by Theo Cage
"Sorry. That's classified too." Then she laughed. “Don’t look so glum. That was a joke.” She smiled this time. He felt the hairs going up on his neck. It was a good feeling. He decided his assignment for the next half hour was to make her smile again, not that it would be easy. He didn't know why this gave him such a thrill, but it beat tracking down a virus that had vanished without a trace.
“I started over at Langley about six years ago. Standard stuff. I had a Computer Science degree, which made it easy. The CIA likes technology and the fact that I’m a woman helped. I completed all the training, and eventually got on satellite recon.”
Roger took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirttail as he walked with her. “Recon?” he asked.
“Reconnaissance. I was working on automating the reading of sat photos. It’s very labor intensive. I almost went blind staring at images ten hours a day. Then one day, I got a call from Jo and I moved over here to Division 213.”
Roger put his glasses back on. “Jo told me they shipped me here because this Buzzworm virus was focusing a lot of its attention on your group. Which I’m guessing is a clue. She couldn’t tell me much about what you do here, but from what I see on the local servers, there is a lot of video material. Do you scan TV and Internet broadcasts?”
Med thought about Rogers question carefully. “We do very special work here. But you are going to have to ask Jo if you need details.”
Roger shrugged. “I’m used to the drill, Med. I’ve worked for the CIA before. But if you can’t tell me anything, how can you help me?”
“Because I have first-hand knowledge of Buzzworm,” Med said then, turning towards him. Roger could see for the first time that she was troubled and was making an effort to hide it. Maybe everyone in the CIA did this as a matter of course. A second later her professional demeanor returned. Her revelation, that momentary glimpse at some personal pain, was like a stolen kiss. Roger felt his blood pressure rise slightly. He looked at her again, his mouth suddenly dry. For the first time he noticed her hair; the way it fell across her cheek. As if she had heard his thoughts, she moved it back with her hand.
"I'm buying,” he said. " So I expect to get the full story."
Roger and Med sat in one corner of the cafeteria, as far away as possible from the closest occupied tables. He sensed she had something important to say to him, but he had no desire to rush her. Something had shifted in him back there in the hallway. Maybe his head wound was more serious than he thought. Or maybe it was just her.
"I've seen the virus, if that's what you call it," offered Med.
"One of those video hacks?" he asked. She winced noticeably. Her eyes fell to her hands. "This attack was on a very secure system. One we use to develop specialized software.” She hesitated. Roger got the sense she wanted to offer more, but couldn’t.
Roger tried again. “Does this software you work on have something to do with video?” She stared at him then. Roger decided he would try another angle. “Did you know Frank?”
“He was part of our team, although I didn’t know him personally. Very obsessive type. Kind of a loner too.”
“He was an images guy, right? Mr. Photoshop?”
She shook her head. “That’s an over-simplification. He developed an artificial intelligence program that matched shadows and light levels and film grain and a lot more.” She stopped, unsure of how to continue. “Roger, I think you need to know more about what we do here in order to do your job. But this is all confidential. Frank worked for a group that doctored imagery and video and tested video for veracity as well. His image enhancement routines were the best in the world.”
“Was this software used on satellite photos?”
“Anything. Cell phone video. Skype. Security camera video.”
“How did Frank die? Do you know?”
Med flushed slightly. “I don’t think that’s classified. He committed suicide.”
“Then why did Dodge think I had something to do with it?”
“Dodge was a drinking buddy of Frank’s. His only real friend here. He said Frank would never consider suicide. He was convinced that someone had... driven him to suicide?”
“He thought it was me?”
She looked carefully at Strange. “Sounds crazy, I admit. But Dodge just went ballistic for some reason. Plus he was always a bit technophobic. You know the type? And now he’s gone MIA.”
Strange looked puzzled. “Missing in action”, she offered. “He’s disappeared.” Roger felt a wave of concern ripple through him. He imagined Dodge on the streets, hunting him down. Was it normal for CIA employees to just go off the radar? He needed to change the subject.
"You said you had a personal experience with Buzzworm. What happened?"
She hesitated, that vulnerable look slipping across her features again. But only for a moment. "Before I say anything, are you sure this is a virus? Can you clean it out?"
"Everybody here is talking about Buzzworm as the mother of all bugs. But I have yet to see more than a fifteen second promo video starring my evil twin. So, until I finish scoping out the problem..."
She seemed to shiver. "It’s much more than that, believe me."
"More than me with the chainsaw?"
She shook her head, which caused her hair to fall across her cheek again. "Two weeks ago, a woman I know in Encryption, Anne, came to me in tears. It took a while to get it out of her, poor kid, but she was totally shaken. She took four weeks of stress leave soon after. Told her boss that it was post-partum depression, although it had been about a year since she came back from maternity leave. “
Med continued. “One day she was working on her computer and suddenly this video image pops up on her screen. What she sees is her baby lying in her crib and her baby-sitter standing above her, dropping things on her."
"Things?"
"A paperback book. Dolls. Her purse. Nothing sharp that would leave a mark. But every time the baby would cry, this older woman would go into her room and drop something on her."
Roger blanched. "Were these photographs?"
"No. She said it was like a live video stream. Like it was shot from a security camera, up in the corner of the room." Med drank from her tea, something lemon flavored. "Of course, she went home that night and checked her baby's room to see if there was any sign of a security camera installed up in the corner over the crib. Which, of course, was ridiculous. She became convinced that this was her baby-sitter she saw on the screen."
Roger rubbed his forehead. She looked at his hands briefly; her eyes still far off in thought. "How about her baby? Was there any evidence of it being abused?"
She shook her head. "That was the point of the video. There wouldn't be any evidence. So you know what she did? She fired this woman. A nanny who came highly recommended, and you know how hard it is to find someone like that, but she fired her anyway. She brought in her sister-in-law for a week to help out. The next day, the video pops up again on her computer at work. This time it's her sister-in-law's husband on the video. And he's doing things..." She stopped, her eyes coming up to his. "I thought she was crazy. Really. I thought the stress of her first kid had made something go snap. No one else saw these pictures. Only her. The next time they popped up, she ran for her supervisor, and when they got back to her cubicle there was just, well, her word-processor or whatever on the screen."
Med picked up her tea again. Roger noticed now that her hands were shaking slightly, like she had caught a sudden chill. Her knuckles were blue-tinged. "She was checked out by one of our doctors who not only sent her home, but she's now going for therapy, too." She was working up to something; Roger could see it in the tense set of her shoulders.
"Then I heard about Robin. Robin is a clerk here who works on data entry. I've never met her, but I heard through the net." She looked up. "I don't mean a computer network. The gossip net? The water cooler and coffee net?” Roger nodded. “One day her computer shows her a blurry video of her father pulling up to some young
girl on the street. What looks like a young prostitute, based on how she’s dressed, gets in his car. Robin recognizes his car, and she even gets the license plate number. She thinks it's a stupid joke of some kind being played by the guys in the Graphics department."
"Guys like Frank Scammel?"
Med hesitated. "Why not? He certainly knew how. Anyway, Robin tells this story to her father at a family get-together a few days later. She was just sharing the sick joke. He suddenly turns purple and has a heart attack at Sunday dinner, in front of a dozen relatives, and dies before the ambulance can get there." Med swallowed hard. "Apparently the video was real. He had picked up a child prostitute, and someone caught the whole thing on video and broadcast it to her desk.” She closed her eyes. “So viruses can kill, if not directly."
"Shit," was all Roger could say. Then he apologized, but he didn't think he had to. Med was almost white now, the skin around her eyes translucent, the fine trace of blood vessels apparent.
After a moment she said, "They don't want outsiders to see any panic here. For obvious reasons. I think there have been dozens of incidents like this one in the last few months, maybe hundreds. But no one wants to talk about it. And there are other issues. Phone service is erratic. Weird heating and cooling problems. Lights going out at all hours. Security doors locking when they shouldn’t... or unlocking when they are supposed to be secure. It’s a kind of technology meltdown."
Roger didn't know what to say. He could hardly imagine the CIA panicking. Or consider what could result if it did. More importantly, he might be to blame. Was there a connection between the team of hackers he was working with? Did they do something that may have helped let this virus through? That was a notion that was too painful to dwell on. "Have you had a look at this virus?" she asked.
"That's not going to be easy," he muttered, avoiding the truth. "It's got to be polymorphic. Meaning it changes..."
"Like the Uruguay viruses."
That stopped him. He never imagined she might understand this technology. She must be more than just a coder. "OK. So you know then that Buzzworm would also be segmented?"
She lifted her shoulders. Her professional interest was piqued. "I hadn't heard that term before."
Roger moved closer to her. "If Buzzworm is a virus, it’s big. Lots of gigabytes. Hollywood big. It's got to be to play all those videos and sounds and music. So when it's being searched for, what these Trojans typically do, is split up into hundreds of smaller pieces. They then hide all over the network. Like a swarm of cockroaches diving for cover when the lights go out."
She shook her head in disbelief. "Who could write something like that?"
"Good question. Amateurs write most viruses in a couple of weeks. Kids who get a kick out of trashing someone's work. But Buzzworm has all the dimensions of a corporate software product, like a major video game or software release."
"You think a team is involved?"
"It makes sense. You’d need someone to do the video work. Someone who knows how to program the segmenting of the Trojan. Maybe a network expert. It’s just like making a movie. You need an army of hackers, not just a few anti-social weirdoes."
“Sounds like Microsoft from hell.”
Roger shrugged. Great looking and she knows her stuff, he thought. And I had to infiltrate the CIA to find her. He hesitated, and then asked "You must have an idea who is behind this then."
She looked slightly offended. "Why would... you mean a person?"
Roger was surprised by her reaction. He held both hands up as a sign of surrender. "I was thinking more of a foreign power. Since you are the CIA."
She stared off into space for a moment, lost in thought. "Oh. Like Bulgaria or North Korea?"
Roger shook his head, uncertain if she was putting him on or not. Both countries were small, but sources of some of the worst viruses in the past few years. "I was thinking terrorists."
"That's one theory. Vienna hasn’t discussed this with you? Possible sources?"
"She’s not saying much. She wants me to figure this out my way. In her words, find the leak, clean things up and seal the network. Then get out. I’m just a plumber."
"You have no idea, do you?" She said this almost breathlessly, like she had pulled it out of herself with agonizing effort. This was against all of her training, all of the rules. She seemed to be vibrating. In shock.
"You?" Roger asked. She turned partly away from him, her eyes on the door across the room. From what he knew about this virus, once you were a headliner, your life was in danger. Sure the sample was small, but he'd seen the photo of Scammel lying face down in his blood. There was an awful lot of blood for one man. "This is probably a stupid question, but why haven't you told anyone?"
She lowered her voice. "You're the virus expert and I just told you. But if it goes any further, I'll deny it."
"Listen. I'm on your side. But why tell me at all if you won't give me any details?"
She stared at him, thinking. "Monday morning, early. I was just logging off when my display went crazy. There was a lot of noise and laughing." She paused. "There was a video. With me in it."
"Was this a home movie or something they caught on a security camera?"
Her face reddened. "Believe me. This wasn't a home movie."
"You think it was faked?"
Her face went sour. "Of course I think it was faked. It was faked. It was a sick joke."
“Oh.” Roger sat back, getting it now. Med let out a sigh. "You don't have a copy of it?" he asked. She shivered visibly.
"No way. Thank God, Kyle from our security group didn't grab it with his little capture program."
"He’s the one who caught me in the act, right? The video that made Dodge go ballistic?"
She shook her head. "Yeah. You're famous around here already." Roger could tell she wanted to add more, but was afraid of something. “I’ve thought a lot about this, uh, computer incident. Whoever is doing this has a lot of personal information. Pictures. Video. It knows where you are, in the building I mean, which it shouldn’t know. It also knows other things.”
“Other things?” Roger asked.
“Well, it knew about Anne’s house, for example. What the baby’s bedroom looked like. How did Buzzworm get that information?”
“You sure it was exactly her bedroom? Maybe it just looked like hers, and she was pretty emotional...”
“You’re not listening, Roger. This thing knows.” She tapped her fingers nervously on the table top.” There was more than me in the video I saw. There was a friend as well. A friend that doesn’t work here. A friend who has nothing to do with the CIA. And no one here has a right to know anything about him.”
Roger looked uncertain again. “A friend? You’re absolutely...” She held up her hand. He wanted to know who the friend was. “And what was the video about?”
“The details aren’t important. It did feature a leading role by Satan though.”
“Satan?” Strange felt a slight shiver, but he also wanted to laugh. There was that Old Testament theme again. Guaranteed to raise a few goose bumps. "Buzzworm looks like it was designed to get to people — not necessarily to dig up or steal information or computer data. It personalizes everything for a reason. Very clever manipulation to create FUD. Fear. Uncertainty. And doubt.”
”Don’t fool yourself, Roger. It’s that –and much more. Buzzworm has affected every single piece of technology in the intelligence community. They don’t want you to know how seriously FUBAR we are, but you need to know that if you don’t do something soon...”
Strange was surprised by her frankness. No wonder Jo was calling him every hour. “How about Frank? I'm willing to bet he was part of their ongoing mini-series too. If it wasn’t him, it had to be somebody else inside.”
Roger could tell Med had already considered that. “We guessed as much, but there was no trail. No data shadow.”
Roger leaned in. “You know the most dangerous viruses take advantage of computer users in the orga
nization that don’t know any better. They get an email that says Click here to upgrade your virus system and they invite in a virus or a Trojan. Or they bring work from home that’s infected. Buzzworm is likely a blended threat. I think it uses a combination of methods. It’s not going to be a simple matter to track it down and disinfect the system. The longer it takes, the more cases you are going to have like your friend with the Nanny — or Scammel." Roger swallowed hard. The more he thought about it, the more he knew that time was running out. What would be the big payoff for Buzzworm? This all seemed like a lead up to something big and nasty. Did he want to be around if the CIA systems crashed completely?
"A lot of the staffers here have come up with their own solution,” said Med. “They’re finding ways to avoid using their computers. They think if they don't log in, Buzzworm can’t track them down."
Roger thought about that. ”Buzzworm wins both ways then. If employees don’t use their systems, how does the CIA function? Isn’t it hard to evaluate spy imagery if everyone is on a permanent break?”
Med tensed. Roger could tell he had hit a sore spot. She slid closer to him across the table and lowered her voice. “You’ve got to stop this infection, Roger. In a week, we have a major test here. The government is doing a final review of something we developed called GIPETTO. If we fail, this whole division will be shuttered. Four hundred people could lose their jobs.”
Roger was struck by the emotion in her voice. “You want me to stop this thing, but you can’t tell me anything about the program? Do you know how hard that is?”
Med looked away. Roger could tell this was more than just a programmer defending her code. She began carefully. ”Jo and I came up with the idea for GIPETTO. I have been leading the programming development and another team worked on the satellite hardware and servers. We’ve spent five years creating something that is decades ahead of everyone. I can’t give you the details, but I can say that GIPETTO is critical to US security. And though the system should be absolutely hack free, somehow Buzzworm got in. I have absolutely no idea how someone from the outside could do that.”
