“A Congressional hearing is about allowing those on this side of the dais to express outrage and condemnation about things that we should have prevented but didn’t so that no one holds us responsible. In doing so, we are free to humiliate those on your side of the dais to our hearts content and for as long as we wish if it will help us get re-elected. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Mr. Marchand?”
“Abundantly, sir.”
“Good! Now as originally planned, you were not the focus of this hearing. But I can change that in a heartbeat if I wish, and you should know that I am only one heartbeat away from making that decision. Now is that clear?”
George nodded affirmatively.
“Good! In that case, I would recommend that you listen to my questions very carefully from now on, and answer them in exactly the way that you can tell I want you to answer them. Do that, and I’ll move on quickly to the next witness. Do you understand your role in this hearing now, Mr. Marchand?”
George nodded his assent again. Steele flipped his microphone back to the on position as George gratefully returned to his seat.
“Now Mr. Marchand, at what point did you dutifully report this incident like a good civil servant to the CIA and FBI, and why do you think it took them so long to do anything – anything at all – to protect the American people from this terrible menace?”
* * *
Ever since Frank’s chat room exchange with Yoda he had been working night and day on the honeypot he hoped would attract the Alexandria Project. But now that it was done, all he could do was wait and hope that those he sought would take the bait.
But would they? After all, there were millions of potential targets in the world, and Frank had no way to know how the Project was selecting its targets. If they were choosing their victims one by one, then Frank’s strategy was statistically doomed to fail. He was betting, though, that this was no longer the case. Now that the Project was publicly humiliating multiple system owners on a regular basis, everyone was scrambling to beef up their defenses as quickly and completely as possible.
Frank doubted the Project could be penetrating this many targets unless they were deploying a “botnet” of thousands of personal computers hijacked without the knowledge of their owners. Using these “zombie” computers, the Project could robotically storm computer systems throughout the Web and find those with weak defenses. They could then pick and choose their targets from among the vulnerable and humiliate those with the highest public profiles for maximum effect.
But still, the Internet was a very big place indeed. How long might it take a botnet to discover his trap? Or perhaps he hadn’t done a good enough job creating the illusion of an enterprise-level system to match the profile used to generate the botnet’s target list.
Frank realized that he was pacing back and forth inside the cramped confines of the Solar Avenger and sat down. That was worse, so he began busying himself rigging up an alarm system that would allow him to venture outside and not miss an attack when it occurred. First he connected the scanning programs he’d loaded on the honeypot to a sound generator, and then set the generator to react only to the kind of input that represented the type of file-probing intrusion he had monitored back at the Library of Congress – the tip-off that an Alexandria Project bot was testing the honeypot’s defenses. Finally, he connected his computer to the camper’s sound system. That way he could pace around outside in a progressively more hyper-caffeinated state while listening for the tell-tale sound that would signal success. On a whim, he disconnected the sound generator, and linked the program to a series of music files instead. Might as well announce good news with good music.
For the rest of the day, Frank spent his time trying to refine the next steps of his plan. But with no assurance that he could act on any of those next steps he found it difficult to concentrate. It was not until late afternoon that he was startled by a loud voice erupting from the Avenger’s speakers:
“Give me an F!”
Frank dashed madly back into the camper as Country Joe MacDonald and the assembled multitude at Woodstock rapturously completed the Fish Cheer. Jumping in front of the computer screen, Frank pulled up the intrusion report and watched as it completed.
Good! The scanners hadn’t identified the attack to any known malware. That meant that this might be the real thing. The next question was whether the Project – if it was the Project – had taken one of the files they needed to remove for the rest of his plan to work.
Frank called up the honeypot’s text file directory, and then opened the menu of the directory holding the decoy security architecture files he had doctored. He clicked on the first file and it opened without a problem. So also with the second. And the third. And the fourth.
There was only one file left. He held his breath as he clicked on it. At first, nothing happened. Then, a familiar, warm glow began to suffuse the screen.
Scrub jays shot off in all directions from the pines over head in response to Frank’s whoops of joy and relief.
* * *
For once, Frank was relaxing. With his back turned to everything man-made, he sat in a folding chair with a beer in his gloved hand and watched the colors of yet another magnificent sunset imperceptibly morph and fade into a soft, rosy glow.
For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt truly at peace. Maybe it was the huge separation he felt between the world he had left and this far away Eden, suspended between the still, mountain-shadowed valley stretching away below and the equally vast and darkening sky above. Or perhaps he had simply never been able to empty his mind sufficiently to allow the stillness of a beautiful evening to wholly connect with his citybred senses.
Whatever the reason, Frank found himself following a very different line of thought than he had ever considered before. Perhaps he was crazy to be immersing himself in this Alexandria Project madness. The iBalls revenues were still rolling in, and if he could design one successful game app anonymously, why not another? What would be so wrong with making an offer to Jenkins for the Solar Avenger that the old man couldn’t refuse, and then spend the next year up here just contemplating his navel? As the sprinkling of stars emerging overhead became a numberless multitude, Frank was well on his way to persuading himself, at least for tonight, to do just that.
Suddenly, the stillness and his beatific reverie were shattered by a discordant, soaring shriek – somehow, Jimi Hendrix had just launched into his interpretation of the Star Spangled Banner here in Frank’s Nevada aerie. But Frank’s startled annoyance turned quickly to confusion as he realized what was happening: a second, different intruder was attacking the honeypot.
* * *
20
The iBalls Shall Rise Again
iBalls.com CEO Chad Derwent sat alone in his office in Silicon Valley. Outside his open door, rows of empty, silent cubicles stretched from one end of the office floor to the other.
For the last several minutes he had been staring down at the stack of papers on his desk, paralyzed by the title of the one on top: “Petition for Liquidation in Bankruptcy.”
Chad couldn’t bring himself to look at the rest of the documents, but he couldn’t bear to look up, either, because he knew what he would see – the big picture on his wall where Sanjay and he were posed with their first half-dozen employees. Everyone was smiling, because iBalls.com had just gone live on the Web. Back then, he’d never supposed it could ever end like this.
But it had, and there was nothing to be done about it. Nothing to be done but pick up his pen and begin to sign the grim documents in the big stack of paper, one by one.
The phone rang. Chad looked at it in surprise. When was the last time that had happened? As soon as it became clear that iBalls.com could not survive, the stench of failure had descended upon him, and even his email had dwindled to a trickle. Was it his mother?
With a sigh, he put down his pen and pressed the speakerphone button.
“Chad here.”
“Good morning, Mr. Der
went. My name is Carter Columbo. I don’t believe that we have ever met, but my client would like to discuss a possible investment in iBalls.com.”
Chad gaped in astonishment. Was this guy insane?
“Is your client Nigerian? Don’t you guys usually send me email?”
“You have a fine sense of humor, Mr. Derwent. I can appreciate that under iBalls.com’s current circumstances that an offer of investment might seem a little unusual. Still, my client’s interest is real, and he would like to make you a proposition that could save your company.”
For the first time in a week, Chad felt a spark of hope. After the disastrous meeting with Josh Peabody, he had sent cancellation notices to all of iBalls.com’s existing customers, and pulled the page that allowed new companies to sign up to download iBalls. But the passage of the ten day notice period required under iBalls.com’s customer license agreement had been excruciating. Hour by hour, he had watched the company’s bank account plummet. Despite letting all of the employees go and terminating every other obligation that could be broken, iBalls.com’s bank account now stood at $106.42 – and its outstanding payables topped $600,000.
“And who exactly might your client be?”
There was a long silence. Then, the formerly confident caller said sheepishly, “If I tell you, do you promise not to hang up?”
Chad’s small spark of hope winked out. Still, what have I got to lose, Chad thought.
“Sure. Hit me.”
Another pause. “The Pangloss Game Company.”
Chad thought he must be hallucinating. He was pretty sure that what he remembered about his meeting with Josh Peabody had really happened. But he was having trouble believing that he was now sitting here in iBalls.com’s deserted offices taking a call from the game developer that had destroyed his company.
“…Mr. Derwent?”
Chad stared at the phone.
“Mr. Derwent? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m still here. You know, though, it’s the funniest thing. I was pretty sure there I heard you say that the company that drove my company into the ground like a tent peg now wants to make an investment to save it.”
“That’s right, Mr. Derwent. I did. Now, what I’d like to say….”
Chad cut him off. “You are from Nigeria, aren’t you?”
His caller sighed. “Mr. Derwent, of course this is all rather awkward. Indeed, my client feels badly about the events of the last two weeks. But as you can appreciate, if there are no more iBalls, then there can’t be any more iBallZapper! games. Right now, the buzz for iBalls is huge, but a few months from now, everyone will have forgotten about them. So my client is genuinely interested in helping you get your company back on its feet rather than waiting to buy your assets out of bankruptcy. That is, if you’re willing to assist it in launching another game pronto.”
Chad looked at the stack of unsigned bankruptcy papers, and then at the picture on the wall. For the second time during this strange call, he thought: Well, what do I have to lose? “Okay. I’m listening.”
* * *
“Jack Posner here to see you, Josh.”
“Okay, Lynne. Bring him down to my office.”
Josh Peabody swiveled his desk chair and looked out over Sand Hill Road moodily. Jack Posner was iBalls.com’s outside counsel.
Josh wasn’t used to finding himself in a position like this. And in fact, his personal lawyer had advised him not to meet with Jack. Better to let iBalls.com file for bankruptcy without any input from its controlling stockholder, TrashTalk’s attorney had said, given that you’ll profit so handsomely from its failure. Of course, his lawyer also warned him that iBalls.com’s founders might try to sue him personally for being a director of iBalls.com while secretly betting against the company. Typical big firm legal advice – technically accurate, ridiculously expensive, and totally useless.
So Josh decided to ignore his attorney and meet with Jack anyway. After all, he’d sent business to Jack before, and if Jack knew what was good for him, he’d want to stay on Josh’s good side for the future. Josh figured it would be smarter to make that point in person than in an email that might look…awkward in the wrong setting. Like in front of a jury.
There was a knock at the door. As Josh swiveled back, he put on his best salesman’s face and stood up.
“Jack! Great to see you, old man.” Josh strode forward, extending his hand. “How’s your golf game doing these days?”
“Not bad. Funny you should mention that – my firm’s sponsoring a benefit tournament down in Carmel next month – $5,000 per player. Maybe you’d like to join my foursome?”
“Absolutely! You’ve got a deal. Just ask Lynne on your way out to put it in my calendar. Tell her I said to move anything else to fit it in.”
Might as well lay it on, Josh thought, pulling a personal check from his desk drawer. He filled it out and signed it with a flourish.
Josh motioned Jack towards one of the two couches in the corner of his office. Sitting down next to him, Josh tucked the check in the lawyer’s jacket pocket.
“So what brings you here today? Have a new start-up you want me to take a look at?”
Jack offered him a small smile. As if Josh didn’t know why he was there. “Actually, no, Josh. I want to discuss iBalls.com with you.”
“Sure, sure. Anything I can do to help with the shut down, just ask.”
“Good. As you know, I have to act in the best interests of all iBalls.com stockholders, and TrashTalk LP is only one of them, so please keep that in mind. As you always say, business is business, so don’t shoot the messenger.”
“Of course,” Josh replied evenly. “That’s why I’m always so confident recommending you to new companies we invest in.” He watched Jack carefully to see if he would take the bait.
Jack smiled again and then continued. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate it, Josh. Anyway, yesterday I got a call from Chad Derwent saying he wanted to talk about bringing a lawsuit against you and each of your Board appointees for breach of your fiduciary duties as directors.”
Josh started to object, but Jack raised his hand and kept talking.
“Hold on, hold on! You and I go way back, so of course, I pointed out to him that such a suit would be very expensive to prosecute, and that its outcome would be uncertain. But Chad insisted that he could no longer work with you or your appointees on the board – I believe he used the word ‘cronies,’ actually. He said that if a lawsuit wasn’t the answer, than I had to come up with another way to get rid of you.
“So here’s what I suggested. If you and the other TrashTalk directors resign, and if TrashTalk gives up the special rights it holds under the investment documents, Chad and Sanjay will execute a full and final release of you, TrashTalk and the other directors.”
Jack took two copies of a document out of his briefcase. “I volunteered to put together a brief Surrender of Rights and Mutual Release Agreement for him, and here it is. You’ll see it’s already signed by all of the management stockholders.”
Jack started to hand the documents over, and then paused. “I almost forgot. Chad and Sanjay requested that I ask you one last time whether you would consider investing more money in iBalls.com?”
That was an easy one. “Absolutely not. Not on any terms they could possibly offer me.”
“That’s what I assumed, so I also added in a waiver of TrashTalk’s future investment rights, and pre-approval of any investment that they might be able to bring in.”
Josh pretended to skim the brief agreement while mentally reviewing the situation. iBalls.com was doomed – no two ways about that. There wasn’t a fool big enough to invest in that smoldering train wreck. All Josh had to do was wait for the bankruptcy filing he knew Chad planned to file to become final, and he could cash in the policy brokered by TrashTalk’s new VC insurance start-up. If he was no longer a director, he couldn’t personally be tainted by any actions Chad and Sanjay took as the ship went down, and the release wo
uld protect him against liability for anything that had already happened. What wasn’t to like about this unexpected development?
The fact that it was all too easy, Josh told himself. He looked hard at Jack. “I have to say, I’m a bit surprised you were able to get Chad and Sanjay to take your suggestion, given how bitter they seem to be. How did you persuade them to sign this?”
“Easy. I reminded them what a small place Silicon Valley is, and I pointed out to them how foolish it would be for them to burn their bridges to no purpose. They didn’t like it, but they got it.”
That was true, Josh told himself. You couldn’t take revenge to the bank. And that was his favorite destination in the whole world. He made up his mind.
“Well, of course, the iBalls.com story has been a great disappointment for us here at TrashTalk. We put a very large sum of money behind Chad and Sanjay and now that money’s all gone. Still, we believe in supporting our management teams even when they make bad business decisions, so no hard feelings from our side.”
You miserable toad, Jack thought. He’d read Chad and Sanjay’s original business plan, and knew how and why it had changed.
Josh continued, “I’m disappointed to hear that Chad and Sanjay are having a hard time looking at things the same way, but if they think they can do a better job back on their own, so be it.” Josh signed both copies of the agreement, and handed one to Jack. He placed the other carefully in a drawer, and stood up, signaling the meeting was over.
“I appreciate your helping Chad and Sanjay take a more professional approach in this difficult situation. Young entrepreneurs need someone older to remind them that business is business.”
“Business is business,” Jack concurred, smiling. He turned to leave.
Josh was beginning to feel like his old, brash self again as he stood in the hallway, arms crossed, watching Jack walk away. Life should always be this simple. On impulse, he called down the hallway, “Hey – be sure to tell Chad and Sanjay I wish them luck, will you?”
The Alexandria Project: A Tale of Treachery and Technology (Frank Adversego Thrillers Book 1) Page 16
