The Devil's Ransom, page 17
Hobbes chuckled and said, “I don’t think I’ve been a lot of help, but thanks. And I don’t know anything about space launches.”
Palmer patted him on the back and said, “You don’t need to know about space. Your help here on earth has been invaluable.”
Dylan Hobbes walked back to his car without another word. He’d been disingenuous with that answer. While he dealt in the realm of cyberspace, he knew a great deal about Auriga’s space ventures. It was the target he’d chosen for his ultimate objective. He’d followed the company’s rise and thought it the perfect vehicle—no pun intended—to return America back to what he’d known in his youth.
There had been two things that had united the U.S. in his life. One was the Challenger disaster in 1986. The other was 9/11. He’d been a college student in 1986, but had seen how it had coalesced the feelings of patriotism in the United States. Later, much later, he’d seen the same thing when the twin towers fell. And he’d decided to re-create both in a single strike. Remake the partisan bent of the United States into one of unified goals.
He’d watched Skyler Fitch spend his billions on creating a commercial space tourism company, eventually becoming the leader in both government and commercial spaceflight against a host of competitors. Government, in that his rockets resupplied the International Space Station, and commercial in that those same rockets took rich people into space for brief moments solely for the bragging rights of having been there.
This launch was the first combination of both. In a race to beat the Russians yet again—who’d actually sent a civilian camera crew to the space station for a Russian movie—this one was the first fully civilian crew to fly to the space station.
The members included an actual retired NASA astronaut, the billionaire himself, a former fighter pilot who was now a senator on the subcommittee on space and science, and a schoolteacher from Little Rock, Arkansas.
That final person was key. He remembered the Challenger, the last time a teacher had been sent into space, only to disintegrate on live TV for all to see. She was key to his plans. If the destruction of the spacecraft could be blamed on an enemy, the entire United States would forget about their petty political differences and coalesce around a new feeling of national unity.
The Cold War had been frightening for many reasons, but in Hobbes’s mind, it had also provided a unifying theme. No matter how bad the politics got inside the United States, there was always a threat. He wanted to re-create that time.
If it involved a war, so be it. That was the price of saving this democracy. Wars had always saved America. Name one that hadn’t. Every single war the United States had entered had caused a rally around the flag that made the people realize they lived in a better country than the petty disagreements seemed to show.
Stock market crash in 1929? World War II took care of that. Splinters at the edge of the reconstruction after? Korea took care of that. Infighting among the political parties over petty differences? 9/11 stopped that in its tracks, at least for a little while. Yeah, there had been some issues with Vietnam, and Iraq had most certainly been a debacle, but that was because nobody had shown the public what was at stake. They had no idea, and he was going to change the calculus.
No longer would people like him, who spent their entire lives protecting the fragile fabric of democracy in the United States, be pilloried by some elected asshole out for points. The entire architecture of the United States would turn to fight, and in so doing, the entire population of the United States would quit its petty political disagreements to join together against a greater threat.
That had been the plan initially, but with the ransomware attack against some top-secret organization inside the U.S. government, Hobbes had decided to protect himself instead of proceed. But now, he might be able to do both.
He drove out of the White House complex, went far enough away to be clear from whatever electronic devices were monitoring that area, then pulled over to the side of the road, dialing a number he’d promised he would never use again, routing the call through the Bluetooth in the car.
The phone rang and rang. He knew that even with the time change he was within daylight hours, and wondered if he’d been cut free. Like the guy didn’t want to talk anymore because he’d heard of the issues from the ransomware cell.
He put his finger over the button on the steering wheel to close out the call, and someone answered, saying, “Hello? What is your business?”
“I need to talk to Andrei. My name is Sphinx. He’ll know me.”
“Stand by.”
Thirty seconds later, he heard Andrei say, “To what do I owe this pleasure? You said you’d never call. You know, because everyone in the United States intelligence apparatus is tracking you. I’m assuming by the fact you’re using an open cell line that you’re clean?”
“No, I’m not clean, but nobody is tracking me. I’m assuming because you gave me this number for an emergency, that it’s clean. Is that not the case? If so, I’ll hang up now.”
He heard Andrei laugh and say, “One-time use. Never been on the cell network. You’ve just destroyed this number, so it had better be important.”
Hobbes toyed with telling him that they’d attacked a classified organization of the United States, but couldn’t see how to leverage the information. He decided to go with what he knew, leaving Andrei in the dark.
“The scheduled launch has been moved up a week because of weather. We need to initiate now.”
“But you said they’d find the bug if we penetrated early?”
“The launch is going early. They have some weather thing going on. What I want your team to do is penetrate the system and implant the malware, but use a timer. Get into the system and set a time bomb for initiation.”
“I’m not sure they can do that. I’m not skilled in the intricacies of this attack. All I’m skilled in is that I will profit from it. Do you understand? I will profit, right?”
Hobbes said, “Of course you’re going to get a payday. Just like me. But in order for that to happen, I need them to inject now.”
What he didn’t say was that the team was about to be wiped out by a killing crew deep in the heart of the United States government, hence the time delay. Or that he intended to use his company to implicate another nation-state for the Auriga attack, and cause a cascading effect.
Hobbes continued, saying, “They need to implant with a countdown. I know how to do this. I need the chat room they operate in to coach them. To tell them how to make it work.”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘chat room.’”
“Andrei, don’t kid me on this. It’s my job. I know they talk in a chat room on the dark web because that’s what all of them do. I need that access. I’ll tell them how to accomplish the mission, and we’ll both make money. I send them the gateway access, and they learn how to do a time-delay response.”
Andrei paused for a moment, then said, “If I give you the chat, can you access their systems?”
Hobbes laughed and said, “No, come on. The chat is just the chat. I can’t access their systems. And nobody is watching me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Andrei said, “Okay, I’ll send you the dark web chat room. But if you’re thinking of screwing me out of money by some backdoor deal, I will find you.”
Hobbes lied and said, “I’m not doing that. We both want the same thing. Money.”
Chapter 31
Jennifer gave me a cup of coffee and leaned into the computer. I said, “Nothing new yet.”
She nodded, took a sip of her own coffee, and said, “Any backlash from the Taskforce?”
“None yet, but you know it’s coming. That SITREP probably has them changing their diapers.”
“You don’t have a response?”
“Nope. Not yet.”
The computer made an announcement, and we both whipped around to the screen. A blue marble was highlighted inside the old town of Split. Along with it came the same caveat we’d heard before: Cannot confirm current, but this is the last known location.
I stood up, saying, “Looks like it’s Split. Get everyone ready to go. No telling how long that signal will last. He’s already wiped his phone. Hopefully he thinks that computer is clean.”
She said, “And the authorization?”
“It’ll come. Just get everyone ready to move.”
We’d exfiltrated from the kill zone of the so-called Art Park, which had ended up being nothing but graffiti, and had left a dead body behind, along with another live one in the wind, but that couldn’t be helped. We had a clear mandate to determine the ransomware, but not one to become Batman, saving every shitbag from an early death. If the guy we’d rescued was involved in our problem set, then we’d done some good. If he wasn’t, then we’d just created problems by leaving a dead Turkish guy on the ground.
The team itself was wondering how it would bleed out, not the least because I’d given the call to interdict, but I wasn’t worried about their reaction. To a man—or woman—they would always err on the side of saving someone’s life. Even if it was a bad guy. But, like them, I was worried about my command. If what we’d done didn’t pan out as the right decision, I’d be in a world of hurt. The Taskforce didn’t take kindly to killing someone on foreign soil without justification.
It was easy being the hero when the bad guy was a known entity, like on an assault in Fallujah, but that wasn’t my reality. Sometimes the bad guy was just a normal person using a weapon that wasn’t a gun, but he was bad all the same. The problem was figuring that out, and up until Creed’s message, I wasn’t sure.
We’d linked up after the actions at the Art Park, ran back to our hotel, and then had spent the rest of the night transferring the computer data, shacking up a SITREP and conducting an after-action review. Ordinarily, the purpose of the AAR was to determine what we could do better. In this case, it was simply to try to find out what the hell was going on before I contacted higher.
We had a simple penetration target associated with computer crap—meaning he was an egghead and not a trained killer—and that penetration had led to some sort of shoot-out with guys from Turkey. It was crazy.
We’d batted about what we were dealing with, along with what we should be doing now, but truthfully, the computer would tell the tale. At least I hoped it would, or I’d be in for some serious explaining.
We’d kicked around going back to the apartment but had decided that was a dead end. There wouldn’t be anything new at that location after Knuckles and I had penetrated, so why go? Midway through the discussion, I’d messed with the phone I’d found, but it was locked. I’d tossed it onto the table, saying it was no help, and Veep said, “Send that to Creed as well.”
“What for? He’s got the computer. He can’t do anything with this. The phone is locked out. Nobody can crack an iPhone. The FBI can’t even do it.”
Veep smiled and said, “I think you’re wrong.”
He got behind the computer and began typing, saying, “You know your Israeli friends can crack an iPhone, right?”
I said, “Who are you contacting?”
“Creed. He’s hip-deep with them.” He typed, You still working that Israeli thing off the books? iPhone hacks?
He got back, Yeah, but why are you talking about it?
Because we have a phone. You’re working the computer?
Yeah. That’s easy. You have a phone?
Yes.
An iPhone?
Yes.
The target will wipe it. It’s going to be wiped. He can do that remotely.
Can you clone?
Maybe. Plug it in. Let me see.
Veep turned to me and I handed him the phone, saying, “What is this? You’ve never said anything about it.”
Veep said, “It’s just a project I was working on with Creed. A way to crack an iPhone using the Cloud. Aaron and Shoshana told me about it, and helped Creed along.”
A little miffed, I said, “Why wasn’t I told?”
Veep said, “Because it was just a little project that had nothing to do with operations. It might not work, but what he’s going to try to do is duplicate the phone through the cloud, then download that to a new iPhone. Which means we need an iPhone.”
“What about the passwords? Even if it downloads, it’ll still need a password.”
“Pike, I’m not an expert on the ins and outs, but the phone will go to a cloud account, and when it comes back to earth, it’ll just duplicate on our phone, but act like the phone is brand-new. There won’t be a password. Or maybe it’ll ask to set a password. Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t, but it’s worth a shot.”
I nodded and said, “Plug it in,” then turned to Brett and said, “Go buy an iPhone. I figure you want out of this hotel room by now.”
He laughed and said, “No doubt. Any idea where?”
Jennifer said, “There’s a mall right next door, underneath the park, called the Importanne Center.”
Brett nodded and left. In between, Creed told us that the computer drain we’d accomplished was healthy, and that these guys were involved in the lockup of GRS. The man we’d saved was, in fact, the ransomware gang.
Should have taken him down.
But I knew that was just wasted breath. I had no idea at the time if he was a bad guy, and I had no authority to do so even if he was. With everything we were working now, we’d get another shot. Maybe.
Creed could tell us what was on the computer, but none of that data had any location we could target. But maybe Veep’s work would change that equation.
Brett returned with a brand-new iPhone, saying, “When this is done, do I get to keep it?”
I said, “No. But you can give it to your wife.”
He passed the phone, saying, “I don’t have a wife.”
I took it, plugged it into the VPN on our Taskforce computer, the iPhone I’d found in the grass right next to it, and said, “Oh. Sorry. I guess Jennifer gets it then.”
He scowled and said, “Sounds a little bit like nepotism here.”
Creed came on saying, “Okay, the phone’s good. Downloading to yours now.”
When it was complete, I said, “All right, Creed, how does this help us?”
He said, “The phone is tied to that computer you cloned. The same guy owned both. He has the ‘Find my Mac’ segment on, and I can see his MacBook like he was searching for it.”
“You can see where that computer is, right now?”
“Yes.”
“Send me a map.”
He did, and it was in the heart of the old town of Split, right smack dab in what was known as Diocletian’s Palace.
Creed said, “It also has an Apple AirTag tied to the system. I have no idea what it is, but he’s tracking something.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I have no idea. AirTags are used to mark things that are ordinarily lost. Could be his keys, could be a bicycle. Could be anything. But what’s odd is the trace is in the middle of a national park. Nothing else around.”
I said, “Okay, let’s focus on the computer. It’s in Split?”
“Yeah, right where that marble shows. You’re basically duplicating his phone and they’re tied together.”
I said, “Okay, good to go, Creed. Good work.”
I disconnected the VPN and said, “Let’s get some sleep. I’m going to send the SITREP asking for authority to interdict anyone who’s associated with that computer, but the first thing I want to know is if it’s still in the same place tomorrow. I don’t want to do a ‘Where’s Waldo?’ on this thing.”
The next morning, I awoke and checked the trace again. It was in the same spot. I picked up the target phone, and sure enough, the guy who owned it had wiped it. The background screen no longer showed some snowboarder doing a jump, and the phone itself showed no apps having been downloaded.
It was now functionally dead, but luckily, our cloned phone was still active. I initiated the VPN and pulled up the answer to our SITREP, worried about what I’d see. I’d asked for Omega authority, but really, I’d left a dead guy from Turkey on the ground in Croatia while operating out of Tajikistan. It was a little bit much, even for me.
Jennifer leaned over me to read what the Taskforce had sent, saying, “Can’t wait to see what they thought about last night.”
Her wet hair fell in front of my face, and I smelled the shampoo. I turned to her and said, “Do you mind?”
She looked at me like she didn’t understand, then said, “Are you hiding something? You don’t want me to see what the Taskforce sent?”
I shook my head and said, “No. All I meant was that your shampoo tends to break my concentration.”
She smiled and said, “Well, it’s good that something can do that, because you never listen to me otherwise.”
I stood up and waved my hand, saying, “It’s all yours. Must have been the shampoo in your hair last night when I was listening to you telling me what to do.”
I heard, “What was that?” then saw Jennifer’s face blush.
I turned and saw Knuckles in our suite, which had been converted to our tactical operations center. Incensed, I said, “Do you ever fucking knock?”
He said, “Knock? This is the TOC. Why would I knock? You gave us the keys to enter.”
Behind him I saw Brett and Veep and knew I was not going to live down what I’d just said.
Brett said, “So if I wash with her shampoo I won’t stay in the hotel? I’ll get a shot at doing something worthwhile? Is that it?”
Jennifer was mortified, which is what they wanted. I looked at her and chuckled, saying, “You’re getting your shot. The computer is in Split, and the Taskforce has authorized us for Omega. Go pack your shit.”
Chapter 32
Shakor sat in front of his computer screen trying mightily to find some thread that would allow him to continue. Last night had been an unmitigated disaster, and he didn’t want to report back to his Taliban masters without something to show for it. He knew they were as unforgiving as he was.
