He accessed a friend’s website site hosting his files. The sites owner had a lot of tattoos and loved displaying them.
The software rested dormant, hidden, waiting to be kicked alive by its owner. Mike downloaded and activated the files, then looked for his target of opportunity.
Lokai walked in, breathless and drooling. Mike idly scratched him behind the ears. “I know you don’t have to go out. Lie down, buddy.”
Whining, Lokai obeyed, dropping his jaws onto Mike’s foot.
“Fine, trap me here. I’ll take you out later.” He typed in the hidden trackingurls.onion URL. Mike stared at the screen, trying to remember an old password. A blank cursor blinked in the corner of a telnet type window waiting with inhuman patience.
He realized that Internet routers do not store MAC Addresses of web surfers. He wouldn’t locate the fake FBI agent, Townsend, that way. But Townsend had used his wireless printer. Mike long ago embedded special software in the printer’s driver. Once the software driver was installed, it inserted a super cookie that sent the MAC Address and the current public IP information to a deep web database. Mike imagined the NSA had a similar tracking system.
He remembered the password and logged into the deep web database and searched for instances of the MAC Address.
A list of IP Addresses appeared on the screen. The multiple addresses made sense. The laptop was not stationary.
Mike sought a pattern, and one IP Address appeared several times. “All right, you bastard.” Townsend’s home! Or whoever you are.
Mike pinged the IP address and got a reply. He typed the number in his protected browser’s address bar. Not expecting a result, he got one.
“Okay. Nice.”
A log-in screen splashed across his screen.
Townsend used a server at the same location of the laptop. “You’re mine, I will own you.”
Mike heard a noise. A scrape, followed by glass shattering. He crouched, instantly putting one hand on Lokai’s head, pinning the dog’s jaw to the floor to keep him from barking. He knelt down, his voice soft in the dog’s ear. “Stay. Good boy. Don’t move. Stay.”
He imagined a cadre of fake FBI agents streaming through the kitchen’s back door with semi or fully automatic weapons drawn and didn’t favor the odds.
Confident Lokai would obey, Mike crept from Eddie’s office, reaching the kitchen’s archway. He edged along one wall, taking one-step at a time, gazed fixed ahead of him, straining to hear. His hand gripped the archway. He took the briefest glance inside before ducking his head back, hugging the wall.
Shattered glass glistened on the floor. No dirt. No footprints.
He glimpsed through the windows, searching for kids in need of a lost softball or a newspaper kid peddling away on his bike. A dead fern on the porch fluttered in the slight breeze, but nothing else.
Where the hell are you? Mike’s stomach tightened. The only thing he smelled was his own sweat. Fuck.
Advancing as slowly as he could, he reached inside the kitchen with one hand, he quietly slid the knife drawer open. He stood ready, unmoving.
Nothing attracted his attention in either the kitchen or hallway.
He pulled out not the sharpest, but the largest knife. Distance is going to count.
He took inventory of the shattered glass on the floor. Stepping on it would make noise. Wait, the windows aren’t broken. A dark shadow flashed in the corner of his eye. He swung around. Nothing.
A strained cat’s meow came from the kitchen counter, where Mike couldn’t see.
Eddie’s cat. Anything else? Knife raised, Mike stepped into the kitchen. Nothing.
He and the cat were alone in the kitchen, and Mike had entered through the only way into the kitchen other than the back door.
The cat jumped over the glass and scampered to Mike, arcing his back and rubbing against Mike’s leg, purring.
Mike lifted a piece of the glass to the light. Part of a plate?
His heart returned to normal. “Damn, Nippy, you scared the crap out of me.” Almost literally. Nippy watched Mike with pleading eyes.
He set the knife down and plucked the all-black cat to stop the assault on his leg. He stroked its scruffy neck while two large green eyes pleaded for attention. A sandpaper tongue licked his other hand.
“You don’t feel safe in this house either. You scared little puss?” After another minute of petting, he put the cat down, determined to finish locating Townsend.
Nippy scrambled off.
Mike made a note to clean up the glass, then entered the bedroom office again, stepping over an obedient Lokai.
Centered in the middle of the screen, a standard username and password box waited for input. Under the box, a three-line warning flashed: Do Not Enter. We Will Trace Your IP Address. Unlawful Entry Will Result in Prosecution. The text was red, bold.
Mike ignored the warning. He took precautions against the NSA, so he figured it should be impossible for any non-government entity to trace him. He attempted to hack the system. If successful, he would poke around without altering any files. That did not mean he would not leave a hidden file for insurance.
His assault would be a brute force one, password guessing. The password list he used statistically would get him in over ninety percent of the computers in the world. People are not nothing, if not predictable. To avoid the three log-in attempts, he would use a different path to the server by bouncing his log-in attempts.
Mike’s attack lasted into the early morning. He exhausted his brute force password list. He was exhausted.
Mike, think, think, you idiot. His hands shot up in frustration. He accidentally smacked his knuckles against the opened door of Eddie’s office. Ow, that hurt!
The pain cleared his mind. Refocused his attention. Hey, wait a minute. A BACKDOOR? Was there a backdoor into software?
He pressed several backdoor key sequences used by programmers. People were people, even if they are nerds.
Mike pressed CTRL-1-Q-A-Z on his twelfth attempt. The login screen vanished. Yea! Yea baby! He threw his fists in the air. He avoided the door and blurted out. “Who’s your daddy? Who’s your daddy?” His fists waved in a ridiculous dance pattern in front of him.
The login screen morphed into the server’s Intranet site.
Inside the remote computer, a logic bomb activated, overloading the computer’s memory. Millions of 1’s and 0’s engaged a predictable chain of scheduled events.
Two cell phones transmitted a notification of the security breach. The server began a shutdown sequence. A pre-programmed two-minute delay allowed any admin to override the shutdown process.
The internal web page displayed a faded background of a hammer impervious to the fire surrounding it. That’s a cool image. Russian?
Off on the left-hand side of the page, a small five-item menu floated.
Mike clicked his hacking program to embed his software. Once completed he took a closer look.
Interesting. Mike chose ‘Maps and Locations’ from the menu selection. Another page loaded with three maps. Mike focused on his beloved city of Chicago.
Highlighted with a red circle were four areas, three near downtown. Sprouting from each circle was a route traced in yellow that leads outside the city.
Mike dragged the mouse over the red circles, the hand icon replaced his arrow cursor. Good, there is more to this. Let’s not go too deep yet.
He glanced at the two other maps. One was New York and the other Washington DC. Similar to the Chicago map, New York had red circles with yellow lines on streets leading away from the city. The Washington DC map baffled him; no route out.
The site went dark. Mike anticipated this result and reacted with a big yawn. He expected they would be good.
Exhausted, he forced himself to tidy up the glass and headed to the basement to sleep. He was satisfied with the day’s process and didn’t protest the delay. Tomorrow’s another day. I am so tired I could sleep through a bomb going off.
CHAPTE
R 18
Betrayal
Sokol bowed slightly before taking the senator’s wife’s hand. He teased and used his best New England accent, he gently clicked his heels. “You are indeed a most fascinating person, and I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation. To have your grasp of classical music! Who knew the Russian composer Shostakovich wrote ‘March of the Soviet Police?’” He lightly kissed her hand. “Until we meet again.”
Sokol nodded and joked with a few more Washington dignitaries while threading his way through the social gathering. He arrived at a side door and looked at his watch: one-thirty a.m.
An elderly doorman gave a tepid salute and nod. “A most enjoyable evening to you, sir.”
Sokol stepped outside and strolled toward his idle limo while faking a cell phone conversation on a phone he rarely used, tilting his head fifteen degrees to slow facial recognition in nearby cameras.
His driver uncurled out the driver’s side door, a massive shadow created by the street lights was in his wake. Erik opened the limousine’s rear door for him. “Sir.”
Sokol unbuttoned his tuxedo with his free hand before entering the limo, letting the driver shut the door. “Thank you.” Sokol respected his super-sized driver Erik. He even let the big man think that he was his bodyguard. Strange, the two people I depend on the most, Natalya and Erik, the beauty and the beast. His lips curved upwards at the thought.
Sokol jerked his phone from his ear when it vibrated. Chto za huy? (What the hell?)
A heavily encrypted message scrolled down the phone’s screen. The encrypted message morphed into readable text. He read, then powered off the phone, hitting one button for the cellular functionality, and another to disable the implanted encryption circuitry. Yevgeny better have an explanation. He spoke to his driver. “To base, Erik.”
“Yes sir.”
Sokol pulled his regular phone out of his jacket pocket to call Yevgeny. “We had a break-in.”
“You don’t have to tell me. The system completed the shutdown sequence.”
“I haven’t spent the past three days listening to stupid and entitled socialites for my health. We mapped out our strategy believing several politicians and dignitaries would be in Chicago at a private gathering. I’ve acquired a list of every senator, every ambassador who will be there. Our targeted locations are even more important now.” Sokol dismissed the thought of shooting his computer engineer for his incompetence; good ones were not easy to acquire. “We cannot afford distractions now. What did the intruder see?”
“Not much. The log files show web access only. The maps were exposed less than two minutes. The system’s security protocols worked, the server immediately shut down.”
Sokol tugged gently on his ear, re-calculating. “I’ll soon know who broke in, and that person will regret it. Accelerate ‘Phase One’ for tomorrow.”
“Your wish, my command.”
“We’ll talk later.” Sokol visualized the chessboard left on one of the picnic tables in the compound. Three more moves and the game would be over. Time to play another piece.
Sokol called a high-level FBI Agent, his sleeper, Chief Special Agent William Eugenes. From the back center console, he grabbed a third phone and inserted its battery.
The phone rang six times, and he considered trying later, but before he could press the cancel button, a loud voice boomed.
“Listen ya jerk, this better be important, waking me up at in ungodly hour!”
Sokol ignored the man’s anger and spoke in a composed tone. “We have an emergency. Rose Marie’s dead.”
“What?”
Sokol awaited the correct response. The line silent.
Three seconds later, William’s voice became monotone. “Her journey long, it’s time for a new beginning.”
“Don’t make me wait next time.”
“Never thought I hear those words. What do you want me to do?”
The light turned red, and the limo lurched to a stop. Sokol put a hand forward to keep from colliding with the front seat. Not missing a beat. “I need to get in touch with one of Rose Marie’s…friends.” He put his finger across the phone microphone. “Pay attention.”
Eric shook his head yes.
William requested. “Get me any info you can.” The call went dead for a few heartbeats. “It should not be a problem finding her friend.”
“Make sure it’s not. By the way, do you like your new Mercedes Coup?”
“How’d you know... never mind. It’s a seductive bitch. I miss my granny, but glad she was able to provide for me.”
Images of the eighty-thousand-dollar bribe William had taken and picking William’s locked garage door to plant the phone, rushed forward.
“So sorry to hear of your loss.” Bypassing the state-of-art Mercedes Coup security was a little trickier the garage door. His eyes twinkled. He did not sound sorry. “Please know that I stopped by your place, but you weren’t home. I saw your car parked in the driveway, so I threw a phone in the glove box. You left the top down again. Consider the phone an early birthday present.”
“Th..Thanks.”
“Expect my call.”
With a half-emptied vodka bottle and a cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other, Yevgeny thumbed the number of the next person on his team. “Don’t ask questions. We are at Phase One. No, don’t ask. Just do it.”
He terminated the call and dialed again. “Come on, answer.” He dragged on his cigarette, hard, forcing as much nicotine into his system as he could. “Anton. We had a break-in and Sokol knows. It’s bad. He’s pulled the trigger. We’re on Phase One.” He took another swig from the bottle. “Get started on your part. Just do it for Christ’s sake.” He disconnected the call.
Yevgeny, hands shaking, put down his phone and sucked a long draw on the vodka bottle. “For all our sakes.”
The buzz buzzed him. He staggered to his hutch, snatched a phone and battery, hands trembled as he put them together, and pressed the one and only speed dial on the phone. He almost smiled. Maybe he isn’t home.
The line opened, but no one spoke.
Yevgeny cleared his throat. “YA sobaka, kotoraya ustanavlivayet koshku sredi golubey.” (I am the dog that sets the cat among the pigeons.)
The voice on the other end waited a moment. “Da.”
“We cannot wait anymore. Sokol implemented his plan to draw America and Russia into war. He’s ordered his operatives to bomb a location in Chicago where politicians plan to meet. I am sure there are other bombs. I had to deliver the orders to the men or Sokol would suspect me.”
“Does this involve his little toy?”
“No. Chicago is a traditional bombing. He plans to implement the big weapon for something else, but hasn’t told me what.” Yevgeny lit another cigarette before draining the last of the vodka bottle. His body trembled as he waited for a response.
“Sokol should have listened to his financiers. He will implement nothing. My operatives will take his toy away. You acted appropriately. Destroy your phone. Kill the people directly reporting to you. I will take care of the rest.”
Yevgeny heard a slight click when the line disconnected. He picked up the other phone and dialed. “Anton. A small change of plans. Drop by my apartment. You need to courier a package to our operatives in Chicago.”
He listened to Anton’s rushed question. He replied. “No, Phase One is still a go. This is part of the plan.”
He slid opened the drawer of his coffee table and lifted out a silenced pistol, checking the chamber and flipping off the safety. He unlocked his door, flopped down on the couch, dragged on his cigarette, and waited with murderous intent.
With his driver, Erik, standing in the hallway, Sokol unlocked the door of his Washington, D.C. hotel room. “I will be just a moment. Then we’ll head to the airport to catch a plane back to New York.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sokol walked into his hotel room, flipped on the light, and immediately backed out. He made a “silence” sign with his
fist, then waved for Erik to stand further back while he readies his pistol. Sokol inched his head toward the door.
The driver pulled out his own weapon, walked past Sokol, and entered the room. “Nichego, nothing.”
Sokol straightened and entered. Still think you need to protect me? He kept quiet.
A typical-looking ransacking, all drawers were on the floor. What few clothes Sokol had left behind were strewn everywhere. Sheets, pillows, bed covers were ripped to shreds.
Erik shrugged, holstering his weapon. “What would anyone have wanted?”
Sokol shook his head. “Nothing. This was a message.”
“From whom?”
“Ryzhevolosyy. The damn The Redhead. Leave this mess. We go.” Sokol took out his phone as it rang. It wasn’t The Redhead.
“Sokol, I’m sorry, I know this is out of protocol.”
“Very much out of protocol, Anton. You should talk to your assigned handler, and he talks to me.”
“Can’t, he’s dead. Yevgeny wanted me to come to his apartment, supposedly to courier a package to Chicago. The door was open. He tried to shoot me but was too drunk. He missed by over two feet.” His voice grew a little louder. “Idiot! I took his gun away and asked why. He simply pulled out another from beneath his couch and blew his brains out.”
Sokol looked at his driver. Covered the mic on the phone. “Get the car, have it waiting for me downstairs.”
“Yes sir.” Erik trotted away.
“You realize, Anton, that you are more expendable than my chauffeur? Probably the most expendable person in my operation.”
“Yes…yes sir.”
“Good. Remember that. Find all the phones. Take out their batteries, and return to base.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sokol suddenly heard gunshot reports from the other end of the phone. “Anton?” He heard a body hit the floor.
Chessboards on picnic tables crossed his mind.
Silence remained on the phone until a different voice broke in. “Natalya here. Anton isn’t available.”
I Will Not Yield Page 12
