Authors: Michael C. Grumley
38
Stuxnet was the
scariest computer virus most of the world had never heard of.
When it was first detected in 2010, it was
mistaken for a common, run of the mill virus; it was not until experts started
to dissect its computer code that it became deeply frightening.
The very first computer
virus was little more than a friendly prank when, in 1982, a young 15-year-old
kid played a trick on his friends by writing a tiny computer program that could
pass between Apple II computers via floppy disk.
It then displayed a funny message every fifty
times the computer booted up.
Later that year, a
graduate student at the University of Southern California by the name of Fred
Cohen demonstrated his computer code, running on a giant UNIX mainframe, which
allowed him to take over the entire system within 30 minutes.
However, it was not until 1986 that the first self-replicating
virus was spotted in “the wild”.
It was
a small piece of computer code written by two Pakistani brothers, whose purpose
was to guilt users of a non-copyrighted program into contacting them to obtain the
“vaccination” and to undoubtedly pay up.
Since then, viruses had quickly grown in both frequency
and sophistication, giving birth to a multi-billion dollar industry dedicated
solely to fighting computer viruses and “worms”.
Yet, the damage inflicted with most of these
modern viruses was mild, usually ranging from deleting data to collecting
personal information.
But in 2010,
Stuxnet changed everything.
Originally flagged as a common worm, engineers at a
large anti-virus corporation spotted and categorized Stuxnet’s software
characteristics as something called “malware”.
Their job was to study it and find a way to clean the worm so the
corporation’s anti-malware programs could
defend against it.
Yet the study of this particular worm was unusual from
the very beginning.
One unique characteristic
was
how
it propagated or traveled from machine to machine, which was
primarily by detachable memory sticks called flash drives.
Another oddity was the size of the program,
which was much larger than usual.
The mystery deepened as the layers of the code were
seemingly peeled back, and the worm appeared to grow more and more complex,
using multiple programming languages including C and C++.
The mystery deepened further still when the
worm was found to take advantage of four different computer vulnerabilities,
called zero-day attacks, while other viruses and worms used only one.
But when the encryption
certificates were stolen from two separate and well known corporations, the
investigating engineers knew Stuxnet was much more than a simple worm.
It was too complicated and far too
sophisticated to have been created by kids in high school or college students
hyped up on Mountain Dew.
The level of
expertise and funding needed to create something like Stuxnet meant it had to
have happened at the corporate or
state
level.
Yet, the largest
mystery of all was how it
behaved
.
Most viruses and worms were designed to infect and act upon as many
computers and systems as possible.
But
Stuxnet was different.
Stuxnet wanted to
spread, but once it did, the program would essentially “look around” and
determine what kind of computer it was on, then disable itself.
This was extremely odd and told the engineers
that Stuxnet was not looking for just any computer system; it was looking for a
very specific computer system.
Rumors began to spread
across the internet since the majority of Stuxnet infections were in the
middle-eastern countries, such as Iraq and Iran.
It did not take long for some experts to
suggest the program was created to target one of those two countries.
Finally, when the worm
gave up the last of its secrets, it became clear what it was after.
Stuxnet was looking for a very unique
computer environment, one that was used for refining nuclear material.
When Stuxnet found the
system it was looking for, what it did was revolutionary.
The process for refining uranium is extremely
delicate and time consuming.
What
Stuxnet did was change the spin of the centrifuges just enough to render the
material unusable, but it would do so while it told the computer’s monitoring
system the process was running smoothly.
This meant that Stuxnet was able to sabotage the process without anyone
noticing.
When this behavior
became known, many intelligence specialists believed the creator of the worm
was Israel.
Not surprisingly, just a few
months after the computer industry learned of Stuxnet, the country of Iran
confirmed that it’s enrichment facility had indeed been infected.
Intelligence experts surmised the
cyber-attack likely set Iran back one to two years in their enrichment efforts.
And soon after, the creator of Stuxnet was actually found to be the United
States.
In the end, Stuxnet
changed history in one very remarkable way; up until then, cyber-attacks
remained anchored in cyberspace, a virtual world made only of computer bytes
and silicon chips.
What made Stuxnet
truly frightening, was that for the first time, a virus or worm within
cyberspace, had been able to jump the virtual barrier and create real physical
damage.
In other words, it was the first
virtual world weapon to cause real damage in the
physical world
.
Ron Tran sat in front
of a large monitor in yet another computer gaming cafe.
He was again surrounded by teenagers and
young adults glued to their own screens, weaving in and out of dark rooms, shooting
at someone who often sat in another part of the world, in front of their own
screen.
Some of the “gamers”
had even pushed themselves past the absolute limit by playing for almost 96
hours straight, fueled by nothing more than soda and junk food, only to pay the
ultimate price by collapsing dead onto the floor.
But the deaths did not deter the rest.
Their addiction was total.
Just like before, it
provided the perfect cover for Ron, since no one ever managed to look away from
their own screens to observe what he was doing.
He now had almost ten
million infected computers waiting for his command.
Tran triple checked the details in his window
before hitting the Enter key.
This was
it.
There was no turning back after
this.
But he was ready and had been for
over a year.
He purposefully hit the
Enter key with his forefinger and watched the letters scroll slowly in the
window, showing the command was being sent to all bots in a daisy chain.
They were being loaded with all the computer
network addresses of their intended targets.
Phase One had begun, and when all of the bots had received their data,
they would wait for the next command, or Phase Two.
Tran looked around at
the crowded room of gamers.
They were
the personification of the world around him.
Bright but completely under the spell of an electronic drug that turned
them into cattle.
It was complete
sensory addiction.
These kids spent
thousands and thousands of hours every year playing the latest games.
When they finished or got bored with one,
there was always another waiting for them.
Tran thought about his last two years, spent in front of a monitor for a
very different reason.
He was
collaborating with dozens of other secret hackers, all having no idea what each
other looked like, yet working for a common goal.
It had not been hard convincing them, since
many shared his anti-government, anti-greed views, but he still kept them
segregated and working on smaller pieces of code.
Tran had divvied up the job to ensure none of
the others knew what the final virus would do.
Of course, some already had relationships with each other and probably
talked, but they would need many pieces of the puzzle to really know what it
would do.
Frankly, some of them did not
even care.
They knew Tran’s reputation
and were excited to have a hand in changing a horribly corrupt system.
Tran logged out of his
computer session and removed the DVD.
He
stood up and took one last look at the screen.
Stuxnet was nothing,
he
thought.
They had taken its original
design and framework and created something truly incredible.
In fact, they were about to show the entire
world the original Stuxnet was child’s play.
39
Zahn was furious.
“No contact?
How in the hell did we lose contact?!
How many did you send?”
“Thirty,” Sarat said
quietly.
“Led by Murad.”
Zahn closed his eyes
and put his hand over his face.
Murad
was one of the best they had.
He was
ruthless and a natural warrior.
By
comparison, Murad considered the Taliban and Al Qaeda to be nothing more than
sloppy, religious zealots.
If you wanted
to affect real change, you did it from within.
Murad was as committed as anyone, but worst of all, he was Kia’s
brother.
“How long has it been?”
asked Zahn.
“Almost six hours.”
There was only one
conclusion to be drawn.
The girl and the
woman were not alone.
They had help, a
lot of help.
Zahn let his anger go.
He had to think about this.
He didn’t know who or how many others were
involved, but the girl clearly had talked!
Time was growing short, yet it was still possible for things to unravel,
and quickly.
He couldn’t take any
chances.
“Get me their last
coordinates,” Zahn said.
He reached for
the phone and picked it up.
There was no
one on the other end at this hour, so the phone automatically forwarded to one
of his staff at home.
“It’s me,” he said when
she picked up the other end.
“I need to
talk to Benecke at Homeland Security right now.”
Zahn hung up and looked back at Sarat.
“Do we go after
them?”
Sarat asked.
“No, god no,” said
Zahn.
“They’re most likely all
dead.”
He saw Sarat visibly flinch, but
it had to be said.
“They could have
driven
all the way back by now!”
He looked at
his watch.
“Christ, they could have done
it without even breaking the speed limit!
No, we need to find out where the girls are and where they’re headed.”
The phone beeped, and
Zahn quickly picked it up.
He waited a
moment while the phone was transferred to Ron Benecke, the Director of Homeland
Security.
“Hello?” answered
Benecke on the other end.
There was no
doubt he had just been woken up.
“Benecke, it’s Zahn.”
“What is it?”
Zahn glanced at Sarat
as he spoke.
“I need one of your
drones.”
“Foreign or
domestic?”
Benecke asked.
“Domestic.”
There was a short
pause.
“Do I want to know why?”
“No,” Zahn
replied.
“And I need full access,
including all archived data.”
Benecke sighed.
“Let me make some calls.”
He promptly hung up.
Zahn stood up and
walked over to the window.
He looked out
over the sleeping city of Washington, D.C.
Its golden lights sparkled across the low lying hills as far as the eye
could see.
“Get another team ready.”
Unfortunately, using a
drone for the strike was out of the question.
It would draw immediate attention from nearly every arm of the
government, and he couldn’t distance himself from something like that.
But using the drone’s surveillance capability
and picture quality, they could still find them.
40
Chaplain Wilcox walked
through the empty lobby of the hotel and headed for the elevator.
He had spent the entire day meeting with
families, holding group prayer and counseling sessions, and he didn’t want to
look at his watch to see what time it was.
He smiled and waved to
the young clerk at the check-in counter before heading down the carpeted
hallway toward the elevators.
Once
inside, he sighed, pressed his floor number, fell softly against the elevator
wall, and watched each floor light up at an agonizingly slow pace.
Finally, the doors
sounded a
ding
and opened, revealing the green patterned carpet running
down the long hallway to the far end.
Wilcox stepped out and walked two-thirds of the way down the hall to his
room.
He found his card, slid it in and
out of the slot, and waited for the small light to turn green.
The chaplain opened the
door to find the lights were off, so he felt for the wall switch and flipped it
on.
Still nothing.
Is the power out?
he wondered.
The chaplain quickly caught
the door behind him before it closed.
He
peered out at the bright lights in the hallway and wondered what was wrong,
when he suddenly felt the tip of a gun barrel press into his soft back.
The chaplain gasped and
froze where he stood.
Someone behind him
reached out and pushed the door handle out of his grip, letting the door close
shut and plunging the room into darkness.
Wilcox stood shaking,
now unable to see anything at all.
“Are you alone?” a
man’s voice whispered into his ear.
The chaplain nodded his
head nervously.
“Move forward.”
The man prodded him away from the door, and
the chaplain slowly walked forward in the darkness, trying to remember where
the coffee table and small couch were located.
After several steps, he abruptly ran into the arm of the couch.
“Sit down,” the voice
said.
The chaplain felt
around the cushioned arm and lowered himself down.
His eyes were beginning to adjust, and he
could see a silhouette standing in front of him.
Without warning, a bright flashlight came on
and blinded him momentarily until it was set down onto the coffee table,
pointing toward the ceiling.
The
chaplain was stunned to see the man’s face.
It was Aaron Bazes.
“What are you doing
here?” the chaplain stuttered.
Bazes stared down at
him.
“Why have you been investigating
me?”
The chaplain was
petrified.
“I uh…just saw you at some of
the sites. I didn’t…I was just curious…”
Bazes watched him
fumble and then reached behind himself, causing the chaplain to stop when he
spotted the semi-automatic pistol.
The chaplain closed his
eyes hard, trying to remain calm, then looked back up at Bazes.
“Listen, I’m just here to help.
I saw you at the church and remembered seeing
you in New York…”
He trailed off as
Bazes continued glaring at him.
Bazes lowered his
gun.
“You’re lucky you did.”
“Lucky?”
“Otherwise, I wouldn’t
be here right now.”
Bazes’ expression
relaxed.
“What do you mean?”
Without a word, Bazes
motioned to the chaplain’s right.
Wilcox
turned and peered into the darkness.
“OH
LORD!” he cried.
Wilcox jumped off the
couch and backed away quickly, staring at a dark figure sitting motionless in
the chair in front of the window.
After
a few moments, he looked back at Bazes and then back at the large man in the
chair.
“What’s happened?!”
Bazes calmly looked at
the chaplain and then back to the chair.
“He was waiting for you when I got here.”
“What?”
Bazes reached behind
himself and re-holstered his gun.
“He
was already here.
And he didn’t seem
very friendly.”
The chaplain felt like
his head was spinning.
He kept looking
back and forth trying to understand.
“What?
Why?
Who is he?”
“I don’t know,” Bazes
replied.
The chaplain took a
worried step forward.
He could barely
make out the man’s features.
Dark hair
and dark skinned.
His head was tilted
onto the back of the chair with his mouth slightly open.
“Is...he dead?”
“No.
But he’s going to need some medical attention
when he wakes up.”
Wilcox took the
hint.
“He was here to hurt me?”
“That’s my guess since
he broke all of your light bulbs,” Bazes said sarcastically.
He picked up the flashlight and shined it
directly on the man.
He was dressed in
black clothes with what appeared to be a gun tucked under his thin jacket.
“Then again, maybe he’s just a light bulb
salesman.
Either way, neither one of us
should probably be here when he wakes up.”
The two men exited the
hotel through the front doors, with Bazes walking slightly behind the
chaplain.
They continued down the long
driveway where Bazes nodded toward a small park across the busy street.
They crossed and headed through the trees,
far out of sight from the hotel, and toward a small round fountain. A small,
gray statue of George Washington stood next to it.
“The bench closest to
the fountain,” Bazes instructed.
The chaplain walked to
the bench.
It was shorter than usual,
but he managed to lower himself down onto it with a quiet grunt.
Bazes wasted no
time.
“Who else is trying to find out
about me?”
The chaplain could see
him clearly now.
He guessed him to be in
his late forties with a shaved head and slender, yet muscular frame.
He looked military but definitely not a front
line soldier.
“No one else, just me.”
He shook his head.
Bazes looked
around.
They were alone and the fountain
was loud enough.
“What do you want?”
The chaplain held his
hands out innocently.
“As I said, I was
curious who you were.
I saw you both in
New York and then again here, looking through the rubble.”
“A lot of people were
looking through the rubble.”
The chaplain shook his
head again.
“Not the way you were.”
“And what did you see?”
asked Bazes.
“I don’t really
know.
You looked like you were poking
around in some pretty specific places.
Like around the altars.”
Bazes stared at him
quietly.
“And what did you find out?”
“You mean from the
FBI?”
“Yes.”
The chaplain
shrugged.
“Not very much.
You seem to have the shortest file of anyone
I’ve seen.
All I know is your name,
where you’re from, and that you have a security clearance higher than any of us
have ever seen before.”
“What else?”
“Nothing.
That’s it.
Just your name and country.
Both
being Israeli.
Actually your name is
Hebrew if I’m not mistaken.”
Bazes continued to study
him.
“I find it hard to believe that you
were just curious.”
This time the chaplain
was quiet for a moment.
He finally
sighed and continued.
“Well, I suppose I
was a little suspicious.”
He glanced at
the fountain.
“This whole thing…these
attacks…they’re more than a little weird.”
The expression on
Bazes’ face became curious.
“What do you
mean?”
The chaplain rested a
hand on the bench.
“I just think there
are some things about these attacks that don’t make a lot of sense.”
“Such as?”
Bazes pressed.
“This is a strange
interrogation.”
Wilcox rocked back on
the bench and took a deep breath.
“In a
younger life, I used to be a theologian, or a research scholar.”
He looked at Bazes.
“I’m going to assume you already knew
that.”
Bazes’ lack of reaction told the
chaplain he was right.
“These bombings
look a lot more like an attack on faith than terrorist attacks.”
“Terror attacks
are
an attack on faith,” Bazes replied dryly.
“That’s true,” the
chaplain conceded.
“They can be
considered that, yes.
But when I say
faith, I don’t just mean Christianity, I mean all faiths.
I originally thought this might be some kind
of resurfacing of the ancient Crusades by some fanatical group, as Saint
Patrick’s was a Catholic cathedral.
However, the Washington National was different.
It is dedicated to
all
faiths.
And when you consider the bombs were not set
off to yield the highest casualties, it makes me wonder what denomination or
sect might be next.”
Bazes was listening
to him intently.
“Even leaving some important
things out, like the real meaning of jihad, something here still feels awfully
strange.”
He tried to manage a small
smile.
“And you putting a gun in my back
doesn’t help.”
Bazes continued
watching him carefully.
He sensed Wilcox
to be a much more intelligent and knowledgeable man than he let on with his
grandfather-like image.
“What else?”
Bazes asked.
“I think that’s
enough,” frowned the chaplain.
“At least
until you tell me who you really are.”
Bazes tilted his head
slightly.
“Do you
have
more
information?”
“I might.”
Bazes shook his head
and looked away.
He was frustrated.
What he was about to do was forbidden, on
every level.
But time was running out and
the stakes were too high.
Besides, he
certainly wasn’t about to the kill the man.
Bazes scanned the area
around them again and kept his gun easily accessible.
“Okay,” he said.
“What do you want to know?”
The chaplain
sighed.
“Son, I’m an old man.
I’ve had a long life, raised a couple boys,
and got to marry a miracle of a woman.”
He dropped his head and looked at the dark grass in front of him.
“Unfortunately, my wife was called home many
years ago, and I’ve been alone for a long time.”
The chaplain cleared his voice and looked
back at Bazes.
“In my life, I’ve seen
darn near everything: the good, the bad, and the very, very ugly.
At my age, there is only one thing that any
man wants…”
Bazes raised an
eyebrow.
“The
truth
,”
added Wilcox.
“I’m near the end of my
road now, and all I care about is the truth.”
Bazes let a small grin
creep across his lips.
This was no
ordinary chaplain.
He nodded his
head.
“Okay.
The truth you will get.
But then you must help me.”
“Agreed.”
Now it was Bazes’ turn
to take a deep breath.
He was suddenly
nervous.
“You’re right, my name is
Hebrew, and it’s one of the oldest.
It’s
an Israelite name.
I belong to one of
the oldest and purest Israelite bloodlines in existence, going to back to
Levi.”
The chaplain’s mouth
opened in surprise.
“You’re a Levite?”
Bazes nodded.
“Of the Twelve Tribes, the Levites were
tasked by Moses with the highest responsibility and the highest honor of
all.
To protect the word and the
truth,
of God.
That not only means the word of
God but everything related to it.
We
have dedicated our lives, and given those lives, without hesitation for over
3,000 years to ensure the truth of God is never lost.”
He paused.
“But now…now I believe we face the greatest threat to that task in the
history of humanity.”
Across from him, Wilcox
sat speechless.
“I agree the attacks on
the churches were not acts of terrorism, at least not as we know it.
I believe they were carried out by a group of
people, led by one specific and evil man, who intend the greatest harm to God’s
children that we have ever known.”