case, someone’s got their hands on private film of her, which comes back to it being connected to someone she trusts. Right?”

  “Right,” said Mark.

  “Ugh,” said Emma. “That’s horrible. What are you going to do?”

  “That’s the six-million-dollar question. I’ll run some traces. See if I can figure out who loaded it onto Pornhub, and track it back to a person. Take it from there.”

  The door clunked shut, as another group of people came in, their voices loud and cheerful. Caleb gritted his teeth. It was too crowded in here, and he felt exposed. He had his back to the door, a position he hated, but Mark had claimed the seat against the wall.

  Caleb’s heartbeat accelerated, and he had to wipe suddenly damp palms on his jeans. How long would he be like this?

  He shoved his chair back, the legs squealing on the tiled floor. “Got to go,” he mumbled.

  “You haven’t had your coffee.” Emma’s gaze searched his face. What did she see? “Let me ask them to put in in a takeout cup,” she said.

  “I’m good.” He was anything but. He had to get out of here. “Talk soon.”

  Caleb burst out through the doors and back onto the street. It was raining, and the wind had picked up in the short time he’d been in the café. Passers-by hurried past with their heads bent, brollies straining against the stiff breeze. Nobody paid him any attention. He let out a breath from lungs that felt too tight. Yeah, this was better. Hands in his pockets, he forced himself to saunter up the street as though he didn’t have a care in the world. He wouldn’t give in to this fear. He wouldn’t let it cripple him.

  Think about something else. Lunch. What did he fancy today? This part of the city was bursting at the seams with cafés and fast-food joints. Did he want a kebab? Or noodles? The Asian place around the corner did amazing noodles, and cheap too. He’d go there. Mind made up, he diverted and joined the short queue to be served. Out of habit, he scanned the people around him. He didn’t want anyone sneaking up on him.

  A slim young woman was next in the queue. She surfed Facebook as she waited. The stocky Indian man after her stared at the menu, eyebrows low, lips moving silently as he worked through the options. Two city boys were after him, with their hipster beards and trendy glasses. The guy paying for food, at the head of the line, wore a leather jacket over a hoodie. A distinctive cartoon figure was painted onto the aging leather.

  Caleb frowned. Why did that look familiar?

  It was a faded image of Dr. Robotnik, the arch enemy of Sonic the Hedgehog.

  How many people would be in Wellington, wearing a jacket connected to Sonic the Hedgehog? The noodles could wait. Caleb wanted to see where this guy went. Caleb’s gut told him Sonic was a local, and his gut rarely lied.

  Stepping out of his place in the line, Caleb pretended to be checking his phone while really watching Dr. Robotnik. The man walked away swiftly and headed into the CBD, a paper bag in his hand.

  Chapter Three

  Caleb set off behind Dr. R., weaving through the lunchtime workers that now flooded the street. Why was he so keen on following the guy?

  Common sense knocked. Caleb wasn’t going to get confirmation Sonic was another agent by watching where he ate his lunch. Assuming this was Sonic. All the same, Caleb followed along Lambton Quay, past the shops and cafés, to the junction at the bottom end of Willis Street.

  Did Dr. R. sense he had a tail? He darted across the road just as the lights changed, leaving Caleb stranded on the other side. Buses thundered past, and Caleb had to wait. Damn.

  Caleb danced on his toes and caught sight of the bright-red cartoon image disappearing toward the elevators in the State Insurance Tower. Dr. R. was gone.

  The lights pinged to green, and Caleb crossed anyway, in case Dr. R. was watching him. He strolled to the informat
ion board for the building and checked the tenants. Insurance, finance, telecoms, and media companies rented space in the high rise. And there was one IT Security company, W-Digital, on Level Sixteen.

  Caleb’s phone vibrated in his pocket, and he fished it out. Mark had sent a text.

  Mark: We need to finish our convo. What time are you back in the office?

  It might be five minutes, or it might be thirty. Mark could wait, for the moment. Caleb hit up his browser and searched for W-Digital. They were a small, independent outfit that specialised in threat assessment. The guy had to be Sonic.

  Before he could second guess himself, Caleb jumped in the nearest elevator and headed for Level Sixteen.

  There were several companies on the floor, but W-Digital weren’t hard to find. Caleb pushed through a frosted-glass door into a tiny but deserted reception area, and leaned on the counter.

  Moments later, a young guy appeared. “Hi. Can I help you?”

  “I wondered if you were hiring.”

  “Uh… no. At least, I don’t think so. Do you want to speak to the GM?” The guy looked flustered. “I’m standing in for Ed, while he’s on lunch. I’m just the intern, sorry.”

  “Does the GM take care of recruitment?” Caleb heard a buzz of conversation nearby.

  “Yes. He takes care of everything. Should I make you an appointment?”

  “Maybe.” Caleb tugged out his phone and pretended to scroll through something. While he did so, he shifted position and saw a kitchen area. Three guys sat around a table, and one of them was Dr. R., noodle bowl and chopsticks in his hands. Bingo.

  “I need to check with Ed,” said the intern. “Will you wait a moment?”

  “Sure.” Would he go into the kitchen area?

  He did. Caleb watched idly as the intern spoke with one of the guys. Three guys turned to look at Caleb, who instantly angled himself away.

  “Ed doesn’t know if we’re hiring, but I can give you the GM’s email address, and you can send in your CV. How does that work?”

  “Thanks.” Caleb accepted the card and strolled back out, grabbing the first available elevator. He’d bet easy money that Dr. R was actually Sonic, the contact he’d be meeting soon enough. For a threat-assessment company, they had some slack procedures. Caleb would quiz Sonic on that in the morning.

  His phone buzzed again, with another text from Mark.

  Mark: You okay? Let me know when you’re free.

  This time he replied.

  Caleb: Back in the office in 5 mins. Free when you are.

  He heard distant conversation and a burst of laughter before he reached his office. He’d been out an hour at most, but in that time, Mark’s agents had moved in.

  Caleb froze in the doorway. Wires trailed across the floor, with laptops open on every surface. His gaze darted from one man to the next. He knew Jonathan, and he recognised a second guy, but the other two were strangers. Though this was Mark’s idea, and it made sense, it sucked for Caleb to have his domain invaded. How long would they be here? How soon would the exercise be complete?

  “Hey.” Jonathan was the first to notice him. “Let me introduce you to the rest of your team.”

  His team. What a joke. He was a figurehead, nothing more. Caleb bit back the snarky reply and forced a smile. It was probably more like a grimace.

  Jonathan clapped his hands, and the room fell silent. “Guys,” he said, “this is Caleb Rush, Red Team Leader.”

  There was a snicker, and Caleb’s hackles rose, but Jonathan rolled his eyes.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he continued. “I’m starting a swear box for Star Wars jokes. After today, any Star Wars puns will be fined. Five bucks a pop.” He flashed a grin at Caleb. “Unless you want to make it higher?”

  Caleb shrugged. He wanted this to be over.

  “Right,” said Jonathan. “This is Nat, Toby, and Will.” In turn, the men nodded and held out their hands for Caleb to shake. They were all around his age. Nat wore a tidy beard, while the other two were clean shaven. Jonathan was the only one to wear business slacks and a crisp white shirt. The others all rocked jeans and T-shirts and looked like techies, not government agents.

  “We’ll finish setting up,” said Jonathan, “and we’ll try to keep the noise down. We’re not touching your office. The team will fit in here with a bit of a squeeze.”

  It was Caleb’s cue to escape to his sanctuary, only Mark followed and closed the door behind him, shutting down the noise from the outer office.

  Caleb glared at him. “I’m going to put a bell on you, to stop you from sneaking up on me.”

  “And I thought you had eyes in your arse.” Mark put his hand on the guest chair. “May I sit?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Mark settled himself, the picture of a relaxed man.

  Caleb wasn’t fooled. “What do I need to know?”

  “First, that team out there”—Mark gestured with his thumb—“is under your control. Jonathan will brief you on their skills and experience, but he won’t try to run the op. He’s a shared resource on the exercise, while the others are twenty-four-seven until you call time. These guys are good, but they have a tendency to think in straight lines. They don’t have your creativity. You’ve got this, Caleb. I know you’re going to do a great job.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk.” That came out sounding churlish, but Mark didn’t look pissed.

  “No worries. And now for the other thing.” Mark uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his gaze intense. He handed Caleb a thumb drive. “This has all the info you need. My IG-6 contact name and details. My schedule. My planned check-in times and locations.”

  He hesitated, and Caleb was immediately wary.

  “Remember that tracking device we had you swallow?” Mark was talking about when Caleb had to give himself to the people who kidnapped Emma’s parents.

  Caleb nodded. The experience was hard to forget.

  “I have one of those, disguised as an over-the-counter painkiller. It will only activate once it’s ingested, and then it’ll send a ping every thirty minutes for around seventy-two hours. I’m only going to use it as a last resort, so if that baby fires up, you know something’s gone wrong.”

  “How do I monitor it?”

  “There’s an app on the thumb drive. Keep it on your phone. And get Aiden, my IG-6 contact, involved.”

  “What do you think you’re walking into? What’s the risk?”

  “The recent cyber-attack on the UK emergency network—codenamed GoldRush—was supposedly traced back to Kharavek, a tiny state that sits between the Ukraine and Russia. I don’t think that’s what happened, though. I believe it was driven internally, as a means of getting you to cooperate.”

  “Wait. You think your own people unleashed an attack on your emergency network? That’s pretty wild.”

  “It also smacks of corruption.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to look into it? If you’re right, shit like that has a habit of sticking in the wrong places.”

  “Exactly. What should happen is that I go back to the UK, do a full debriefing, and then get reassigned down here on a long-term secondment. What I want to avoid is being targeted as a scapegoat for the damage caused by GoldRush.”

  Chapter Four

  Caleb stood in front of the agents and waited until he had their attention. If he felt ever so slightly out of his depth addressing this team, he wasn’t going to let it show. He’d read their profiles but wanted to know more about their strengths.

  “Here’s how this is going to work,” he said. “Starting tomorrow, we have briefings morning and afternoon, and when this really kicks off, we’ll work around the clock. Hackers don’t work office hours. Cyber-attacks from overseas are most likely to occur late at night. And that’s when we’ll be active.”

  He looked around the men and held each of their gazes in turn. Nat, Toby, Will, and Jonathan. “We’re going to attack on multiple fronts,” Caleb continued, “so let’s figure out where to start
.”

  He stood next to a giant smartboard on the wall, and it was time to use it. He picked up the stylus and doodled a star in the corner. It worked. Was he stalling? Maybe. What the fuck was Mark thinking, having Caleb lead this team? Caleb was so far from being a team player, it was laughable.

  He stood there, stylus in his hand, his head empty. Focus. If he was going to hack into the Department of Technology and Innovation, how would he do it?

  “Who here is good with social media?” He asked, his voice a croak. Damn. He cleared his throat and tried again. “If we’re going to hack someone from the DTI, we need to figure out who to target. I need someone to monitor Twitter and Facebook feeds, and then try to match names onto LetsConnect. The goal is to make a list of convincing email addresses.”

  Blank faces met him. “Okay. We need to understand the format and structure of their email addresses. We can get that by browsing prominent profiles on LetsConnect. They often list their email address, and we can figure out real quick if the format is Fred at DTI-dot-gov, or Fred-dot-Smith, or F-underscore-Smith, you see?” Solemn nods met his words. Jesus, he was dying up here, in front of them. “When we know how their email is structured, how will that help us? Anyone?”

  Toby held up a hand, like a kid in class. “We can start a phishing campaign?”

  “Thank you. Yes. Who wants to do this? I want a list of credible email addresses for real employees, with their job titles and—for bonus points—lookalike email signatures. Can you do that?”

  Toby nodded. “Yeah. I’m on it.”

  “We want an in to their organisation,” said Caleb. “Once we’re in, we can find their weak spots. That’s what we’re going to exploit.”

  “The exhaust vent on the Death Star,” said Nat, a smug grin on his face.

  His teammates groaned. Someone tossed a ball of paper at him.

  “Dude,” said Jonathan. “That’s five bucks in the pot, or a round of coffees. Pay up.”

  “Eh, it was worth it. I’ll buy coffee this afternoon.”