Turned out he was right. Seamus nabbed the culprit on his second try and brought the whole security breach to a satisfying conclusion. He had offered to treat RossumRulz to a steak dinner at the Four Seasons, but the informant had declined. Apparently he wanted to maintain his anonymity. Which made Seamus all the more determined to know who and where he was. Just in case.
That part was a cinch. People talked about how there were no skid marks on the information superhighway, but there were, especially when you had the ability to serve a subpoena on the ISP. RossumRulz had cleverly disguised his server by doubling back through several blind alleys and having his own home miniserver, but Seamus still found him. He didn’t introduce himself. He had no need to at that time. But he definitely filed the name and address away for future reference. For when he needed it.
The time had come.
Seamus walked briskly up the outside stairs to the top level, then knocked on the door.
Maybe a minute later, a kid opened the door. Seamus knew he was twenty-three, but he didn’t look it. He was maybe five foot four and had dark, shaggy, curly hair that fell down on all sides as if he were using gravity for his styling gel. Perhaps a latter-day tribute to the early Beatles. He wasn’t obese but soft in the middle, which was about what Seamus might expect from someone who spent his whole life in front of a computer, seeing the light of day only when a new
Star Wars
picture was released.
“Here’s twenty bucks,” the kid said. “Where’s the pizza?”
Seamus smiled. “I’m not the pizza boy.”
“Oh, sorry.” He started to shut the door.
Seamus wedged his foot inside, stopping it. “I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t need any magazine subscriptions.”
Jeez, was his suit that bad? “I’m not selling magazines.”
“Whatever it is you’re selling, I don’t want any. I buy online exclusively from Cheap Deals.”
“I’m from the government,” Seamus said.
The kid’s expression froze. “Are—are you a cop?”
“Sort of. I’m looking for Arlo Patterson.”
“Oh. Oh!” He slapped his forehead in a particularly unconvincing display. “Arlo doesn’t live here anymore. He moved two apartments over.” He leaned in a little bit. “I think he was trying to get a line on the girls’ dormitory. He can do amazing things with that telescope of his. His parents actually believed that he was interested in astronomy. Isn’t that incredible?”
Seamus smiled thinly. He hoped this kid didn’t use a webcam to tell chicks he was buff, because he was the worst liar Seamus had met in his entire career. This guy had probably never lied in his entire life, except when his friends asked if he was still a virgin. “Look, Arlooo,” he said, making the name sound as stupid as possible, which didn’t take much, “I’m investigating a major terrorist threat and I don’t have much time, so are you going to let me in or am I going to knock you down, tie you to the radiator, and torture you till you tell me what I want to know?”
Arlo’s voice jumped an octave. “Come on in.”
Seamus stepped inside. The apartment was even more revolting than he had imagined. He had expected the inches of dust and decaying pizza boxes. But the Captain Picard action figures? That was just embarrassing.
“Look,” Seamus began, “we know each other. Sort of. You helped me find the people who broke into the Merski Institute. I was working under the user name BoldDragon.”
“BoldDragon. Sure, I remember. Very modest.”
“Well, it was my code name overseas.”
“And I’ll bet you chose it. You should really work on those self-esteem issues.”
“I need your help again, kid. There’s a Middle Eastern kook who has hacked into the military computers that control some of our East Coast ballistic missile systems.”
Arlo made a long whistling sound. “Sweet.”
“Not so much, kid. Especially since the next missile might be coming right to your backyard.”
“Is that what happened out in the Potomac? I knew that wasn’t any gas explosion. That was a cover story, right?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny. But give me the benefit of your expertise. They think this guy may have a satellite that’s programmed to do the hacking. How would that work?”
“They’d need an operations base. Probably not too far from the computers they’re hacking into. They’d also need a seriously invasive program. I’m assuming the Pentagon has pretty decent firewalls in place.”
“I think that’s a safe bet. So how hard would this be?”
Arlo walked to his desk and plopped down in the swivel chair facing his computer screen. The computer itself and its ancillary parts covered not only the entire desk but half the available floor space. “Know anything about GhostNet?”
Seamus searched his memory. That rang a bell… perhaps a memo he had half read. The tech stuff wasn’t his strong suit. It had never had much relevance out in the desert. “Refresh my memory.”
“Back in ’09 it came out that this vast electronic spying operation had infiltrated one thousand two hundred ninety-five computers in government and private offices in one hundred three countries.”
“One hundred three? That’s, like, every country with computers.”
“Just about. They got caught by a brain trust up in Toronto. They stole documents, most of them classified. They hacked into embassies, foreign ministries. The program was being operated out of China. Which might explain why—get this—they even hacked the Dalai Lama. Can you imagine? What kind of people sic malware on the Dalai Lama?”
“Seriously bad people.”
“I guess so. They also concentrated on the South Asian and Southeast Asian countries.”
“Definitely the Chinese.”
“And they were able to do it because they had a really good program. This malware—that’s short for malicious software—didn’t just phish for random information. It whaled for particular targets. Important stuff. Totally Big Brother. It could even turn on deactivated web-cams and mikes to eavesdrop.”
“Get out of here.”
“It’s true.”
“Did they get the United States?”
“Not as far as we know—but if the Chinese could do it to others back then, how long before someone else can do it to us? Not long, I think. All they need is the right program. And if they’ve got a satellite to direct it, there’s even less chance of the infiltration being detected.”
“And what if they’ve got a mole inside the military?”
“Someone who could feed them passwords and tell them about back doors? Cakewalk. Hell,
I
could probably do it with that information.”
“Could you stop someone else from doing it? Boot them out of the computer system?”
Arlo thought a few moments before answering. “Maybe. It’s hard to reverse-engineer malware. And I’ll bet those Pentagon boys are already working on getting that virus out of their system.”
“That’s a safe bet. What would be the safest—or quickest—way to terminate their control over the computers?”
Arlo pondered. “If you could find the operations base, you could shut down the command signal. If no one’s guiding the satellite, then the satellite stops hacking.”
Seamus stepped forward eagerly. “Great. How do we find this base?”
Arlo shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Who would be capable of doing this?”
“The Chinese.”
“I mean domestically. If you were looking for a hacking expert, whom would you call?”
He didn’t have to think long. “Me.”
Seamus arched an eyebrow. “Who’s got self-esteem issues now?”
“Hey, I’m good enough to be your expert.”
“Yeah, but I assume you’d remember if you’d designed any malware for Middle Eastern dictators.”
“I should hope so. The only gig I’ve ever done anything like that for was—Oh. Wait a minute. Oh, no. Ohhhh, nooooo.”
Seamus pulled him up to his feet. “What is it? What did you do?”
“It was so long ago, I barely remembered. Almost a month.”
“What did you do?”
“These guys wanted to prank the university, so they wanted some targeted malware, something that could hack into a well-protected system. But they weren’t Middle Eastern. They were preppies. They were—”
“Employees, most likely, you stooge.”
“They didn’t say they were going after the military.”
“Imagine that.”
“And they said nothing about a satellite.”
“Because they’re not stupid.”
“And even as good as I am, I don’t think it was good enough to hack into the military defense system. It might be able to seize control once it’s in, but there’s no way it could get past all the firewalls and defenses.”
“But what if the people you sold the program to also had top-secret passwords and back-door information?”
Arlo’s mouth formed a silent
o
. “That would be bad. That would be real bad.”
“Yeah, it is. Come on, kid.” Semus tugged forcefully at his elbow. “You’re coming with me.”
“But I’ve got class today.”
“I’ll give you a note from the doctor. Bring a copy of your program.”
“I don’t have one!”
“What?”
“That’s part of the deal. They bought exclusive rights. No copies allowed.”
“Did you keep any notes?”
He shrugged. “Not so much.”
“Could you at least explain what you did to our computer experts?”
“I guess I could try.”
“Good. I want you to try very hard.” Seamus led him toward the door. “I want you to think about it in advance so when we get there you—”
Seamus was cut off by a sudden spray of broken glass flying across the room.
“Duck!” he shouted, shoving the kid to the ground.
He watched as a parallel line of bullets crashed into the opposite wall. He heard a harsh rat-a-tat sound, followed by more flying glass and another spray of bullets.
“Great,” Seamus muttered. “Stay down!”
He reached under his coat and pulled his pistol out of its holster. He brought his arms up over the desk and fired wildly out the window, pointing downward. He covered a wide range. He couldn’t possibly see who was firing from this angle—but the shooter didn’t have to know that.
It didn’t suppress fire for long. Another long rain of bullets came flying through the windows. Seamus huddled over Arlo. He didn’t think the bullets could get them here, but even glass could be deadly at this velocity.
He returned fire.
Arlo stared at his gun. “What the hell is that?”
Seamus grunted, speaking as he fired. “That is my official Company-issued weapon.”
“But the guy outside’s got a submachine gun! How do they expect you to take on guys like that with a peashooter?”
Tell me something I don’t already know, Seamus thought. He squeezed off another round, then ducked behind the desk.
“Who is that?”
“Don’t know. Probably one of those preppies you work for.”
“You think he wants his money back?”
“No. I think he wants you dead.”
“Why?”
“So you won’t tell anyone what you just told me.”
“But it’s too late!”
He shook his head. “Not if he kills me, too.”
He fired another round, then ducked back behind the desk.
The bullets stopped.
“Does that mean he went away?” Arlo whispered.
“In the first place,” Seamus said, “I wouldn’t assume there was only one. In the second place, I doubt it. We’re totally pinned down. Why leave? Why not finish off the job?”
“Oh.”
“Look, kid, focus on the door. When I count to three, I want you to make a run—”
His sentence trailed off as more glass blasted into the room. A small canister plopped down on the floor only a few feet away from them.
It was round and indented like a pineapple.
Arlo made a sucking sound with his throat. “Is that—a grenade?”
“I’m not sure,” Seamus said, inching forward, careful not to get in the way of another round of bullets. “It might just—”
The lid popped off. Seamus heard a hissing noise, then, a moment later, a colorless gas sprayed out of the canister.
“Oh, no,” Seamus said. “Oh, Jesus God.”
“What is it?”
“Bad news.”
Arlo grabbed his arm. “Bad? How bad?”
Seamus shook his head. “We’re dead.”
President Kyler stared at the vice president with something like a combination of horror and disbelief. “Good God, Connie—what the hell are you doing here?”
Swinburne smiled faintly. “Good to see you, too, Roland.”
“Don’t take it personally, man—you were supposed to be a long way from here by now.”
One of the agents guarding Swinburne handed Zimmer a sheet of paper. Zimmer glanced at it, nodded. “They didn’t make it out, sir. We didn’t move fast enough. I take full responsibility for this failure.”
“I don’t care about who is to blame, Zimmer. I want to know what happened.”
“We got the vice president to Air Force One, but before they could take off, the missile in the Potomac exploded. We deemed it too risky to take to P-fifty-three airspace with the possibility of guided missiles that near. And now we know Colonel Zuko controls some of our missiles—”
“I get the picture, Zimmer. You did the right thing.” President Kyler stared at the next person in the line of succession to his office. “I’m glad you’re safe, Connie. But I’m not glad you’re here.”
“Understood, sir. If you’d like, I can retire to the other room.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If you’re stuck here, you should know what’s going on. But Zimmer—notify the Speaker of the House. Just in case.”
Just in case they should have to tap the third in the constitutional line of succession? Ben felt a chill run right down his spine.
He watched the interplay between Kyler and Swinburne carefully. Even though they had been running mates, Ben knew they were not close. Kyler was far more liberal and they differed on many key policy issues, differences Swinburne had been forced to bury to get the vice presidential ticket. They were almost fifteen years apart in age—Swinburne was older—and they had radically different backgrounds. Kyler had grown up poor; Swinburne was privileged. And they came from opposite ends of the country. Swinburne had originally run for president and accepted the vice presidential slot only after it became clear Kyler had clinched the nomination. Even then, the selection was not made based upon any mutual respect. It was a simple matter of self-preservation. Swinburne was from Florida, which had progressively become the most important swing state in every presidential election. Kyler had chosen Swinburne because he needed him, not because he wanted him.