by Steve Lewis
Mobile internet connection was out of action from Fremantle to Augusta, hundreds of kilometres away. Vodafone’s customer service lines were being overrun by scores of irate punters unable to access Google or Facebook.
More disturbing was the inexplicable claim that some punters couldn’t make phone calls.
The data and voice systems were strictly separated. Voice was carried through radio waves, and data through internet IP.
Vodafone’s diagnostic systems showed that the voice lines were fine.
Something didn’t add up.
It was a PR nightmare and the operations centre was being harassed by management to get things right, pronto.
‘We can’t divert all this traffic to Perth. It will overload the network,’ Burgess said.
They’d been joined by Dave Taylor and Ross Hopkins in the operations centre, the four of them tasked with rescuing Vodafone from an expensive and embarrassing meltdown.
Saville studied the network plan, a series of orange lights now flickering their warnings.
‘Have we got a fix on the problem here?’
‘Not yet boss,’ Burgess fired back.
A team of technicians had already been scrambled across the south-west of Western Australia, but the remoteness and huge distances meant it would be hours before all the problems were diagnosed.
‘Another one down, boss.’ Hopkins delivered the bad news without a glimmer of emotion.
‘Shit, where this time?’ Saville asked.
‘Down at Albany, bottom of the state.’
‘Right, so we’ve got problems from Freo right along the coast, and inland hundreds of kilometres.’
Burgess looked up from her screen. ‘And it’s about to get a whole lot worse.’
‘Why?’
‘’Cause we’ve just gone to red.’
Patrick Fitzgerald’s patrician voice boomed out of the speakerphone. Since arriving from Britain two years earlier, the Vodafone CEO had spent endless hours defending the company’s reputation.
‘A new era of network investment and improvement,’ had been his mantra, against claims the company was the telco equivalent of the Leyland P76.
But this was his greatest challenge. Vodafone’s network in the west was collapsing and his technical crew had failed to isolate the problem.
Twitter was in overdrive – #notfunnyvodafone was starting to trend. The company was fielding media calls from local radio stations, while irate customers were flooding its Customer Care hotline.
The CEO was in a black mood. He’d ordered an emergency meeting of the crisis incident response team. They were scattered around Australia, patched in via conference-call technology.
‘James, what’s the latest?’
‘It’s not good news, Mr Fitzgerald. The IP network in the west is seizing up. We’re scrambling to divert traffic but the network is showing signs of system overload.’
‘Have you got a fix on the source of the problem, James?’
‘We’re working on that, Mr Fitzgerald. I’ve got three of my team trying to isolate the source and I hope to have an answer within a few hours. But there seems to be a problem with our control-plane diagnostics. The read-outs don’t match the calls we’re getting.’
The CEO rubbed his eyes and sighed. Loudly.
‘Not good enough, James. I want a report in half an hour. The problem must be solved. Network outage means bad publicity means loss of customers and revenue. Fix it. Now!’
Pumped-up Pommy prick.
Saville was livid. He’d been flat chat for the last four hours on this crisis and his CEO was treating him like an intern. It was always the same with the Brits. They sent out favoured sons who thought they’d lord it over you, only to find out that running a mobile network in Australia was much tougher than it seemed from a distance of 17,000 kilometres.
‘Saffy, you got the latest read-out for me, please?’
Saville was determined not to lose his cool. His team had managed to stabilise the number of outages but he was worried about a report just handed to him by a network analyst.
‘Vodafone network hit with 1.5Gbps D-Dos. UDP-based attack. Some form of botnet used, originating from India via Russia.’
Christ!
That alone meant Vodafone was in deep, deep trouble. He’d never experienced a botnet attack but, like most tech-heads, had read the literature. He knew how easy it was to buy a swag of infected computers and train them on a target.
The victim, this time, was Australia’s third largest mobile phone network.
That kind of attack would explain the loss of data but not of voice connections. Something else was wrong on the system’s internal control plane. The adversary had got behind the firewalls.
‘Jimmy, line four for you.’
He picked up the phone. It was Sam Vasoukis, the PR head calling from Sydney.
‘Hi Jim, got a minute? We’re in deep do-do. Channel Nine’s called. Not good, mate, not good.’
‘Sam, what exactly is the issue?’
‘Sorry, Jim.’ Vasoukis sighed loudly. ‘I just got off the phone from the executive producer out of Sydney. They’re going to air with a story on us. They reckon we’ve been hacked into . . . by the Chinese.’
Canberra
Martin Toohey swept into the secure Cabinet Situation Room, a phalanx of advisers in tow. His mood was toxic. He was supposed to be entertaining a group of schoolchildren as a favour for an old Labor mate.
Instead, the National Security Committee had been summoned following Nine’s 6pm bombshell. Toohey was furious. The company had made no effort to warn the government and he’d instructed his Minister for Communications to put a bomb up Vodafone.
The other television networks had swung into spoiler overdrive, attempting to play catch-up on a massive story that had serious implications – for Australia, for the Toohey Government, for relations with China.
He had adopted a cautious approach to these cyber-attacks – until now. The court of public opinion was turning swiftly against the Chinese and the PM knew that he would be collateral damage if he didn’t take firm and decisive action.
As he took his usual seat he glanced around the room at his National Security Committee team. Every face was bleak.
‘Right . . . what have we got?’
Attorney-General Danny Maiden was on a video link from Melbourne.
‘Prime Minister, Vodafone has confirmed that it was the target of a highly sophisticated D-DOS attack. That’s “distributed denial of service”. This one was lethal. Usually when the network overloads, they shift traffic between gateways. Each time the technicians tried that, the D-DOS point of attack shifted. No one in the company has ever seen anything like this before. But there was another, more disturbing, aspect to this.’
‘What’s that, Danny?’
‘The attack should have only brought down data. This one also cut off voice.’
‘Can they explain that?’ Toohey asked.
‘They think their control plane – that’s the highly protected management system that runs the whole show – was infected by malware. An email opened by the CEO several weeks ago spread a virus. The D-DOS attack triggered it. Their systems were spitting out incorrect readings. Every move they made only exacerbated the emergency. Eventually they shut themselves down.’
Toohey demanded answers from the room. ‘How many Vodafone customers are there in Australia?’
He was met with stony silence.
The PM turned to his chief of staff. ‘George, how many are there?’
‘Too many, Prime Minister – and most of them vote.’
The PM exhaled. The fallout would be devastating.
‘Danny, are they back online yet?’
‘Yes, they’re limping back to full capacity, and the damage is restricted to the Vodafone network.’
‘No, Danny. The most popular television network in the country has linked this attack to our largest trading partner. Every other media outlet is following. The damage is much
greater.’
Toohey turned to the Defence Minister. ‘Brendan, has the signals directorate any clear idea who was behind this?’
Brendan Ryan picked up a briefing note he’d been handed just moments earlier.
‘Well, PM, we’re still analysing it. DSD has no doubt that the last two cyber-attacks, on air-traffic control and the banking system, originated in China. But I note that the Vodafone attack originated close to the naval base at Stirling. And it happened just as it was welcoming the US Pacific Commander.’
Toohey looked at the leaders of his national security agencies.
‘Gentlemen, I asked you once before if you thought China was behind these attacks. Have you any doubts now that Beijing masterminded them?’
‘No sir.’ Jack Webster, Chief of the Defence Force, answered for all. ‘Not one of us.’
‘Well then, we are effectively under attack. If I don’t respond I will be failing in my duty to defend the nation.
‘So we will send a squadron of planes to Guam. We will tell the Americans and the Chinese that they are being sent for “joint exercises”.’
Toohey turned to his chief of staff. ‘George, I want Ambassador Golding called back from Beijing “for talks”. I want the strongest of messages sent to the Chinese Government. I will announce these measures after this meeting.
‘We won’t let Beijing screw us over anymore.’
CHAPTER SIXTY
Canberra
The diplomatic red carpet had been rolled up. The usual pleasantries had been dispensed with. There was not even the offer of a cup of tea.
‘Prime Minister, thank you for seeing me at short notice. I will not waste your time.’
It was just the two of them in the office: not even a notetaker. Neither of them sat down.
Tian Qichen cleared his throat. ‘My government is very displeased with your decision to send Australian war planes to Guam.’
Toohey stood ramrod straight, his ruckman’s build towering over the Ambassador.
‘And I am very displeased, Ambassador, that my country has come under cyber-attack – not once, but three times in the last month. And we’re talking serious, damaging, potentially fatal attacks,’ the PM responded.
He motioned to a sheaf of papers. ‘My national security team says there is no doubt the attacks were launched from China. Frankly, I’m baffled. I have no idea what we’ve done to prompt this.’
Tian was equally resolute. ‘Prime Minister, we deny it absolutely. You have no evidence that China is behind any of this. The Vodafone strike was routed through Russia and India, according to your own media reports. China does not attack its friends.’
‘Ambassador, the evidence is overwhelming. Our best security analysts are now convinced that China – officially or otherwise – is behind these attacks. Beyond that, your country has been increasingly aggressive since the beginning of the year. You have behaved maliciously towards your neighbours in the South and East China Seas. Japan is Australia’s good friend.’
‘And China is your major trading partner, Mr Toohey. You don’t seem to value our relationship as highly as I thought.’
‘We value it greatly. But we are not going to have our silence bought as you seek to shift the balance of power in the Pacific. I’ve been a good friend of China. I’ve publicly called on the US to exercise restraint and accommodate China’s peaceful rise.’
Toohey fiddled with the knot of his tie before continuing.
‘But your provocations make restraint impossible. If I’m to be forced to choose between trade and peace, then I choose peace. I ask you: withdraw the fishermen from the disputed islands. Close down the Air Defence Identification Zone. Propose talks to end this conflict before a fatal mistake is made. If China does that, I will ensure no Australian warplanes leave these shores.’
Tian bristled. ‘China is not the aggressor in this conflict. We find ourselves surrounded by hostile forces. We are merely defending our territory, as you would defend Australia. America is determined to keep us boxed in.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Ambassador. But while you hold these positions I am bound to protect what I see as the interests of my nation. We will support our friends. And that shouldn’t be taken as an act of aggression.’
Tian held Toohey’s gaze as he unclipped his briefcase and reached for an envelope that he handed to the Prime Minister.
‘This is a letter nullifying the heads of agreement between Sinopec and your government, Prime Minister. China will search elsewhere for gas.’
Toohey had been half-expecting this response, but still wore the look of a man who’d just glimpsed his own mortality.
‘I was assured by you, Mr Tian, that dealing with a Chinese state-owned enterprise was no different to dealing with any business from any country. You lied.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Canberra
The Defence Minister’s office was a salute to the best military hardware that money could buy.
Two models of the F-35 Stealth fighter, locked in a mock dogfight, stood next to a plastic Collins Class submarine. An air-warfare destroyer, just over a metre long, had pride of place on a coffee table.
As Harry Dunkley passed through the outer office, he recalled that Brendan Ryan had once confided to him that he’d never aspired to be top dog. No, the only jobs he ever craved were ‘powerbroker’ and ‘Defence Minister’.
Now he had both.
Ryan always found time to meet with Dunkley. Harry was one of a select few in the gallery whom the minister courted.
‘Thanks for seeing me, Brendan. It’s been a crazy few weeks,’ the reporter said as he was ushered into the inner sanctum.
‘Sure has, Harry, and we’re a long way from done yet. Anyway, you called this meeting and we don’t have much time. So what’s on your mind?’
Ryan chewed into a donut and washed it down with a swig of Coke Zero.
‘I want to chat, off the record, about some stuff that’s come into my orbit.’ Dunkley began. ‘You remember my friend Kimberley, who was killed. Well, she was working on some important stuff just before she died.’
‘Yep. I remember it well. We had a long conversation and I think we agreed that the Chinese were involved.’
‘We did. But now I’m not so sure.’ Dunkley coughed. ‘Mate, what’s the weirdest stuff you’ve come across as minister?’
‘Christ! In Defence? There’s stuff that we did in Vietnam that’s still not declassified. So if you’re looking for weird shit, you’ve come to the right portfolio. But what’s your point?’
‘I’m not sure I have a point, but I want to run some stuff past you to see if it makes any sense.’
The minister gulped his Coke and nodded.
‘So, here’s the thing,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve got indications that the Americans have done some interfering in Australian politics. Deeper and for longer than I would have imagined.’
‘How so?’ Ryan was stony-faced.
‘A group of mandarins was at the core of it. Senior defence and intelligence people in this town. I’ve got a list of names – old names – who were effectively running a shadow government in league with the US embassy. It stretches back to before Whitlam.’
‘Harry, let me play devil’s advocate. You’re telling me that some former bureaucrats were talking to American ambassadors about how Australia is run and defended? Isn’t that their job?’
‘Brendan, this looks to be more than friendly fireside chats. I’m talking the real deal here. These guys have been interfering – quite maliciously – to get their own way.’
‘That’s a serious accusation. What have they done? And what evidence do you have beyond a list of names?’
‘Well, we’ve got—’
‘Hang on. You said “I” before and now you’re saying “we”. Who’s working with you?’
‘Don’t worry about that, mate, just hear me out. Okay, so I came across some material that had been placed on a computer Cloud. You know wh
at that is?’
‘Stuff on the internet, like the stories that say there was a second gunman at the Kennedy assassination.’
‘No mate, stuff that a top-line security analyst uncovered – not long before she was killed.’
‘Kimberley? How did she come by this material? Did she steal it?’
‘You and I know each other pretty well, Brendan, we trust each other. How she got the material matters less than whether it’s fair dinkum.’
‘How she got it actually matters a lot, but let’s get back to my main point. What’s this secret society doing and what hard evidence do you have?’
‘Mate, there’s the list of top-level officials – departmental secretaries and the like – who were part of this secret society. It includes former heads of ASIS, ASIO, Defence. And, like I said, US ambassadors . . .’
‘Oh, and who else? Robert Mugabe? The Pope?’
Dunkley ignored the jibe.
‘They called themselves the Alliance. The whole thing stretches back forty years. Remember Whitlam’s speech to Parliament after he was shafted? He belled the cat. The Yanks were behind his demise. It’s just that your mates mythologised the great man by claiming he was a victim only of Fraser’s duplicity.’
‘Harry, don’t lecture me on Labor history. Whitlam did have reason to be angry. The Yanks did get more involved than they should have.’
‘I told you eighteen months ago the Yanks were worried about Paxton, and they had every right. He was the Defence Minister and was cavorting with a Chinese spy.’
‘So of course the US kicked up a stink. They share intelligence with us. And yes, sometimes they get a bit pushy. But you’re asking me to believe they were part of a shadow government running Australia. That, my friend, is a world-class conspiracy. Show me your evidence. Isn’t that what your editor would ask?’
Dunkley was firm. ‘I have evidence but I can’t share it yet. I ain’t gonna stop, Brendan.’
Ryan ran his hand over a plastic M1 Abrams tank, rubbing dust from his fingers.
‘Harry, you know I have the greatest respect for you. And I do remember that conversation. Vividly. I told you about America’s concerns. You didn’t seem to think it was such a big deal then. Because it wasn’t. And I told you that I feared our former PM was a Chinese spy, and you accused me of peddling fiction.’
