by D S Kane
She shook her head. But after a few seconds, she’d analyzed the situation and realized she had been too fast to draw a conclusion. Since there was no real plan to get Avram’s teams and Ben-Levy safely into Manhattan, maybe it was better to have Ann out of the country when it became a battlefield.
She forwarded Ann’s draft to Drapoff by copying it into his folder on the website. She knew all about Stuxnet. It was logical that by now the Mossad’s black-hat group would have crafted better viruses than they’d used against Iran so many years ago.
She knew the situation was desperate. She wondered what Drapoff could find out and whether there was any help to be had from the Mossad’s yahalomim. If there was, could it be arranged in time to save them all?
* * *
Jon abandoned the rental car across the street from his condo, on First Avenue and 40th Street. He’d been gone from midtown Manhattan for almost three hours. Maybe the hunters had given up trying to find him. He walked northwest to the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel and entered the lobby, scanning for threats with every step. The basement would be a good place to hide until it was time to reveal himself. He would have prayed for Avram’s success, but since the death of Aviva Bushovsky, he no longer believed in God.
CHAPTER 28
Knesset lobby, Jerusalem, Israel
February 24, 11:32 a.m.
Israeli Prime Minister Oscar Gilead shook hands with several prominent members of the Likud party, remembering to smile despite his inner feelings of contempt for their insolence.
When there was no one else to greet, he motioned to his lead bodyguard. “I need a moment of privacy.” The guard nodded and spoke into his earbud’s mike.
He found a nook near a corner of the rectangular lobby and pressed two buttons on his cell. The first was a jammer and the second initiated a secure line. He entered Yigdal Ben-Levy’s number.
The noise at the other end of the line obscured everything else. “It’s Gilead.”
Yigdal’s voice came through this time. “I am in a noisy place. Please speak loudly.”
Oscar Gilead took a deep breath. “And I am where others might hear me so I will not raise my voice.”
“I can hear you now.”
“Good. It has come to my attention that you have disobeyed a direct order.”
There was silence on the other end of the line and Gilead wondered if the old man had heard him. “Then accept my resignation.”
Gilead could feel the heat in his face. He wanted to strangle the former master spy. Instead, he took another deeper breath. “I’ll have you put down.”
“I’m near death. Nothing more you can do.”
He thought for a second. Yes, you’re already dead to me anyway. This is bullshit, Yiggy. He thought about some answer which might work. Something which wouldn’t make Israel an even bigger target to its enemies. Something that might help dispatch the old dying man he wished dead yesterday. He realized there was no way out of the conundrum. Except…
Gilead wanted to hang up the phone, but that wouldn’t fix the problem. Instead, he took a deep breath to calm himself before speaking. “Look, if I can’t stop you, I’ll have to help you. Where are you?” He listened to silence, and realized the old spymaster was wondering if this was a trap. “I’m sincere.” As soon as he said it he realized his mistake. “If you aren’t interested, just say so.”
“No. There is something you can do to help. What is the status of Stuxnet II’s development?”
Oscar Gilead’s jaw dropped. How could the old man know there was an upgrade being tested? Then he realized Yigdal must have contacted Michael Drapoff, a former director of the yahalom division of the Mossad. Was Drapoff with Ben-Levy? But of course he was!
It was time to be honest with Yigdal. “We are looking into the issue of the possible war. It’s so unlikely. But we have a Stuxnet team trying to access the Russian and Chinese internal security computers. We should know in a few weeks if the threat is real. Do nothing. You could blow their mission.”
“We have only a day left at most. An invasion is happening today or tomorrow. Probably only several hours before they take down the US electric grid. The cyber war will be followed by a kinetic invasion. Millions will die.”
Gilead sighed. The next step was obvious. “Consider your resignation accepted.” He shook his head. “Good luck, old friend.” He terminated the call.
His friend would need more than luck. He keyed the number for Samuel Meyer, the director in chief of the Mossad.
The cell was answered on the first ring. “Yes, Firewood?” using Gilead’s call-sign from the days when he was a sniper.
Gilead could see his bodyguards spread out in a search pattern, probably concerned about how long he’d been absent from their direct coddling. He grimaced. “What’s the status of Stuxnet II?”
“We have a release candidate in testing now.”
“How long until we can use it?”
“Maybe a day or two. But the product isn’t complete. The virus works, but the remote delivery mechanism isn’t yet functional.”
Oscar Gilead’s face fell. “Explain.”
“We’ve tested several methods of getting the virus to its target. None work as yet. For now, it has to be delivered by a human using a thumb-drive, just as the original Stuxnet was.”
Gilead’s mind explored the implications. “Options?”
“Wait a day or two. With luck, we’ll have a remote delivery method working. Maybe forced non-hardware air-gap penetration using WSPR or NFC. Maybe NVIS, near-vertical incidence skywave radio-wave propagation.”
NVIS was a new twist for Gilead. He couldn’t remember a briefing on it. But there wasn’t time right now. Anyway, if Ben-Levy was right, that would be too long. “Your predecessor needs that cyber tool as soon as you can get it to him. One of his friends may contact your tech team. If they do—no, when they do—get them a copy of your incomplete product.”
“One of my yahalomim told me Drapoff has already contacted him. I’ll have my man send them a copy.”
“Good. Next, I need you to assemble an op team immediately. Fly them to New York on a private aircraft and have them at the embassy in Manhattan ASAP.”
“How large a team and outfitted how?”
“Large, and equipped for urban combat. But no Israeli identification.”
“I’m on it.” The call terminated.
Gilead called Ben-Levy back.
CHAPTER 29
Interstate 95,
just south of Newark Airport
February 24, 5:11 a.m.
The second bus came to a rolling stop in suddenly stalled traffic. William assumed it wasn’t moving due to an accident, one so far in front that it wasn’t visible from where the bus was stalled. He used his smartphone to receive a traffic report. Two large trucks had slipped on black ice and caused over twenty cars to collide with them. He turned to Betsy. “We’re fucked.”
She looked up from the screen of her notebook. “Tell me about it. Well, at least there’s things we can still do while we sit here. We can hack the Russian and Chinese computers better than the Mossad’s yahalomim can. Why not get all our friends to help us out? Initiate a denial of service attack on them, a DDOS? A plague, as they say, on both their houses.”
William looked up from his own notebook. “You mean, get the folks at Anonymous, the /b/ and chan community out there working to initiate an electric grid takedown of Russia and China? It just might work.”
She poked him in the ribs. “Of course it might. After all, I thought of it. Let’s get all the world’s best hackers involved in a hacker challenge to break into the Chinese Security Information Service servers. At the very least, it ought to cause a denial of service issue for them and keep them from popping anything out of their servers.”
But seconds later, their wireless communications stopped working. Betsy looked at William. “Crap! The cyber phase of the invasion has started. Now we really are truly fucked.”
He reach
ed into his go bag and pulled out a small rig with what looked like a metal dinner plate attached. “It’s an NVIS. A guy at the /b/ website told me how to build it.” There was an on/off switch and four size D batteries taped to it. He turned it on and an Internet screen blinked at them.
William reconfigured his cell to search for the NVIS and his cell chimed, indicating a new draft message had been posted on the Swiftshadow Consulting Group website. He logged in and saw several messages posted to the Drafts folder, all posted within seconds of each other.
From Yigdal Ben-Levy:
We may be able to access a new, more potent Stuxnet virus. If we can, then we could upload it to the FSB and CSIS intelligence servers to at the minimum keep their military from coordinating. However, the new virus needs to be uploaded via thumb-drive from a terminal on the premises where the local server is located.
From Cassie:
I just read Mother’s message. Ann and Misha Kovich are en route to Moscow to see if they can manually place a copy of the virus into the FSB’s servers. Michael, you must find a way to obtain the virus and place it in the Drafts folder without activating it, so it will be ready to use when they arrive.
William, why don’t you and Betsy head to Beijing and do the same. The objective is to simply disable both countries’ electric grids.
William and Betsy stared at each other. He shook his head. “Way too dangerous. They can get a volunteer from the mercs. We’ll just work from the bus.”
But just then the tiny LCD screen on the NVIS blinked a message: No Internet Found. Seconds later, William’s cell stopped working.
He grimaced. “That’s it. We’re finished here. If my assumption is correct, the US Internet Server Systems, MAE-East and MAE-West are both down. If we can’t even access the Internet, they must have crashed it. Cellphones also are blocked. We’re totaled here!”
Betsy shook her head. “I guess we’ll have to fly to China after all.”
William stood. “Yeah. Well, they already have a termination order out on me here so I’m already compromised. It’s suicide for me. But you, sweetie. Being with me if I’m captured would get you a death sentence as well. Sure you want to go with me?”
She hugged him. “Oh, Willy. Stop being a total idiot.” She stood and walked up the bus toward the driver. “Stop the bus at a place where we can find a taxi.” William and Betsy gathered their go bags from the bus. They took both of their notebook computers and a few thumb-drives with them.
Finding a taxi during the rush hour wasn’t easy in New Jersey. But within ten minutes they were able to flag one down, and both scrunched into the back bench seat.
Betsy sat ramrod straight in the back seat. “I have second thoughts about doing this. Is there really enough time left?”
William didn’t answer. He pointed through the window. “The private terminal at Newark Airport, sir.”
The taxi driver nodded and used streets to bypass the accident, then reentered Interstate 95 going north.
There was a Cessna parked exactly where Avram had said it would be. Its lights were on and William could see a pilot seated in the cockpit. There were no armed men either of them could see, so they exited the cab and climbed into the jet.
He scanned his wristwatch. How long would it take to get to Beijing? How many hours did they have left?
CHAPTER 30
Interstate 95,
just south of Newark Airport
February 24, 5:18 a.m.
Just outside the Lincoln Tunnel, the second and third buses caught up with the one that had left first. The traffic was bollixed, almost to a standstill, barely creeping forward.
Avram could see they would need to abandon the buses and find another way into Manhattan. Until now, their luck had held. The first helicopter hadn’t been followed by another.
For just a few seconds he reviewed what had happened. There were too many loose ends to their plans. He thought about alternatives to the next steps they would need to take. To get into Manhattan using the least amount of time, they’d planned to stay on the buses. Risky, since so many of them bundled together were an easy target. Once in Manhattan, buses with DC plates and identifier tags would be ever so conspicuous. We need another alternative!
They were within walking distance to a PATH station, but if they took the New Jersey PATH trains to Manhattan, they’d have to pass through metal detectors. That meant leaving their weapons behind, nullifying their total force’s defensive capability. Also, they would be so conspicuous with their mercenary uniforms. Not a good alternative.
They could steal cars. It might be possible, but they would need a critical mass of automobiles—more likely to get noticed by local police and, if just one of them were captured, to put the entire mission would be at risk. This plan has a moderately higher probability of success than the others, but it, too, absolutely sucks.
If they could reach Newark Airport, they could fly to West Islip, an unexpected and less common point of arrival. This alternative garnered Avram’s attention for several minutes as he thought about how it might work and how much longer it might take. Maybe…
Major Halid Sambol, driving the bus, shouted, “We have company. At 2 o’clock, two heavy choppers. They’re armed to the teeth. 50-caliber machine guns and air-to-ground missiles. What are your orders?”
Avram stared out the bus windows on the right side. He could see the missiles hanging off these helicopters. His mercs had three Stinger missiles remaining. At best they could expect to eliminate this threat, but if more helicopters arrived, he was certain they would all die.
The buses were no longer a viable solution. I must act right now.
* * *
Lee Ainsley had waited nearly a half hour at one of the nine lanes of the Holland Tunnel’s toll plaza until it was his turn. The toll taker complained about his lack of an E-Z Pass when he paid the toll. Lee just nodded and drove into the tunnel toward Manhattan.
He had planned getting to UN Plaza at First Avenue and 44th Street, where his sense of logic told him the great battle would occur. Avram and Cassie would need all the help they could get. So far, it looked good. Even the standstill traffic hadn’t kept him from getting through the tunnel.
In the slow-moving spread of cars, Lee slammed the steering wheel with his fist. He shook his head and tapped his fingers on the wheel. Remembered how simple things had been long ago when he’d first met Cassie. He’d been at Gilbert Greenfield’s unnamed intelligence service and she was a new hire. He could see the derision in her face. He was her version of a technoweenie prince, and she was the female version of James Bond. It had taken him nearly a year before she even said hello passing him in the halls. Somehow this memory muted the frustration he felt sitting in traffic, unable to help her now when she needed him most.
His car crawled onto Canal Street in Manhattan and he continued east toward Bowery, where he planned to take a left to go north toward Midtown.
In the heavy traffic, he found it easy to scan for black SUVs, choppers overhead, large groups of uniformed men—anything that might be trouble.
So far, nothing alarming.
As Bowery turned into Fourth Avenue, he spotted a black SUV, but it was parked and unoccupied. Maybe it wasn’t a hostile threat. But it could be, and he took note.
At Union Square, where Bowery divided into four lanes and intersected Park Avenue South, he saw a mass of men wearing dark clothing. They all appeared to be Asian. He’d read every message posted on the Swiftshadow website. He knew this was the real threat.
He pulled the car into the underground garage of a newer apartment building and pulled out his notebook computer.
Lee scanned for a wireless signal and found no Internet access. He tried using his cellphone to post his discovery on the Swiftshadow website. Again, no connection. Then he exited the car and walked three blocks. There was a working pay phone at the corner of 16th Street and Madison. He took set of cables from his pocket and rigged an old-fashioned modem connecti
on. It took several minutes and a few false starts but within several minutes he was able post his suspicions in the draft folder.
When Lee completed his work, he walked to the northwest corner of East 16th Street where he found a secluded alleyway. He hid within it and watched the Asians smoking cigarettes, chatting in Mandarin, and pacing the sidewalk.
He hoped to learn something more. Something he could use to ensure Cassie and her group’s safety.
CHAPTER 31
Interstate 95,
just south of Newark Airport
February 24, 5:28 a.m.
Avram watched a black Chevy Suburban that followed his buses about six cars back of them, and he suspected it was the spotter for the two choppers. It closed on the last bus. He pointed to Sergeant Ina Boric and then toward the black SUV. “Take it out, before they get close enough to send our location to either of the choppers.”
Boric nodded as she poked the Stinger out the bus window and locked its guidance system on the car. She pulled the trigger. As the SUV exploded, Avram pointed further back, to two black helicopters closing on the buses. “Now, take both of them out before they can kill us all.
Boric picked up the second Stinger and fired it in seconds. The missile blew its target to pieces. She reached for the final missile. Before she could aim, there was a flash from the third chopper.
“Incoming!” Major Sambol drove the bus under an overpass and stopped.
“Leave the bus now,” Avram shouted. But it was already too late. The missile homed in on the bus before many could exit but hit the concrete overpass. More mercs hurried off the bus.
A second incoming missile followed it and the bus exploded. From under the overpass, Boric scrambled to the top of a rusty abandoned car and set up and fired their last Stinger. The chopper disappeared, blood, bone, metal, and plastic raining down on the roadway.
Avram counted his soldiers. There were only seventeen survivors from the twenty-eight who had travelled in his bus. Eleven dead in under a minute. The second and third buses were intact.
