“No, my husband, I don’t think it’s crazy at all. As a matter of fact, I think it’s rather creative. I just need to think it through is all.”
Wyatt nodded and handed her the last section of the citrus fruit. “Oh, damn. I forgot, I got so wrapped up in the bad news, I forgot about the good news. David is coming home next month. He’s been granted 30 days leave.”
Morgan immediately brightened at the news. Her son was coming home! She hadn’t seen him in almost three months, and he was going to be here for a whole month! Wyatt pointed to the stack of mail on the table. “He sent a short letter – it’s in the pile there.”
Morgan shuffled through the mound of bills, collection notices, and junk until she found the handwritten note. It wasn’t much, but she held it to her breast and smiled widely. “Now, I do think I’ll be able to sleep.”
Wyatt wasn’t done yet. “I’ve saved the best for last. Come with me.”
He led her to the bedroom door, which was closed. She gave him a puzzled look, and he motioned for her to go in. When she crossed the threshold, a blast of cold air hit her. “I decided if we’re going to lose the house, we might as well go out in style, so I turned on the AC. What’s the electric company going to do – repossess the cold air?”
Morgan wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him close for a kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you too, baby. Thanks for hanging in there with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Chapter 3
January 30, 2017
Beijing, China
MOSS Headquarters
The attack against the United States of America began with a hum, rather than a bang or boom. Spread out across China and dozens of other countries were computer servers in all sorts of configurations and clusters. Server farms, as they were called in the West, had sprung up throughout the East as well. Like the rest of the world, the populations of Asia demonstrated an unquenchable thirst for access to the internet. To feed the growing demand, thousands of gateways, hosting centers, and access points were installed throughout the region. MOSS controlled a significant number of these technology centers on the mainland. Not only did China monitor and control her people’s activities on the World Wide Web, the clandestine organization fully understood the power of the internet as a weapon.
For years, the game of one-upmanship had escalated. The Chinese would hack into some sensitive network or computer system, quickly answered by a new encryption routine or firewall that eliminated the threat. The hackers would overcome the new technology and penetrate again. This cycle repeated itself on an almost daily basis. Americans read press releases and watched newscasts covering the subject, but the reports always blamed nameless, unknown attackers, and indisputable links to the Red Nation were difficult to
prove.
Most Western experts believed the Chinese were engaging in
what amounted to digital war games. If an actual military confrontation between China and the US were to ever occur, military strategists expected an attack aimed at disrupting the Pentagon’s computers.
It was also well known that hacking was used for industrial espionage. The computers storing schematics for the latest fighter jet, or material data sheets for a new type of stealth coating were always being probed and tested. Often, ultra-valuable information was stolen and delivered to engineers and sci
entists working for the Red government.
In the
US, exorbitant amounts of money were invested to protect both government and private computer systems. After it became public that someone had stolen this, or infiltrated that, many copycat hackers decided they too might profit from stealing other people’s information. It wasn’t unheard of for one US company to hack another in order to obtain a competitive advantage.
There was also a huge wave of cyber-crime associated with identity theft. Millions of Americans woke up to find themselves the victims of such activities, often having their lives ruined by criminals who were thousands of miles away. Once a person’s confidential information was known, the thieves applied for loans that they never intended to repay.
Most of the money allocated to protect critical systems was focused on the industrial and military supply chains. Diplomats had been the targets of spying for years and had developed hardened, more secure systems. To the defense industry, digital skullduggery was something relatively new.
There were really two different types of hacking. The category most widespread was the theft of information. The other was destructive intrusions, often called viruses. In 2012, it became public knowledge that the United States had infected Iranian computers with a virus that slowed the Islamic nation’s nuclear weapons program. There were other organized attacks that remained secret.
The beauty of MOSS’ Operation Golden Mountain was that it broached new territory in the realm of using computers as offensive weapons. The software developed by the hundreds of expert programmers working for the ministry wasn’t stealing or destroying anything. The target systems had been intentionally built and designed to be used exactly as MOSS intended.
The
US Internal Revenue Service had caught up with the modern world some ten years before when it began allowing American taxpayers to file their tax returns digitally over the internet. Millions upon millions of people embraced the option in order to receive a timely refund. The digital returns could be processed faster and cheaper than their paper ancestors, and the system was popular both within the service as well as with the general population. The programmers at MOSS showed a high level of interest in the system’s capabilities, too.
For the past few years, MOSS had been investigating and probing the IRS’s systems. There were hundreds of questions that needed to be answered before any sort of operation could be mounted. Originally, the MOSS hackers started using trial and error methods. One of the most critical components to the plan involved discovering how the IRS monitored returns as they were processed, such as what metrics were reported and the reaction time after questionable data was discovered. The list of unknowns continued on and on and would have seemed daunting to most people, but not the Chinese. They had practically inexhaustible human resources available. They were patient, methodical, and tenacious.
The breakthrough came when a MOSS agent managed to infiltrate the IRS’s data processing center. A complete volume of the source code was smuggled out of the facilities on a thumb drive without the IRS even knowing they had been victimized.
Once the source code was back in China, the game was over. Reverse engineering took a matter of weeks, and soon the programmers at MOSS understood every small detail of the IRS systems. Knowledge was power, and the plan had accelerated.
After a complete analysis of the IRS’s software, the next step was to gather a database of information on US citizens. This part had been easy. A few strategic entities were hacked, producing volumes of files with names, addresses, social security numbers and other sensitive data needed for the operation.
Over the last year, Analyst Wu had been gradually testing the IRS. The names of actual
US citizens were used to file false tax returns electronically. Most of the fraudulent returns were configured to show a refund varying from a few hundred to a few thousand dollars. Wu had been amazed when the checks were printed and mailed by the United States Treasury within a few days. They even mailed one to an address in Singapore and paid the international postage.
Wu’s examination also revealed another weakness with the
US system. Significant lag time existed between the death of a citizen and when the IRS’s computers recognized the fact. This nuance added a layer of opportunity to Operation Golden Mountain. A method was needed to retrieve the personal information of deceased Americans.
The solution to build “the dead file,” as it was named, was an easy fix. The individual states all had on-line systems used to generate the necessary death certificates and other paperwork required when one of their citizenry passed away. Even a novice hacker would find these systems frighteningly simple to penetrate.
Wu and several members of the Golden team were gathered around a workstation in the MOSS headquarters basement. After the third pass through the checklist, Wu turned to Supervisor Yangdong with a questioning look. The older man simply nodded, and Wu pressed a single button on the workstation’s keyboard.
All across the globe, servers began to hum, firing their digital weapons. In the
US, the IRS computers responded, but not in defense. They answered back with acknowledgements as the first few thousand bogus tax returns were filed in a matter of seconds. It was only a trickle at first. Wu had designed the software to gradually increase the volume of fake documents over time so as not to cause alarm.
The computer screen flashed the simple message of “In process,” signaling th
at The United States of America was under attack. Wu looked to gauge his boss’ reaction, and for the first time he could remember, Supervisor Yangdong was smiling.
February 1, 2017
Houston, Texas
Morgan had the day off and normally would have slept in. Her discussion with Wyatt last night, combined with the cool air in their master bedroom, allowed her to sleep soundly, but wake early. As she made her morning coffee, Wyatt joined her in the kitchen, and the couple exchanged a brief
, “Good morning.”
It was known, but left unsaid, how important today was going to be. If the long-married couple had been able to read each other’s minds, they might have been surprised at how similar their thoughts were. Both understood that the conversation and eventual decision made that day would alter the course of their destiny. Both were deeply concerned about how that change would affect the other.
Morgan waited patiently for Wyatt to brew his morning dose of caffeine before broaching the subject. As her husband wandered around the kitchen, gathering the necessary condiments for his routine, she plopped down at the table and pondered how to kick off the tête-à-tête.
Their boat was docked at a marina on the far south side of Houston. A few years ago, a customer had gotten behind in his payments to Wyatt’s company. The man had been a good friend as well as a long-term client. Since the
fellow’s business was failing, he approached Wyatt one day and offered the title to the vessel as compensation. “I don’t want to stiff you, Wyatt. I’ve tried to sell the boat, but the market’s been destroyed by the recession. She needs some work and tender loving care, but her hull is solid. I bought her right, and most of the parts she needs are stored nearby. I’m offering to sign her over, free and clear, if you’ll accept the title as payment for what I owe you.”
In those days, Wyatt’s business was still trending well, and the couple had often dreamed about purchasing a boat. After a brief visit and hasty tour of the vessel, they agreed to the proposal, and the paperwork was finalized. Wyatt and David spent many weekends working on the boat. After it was habitable, Morgan and Sage accompanied the men and did their share of labor. The acquisition was one of the few hobbies the entire family could share.
After
Boxer
had been refit, the family enjoyed several voyages aboard. That first summer, they cruised from the Mexican border to the Florida panhandle. They relished the quiet weekends aboard the boat without leaving the pier, while other holidays resulted in extended cruising. When Wyatt’s business turned sour, the outings to the marina declined. David’s leaving for the army, combined with Sage’s busy senior year in high school had all but eliminated their water getaways.
Some months ago, when things started going downhill with the business, Wyatt contacted a broker and put their yacht up for sale. The boating world had suffered worse than the housing market over the last eight years, and they hadn’t received a single offer. Since the slip and insurance had been paid a year in advance, the boat sat unused and forgotten for several months.
Morgan took a sip of coffee and judged Wyatt ready to continue their discussion from last night. “What condition do you think the boat’s in?”
Wyatt briefly glanced up from the toast he was buttering. “I would guess she’s a little dirty, but
the mechanicals should be shipshape. The last time we took her out, everything was fine.”
“What would we do with all of our stuff? I mean, there’s not room on board for much of anything. Would we store it?”
Wyatt thought for a moment and then replied, “I’ve read several articles about living aboard, and that always seems to be the hardest transition. We’ve surrounded ourselves with things - personal belongings and other items that just won’t fit on a small boat. From what I’ve gathered, it takes a while to get accustomed to a streamlined existence, but most people adapt.”
Morgan mulled that over for a while and then looked up smiling. “There would be a whole lot less to dust.”
Wyatt continued, “It’s the sentimental items that people mention missing the most. Pictures, the kid’s art projects, awards and trophies…that sort of thing.”
Morgan pushed back her chair from the solid oak table, suddenly flooded with the memories of scrambled egg breakfasts and
Popsicle stick history projects. She rose slowly and deliberately, taking in the room and its contents as never before. She peered into the hall just off the kitchen at the ever-growing montage of school portraits, vacation snapshots, and birthday pictures she had gathered over the years. She eyed the assortment carefully, the emotion in her swelling as she remembered the whens and wheres. Wyatt joined her, draping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.
After gazing at the family pictorial history for a bit, the couple turned back to the kitchen when something caught Wyatt’s eye. He planted his feet as he pointed out the laundry room door. Over the years, they had marked David’s physical development on the frame. Varied colors of inked notches with correlating dates indicated the progress of their son’s increasing height. The opposite frame documented Sage’s growth. “That’s the kind of thing that is priceless,” he said, “That’s what we’ll miss the most.”
Morgan waved him off, “I’m not so sure Wyatt. I pass through that doorway every day, and to be honest, I don’t think I’ve noticed it for years. If you hadn’t pointed it out, I probably wouldn’t have thought about it.”
Wyatt wasn’t so sure. He’d watched Morgan change since the trouble began. Now, more than ever, she seemed determined to protect him from her frustrations. There had been a variety of examples to confirm his hypothesis. Her monthly appointment at the hair salon had been replaced by a bottle of hair color purchased at the drug store, and Sage was her new stylist. The first few attempts hadn’t produced the desired effect, resulting in Morgan strolling out of the bathroom with slightly moist eyes and sporting a hat. Wyatt had expected a far worse reaction than what his wife presented. He often wondered if she hid the pain from him intentionally. Regular manicures and gym workouts were sacrificed as well.