Matt Drake 8 - Last Man Standing

by David Leadbeater

  Dahl was a spontaneous man. Given to sudden heroic deeds and hair-raising stunts in battle, he was also prone to crazy, impulsive acts on his family days. Anything from jumping into swimming pools, fully clothed, and getting Johanna, the kids and himself thrown out of their hotel, to impromptu fifty-mile mad dashes for specialist ice cream. It was his crazy, unplanned side that Johanna had originally fallen in love with, though not when she heard he applied the same methods in the Army too.

  He tended to keep that part quiet.

  They were a happy, fit family. Dahl had met his wife at the gym. His regimen impressed her; his muscles too. When she heard him speak she backed away, wary, no doubt thinking him some kind of shiny-arse local with a rich daddy and a handful of procured well-paid jobs to peruse.

  Actually, Dahl kept it quiet from everyone except her that he’d dropped out of a private school to join the Army. A disappointment to his dad. But he hated the regime, the corruption, the back-slapping, the boys-own mentality it all led to. Several times he’d almost mentioned it to Drake, but secretly enjoyed the one-upmanship it gave him over the Yorkshireman—even if he was the only one that knew it. The Army had made him, molded him, and given him real purpose.

  Recently, since the Odin affair, Dahl had been wavering a little. The SPEAR missions were so deadly, so potentially lethal, but also among the most important that any team anywhere in the world were running right now.

  But family came first.

  Could he manage the best of both worlds? Possibly, but the sheer risk endemic in their missions and the power of their enemies made him wonder time and again what young Isabella and Julia would do if they heard their mad daddy had died.

  He couldn’t do it to them. But the missions kept coming. Each more crucial than the last. And now there was talk of Pandora and a new order and, beyond that, the greatest most immeasurable discovery of the ages.

  Dahl breathed in. Time to stop relaxing and get his mind back on mission. It was best to confront these things at the right time, a time that was clearly not now. He would store it and move on. Johanna and the kids were already in DC. Maybe a trip to the White House was in order.

  Then he thought better of it. With his track record in impulsiveness, walking around one of the most heavily guarded buildings in the world with your wife and kids in tow probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

  Disney then, he thought. What could possibly go wrong in a land of mice and ducks, pirates and princesses, cars and planes?

  He wondered if the guy that played Goofy had ever experienced a half-nelson.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Karin Blake tapped away at her keyboard like a turbo-charged woodpecker; at first struggling to give the job her full attention, but gradually slipping into that geek power mode she loved. The brainwaves were surging, the ideas flicking and flashing like a firework show. Very quickly the screen and the cyber world became her only focus.

  Komodo interrupted only occasionally. “How does this expert of theirs carry around a computer powerful enough to take this one on?”

  Karin glanced up. The workstation she’d been presented with consisted of several hard-drives, wraparound screens and split-screening. It practically hummed a hacker’s melody. She shrugged. “You can build a performance PC these days with a relatively small footprint, thanks to new ranges like the Mini-ITX motherboard. The liquid cooling solutions are nothing short of dramatic. An ultimate hacker’s rig can be easily disguised as a suitcase. It’s ugly but perfect.”

  “Gotcha. But how do they get so good, these cyber geeks?”

  “Could be a hundred ways. Most likely is that he’s ex-government. Did you know that DARPA built a mini-internet of their own a few years ago? A virtual internet as a test bed for cyberwarfare. They simulated different attack scenarios and came up with new defenses.”

  “Didn’t DARPA create the Internet in the ‘60s?”

  “Yes. So just imagine what they’re up to now.”

  “So this guy is one of those?”

  Karin shrugged. “I don’t know. They were called ‘cyberwarriors’. I guess I could ask him.”

  “You two are just gonna—schmooze.”

  “Not really. This is war. This is my fight.” Karin clicked her fingers. “Circuit Girl is back in action. I may not wear a flak jacket or fire a Glock, but I have a hard drive and I’m damn willing to use it.”

  “How ya gonna get in there without him noticing?”

  “Unlikely that I will. First, we learn the battlefield. Then, we employ methods on infiltration. Then it’s attack or a covert op, exfiltration, and killing the bastard’s foothold.”

  Karin pointed at the screen. “The objective is to disable him. Shut his grid down. Then, our soldiers in the field can act. We’ll do a ‘Pearl Harbor’ on him since I don’t have a virus at hand.”

  “A Pearl Harbor?”

  “Hacker phrase named after . . . well, you know what it’s named after, T-vor. It’s a massive cyberattack on one or many computers, leading to infiltration then sabotage. We’ll take him right out of the game.”

  Komodo squeezed her shoulder. Karin watched his face in the reflection of her screen, enjoying the slight smile that rested there. This was just what she needed.

  “Did you know?” she said as she tapped and rolled her chair from screen to screen, stopping occasionally to sip coffee, keeping all the progressing information ticking over in her mind. “Cyberwarfare and cyberterrorism are now considered as much an act of war as the real thing. Every major defense agency is hiring teams of cyberwarriors. MI6 recently infiltrated an Al Qaeda website and replaced the recipe for a pipe bomb with a recipe for making cupcakes.” She laughed. “Strange but true.”

  “A growing enterprise,” Komodo noted.

  “Everyone is conducting cyberwar games these days,” Karin said. “Banks. Energy companies. Countries. Retailers and gaming firms. Social media organizations.”

  “What’s that?” Komodo pointed at one of the screens, toward a newly emerging pulsing yellow ball of energy.

  “That’s him,” Karin breathed. “I figured he had to be wireless. No hard-wiring in the field. Just a matter of casting the net and locating the signal with the cleverest arrangement of protocols. There’s only one. And it’s got more firewalls than Vesuvius in its heyday. Here goes.”

  She tapped and weaved steadily, finessing the connection as much with her body as her mind. Slinking over to a master hacker’s subnet wasn’t exactly easy, but if he responded like any other good hacker then, at first, he should monitor and watch the penetration, probably hoping he could infiltrate the infiltrator and hide inside her own systems. Karin had already employed a deceive program, which deployed multiple fake systems that the hacker might waste time seeking out. It was all just a ploy to gain enough time to shut the bastard right down.

  Karin couldn’t be too careful. Whilst she’d been out of the hacking game for some time now, her old signature—her method of operating—might still be recognized by a select few, and subsequently lead right back to her. If a master hacker knew your identity he’d have a better chance of defeating you in the cyber-theater of warfare. The militarization of cyberspace was not exclusive to governments and powerful organizations; it was still in the steady hands of the geek.

  If the hacker detected her, his options were many and varied. Confusion. Surprise. Deception. Stimulation. Blockading. All viable options to effectively handle a penetration. Karin launched her probe, sitting back slightly, pausing to see what would happen.

  Nothing at first. Her fists clenched. Her heart raced. This was the heart of the battle. Was he holding back, toying with her? Was he on the attack, about to launch? Was he investigating?

  Now that she was in, it was time to attack. No covert soft option here. She played a concerto across her keyboard, effectively bringing up her prey’s system, and began a search that would show her his security protocols. To take down his CCTV operation plus his cell and hardline monitoring
capabilities, she’d need the heart of the system.

  As she worked, the screen to her right blinked. It flashed, it went dark, and then suddenly resumed, only now it displayed the head and shoulders of a rather angry looking man.

  Karin gawped. “Christ, how did he do that? And shit, I know him!”

  Komodo blinked. “Huh?”

  “I know this guy. Salami Bob, called SaBo for short. He was the guy helping Kovalenko in DC. The one that hacked the traffic light network. He also used to be a cyberwar strategist working for DARPA. Shit, I think I just met my match.”

  SaBo was indicating that Karin establish a communications link. With a few taps she did just that, then sat back chewing her lips as Sabo spoke.

  “Good try, little miss. But I got you. I’m inside you now. You like?”

  Komodo growled softly. “Say the word and this guy—”

  “First strike.” Karin waved the ex-Delta soldier away. “I drew first blood. Geek like you; all you can ever do is talk.”

  “Oh, I can do more than that.”

  SaBo’s eyes flicked down as he entered a series of commands. Instantly, Karin’s screen wavered, the image warping, but then righted itself as a red flashing band warned of an intruder alert.

  “All right. You got firewalls.” SaBo nodded. “Military grade at least.” He made a face. “Gotta admit I am a little undersupplied out here but you gotta make do. Especially with the big bucks they’re paying. Wanna join me, sweetheart? There’s plenty of Sabo to go around.”

  Karin didn’t react, casually playing for time. What SaBo didn’t know was that she’d allowed for this. Her backup plan was actually superior to her original one.

  “How much?” She played for time as she suspected he was doing.

  “Watcha worth?”

  Karin saw an intruder alert flash across the screen. SaBo was in their system. With a keystroke she wiped him out, denying access. He was gone in an instant. If he’d hung around a few moments longer she might even have been able to launch a denial-of-service attack; an attempt to make his machine and network unavailable to him.

  “Straight out of the playbook,” she scoffed. But she knew the playbook was a living document, constantly updated and improved upon.

  Sabo grimaced, shoulders shuffling as his fingers moved furiously. He was planning something, of that Karin had no doubt; his lesser attacks were mere red herrings.

  “Playbook?” The mere insinuation seemed to infuriate him.

  But she was almost ready. Karin felt a moment of pride, a gathering of excitement, and pressed the button that would launch her epic, destructive counter attack. Many years ago, whilst immersed in this grand game of cyberstrategy, she’d developed her own virus; a program that carried one hell of a destructive payload. She’d never intended to use it—seeing the creation of such malware as a challenge more than anything. To keep it safe and secure, and away from thieving fingers, she’d hidden it inside a mostly redundant network. The virus had lain there, dormant, all these years, just awaiting activation.

  Karin could think of no better time for it than now—an unstoppable attack that would wipe SaBo out for good.

  It took a second for the old network to respond, a while for those old circuits to start whirring, but when they did Karin’s virus shot across the web at lightning speed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Drake led the way as the team pounded toward the location of the closest nano-vest and the unfortunate person Coyote and her mercs had forced into it.

  The appearance of the green signals alongside their own red ones had galvanized them all into action. If any doubts remained as to Coyote’s iniquity—especially within Drake—they had now departed. The stretch between sugary Shelly Cohen and merciless Coyote was still a tough one, but it was becoming easier to make. All those years, all that time laboring in the field, isolated, sometimes under fire, never knowing if they were going to make it out; the only thing his men and himself could look forward to were those homely, sweet tones at the end of the day. Shelly had pulled more than one man home through with the sheer charm and reassurance she offered.

  At the same time she’d secretly been plotting her next kill.

  What type of person could do that?

  Drake shrugged it off as they raced up the final steep hill toward the graveyard. Dahl was staring intently at his screen, pinpointing the closest green-colored signal. Mai and Alicia led the way, keeping lookout but moving fast, hyperaware that Coyote had given them only two hours to defuse four bombs. Up into the graveyard they hurried. Drake slowed as a hundred timeworn, dilapidated gravestones appeared, some standard designs, others crafted into many different shapes and sizes.

  He turned to Dahl. “C’mon mate. You got a position?”

  “It’s not that accurate.” Dahl pointed ahead. “There.”

  They aimed at a cross-section of paths, beyond which lay a flat, sparser area of ground. Drake was the first to see the partially filled shallow grave . . .

  . . . and the coffin that sat inside.

  “No.” He gasped in horror. “Oh no.”

  Mai came to a sudden stop. “They buried him alive?”

  Alicia raced through and jumped straight down into the grave. “No time to fuck about. Help me!”

  Alicia wrenched at the lid of the coffin. The earth beneath her feet, which ended just below the lid, hampered her movements. Drake saw immediately that the thing had been nailed shut with some heavy duty fixings.

  “Jump in,” he cried. “Shit. Just everyone get in there.”

  The team hurled themselves into the open grave, trying to get a decent handhold, and straining their muscles until the lid squealed. There was no thought as to whether the lid might be booby trapped, no thought as to whether or not a sniper was watching. The man in the coffin was dying in more ways than one; the team’s ethics put him first.

  Drake felt small splinters jab at his fingers, slicing under his nails. He gripped harder. Maybe they would give him better leverage. He wrenched again and again, grunting with the effort. Dahl scooped out a mound of earth with his shovel hands then leaned back, pushing himself into the ground. Then, after setting himself, he kicked hard at the lid.

  Bit by bit, against the wishes of its tough squealing fixings, the lid came up.

  Now with space to work, the team dipped their shoulders and heaved. Drake immediately saw the man trapped inside, a duct-tape gag across his mouth, hands tied in front of him. The eyes said it all—they said, “Look out! Look out!”

  Drake held his palm out. “Don’t worry. We know you’re wired and we brought an expert.”

  He looked up. Alicia’s eyes were slits, as if to say, “Oh yeah?” Mai frowned. Dahl assumed Drake meant him and started blowing expertly on his hands.

  Drake smiled. “Not you. Him.” He pointed.

  The slightly belabored figure of Michael Crouch had just entered the graveyard.

  “Christ,” Alicia whispered. “I forgot about him. Did ya get lost, old man?”

  Crouch toiled up and then leaned over, breathing heavily. He held up a finger for three seconds, then straightened and stared at Alicia. “Fuck you.”

  Drake hid a smile. Crouch may be the big boss, the biggest in fact, but coming up through the ranks meant he shared the soldiers’ camaraderie. He was one of them. Accepted. He turned again to the bound man. “Where’s the vest?”

  Dahl shook his head. “Luckily I’m not a dumb Northerner,” he said as he worked. “An education can sometimes come in handy.” He peeled the duct tape from the man’s mouth. “That should help.”

  Drake was about to retort, but Crouch stopped him. Still panting a little, he dropped down into the coffin and leaned over the man. After a second he lifted his tied hands up and pulled the shirt from his trousers.

  “Not a vest as such,” he said. “More a belt.”

  Drake moved around to get a better look. Alicia called out that twenty minutes had already passed. Although this man was the rela
tively lucky one of the four—he was their first—time would now count down at an exponential rate, increasing the pressure with each tick of the clock.

  “Can it be defused?” Dahl wondered.

  “Of course. It’s essentially an explosive vest,” Crouch said. “It’s the nano side of things that worries me.”

  Drake had heard of nanotechnology but knew only the basics. “You mean, why use nano explosives when C4 is so much easier to find?”

  “Exactly.”

  Mai spoke up. “This isn’t something we can investigate right now,” she said. “We’re at the heart of a tournament. Cut off from the rest of the world and stuck in this unlucky town. Can you defuse the vest or not?”

  Crouch glanced around at her then held the vest up in his hand, letting it dangle toward the ground. “Yes, Mai. I can.”

  Mai looked surprised. Dahl smiled. Alicia clapped like an overexcited seal. “Man can’t run for shit, but slip a bomb into a man’s pants and Mr. Crouch is all over it.”

  Crouch handed the belt off to Drake then turned to help the prisoner up. “Do you people have to put up with her all the time?”

  Drake stared intently at the vest-cum-belt. “Yeah. Except when she’s off shagging someone’s boss. Usually her own.”

  Alicia leaned over to help Crouch. “Seriously, what the hell did you do?”

  Crouch shrugged. “Removed the electrical detonator, staying wary of static sparks, of course.”

  Alicia nodded wisely. “Of course.”

  “Contrary to what the movie makers would have us believe all you have to do is remove the detonator or timer that controls the bomb. It’s not terribly complicated but I guess doesn’t make for good ratings.”

  Dahl suddenly shook the tracking device to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s move, guys. We still have three more to deactivate.”