Death in the Cloud

by E. J. Simon

  The room was quickly filling up with men in uniforms, some, no doubt, rushed there from their nearby suburban homes. Representatives from NORAD, the North American Aerospace Defense Command, the various intelligence agencies, and the National Security Council were seated around the table, electronically patched into their home bases around the world.

  Yet Harry O’Brien felt alone. Why would our missiles even be in the air? He hoped the answer—and the solution—was simple but, in his gut, he knew it wouldn’t be or those missiles would have been destroyed by now.

  “You’re telling me that these are our missiles heading for Moscow?”

  “Yes, sir. They were launched from our base in Colorado.”

  “I thought we’d deactivated that base.”

  “Not yet, sir, it’s scheduled for deactivation in December but it’s still one of our land-based missile sites.”

  “Are they armed?”

  “Yes, sir, with nuclear warheads. Worse, I’m afraid, they’re all MIRVs.”

  “MIRVs? Refresh my memory on exactly what the hell that is.” He vaguely remembered the acronym and, even as he asked the question, he knew it was bad news. He realized, too, that he was caught in the web of the military now, the generals, dedicated patriots like Sculley, men who’d served the country but, at the same time, whose judgment beyond the scope of military matters O’Brien didn’t always trust. He was relieved when his old friend Jim Goodrich spoke up.

  “Harry, sir, they’re multiple independently targetable reentry vehicle ballistic missiles, meaning each missile contains several warheads that, at some point, will independently break away. Each one of them will be aimed to hit a different target; they could be as far apart as fifteen hundred kilometers. It makes each warhead that much more lethal—and nearly impossible for any anti-missile system to destroy before they hit their targets.”

  “The Russians will never even come close to knocking them out of the air in time,” General Sculley said.

  O’Brien detected not only a tone of obvious concern but also perhaps one of pride. He made a mental note to replace Sculley, assuming they all survived the night.

  “Mr. President,” Goodrich said, “we’ve initiated a call to Mr. Putin. It’s the middle of the night in Moscow.”

  “That’s going to be pretty,” O’Brien said, “Okay, let me ask the obvious question: why haven’t we called them back or destroyed them already?”

  General Sculley spoke up, “Because it appears that someone hacked into our missile computers and took control of them.”

  “It’s a bit more complicated than that, sir,” Darryl MacPherson said. “Our missile systems have been programmed using an artificial intelligence software designed to take over once the missiles are on their way and have passed a certain point. So, first the hacker was able to launch several missiles by a traditional hack into our programs, but then he also locked us out of the AI software that guides the missiles to their targets.”

  “Why in the fucking world would we have relied on artificial intelligence to guide our missiles in the first place?” O’Brien said.

  “It was considered to be better at adapting and maneuvering in the event anti-missile defenses tried to shoot them down.” MacPherson said. “But…”

  “But? But what?” O’Brien asked, not only mystified but angry.

  “That’s why Mr. Benoit is here, sir. His team is ready in another room to help us break into and overrule the AI systems, our systems. Maybe Mr. Benoit would be the best qualified to explain that, sir.”

  “Go ahead, John,” O’Brien said. “Tell me what I need to know.”

  “Well, sir. The artificial intelligence program for the missiles was designed to ensure that once we launched them, no one could hack into our systems and destroy them—or, God forbid, turn the missiles around and back toward us. So, it has what we call a fail-safe protection so that, once the missiles reach a certain point in their trajectory, they can only be guided or their direction changed by your direct codes, the ones contained in the nuclear suitcase that travels with you everywhere.”

  “Well then, why can’t we just use those codes now? We certainly have them here.”

  “Because, it appears that the same person who did the initial hack to launch the missiles has also figured out our fail-safe program and not only preempted us, initiating the attack on Russia, but also locked us out completely.”

  “Fail-safe,” O’Brien said with scorn.

  “Yes, sir. Someone has used our system to block us out and we can’t figure out how to overrule it.”

  “And do we know who the hell did this?”

  “We believe it was Kurt Schlegelberger.” Benoit addressed the rest of the room: “Formerly the personal head of security to the Pope.”

  “He’s the one who’s no longer—”

  “Yes, sir,” Jim Goodrich said, “he’s dead.

  Chapter 61

  Stamford, Connecticut

  A tired Vito Colucci sat at his desk, alone late at night inside his Stamford, Connecticut, office, typing on his computer. He hated the computer and the Internet but he had only ever communicated with this client online—via a UK e-mail account—except once by phone, during which conversation he had detected a slight British accent.

  He didn’t know him but, considering they’d never met face-to-face, he was surprised how much he liked the guy. Maybe it was because he paid his retainer and monthly invoice so quickly. No, there was something sincere, real, maybe even touching about this client.

  Vito had been unable to trace his client’s name through Google or any of his criminal databases, including Interpol. Clearly, his name was fake, but that wasn’t unusual in his business. Still, the guy himself seemed genuine.

  Vito began by providing an update since their last series of messages, yesterday afternoon.

  “Dinner last night at Joe’s Garage Bar with the two cousins—both named Lester—and Donna Nicholas. I brought them up to date on the status of my research on Alex Nicholas, informing them of the results of my search and the fact that Alex was actually murdered at the restaurant in Whitestone a few years ago. Mrs. Nicholas didn’t press for any further details but clearly was disappointed to hear that Alex was no longer alive. I must admit that, despite her derogatory references to Alex, I think she had continued to hold out hope for him. She doesn’t appear to totally trust the Lester cousins since they were so close to Alex and now work for Michael. In any case, her marriage to Alex appears to have had a love/hate quality to it. I believe now that she has accepted the fact that Alex Nicholas is dead, she will move on to other relationships.”

  He pressed Send and, taking a deep breath, sat back and waited for a response. His client usually responded within minutes, sometimes quicker.

  Sure enough, the response came immediately: Okay, good. Stay close to her but don’t let her know you are watching her. I need to know who she’s seeing at night or if she’s sleeping with anyone.

  Vito had already asked his client why he was so interested in Donna Nicholas, but the client had resisted offering any information as to his motive. The guy appeared to have a romantic interest in her and wanted to be sure the deck had been cleared before he continued to pursue her. In particular, his client clearly wanted to be sure that Donna’s dead husband was definitely out of the way and that she was no longer holding out some crazy hope that he was alive. Now that that had been settled, it seemed he wanted to ensure she wasn’t cheating on him.

  A few minutes passed this time before the client messaged Vito again:

  “Thank you. I needed to be sure this had been settled. Keep up your physical surveillance.”

  A world away from everything that mattered to him, Alex Nicholas closed the Internet connection. He laughed at his use of the voice-changer software; after all, without it, the last thing anyone would mistake him for was a Brit. Vito wou
ld never uncover his true identity, especially since he didn’t believe that Alex was still alive. And, Alex had to admit, even he wasn’t sure at times.

  Chapter 62

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  President O’Brien’s mind was spinning; there was too much coming at him. A lot of it didn’t make any sense and, in any case, there wasn’t time to think. To make it worse, he noticed all the military men constantly looking up at the back wall. He finally realized what they were looking at—it was a large digital display timer, and it was counting down a tenth of a second at a time. It had just reached the twenty-minute mark.

  General Sculley noticed O’Brien staring at the clock, “Mr. President, in twenty minutes the first missiles will incinerate Moscow.”

  Once again, O’Brien detected a note of satisfaction in Sculley’s voice. The man was sick but this wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

  Sculley continued. “Whoever or whatever is behind this is looking to basically end the world as we know it, sir. They have to assume that the Russians will retaliate. When we’re all said and done, it’ll be the equal of at least a thousand Hiroshimas.”

  O’Brien struggled to piece together the extraordinary revelations of the past few days—beginning with the airliner hijacking, the conversation with Payard and Michael Nicholas and, finally, the otherworldly emergence of Monsignor Kurt Schlegelberger and Alex Nicholas.

  “So are we sure this is Schlegelberger’s doing?”

  “We believe that it is,” Goodrich said. “And we believe he’s a digital entity, much like Alex Nicholas. Nicholas may have been the first person to duplicate himself with this new technology but Schlegelberger managed to steal it and do the same thing, ultimately using his new AI abilities break into our secure systems.”

  “So it sounds like this AI software is the key to taking back control of our missiles?”

  “Yes, sir, we believe that’s correct.”

  “Well, I know this sounds too simple, but why don’t we find the scientists who made the discovery for Alex Nicholas, just like Schlegelberger did?”

  “They’re both dead, sir.” Goodrich said. “It appears that Schlegelberger had them murdered after they handed over the code.”

  “Jesus. This is a nightmare.” O’Brien thought back to the White House meeting about Alex Nicholas. He had found Michael Nicholas to be generally credible, truthful. “What about the brother?”

  Sculley smirked. “You wanna put him in the cloud too?”

  John Benoit hesitantly raised his hand as he began to speak. “Sir, if I may clarify matters: Alex Nicholas may be our best and only chance to block and override the hack, at least in the time available, but Michael Nicholas is our only way to get to him.

  “Benoit’s right.” Jim Goodrich quickly rose from his chair. “We contacted him as soon as we suspected what happened.” Goodrich signaled to one of the tech aides off to the side and suddenly a live video connection appeared on one of the walls. Goodrich pointed up to the screen. “You’ll remember, this is Michael Nicholas.”

  “Hello, Michael,” O’Brien said.

  Goodrich signaled again to Benoit.

  Before Michael Nicholas could speak, a second image appeared on the screen next to him. The faces bore a close resemblance, separated only perhaps by the ten years’ difference in their ages.

  Goodrich now turned to face the entire table and pointed to the screen. “Mr. President, once again, meet Alex Nicholas.”

  Chapter 63

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  Alex Nicholas looked out from the screen, his head moving to seemingly scan the room. He grinned, an expression of satisfaction and perhaps mischief.

  “Nice room. Lots of uniforms. I was 4F in the draft by the way. Legitimate, busted knees.”

  The room was silent, and even General Sculley seemed to be in awe of what they were witnessing. Many of the men around the conference table had also been in the Roosevelt Room meeting when Michael had first introduced Alex.

  “I really need your help, Alex,” O’Brien said, “and I don’t have much time. I assume you’ve been somewhat briefed on the situation and how we believe that Monsignor Schlegelberger, in some form or other, is behind it.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not sure where I fit in this or how I could help. He and I aren’t exactly friends.” Alex’s voice was gruff, like his manner.

  “Alex, this is John Benoit, our tech guru. He’s a good guy and he believes in you.” O’Brien turned away from the screen and toward Benoit. “John, would you explain to Mr. Nicholas exactly what we need from him?”

  “We need access to your software; specifically, we need your software codes. You see, the only shot we have of stopping this attack is to nullify the hacks into our missile systems. In order to do that, we need Schlegelberger’s source code—the unique combination of 1’s and 0’s that brought him into existence.”

  Alex shrugged. “I don’t know how you expect me to get them for you.”

  “We understand,” O’Brien said, looking at Benoit again, gesturing for him to go on.

  “Yes, okay,” Benoit said. “Here’s the thing, though: Schlegelberger entered the cloud the same way you did. Your source code was stolen from the pair that created you and then used it to create this version of Schlegelberger. Therefore, you and Schlegelberger have identical computer source code. So, if we can get your source code from you, then we’ll also have Schlegelberger’s. We simply need for you to unlock your security option so we can go in and copy your code.”

  “I see, I think…So, once you get the code…then what?” Alex looked either confused or, more likely, skeptical.

  “So,” Benoit continued, “once we have Schlegelberger’s source code we can go in and delete that code—and by so doing, we delete him and remove his control over our systems, allowing us to regain control and destroy our missiles before the reach their target.”

  “I understand, but let me ask you, if we both have the same source code, what happens to me when you do all that?”

  Total silence in the room. Everyone at looked to each other and then, almost in unison, to Benoit.

  Sensing the tech man’s unease, O’Brien cut in. “Maybe we should put this thing on mute for a minute while we sort this out. Excuse us for a second, Alex, Michael; we need to take this offline. Just hold on.”

  Benoit signaled one of his assistants and Michael’s and Alex’s screens instantly froze them in place.

  O’Brien turned to Benoit. “So what does happen to Alex Nicholas if we’re able to do this?”

  Before Benoit could answer, Goodrich signaled to O’Brien. “Mr. President, I have Mr. Putin on the line as you requested. We had to wake him.”

  Chapter 64

  Washington, DC

  President O’Brien reached for the red, push-button, Western Electric phone, the classic model found in every American household for decades, except for its color. It seemed so archaic now, O’Brien thought, especially inside the high-tech Star Wars room. And with nuclear missiles in the air.

  “Vladimir, I must inform you that we have a dangerous situation—”

  He was quickly interrupted. Putin’s voice was tense and firm. It reverberated as through speakers around the room.

  “Mr. President, I have been informed by our Space Center that missiles launched from the United States are in flight, targeted here, to Moscow and other sites. We are now preparing a retaliatory attack on your country…What is going on? Are you…insane?”

  “No,” O’Brien said, trying to stay calm and control the tempo of his voice, “this is an error, a mistake.” How was he possibly going to explain Schlegelberger and Alex Nicholas to a former KGB chief in the time remaining and hope to be believed?

  “Please, Vlad, do not launch a retaliatory attack. Our missile systems ha
ve been corrupted, hijacked by some individuals—possibly a neo-Nazi group—who are attempting to push both our countries into a nuclear exchange so that they can rise to power in the ensuing chaos and power vacuum. Our artificial intelligence programs have been taken over by this group and we are in the process of attempting to overrule the…hack and destroy our own missiles in flight.”

  “You understand that your missiles are only…fifteen minutes away from my country, from Moscow?”

  “Yes, I do. We believe we will have control of them before then.” As he said this, it dawned on him that he didn’t know what he believed. Things were happening too quickly. But, now that he thought of it, he knew that given the little time remaining, survival was a long shot.

  “You believe? You understand,” said Putin, “that it is my solemn duty to protect my homeland. If we are attacked—whether deliberately or by error—I must retaliate, fully. That is my duty and my intention. I believe your experts can inform you of how much time you have before we must launch our missiles. We are assessing the extent of your attack—and are preparing to respond with our own.”

  “Vlad, hold off, you have to listen to me. Trust me. I understand your position but I pray that you will hold off from any attack. Our missiles have been hijacked. We have no reason to do this, and if you retaliate, you’ll only be playing into the hands of the terrorists who purposely have done this, hoping we destroy each other.”

  “Mr. President, you have several minutes to destroy your missiles and to halt this attack. Unless you do so, our missiles will destroy your cities.”

  “Please,” O’Brien said, even as he realized his efforts were fruitless, “stand by the phone. I will call you back shortly. Until then, for God’s sake, hold off.”

  “I will be waiting for your call—but I must make my position clear. If your missiles are not stopped, call or no call, I will destroy as many of your cities as you destroy of ours. There is no discussion on that matter.”