Supervirus

by Andrew W. Mitchell

  Flannigan appeared next to him briskly. “There you are,” she said. “We're going on a little trip.”

  A trip, he thought. Not a single gamble was going his way today. “Where to?”

  “South America,” she said, with a little laugh.

  South America? Now that was interesting. If he could get to South America, it might be an even easier way to disappear permanently. It was ironic: they might help him escape. Unless they discovered him in the process.

  He stared. “Of course, I don't have a passport.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “You don't need any. Not on the plane we're taking.”

  He nodded.

  She looked him over. The operative was unshaven and dirty. He was wearing jeans, boots, an undershirt. He looked hung over, or maybe running from the law. They met eyes. No trace of fear in his eyes. Whoever this guy is, she thought, he is WAY undercover.

  She leaned in. “Let me ask you: do you think we can get away with bringing these two with us.”

  He considered. “Yeah.”

  Lowering her voice slightly, she confided, “We don't really know what we're up against.”

  “That's fine with me,” he said. “I'm used to that.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked. He was holding his hand.

  He grimaced. “Yeah, I'll be all right. Let me get some things from the truck,” he said, turning away.

  “By the way: what should I call you?”

  “Willard,” he replied. He sauntered back to the truck.

  Willard? Willard. Feeling a hint of attraction, she watched his backside as he loaded his shoulders with a couple dufflebags.

  14 hrs 35 min to Birth

  While everyone else scrambled to get ready to go, Flannigan returned to the kitchen and stood by the coffee machine to place a call to the Director.

  The connection didn't go through. She called again and it failed to go through again. She swore and dialed again.

  Kenny and Preeti came through the kitchen with suitcases, wearing hats and sunglasses, looking like tourists.

  Sam came in and gave her an expectant look: everyone was packed. Flannigan grabbed Sam's phone and dialed the number for the office.

  Still no connection. She shrugged and hung up. That issue had about half an hour to resolve itself.

  She walked outside. The limo was purring. She got in, and the vehicle pulled away toward Logan airport.

  In the back seat, Flannigan got on the phone with the Cambridge City Police. In a minute, they would tape off the house and guard it as a crime scene. That way it would be secure for a backup team to come and perform the forensic analysis. Flannigan reassured them that there was no crime, only a situation that needed securing. Had she not been so emphatic, the officer who gave a parking ticket to the white truck with Vermont plates might have looked closer and found a cadaver wrapped in a tarp in the bed of the truck.

  SLOWDOWN

  Near Los Angeles, CA

  14 hrs 5min to Birth

  Eric was up early on the morning of the 28th. His beeper had gone off at some point in the night, indicating that there had been some low-level security event at the office. If the event had been high-level, he would have gotten more alerts, so he was not too concerned.

  He looked at the beeper. 11 p.m. last night. He must have barely missed it. He had crashed early that night, exhausted from a project at work.

  According to the beeper, the image scanners had picked up something funny on the security cameras. They were usually a false alarm, but they did not happen often, so he checked every one personally.

  He seated himself groggily at his work computer, which he had left on. He touched the mouse and a login screen appeared. He typed in his password.

  His computer desktop should have appeared immediately, but it didn't. The screen appeared frozen on the login page.

  He watched for another twenty seconds. No change. He moaned. He was responsible for ensuring that all the computers at the firm worked, as well as the corporate network. If this turned out to be a network problem, he had a day of hell to look forward to.

  “No cause for alarm yet,” Eric said aloud, trying to cheer himself up. He rebooted the computer by holding the power button. Most problems went away with a reboot, or a few reboots.

  This time it worked like a charm. Windows loaded, he logged in, and his desktop appeared.

  He went into the kitchen for a glass of water while Windows finished loading.

  When he returned, he was dismayed to find that his computer was frozen again. He could see his desktop, but hitting a key and moving his mouse brought no response.

  He swore to himself repeatedly over the keyboard.

  After banging a few keys and rubbing his finger on the touchpad, he rebooted again (and again) with the same results.

  The truly annoying part was that since his computer was frozen, he couldn't use it to check whether the rest of the computers on the corporate network were okay. He couldn't tell whether it was a problem with his computer only, or with the whole company network.

  But Eric was prepared for such a situation, because he had on hand an extra laptop configured with the company's Windows setup and software. It had a separate company login. He got out this test computer and booted it up. He logged in. Windows loaded normally. No freezing.

  “Phew,” he said, slumping back in chair. By the look of it, the corporate network was not broken — just his computer. That itself was a pain on the ass, but he wouldn't have the whole office screaming at him.

  He opened a window to check his email. But it didn't load.

  Wait a minute. Was something wrong with his Internet connection? He could check that.

  He moved the mouse: frozen.

  “No!” he said.

  He looked at his watch. People would be showing up at the office soon. Jared Keller might be there already; he was usually among the first. He called Jared's cell but got no answer.

  He frowned. Life without Internet made an IT professional unhappy. How was he supposed to do anything? He usually would have read all of the news by this time in the morning. He flipped on the TV while grabbing a box of cereal.

  The headline on the news read, “Supervirus Freezes Internet.”

  He put down the cereal box, picked up the remote, and turned up the volume.

  THE SUPERVIRUS

  On the television, the ticker at the bottom of the screen read: “SUPERVIRUS” FREEZES INTERNET; MARKETS CLOSED.

  Anchor Pam Anderson was sharing a split screen with Werner Kurzweil of the National Security Database. The National Security Database was a project of the Department of Homeland Security and other government funding areas.

  Pam introduced her guest and opened the interview. “Dr. Kurzweil, there has been a lot of confusion, and we have a statement from the major stock markets that they won't be opening today. What is going on?”

  “Pam, we are witnessing the most deadly computer virus in the history of computers. A virus has been spreading across the web — the Internet, and also commercial and government computer networks. And the infected part of the network is broken to us.”

  “What exactly is the virus doing to the computers that it infects?”

  “We're still trying to answer that question. It appears that infected computers remain operational, but extremely slow. It looks like the virus may be overloading them with activity, possibly in an attempt to spread the virus further.”

  “Why this is being referred to as a supervirus?”

  “This is a supervirus because it is exploiting countless vulnerabilities, using countless different forms of attack. Usually a virus exploits only one vulnerability in computers — one hole, you could say. Once you plug the hole, the virus doesn't work. We can respond to those viruses by patching the hole around the web. That's what Microsoft is doing when it sends you critical updates for Windows. But that fix is impossible for this virus, because it doesn't rely on only one attack. By the time we've patche
d up one hole, it is already attacking a bunch of new holes.”

  “Dr. Kurzweil, would it be fair to say that this supervirus is 'the AIDS of computer viruses?'”

  “It's worse than that, really. It spreads more quickly than AIDS, and even more importantly, it can take different shapes. If this were a human virus, it would be one that could shapeshift between AIDS, the flu, the common cold, and any number of sicknesses in order to propagate itself.”

  “Can the supervirus be stopped?”

  “We're working on answering that question. I can't comment any further on that at this time.”

  “Do we know the origin of the virus?”

  “I'm not at liberty to answer that question.”

  “Should we all be worried about this? What does this mean for the average American?”

  “For both individuals and businesses, this means a brutal halt in productivity today and possibly into the week. I'd recommend backing up your information. And I'd expect to be without Internet access for at least 24 hours.”

  Pam promised that breaking news would be available. They went off the air, but Dr. Kurzweil was still on the line.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Anderson said. “My daughter is in Mexico for the holidays. When do you think she will be able to get home?”

  “She may want to stay there,” Kurzweil said. “Mexico will get along a lot better without the Internet than we will.”

  MEETING GENE

  Boston Logan Airport

  13 hrs to Birth

  After hanging up with the Cambridge police, Flannigan spent most of the rest of the drive on the phone with the Director's assistant Karen, with an individual from the Department of Homeland Security, and with her own personal assistant back in the office. She was making travel arrangements. She was sitting in the front seat, out of the earshot of the others. Sam was also on the phone while she drove, trying to learn something about Fort Tortuga. In the back seat, Simon worked silently on his laptop, while Kenny stared out the window, Preeti meditated, and Willard did nothing in particular.

  Sam pulled up to Terminal A of Logan International Airport and parked the limo in the unloading zone. The vehicle was promptly abandoned by its passengers and towed by the airport police.

  “Where's Gene?” Flannigan asked Sam.

  “He didn't answer his phone.”

  Flannigan frowned but did not seem too surprised. She led them straight to a less-trafficked security aisle and asked for a security agent by name. It was the DHS official in charge of Logan. Flannigan's web of calls had gotten through just in time; he greeted her by name and asked for her badge. He did not look happy to see her.

  He took them a few feet to a DHS office and closed the door.

  “Okay, it's ready,” the man said. “We have to lead you directly to your gate and straight out to the plane.”

  “One of our party is in the airport,” Flannigan said. “We need to page him.”

  He bristled. “Nobody said anything about that.”

  Flannigan had to tread carefully. Her orders came from a much higher authority, but he was in charge of this operation and could delay them significantly. Power plays that crossed agency lines were fragile.

  A knock came at the door. The man, whose name was Simpson, swung open the door.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  A gangly man with Einsteinian hair stepped into the door frame. “Hello, sir, my name is Gene.” He shook Simpson's hand.

  “Excellent,” Flannigan said. “That's our guy.”

  “Sorry to inconvenience you,” Gene said genially. He stepped into the room and extended his hand again. “Sarah Connolly Flannigan,” he said. “And Simon Chan!” he smiled. “I understand that the situation is urgent,” he said, “but Sarah, I would strongly suggest that we take the time for a briefing before we get on the plane. I think ten minutes would be a worthy investment. Mr. Simpson, I know it's quite an imposition, but could we borrow your office for a moment?”

  “No one said anything about this,” Simpson growled. “You need to get on your plane and get out of here.”

  “Mr. Simpson,” Gene said sympathetically, “I understand we are intruding, but I think you'll find this meeting is in your best interest as well.”

  “How is that?”

  “You see, Mr. Simpson, the additional disruption to your operations from this meeting will be minimal. Even if we caused a delay in flights, that outcome would be relatively routine. On the other hand, if we do not have this meeting before take-off, I will be obligated by direct orders to report the fact to my superior. And whether I like it or not, he is likely to contact your superior if I do so.”

  “You have ten minutes,” Simpson said, and left, looking at his watch.

  Flannigan barely knew Gene, but she liked him better already. She looked at Willard. “Take these two outside,” she said, pointing to Kenny and Preeti. He nodded and they were gone.

  “I'm starving,” Kenny said as they stepped out.

  Willard realized how hungry he was, too. He had a headache. Mr. Simpson was standing next to them.

  Willard eyed the Eagles sweatshirt Preeti was wearing. It didn't fit her hippie nature. “Eagles fan?”

  “I am,” Kenny clarified.

  Willard nodded in approval.

  “The Pats suck,” Kenny noted.

  “Yes, they do.” They shared the bond of being pissed constantly at their team but feeling subject to a heartbreaking loyalty that could be pacified only by thoughts of kicking the crap out of fans from other cities.

  Inside Simpson's office, Flannigan briefed Gene on the discovery of Nemo, Nemo's ability and intent, and the experience of storming Kenny's house that morning.

  Gene listened closely, scarcely interrupting. Then he asked, “Did you ask him about the network slowdown?”

  “What network slowdown?”

  Gene blinked. “There is something bigger going on than switching web pages around. Would it be possible to talk to him before we go?”

  “I don't think that's a good idea,” Flannigan said.

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “Any conversation between you two is not going to be short. And now that he has agreed to let us visit him, I don't want to jeopardize that.”

  She could almost see the gears spinning in his head, without having any clue what he was thinking. “In that case, we should get moving,” he said.

  They walked out and rejoined the others. Simpson led them through security. They were heading to an unused gate, to exit to the airfield and walk to their plane.

  “Mr. Simpson,” Gene said outside, “I wouldn't presume to tell you how to do your job, but I think some of today's news might impact operations here at the airport.”

  “What news?” They were walking out onto the pavement now. A little plane was waiting for them.

  “If you turn on the news, you'll see that the Internet — the whole thing — is running slow today. It appears to be swamped with traffic. I saw the report at the gate where I disembarked from Dulles.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. We might have a crisis on our hands. I would keep a careful eye on your information systems at the airport.”

  “That's not really my responsibility.”

  “You may consider making it your responsibility. This is a serious matter. And while it may seem implausible that your systems would be affected by this event, I see a few reasons to believe otherwise.”

  “Why's that?”

  They had reached the plane. The others got on while Gene waited a minute at the bottom and Simon stood on the stairs, listening.

  “A slowdown of such a large scale is most likely the result of a computer virus. A supervirus, or an attack on the network that makes use of a supervirus. The fact that this supervirus has been able to affect the Internet so universally is remarkable, almost incredible. From that fact we can infer two things about the virus.”

  “Let's go!” Flannigan shout
ed out the plane door.

  “The first is that the virus is omnivorous. It has already attacked a quite diverse range of systems on the Internet. Secondly, it is quite adaptable. It must be, to have conquered all of these systems. I would conclude that any information system with the slightest communication with the Internet is in danger. For example, airline booking systems, which are referenced by Internet sites that sell tickets. Or the air traffic control system, which provides flight status monitoring on the Internet.”