The Alexandria Project: A Tale of Treachery and Technology (Frank Adversego Thrillers Book 1)

by Andrew Updegrove

  It was no use. As the sun settled onto the horizon, he grudgingly admitted that he had no choice but to play his last card.

  He would have to contact Yoda.

  * * *

  Frank had first encountered Yoda many years before, back when he was still living off his MacArthur grant. In those days, only serious computer users – and not many of them – with academic, scientific or government credentials could get on line. There were no graphical user interfaces, either. All you saw were ghostly white letters marching across small monochrome computer monitors as members of arcane user groups posed questions and received answers in discussions that barely hinted at the vast, virtual world of interaction that lay ahead.

  Out of the ether of one such discussion a curious, recursive voice responded one day to a question Frank had posted when he ran out of inspiration in the middle of a particularly difficult project. After describing the situation at a Usenet bulletin board, he watched as the following message appeared:

  >Maybe the answer you know already.

  What the hell was that supposed to mean, Frank wondered? Not very imaginatively (or tactfully) he responded:

  What the hell is that supposed to mean?

  A response followed immediately:

  >Maybe in the way is your nose. If your nose you move, the answer you may see before you.

  That was all there was to the message, other than the name of the sender – someone improbably calling himself “Yoda.” Puzzled, Frank went back to read his original question. To his surprise, he saw a dimension of the problem that should have been clear to him from the beginning. He typed a response to Yoda’s message:

  You’re right – I should have seen that myself. Thanks!

  But there was no reply.

  Not often, but ever since, Frank had returned to the same discussion group, still hosted on a UNIX server by someone who likely had forgotten it still existed. For years now it hadn’t been used by anyone but Frank and his mysterious mentor with the inverted prose style.

  No matter how long it might be between visits, whenever Frank returned, Yoda was always there, as enigmatic, omniscient – and frustrating as ever. Long ago Frank had given up trying to draw Yoda out on his identity, which was clearly impossible. Yoda only answered security related questions, and then only obliquely. Frank invariably felt like he was consulting a Magic Eight Ball or Ouija Board – only it wasn’t much fun.

  Yoda was so gnomic that Frank sometimes wondered whether a developer had created him as a program capable of passing the Turing Test. If so, it was a damn good program, because Yoda’s infuriatingly obscure responses always helped Frank unsnarl whatever rat’s nest he was trying to unravel.

  So it was with as much weariness as hope that Frank logged in to the ancient user group, keeping his mental fingers crossed that no one from Washington was monitoring it. He typed:

  Yoda, I have a problem.

  Amazingly, it was only a few minutes before an answer began to scroll across his screen.

  >Long has it been, Frank. What is your problem?

  It’s a tough one. If you follow the news, you must know about the Alexandria Project.

  >Follow the news I do not. But know of the Alexandria Project, I do.

  Frank’s heart skipped a beat.

  You do? Do you know who they are?

  >A strange question is that you ask. Who am I? Who are you? Who is anyone? What is “who?”

  Frank took a deep breath and made himself slow down. Then he began to type a long explanation of what he knew, and what it was he was trying to accomplish. Finally, he ended with a question.

  So you see I need help figuring out two things: how do I protect sites from the Alexandria Project, and how do I find out who is behind the Project itself?

  Frank realized he had typed several pages of text. He wondered how much Yoda might know about the Project already. But nothing appeared on Frank’s screen for a long time. He drummed his fingers on his knee as he waited impatiently.

  At last, Yoda’s response began appearing on his screen.

  >Two problems you pose not one. Explore the second you must first, because solve it first you must.

  Frank was mildly disappointed. He’d already concluded that much on his own.

  Okay – thanks. So how do I find those behind the Alexandria Project?

  >Consider the lobster.

  What? This was a pretty odd answer, even considering the source. Frank looked up, and noticed that a spectacular sunset was unfolding before him. He took a deep breath and tried to assume the Zen-like frame of mind that might help him divine the insights that Yoda might be sharing. Then he began typing once again.

  There is much of interest in the lobster. But what about the lobster should I consider? His senses? His taste? His ability to shed his shell?

  >Before a lobster you can consider, a lobster you must have.

  You mean I must find a lobster?

  >The fisherman does not the lobster find; the lobster finds the fisherman.

  That was true, Frank mused intently. A lobsterman sets traps, and then the lobsters crawl into them. Yoda must be suggesting that Frank should set a trap that would attract the Alexandria Project to him.

  Frank hadn’t considered setting up a fake target site – a “honeypot” in security lingo – because he had already witnessed the attacks the Project had made on the Library of Congress. Did Yoda think that there was more to learn by further observation?

  You mean I should set up a honeypot?

  >Decide that you must for yourself.

  Let’s say I do. And let’s say those behind the Alexandria Project take the bait. What then?

  >Consider the spy.

  First lobsters, and now spies! Frank mulled that one over for a while, trying to open his mind up to all possibilities. The Alexandria Project intruders were at least a lot more like spies than lobsters, so this felt like progress. Still, he couldn’t make out where Yoda was going. He’d have to try to see if he could nudge Yoda into giving him another clue.

  That made Frank nervous. This had already been a long exchange for Yoda, and Frank was worried that he might lose interest and drop off at any moment. But all Frank could think to type was:

  Okay. I don’t know what they are really up to, but they are certainly acting like spies along the way.

  Frank waited but got no response. Desperate, he added:

  And, like spies, we don’t want them there.

  >Never?

  Frank let out an audible “Huh!” That was an interesting reply.

  When might a spy be welcome?

  He leaned back and stared vacantly into the growing darkness. Well, if you could turn a spy against its master, he could become your servant instead of your enemy. And even without turning a spy, you might be able to feed him disinformation, and mislead his master. Maybe that was what Yoda had in mind.

  You can sometimes feed a spy false information. Is that what you mean?

  >What does “mean” mean?

  Frank groaned and tried another tack.

  Let’s say I’m following what you have in mind. If I am, how could misleading the intruder help me in this situation?

  >For yourself, decide that you must.

  Much as he might hope otherwise, Yoda was, as usual, unwilling to do Frank’s work for him. Frank knew from long and painful experience that he had gotten as much out of Yoda as he could on this question, so he set his laptop aside and began pacing rapidly back and forth across his clearing, lost in thought. The lobster part was clear; if he could fake a complex IT environment and bait it with the right type of information, he could watch the intruders in action. Perhaps he could even mislead them. But the people – whoever they were – at the Alexandria Project didn’t have to send spies to do their work. They were able to penetrate sites from afar. So how could he turn an intruder against itself?

  Frank stopped in mid-stride. Well, maybe he wouldn’t have to turn the intruders themselves. He knew that
they were planting malware at the sites they attacked. He should be able to find that software and alter it. If he did, he might be able to make it return false information – or even plant software of his own on the Project’s own network. Perhaps he could “turn the spy” after all, with the Alexandria Project being none the wiser. But how would that help him achieve his goal?

  Frank sat down and began typing again.

  If I can lure the Project crackers into my honeypot, I can watch what they do until I can imitate them. Then I can remove whatever robots or other malware they plant and respond just as that software would respond – except nothing malicious would be happening. Is that what you have in mind?

  >”In mind” have I nothing. A collection of synapses is a mind, or so they say. If right they are, that is all have I “in mind.”

  Frank could afford to smile this time at Yoda’s coy reply, because now he had the beginnings of a plan. But that plan would still only get him half way home, so he started typing again.

  I think I’m okay on that part now – thanks. But I’m not sure how this will help me find the Alexandria Project itself.

  >Follow the iBalls you must.

  Frank stared at his computer in utter astonishment. Why in the world was Yoda bringing up iBalls? Did he know that Frank was involved with them? If so, how in the world had he made the connection? Cautiously, Frank typed:

  iBalls?

  >iBalls I say, and iBalls I mean. Follow the iBalls, you must.

  Frank was still taken aback, and simply typed:

  How?

  >The force will be with you if the crowd you let be your source.

  Enigmatic as it was, Frank appreciated that this was as direct as Yoda had ever been with him. But the meaning of Yoda’s advice still evaded him. Tantalized, he tried one more time.

  I hear you Yoda, but I don’t yet understand you. How can I use iBalls to find the Alexandria Project?

  But Yoda’s patience – or his willingness to do Frank’s work for him had reached an end. He signed off with this final cryptic line:

  >Get by you will – if an island you are not.

  * * *

  19

  More than One Can Play that Game

  George marchand sat uneasily at the witness table in the hearing room. On a raised platform before him stretched a long, wooden rampart bristling with microphones. Entrenched impregnably behind that rampart sat all but one of the members of the Inquisition also known as the Congressional Subcommittee on Cybersecurity.

  Crouching like a pack of hyenas on the floor between the subcommittee and the witness tables were dozens of photographers, polishing their lenses in anticipation of the kill. To George’s right, a bored looking C-SPAN video engineer peered at him with mild curiosity from beside his camera, waiting for the fun to begin. They reminded George of vultures waiting impatiently for a dying wildebeest to get on with it, already.

  George glanced at his watch with resignation. It was almost 10:00 AM, and therefore time for today’s orgy of Congressional ego gratification and wrathful citizenry appeasement to begin. George hoped his introductory role in the hearing would be brief.

  Precisely at 10:00, Congressman Titus Steele, the Chairman of the Subcommittee, made his entrance through the single door that penetrated the wall behind the Subcommittee platform. Taking the center chair, he rapped a gavel decisively three times, and stated, “This hearing will come to order.”

  Aging but still forceful, “Tight-Ass” Steele was an elder statesman with little patience for anyone that didn’t know how the game was played. George noted uncomfortably that the Congressman was looking more irascible than usual, which was saying a great deal. Ever since Steele’s party had lost control of the House, he had been smarting over his loss of influence. And today, it was George’s misfortune to be the warm-up act for the blood sport that lay ahead. As little as he looked forward to his own supporting role in the inquest, he was grateful that the tenderizing of the Directors of the CIA and FBI was scheduled as the main event.

  Steele paused for only a moment for the hubbub to die away, and then launched into his opening remarks, peering over his spectacles at the standing-room only crowd of journalists and spectators packed into the hearing room.

  “This morning I learned that we have been attacked yet again by those calling themselves ‘The Alexandria Project.’ This time, the perpetrators had the temerity to seize control of the computer systems of American Idol, the Home Shopping Channel, and Disney World – in short, they are assaulting the very foundations of our culture and society.

  “Needless to say, the members of this Committee demand that these attacks must stop! Immediately!

  “Now the purpose of today’s hearing is to find out for the American people why those responsible for protecting this great nation from its enemies have not already brought these brazen Internet vandals to justice.

  “Call the first witness.”

  Steele glowered at George as the Sergeant-at-Arms rose to read from his list: “George Marchand, Chief Information Officer, The Library of Congress.”

  The light on the base of George’s microphone had barely turned red when Chairman Steele barked out his first question.

  “Mr. Marchand, I understand that the Library of Congress was the first Federal office to be attacked by this Alexandria Project. Is that correct?”

  George leaned forward as all eyes and cameras swiveled in his direction. “Yes, sir. That is my understanding as well, sir.”

  “When was that?”

  “We believe that it was the evening of November 29th of this year.”

  “And when did you discover the attack?”

  “The next day, sir.”

  “What was the nature of the attack?”

  “A single file had been deleted in my personal security directory. When I tried to open it, the ‘contribution’ screen that everyone has seen by now on the news came up instead of the file.”

  “I see. What did you do then?”

  “While the file deleted wasn’t particularly important, the directory it had been removed from was sensitive. For this reason, I personally performed an internal investigation of the intrusion using our established protocols in an effort to determine how the attackers had gained entry.”

  “And were you successful?”

  “No sir, I was not. After I finished my investigation, I completed our standard incident report so that if the intrusion was repeated we could pick up where I had left off.”

  “Is that all you did?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Like every major enterprise user of information technology, we’re under constant attack by all manner of intruders. This intrusion was novel, because of the screen, but otherwise unremarkable.”

  “So you didn’t report this attack to anyone in the CIA or FBI?”

  George moved uneasily in his chair. He was the CIA, but he could hardly reveal that in an open hearing room.

  “No, sir. There are no inter-agency protocols in place at this time that require any departmental head to report garden variety cyber attacks to any central government security agency.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that when an agency of this great nation is attacked by an unknown enemy that someone in your position doesn’t contact the CIA and FBI so they can get to the bottom of it?”

  “I’m afraid that’s right, sir. Allowing me to do that would require Congressional action.”

  George decided to take a chance and throw his boss a lifeline in advance of his testimony. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “As a matter of fact, the Inter-Agency CIO Council has been recommending to your Committee for some time that a rapid response unit be set up within Homeland Security that we could report….”

  “MR. MARCHAND!”

  George stopped in mid-sentence and waited.

  Glowering, Steele hunched forward and chose his words carefully. “Mr. Marchand, I believe that I’m the person asking
the questions here, and I don’t recall asking what you or any other government employee may have recommended. Am I correct?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s correct, sir, but I thought that it would help solve this problem if….”

  At that, Steele began gaveling aggressively. “The witness will approach the Committee table!”

  Startled, George stood up and walked slowly forward. Steele glared at the C-SPAN engineer, who obediently turned the camera away and began scanning the audience.

  George reached the wall of the Subcommittee’s fortress, and stared up into the outraged face of the Chairman. Steele flipped the switch on his microphone to the off position.

  Leaning towards George, Steele spat his words out quietly but forcefully. “Mr. Marchand, I don’t believe you really understand what a televised Congressional hearing is all about. Well, I’m going to do you a favor and tell you before I resume my questioning.”

  George knew exactly what a televised Congressional hearing was all about, but wisely decided to keep that knowledge to himself.