by S. P. Perone
The StarSight Project
S. P. Perone
Writer's Showcase
San Jose New York Lincoln Shanghai
The StarSight Project
All Rights Reserved ©2002by Sam P. Perone
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission
in writing from the publisher.
Writer's Showcase
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This is a work of fiction. Except for references to public figures, all characters are fictional. Technological developments central to the story are fictional, and any correlation with existing products is purely coincidental. References to weapons capabilities are based only on what is available in the open literature.
ISBN: 0-595-73892-3
Printed in the United States of America
To Sylvia…
my best friend,
most avid supporter,
and cherished wife.
Acknowledgement
Many thanks to Vita Perone for providing inspiration for the cover design, and to my family, friends and colleagues for reviewing the early work, and giving me the encouragement to complete this book.
Prologue
September 11, 2001.
It was the darkest day in U.S. history. Two hijacked airliners…Boeing 767’s…with passengers aboard…had been flown by terrorists directly into the twin World Trade Center towers…the widely-recognizable hubs of world-wide financial intercourse in New York City. Within the next half-hour, another commercial airliner, American Airlines flight 77 from Dulles to Los Angeles, a Boeing 757 with terrorists at the controls, had crashed into the Pentagon building in Washington, DC. The Pentagon! The renowned nerve center and icon of American military power. A fourth hijacked airliner crashed just outside of Pittsburgh, before it could reach its intended target…which might have been the White House or the Capitol building.
America was stunned! Totally unprepared for an incident of this magnitude, newscasters and political pundits stumbled and fumbled for an explanation. Frustrated anger was vented at an as yet unknown enemy…an enemy of such cunning and resources that they could simultaneously commandeer four commercial airliners and fly three of them into globally visible landmarks.
The horror was unfathomable. Dumbfounded, US citizens watched as the incidents unfolded on television screens across the country. Watching as the World Trade Center towers burned and, incredibly, collapsed…one hundred ten stories of concrete, steel, and humanity cascading in slow motion into the gorge of Manhattan below…it was impossible to comprehend the instantaneous loss of life and human carnage. Only those who were there…at ground zero…could understand…could feel the heat, choke on the dust and smoke, hear the screams, and see the battered and bloody bodies of the innocent victims.
One of those eyewitnesses was California Senator Gerald Moorhouse. A member of the Senate Intelligence Committee, the Senator had been on his way to a 9 o’clock meeting with several key managers of the Secret Service, scheduled at their Manhattan offices, on the 103rd floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center. At 8:46 am, the Senator was just a few blocks away in a taxi, on his way to the Center, when American Airlines flight 11, diverted from its Boston to Los Angeles journey by a suicidal terrorist pilot, crashed into the North Tower, some ninety stories above the street.
Caught in the immediate chaos of that first event, the Senator ran from the suddenly immobilized taxi toward the tower, passing dozens of pedestrians staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the horror unfolding a thousand feet above. Unbelievably, above the flames and smoke, tortured souls were jumping or falling from the upper floors of the tower!
Grabbed by two dark-suited citizens fleeing the scene, the Senator was reluctantly persuaded to retreat from the tower until the falling debris might subside. At that point, no one knew that this had been a terrorist attack. Some horrible accident had occurred. The Senator waited impatiently at a distance until it would be safe for him to approach the tower and do what he could to help the victims around the perimeter.
As the immediate response from emergency vehicles commenced, and several sped past the corner where he lingered, the Senator suddenly lurched forward and took off on a trajectory that would take him quickly to the tower. It was just then that another horrendous explosion shook the ground and echoed through the canyon of skyscrapers. Looking up, he saw a huge fireball expanding outward from the upper floors of the South Tower of the World Trade Center. Although he could not tell, he had just witnessed the second airliner-guided-missile crashing into the second of the twin towers. All 65 on board United Airlines flight 175 from Boston, originally destined also for Los Angeles, had just been sacrificed by the terrorist pilot, along with countless souls in and around the South Tower.
The ensuing pandemonium engulfed the Senator, and he was carried along with hundreds of others racing away from the site of the disaster. The Senator would not remember later the details of how he came to escape the scene of these horrible events. He knew only that he tried repeatedly to return to the perimeter of the towers. His memory was filled with the sounds, the smells, and the sights of the wounded and dying. He helped those that he could. But, ultimately, he found himself…covered with dust from the fallen buildings, and splattered with the blood of faceless victims he had aided…seated in the back of a NYPD cruiser parked a mile away from ground zero.
It was then that he learned that this had been a terrorist attack. It was then that he felt anger and rage, and felt his body begin to shake violently. It was then that he decided he would not rest until all the resources of his government had been mobilized to put a stop…once and for all…to these cowardly actions of hate-driven vermin. It was then that he knew he had to snatchthe StarSight Project from its safe, secure harbor in Tony Shane’s academic world…and thrust it boldly into the treacherous frontline of the war against international terrorism.
November…the near future.
Like a monstrous sea-serpent…smooth, black, and sleek…the Russian nuclear submarine,Skibirsk , knifed silently through the dark mist blanketing the inky Barents Sea…steadfastly pursuing a course which would soon leave Murmansk far behind. With binoculars raised, Captain Yuri Kirschnikov stood tall in the tower next to his first officer, Captain Second Rank Anatoly Vladimirov…gazing silently into the void. With just a sliver of moonlight disturbing the darkness, only the fleeting reflections of the wavelets stirred up by the stiff November night breezes provided some detail of the monotonous seascape ahead. Proceeding at a modest fifteen knots, theSkibirsk was like a slinking black panther, strolling purposefully and confidently through the tall grass…with rippling muscles signaling the potential for high-speed deadly pursuit at any moment.
Despite the cool sea spray and the frigid air dancing through the precisely groomed salt and pepper beard gracing his rugged face, tiny beads of perspiration could be seen on Captain Kirschnikov’s forehead. At fifty-four years, a career naval officer, he had not imagined that he would be embarking on this kind of mission. Asuicide mission , his colleagues would call it…if they knew. But, they did not. Only Kirschnikov could anticipate the horrible events that he would set in motion.
Staring blankly through the binoculars, his mind could picture only the long, thick, deadly projectile installed in the pre-launch chamber below deck. Prominently dispersed over its entire body were the bold markings reserved for dummy
missiles…those with harmless lead and sawdust mock warheads. Only Kirschnikov knew that, despite the innocuous appearance, this device was destined to throw a great nation into chaos. It would not come as a cataclysmic explosion that might level huge structures and vaporize living creatures. But, the nuclear event would produce unexpected and unparalleled horror. The goal of the fanatical, depraved minds, which had devised this insane plot, was not to inflict material damage, but to strike terror into the hearts and minds of the American people. And surely that effect would be accomplished by this demonic plan.
Shivering involuntarily as his mind’s eye envisioned the horrific events his actions would cause, Captain Kirschnikov reminded himself that there was no turning back. His was the crucial role that would put into play the final piece of this carefully orchestrated attack. The reward for this action would be too great…and the penalty for failure so unthinkable…that Kirschnikov could not, would not, consider avoiding this responsibility. They chose well…those bastards, he thought…when they recruited me for this horrible deed. Lowering the binoculars, finally, he turned around and followed his first officer down from the tower…taking one last breath of the cool, salty air he would not taste again until this horrible deed was done.
PART I
StarSight
Chapter 1
Max
Through the partly opened mini-blinds of the large picture window framing one end of the conference room, Max was gazing at the jagged range of rugged mesas and high plateaus 50 miles away on the western horizon. Only a few miles distant, beyond the Rio Grande and the barren landscape west of Albuquerque, he could see a handful of brilliantly colored hot-air balloons rising gently in the still morning air.
But this majestic view had been wasted on Max this morning. As the meeting of the CryptaGen staff progressed around him, Max’s unfocused peering at the distant landscape rendered the appearance that his interest was directed at the SpyraNet Team Leader seated in front of the window. For an hour and a half, Carl Endicott had droned on about how “Marketing was unconvinced, and we need to do another presentation on the prototype SpyraNet software.”
Involuntarily, Max allowed a thin smile to reveal his inner thoughts. He reflected on how the events of September 11, 2001, had altered the priorities of CryptaGen Corp., but in a much more dramatic way had changed his own. Emotionally devastating to most Americans, the terrorist attacks on the United States instead had provided Max with the opportunity of a lifetime.
Max couldn’t have cared less about launching the new SpyraNet product. And it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up the façade. But he needed this job. Not only was it a cover, but he needed the unique computer resources and novel software tools…not yet public…which the company provided for his use. He had contributed to the development of some new products, and his job was secure…as secure as anything was in this generation of boom & bust high tech companies.
Yes, he was pleased with himself. He even felt some pride in the piece of voice recognition software he had patched into the new web browser, “SurfSpeak,” which was currently making big bucks for CryptaGen Corp. But all of this was mostly a distraction from his real mission. The mission that would bring him wealth beyond his dreams, and, with that, an entrée to the elegant world of the idle rich that he desired above all else.
“So, Max, can we schedule the presentation for Friday?” he heard Endicott say. Realizing that he had been giving the false impression of rapt attention while entertaining his own thoughts, Max quickly tried to assemble all that the question implied. Calculating that Friday was still three days away, and that the question related to his evaluation of network perturbations by SpyraNet, Max volunteered, “I can get the last bit of interrupt data by Thursday.” He already had the data, of course, but this would give him the time and excuse to access the network for his own purposes.
“Great, Max. Let me see the results as soon as you can,” Endicott replied. Mercilessly, he persevered for yet another five minutes, wheedling each of the staff to produce other pieces of the presentation. Max’s mind resumed it’s wandering. Because Endicott’s question had reminded him, he thought first about those poor idiots whose companies would monitor surreptitiously their personal e-mails and web inquiries with the new, slick SpyraNet software.
Then, his mind returned to the primary focus of his attention and energy over the past year. How could he obtain the details of the counter-terrorism system that was being developed by a group of academic scientists, headed by Tony Shane and working in concert with the CIA? The system had been code-named “StarSight”, a fact that very few outside of the community would know. Max had become aware of the project shortly after the September 11 attacks. And, he had been following its progress for a long time…long before he had joined CryptaGen Corp. Of course, Max had his lines of information, through the people who were his real employers. Even though he wasn’t sure whom they represented…and he didn’t want to know…he was certain they were not friends of the United States. But that could be almost any nation these days. Even our closest allies, the British, were not privy to all our secrets. And they were not above espionage if it could not be traced to them. More likely, however, it was some fanatical Middle-Eastern faction; or, perhaps, some American extremist group. He didn’t care. The Bear had offered ten million dollars, of which two million were already in his Credit Suisse account. He would do the job. Get his money. And get out.
Mercifully, the meeting adjourned. Max picked up his notebook and slid quickly out of the stuffy little room, leaving the five others there, gawking. They probably think I can’t wait to get those interrupt tests done, Max chuckled to himself. He walked briskly down the hallway, and up the stairs to his office, located in a rear corner of the top floor of this newly built three-story building.
Located in the northwest quadrant of Albuquerque, CryptaGen’s facility was set within a cluster of similarly modern structures. Most of the surrounding buildings housed health-care companies, which seemed to be the dominant industry in this sprawling southwestern city, but a few were dedicated to technical activities. CryptaGen was one of the newest and most prosperous of these. Annual sales had skyrocketed to over 500 million dollars. With only 400 employees, and a couple dozen consultants gleaned from the nearby University of New Mexico and Sandia Albuquerque National Lab, they were very profitable. CryptaGen’s President and CEO, Dr. Larry Markson, was a 48-year old former Professor of Computer Science at the university. His early invention of fast, compact communications software, that could be “burned” into digital cell phones, made him a fortune. And the university also got a good piece of the royalties’ pie. Markson got a Research Chair at the university, which, ironically, freed this brilliant mind from any further obligation to teach. It also allowed him to place full effort into his outside interests.
Markson had brought Max on board, personally. They had crossed paths in Boston six months earlier at a national meeting of the American Academy for the Advancement of Science, where Markson was delivering a plenary lecture. Max had stunned the audience, and Markson, with a series of very perceptive questions following the lecture. Questions which made Markson realize that he…and his engineers…had missed some subtle, and potentially fatal, flaws in their number one (and only profitable) product at that time…the cell phone communications software. Following the lecture, Markson sought out Max. He learned of Max’s background and current work, and persuaded him to visit the fledgling company in Albuquerque to present a talk. Max agreed. His talk and visit convinced Markson and his top scientists that Max should be a part of CryptaGen. And, after six weeks of courting Max, with considerable financial persuasion, Markson brought him on board. What Markson did not know, of course, was that Max had manipulated the entire course of events.
It had begun nearly a year ago, when Max had been exploring web sites featuring communications between agents and clients looking to conduct anything from surveillance to contract homicide. Of course, the
communications were accomplished with cryptic terminology. But, Max learned the language quickly, and he was able to make contact with potential clients by untraceable connections. Max was very good. Because of his skills at conventional surveillance, hacking, and computer theft, Max had performed several lucrative tasks for clients.
Max had responded to two separate queries looking for covert computer surveillance of Dr. Tony Shane at Daniels University. He had pursued the first contact, whose code name was “Solomon,” far enough to determine the fee, and that the information sought was technical in nature. Then, he had responded to a query from “the Bear,” discovering he desired to contract for essentially the same task, and would negotiate a significantly higher fee. The contract discussions had been conducted through pay phone conversations with an intermediary. This was when Max had learned of the StarSight project and the Bear’s desire to monitor the project…and to steal the completed product. The Bear had agreed to advance one hundred thousand dollars in cash which Max could use to obtain the equipment and facilities needed, and to underwrite any travel expenses. The timetable agreed upon was flexible, and would depend on the rate of progress of the StarSight project.
Max had known immediately that he would require more advanced computer surveillance software than currently available. He had searched for products under development, and discovered CryptaGen’s SpyraNet project. In preparation for infiltrating CryptaGen, Max had completely fabricated his name, background, occupation, and location…everything. In reality, he had moved to Albuquerque before contriving to meet Markson in Boston. During the spring semester, he had enrolled as an engineering student at the university. Completely transparent to any of the faculty, who might be consulting at CryptaGen, Max was free to pursue his plan to verify that CryptaGen had really discovered the key to the type of Internet access he required.
