CyberSpace: A CyberStorm Novel (Cyber Series Book 1)

by Matthew Mather

  “Exactly.”

  “Doesn’t matter how good the encryption algorithm is, if your endpoints aren’t implemented securely, you’re going to leak data. All a smart attacker needs is an entry point.”

  Damon swung the corn head a bit to the left. The track it followed led it toward the edge of the field and away from the corn. He glanced at the big screen. Terek took the drone up to a thousand feet so they could get a view of the mountains to the east, but from that height, all they could see was brown haze. Visibility was down to a few hundred feet.

  “There’s got to be a backdoor to those satellites,” Terek said. “Even if their networks have been owned, there must be a fail-safe.”

  They had talked it through a dozen times. The cyber kill chain to start an attack on a place like GenCorp didn’t need to be anything special, but the problem began the moment they realized what you were up to.

  Any network admin, the second they knew they were hacked, would commence shutting down their own systems. At worst, they could “brick” their equipment, turn their servers into useless hunks of wrecked metal. The process had to be the same for satellites.

  But you couldn’t physically interact with the birds, not once you launched them. Unless you sent another drone satellite into space to cozy up to it, which was the real topic of Damon’s contract with the DOD.

  He didn’t know for sure, but he suspected that military satellites would probably have self-destruct sequences if they were ever owned by an attacker.

  But commercial satellites?

  They must have fail-safe backdoors. There had to be a way to shut them down, render them useless, in the event of an attack. That, or reset to factory mode, or something.

  When all this started, when they were in New Orleans, Damon had emailed his friend at GenCorp, asking about their constellation. Back at the hospital, when he retrieved messages, he got a vague reply. His friend said the situation was under control, that they were moving their satellites around to avoid the debris.

  He hadn’t said anything about getting hacked, but disclosing network breaches was against confidentiality for any corporation. The bigger question now—why weren’t they shutting them down yet?

  “I gotta admit,” Damon said. “Using the SatCom birds as weapons is a genius idea. Perfect for the job. Have you seen them? Pack a hundred to a rocket by building them wide and flat. Which also makes them great kinetic weapons. Turn sideways to the direction of travel and you have a nice big area to collide with.”

  “I never thought of that,” Terek said.

  “You didn’t?” Damon got up. “Come on.”

  Terek shrugged. “Not the way I think.”

  “I need to go to the boys’ room. Back in a sec.”

  Damon hit stop on the corn head controller. He waited. Watched Terek bring the overwatch drone down. The corn head and the tractor following came into view. Everyone could use a break. Satisfied, he got up and walked into the next room.

  His eyes automatically searched for Pauline. He found her, humming as she cleared dishes from a coffee table. She waved and gave him that smile. His cheeks tingled.

  He didn’t really need to go to the bathroom.

  He flushed the toilet for appearances, turned the water on and off, wiped his hands, and walked back through the living room. Something was bothering him, something he’d just seen on the TV. Were there flames in the distance?

  Pauline grinned at him again. He returned her smile and felt his face go hot.

  Something else filled his mind.

  There was a big problem with satellite communications that had never been properly solved: What were the security postures of their ground systems and the data links that controlled them?

  In 2018, JPL had been hacked. The attackers took control of such a large portion of their system that they’d disconnected the Deep Space Network, which had been communicating with NASA probes billions of kilometers into space.

  The attackers could have wrecked tens of billions of dollars’ worth of equipment with only a few keystrokes, but luckily, whoever they were, they weren’t malicious. Then again, maybe they were simply testing JPL’s defenses.

  That was the very first element of the cyber kill chain.

  Terek’s idea was a desperate one, but working with criminals could sometimes be a way for the good guys to beat the really bad guys. Damon thought of Frank Abagnale, who eluded the FBI and Interpol for years, forging checks and stealing money, until he was apprehended—and eventually hired by the same agencies that once chased him.

  Damon rounded the corner into the kitchen and was about to tell Terek to message his Russian friends back, but he stopped, his mouth halfway open.

  Terek slipped a USB key from the side of Damon’s laptop.

  Damon was sure he’d caught Terek’s eye as he walked around the corner, but now Terek looked steadfastly away. The USB key disappeared into his friend’s pocket. Something was up. Terek was trying to fake not looking back at Damon. Why would he do that? What was he up to?

  Had he snuck something onto Damon’s laptop?

  Damon paused and was about to ask about it, when the first thing that was bothering him resurfaced. That itch in the back of his head he couldn’t quite scratch. The sudden realization settled like a brick into the bottom of his stomach.

  “Hey, can you turn the drone around to see the corn head?”

  “One sec,” Terek said.

  “Now, please. Right away.”

  Terek gave him a look, but the image on the big screen swiveled. In the distance, the hulk of the corn head loomed through the smoke screen, as did the one tractor beside it—which was already pulling away and driving into the cornfield, like it was escaping from something.

  One tractor. Where was the other one?

  Damon said, “Where’s Mike?”

  Behind the corn head, the trees in the hazy distance seemed to shimmer. They burst into leaping flames.

  Damon took control of the overflight drone. Using the visual on the TV, he lowered the drone and skimmed the cornfield.

  He dialed Oscar’s number. “What happened to Mike? Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” came the noisy reply.

  “We better keep cutting the break,” Terek said quietly. “Should I get the corn head moving?”

  “Sure,” Damon replied.

  A crowd gathered in the kitchen. Pauline glanced at Damon, but he barely acknowledged her. He focused on backtracking the drone along the path at the edge of the forest. Smoke poured out between the trees. Flames danced through the underbrush.

  Something appeared in the haze. He pulled back to get a little altitude.

  And there was the other tractor.

  Mike’s Ford and plow were surrounded by flames that lit up the corn stalks and the leaves on the dirt. A fallen fir tree fueled the growing conflagration.

  CHAPTER 30

  “LUKE, GODDAMN IT, don’t run off like that.”

  I rarely swore at my son, but I was scared. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been running after him and the dog, but I was heaving. I stopped to lean against the chipped bark of an oak to get my lungs under control.

  My son was barely even breathing hard.

  “Dad, he wants us to follow him,” he said again.

  Roosevelt, the little Jack Russell, turned and barked at me as if to confirm the point.

  Letting go of my support tree, I bent to pick up the dog, but he skittered away from me and ran up the slope. “Goddamn it,” I muttered under my breath.

  How far had we come? A few hundred feet? Any further and we risked getting turned around. The smoke roiled in thick blankets and stung my eyes. My frustration jolted into fear.

  “Luke, leave the d—”

  “Dad, you hear that?”

  I slowed my breathing. What was that? A crackling sound. The fire. It was close. But something else.

  “Help,” came a faint cry.

  Luke was already running toward the voice. I stum
bled behind him. There, fifty feet further up the slope of the woods, were two people. One of them lay on the ground, while the other, a small young woman, knelt beside him.

  “He twisted his ankle,” she said as soon as she saw me. “Thank God you came.” She was crying, her face streaked with mud and tears. “I can’t...he’s too heavy for me.”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  She pointed. I saw we were on a trail. Two packs rested in the middle of it a hundred feet back. “We were hiking the Appalachian and down through Carter Caves when we saw the fires. We were running, trying to get away, when…”

  “It’s okay.” I knelt and pulled one of the man’s arms around me.

  He was six-six and probably two-fifty. No wonder she couldn’t move him. I grunted under the load. Got him upright. “Mike,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Steve.” He grimaced in pain.

  “Brandie,” said the girl.

  Luke introduced himself while I scanned the woods.

  I turned to go back the way we’d come, but orange flames appeared through the smoke in the distance between the trees. Back along the trail, flickering red tongues. Ahead of us, the noxious smog was too thick to see through. I coughed as I tried to get a clean lungful.

  “Which way?” I asked.

  Roosevelt barked to make sure he got my attention, and then rocketed away down the slope ahead of us.

  “You are one crazy sonofabitch, you know that?”

  Chuck’s lopsided grin stretched from ear to ear. He hopped through the underbrush like a kid in a schoolyard and bent down to take Steve’s other arm. They said their introductions, and Brandie said hello.

  I released Steve with a merciful groan. I had to get back in the gym when all this was over. I seemed to say that every time there was a disaster, which seemed to be every few years.

  “Trust me, this wasn’t my idea,” I replied.

  Roosevelt ran straight at Irena when he saw her and leapt up into her arms. Dogs loved this woman. She held him up and he licked her face. She cooed and laughed.

  “Michael,” she said, “you certainly seem to know how to get into trouble.”

  “Like I said.”

  We crossed from the forest to the field and stepped onto dry dirt. Irena dropped Roosevelt and went to help Chuck with Steve. Luke was making sure Brandie was okay. The Range Rover was parked at the edge of the corn, a good sixty feet from the edge of the trees.

  Overhead, the drone whirred and circled. When the six-motored machine had appeared through the smoke, we’d yelled and waved. That’s when I knew we were going to be safe. Whoever was guiding it buzzed it ahead of us for the last two hundred feet, but Roosevelt knew the way anyway.

  I stopped, bent over double, and hacked and coughed. My lungs felt like they were full of burnt popcorn.

  To the left of me, not a hundred feet away, yellow flames zipped up a fir. Orange patches dotted the dirt in the fire break where embers fell.

  “We better hurry.” Chuck passed me with Steve.

  “Coffee first,” I said.

  A ragtag gang of well-wishers gave us a round of applause as we disembarked from the Range Rover. Damon held open the farmhouse door.

  “You had us worried for a second,” he said.

  “You’re not the only ones.”

  Irena followed me in, helping limping Steve. She took him into the living room to see what she could do about his ankle. Luke joined me, Chuck, and Damon in the improvised command center in the kitchen. I slumped into a ladderback chair.

  The drone’s video feed played on a big-screen TV mounted in front of the kitchen’s fireplace. From a hundred feet up, I watched a team of people dump dirt on patches of fire and stamp on embers. Terek guided the drone higher and inspected the fire, then made a call to another team out on the farm and directed them to a different spot.

  A mug of coffee clumped down on the table in front of me.

  “Good job, son.” Farmer Joe clapped me on the back.

  A puff of dust and soot erupted from my shirt.

  I picked up the cup and took a sip. “I can’t really take credit. It was this guy here.” Luke attached himself to my leg. I tousled his hair. “He’s the one that found them.”

  Luke’s face was smudged with soot and dirt. Ragamuffin came to mind. “It was Roosevelt, he was barking, and then I heard them calling for help, and then I ran over, and then there they were.” He jumped up and down but didn’t let go of my leg.

  Joe knelt and held out a hand. “You, sir, deserve a medal.”

  Luke shook with one hand and saluted with the other.

  “Seems your boy has inherited your savior complex,” Chuck said from across the kitchen. “Good job, Luke.”

  “I need to head back out.” Joe groaned as he stood.

  “Thank you.” I held up my coffee.

  “No, son. Thank you. I cannot tell you how much—” The old man’s face creased up. He pulled off his cap. Wiped a calloused hand across his eyes. “I have to say my belief in angels is renewed after some time of doubt. We’ve been through some tough years, lately.”

  “You’re welcome.” I lowered my head. Tired.

  “Everyone, can we please come together for a moment?” Farmer Joe held his hands out and motioned for everyone from the living room to join us in the kitchen. “For a second, and then we’ll get back to it. Can we all stand?”

  I stood. Terek set the drone to hover and said something into his phone. A dozen people whose names I couldn’t remember filtered in until the kitchen was shoulder to shoulder. When Farmer Joe spoke, his voice was low, but everyone listened.

  “Hold hands, please,” he commanded gently.

  Terek, Damon, and Irena held hands, with Damon in the middle, until a young blond woman in cut-off jean shorts inserted herself between Irena and Damon. Irena released his hand and the new woman took it and smiled at Damon. He smiled back. His cheeks flushed.

  Chuck took one of my hands firmly, and Luke took the other. The whole group formed a circle around the kitchen table.

  “God, thank you for bringing these people into our lives today,” Joe said.

  Everyone bowed their heads and closed their eyes. I did too.

  “And please give us the strength and your good blessing to save our town and keep everyone safe. In your name, amen.”

  “Amen,” mumbled everyone around the table but me.

  We all released hands, and a few people said quiet thanks to Joe. Everyone went back to what they were doing.

  Everyone let go of hands, except Damon and the new girl.

  “That’s Pauline,” Chuck whispered into my ear. “You see the way she pushed Irena away?”

  I picked up my coffee and took another sip. “I did.”

  “Two beautiful women fighting over Damon.”

  “Do I detect jealousy?” I held my cup up to obscure my mouth.

  Damon and Pauline weren’t more than ten feet away, and still held each other’s hands. They turned away from us to watch the big screen.

  “I’m a happily married man,” Chuck said.

  “You can live vicariously,” I said.

  “That I can, that I can.”

  Chuck mentioning his wife made me think of Lauren. We needed to get going.

  “I noticed you weren’t into the prayer circle,” Chuck said.

  “Just don’t like holding your hand.”

  But he was right. Chuck knew me. Holding hands and praying made me feel vaguely uneasy, like I was doing something I didn’t believe in. Did I believe? The jury was out, so to speak.

  Now that we were back in the farmhouse, my phone had a better connection to the meshnet. More bandwidth, as I was connected to a lot of other phones. I picked it up to look for messages.

  The kitchen’s side door flung open. Oscar’s shaved head appeared. “Holy God in heaven, son,” he said, his face beaming. “I was worried.”

  He took two big loping steps and wrapped me up in a bear hug, lifti
ng my feet from the floor.

  “Thanks,” I grunted.

  Ken followed in behind him. He took off his cap. A white line from where it had covered his forehead and blond hair. His face dark with soot and grime. “I think we got this thing beat. It’ll burn down to the Ohio, but that’s a thousand foot across. This here is where the buck stops.”

  Whoops and cheers from the living room.

  Oscar returned me gently to the floor and whispered, “You’ll tell Terry I done you right?”

  I laughed. “I’ll say you pistol-whipped me in good fun.”

  His eyes went wide. “That weren’t no pistol, and I didn’t mean—”

  “I’m kidding.”

  I picked up my phone again, and my heart fell to my feet. The stink of fumes and soot suddenly made me want to retch.

  “What is it?” Oscar asked.

  A message from Senator Seymour. They still hadn’t found Lauren. She had been processed in the Virginia holding encampment and held there for a day, but she had been released two days ago. There was no record of where she was now. Senator Seymour’s staff had been looking for her, but they were returning to the Capitol because of the mess going on. They didn’t know what to do.

  “My wife...Lauren, they can’t find her.”

  Chuck took my phone and read the text. He handed it to Damon.

  “It’s not even noon,” Chuck said. “We get in the cars. We can be in Washington before dark.”

  “We’re not getting through that.” Damon pointed out the window at the inferno in the treetops a half mile away.

  “What about bridges?” Chuck said.

  “There’s the Harsha Bridge a half hour back,” Oscar said. “But that’s been closed since the ice damage last year.”

  “You’d need to go all the way back to Combs-Hehl in Cincinnati,” Ken said. “That’s an hour and half along the Ohio. But who knows if you can get through the fires, if they’ve gotten all the way to the river back there.”

  Chuck said, “You might need to cut a fire break on the other side of town.”

  “That’s what we’re doing next.”

  “I need to get to DC. Right now,” I said.