by Sarah Sky
“We’re also getting reports that WhatsApp, Twitter and Facebook are affected,” Sam continued. “Another virus is allowing people to download games, music and movies for free from several sites. Do you want me to call them up?”
“Get real,” Agent Hatfield retorted. “Thousands of teenagers not being able to tweet or upload a photo of themselves is hardly a national emergency.”
Jessica frowned. That was curious. The hacker could have raided banks, draining millions of pounds from accounts, or attacked the stock exchange, making the FTSE go into meltdown. Instead, it was giving cash and computer games away and wreaking havoc.
“It’s like they’re showing off,” she murmured, staring at the screens.
“Pardon?” Agent Hatfield spun around again. “What did you say?”
“The hacker wants our attention. They’re proving what they can do.”
“They’ve got our attention all right,” Agent Hatfield said. “But you’re wrong. This isn’t an exercise in showing off. It’s the biggest concerted cyberattack this country has ever seen.”
Jessica shrugged. “If you say so, but whoever’s doing this could have toppled banks or the government. Instead they’re running rings around the emergency services and targeting online games. Why?”
“Why not?” Nathan replied. “We don’t know what their agenda is, apart from causing mayhem and trying to break into MI6.”
“The threat’s over!” a woman shouted across the room. “We’ve gained control of the banks, traffic lights, emergency service comms and prison security.”
“Yes!” Agent Booth punched the air with his fist.
Jessica could tell from the look on Nathan’s face that celebrations were probably premature. He strode over to the woman’s workstation.
“And the hacker?”
“The good news is that we’ve kept them out of MI6,” she replied.
“And the bad news?”
“It’s not the work of one hacker. It’s thousands of them; a highly organized army of hackers all working simultaneously.”
“How’s that even possible?” Nathan pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Sam? Can you bring this up for them?” the woman said, tapping at her keyboard.
Sam nodded. “What do you have?”
“Dozens of websites demanding that hackers mobilize and attack,” she replied. “We’re looking at a twenty-first-century cyber flash mob. I’m sending over the details now.”
The websites appeared in the air before the group.
“HackMeNow, hackus, telltheworld, uhavearite2no,” Jessica read under her breath.
“All the sites went live six months ago advertising for hackers, with similar calling notices to this,” the woman continued. “Sam, if you will.”
The analyst waved his hand and a page from a website came into view.
ATTENTION ALL HACKERS
Prepare for the game of all games by joining The Collective. What can you hack into? Wow us with your skill. It’ll take a lot to impress us. Hack into our website and you’ll find the prize. LibertyCrossing
“This is a big game?” Nathan said incredulously.
“Maybe,” the woman replied. “Hackers were instructed by LibertyCrossing to join The Collective by registering with untraceable email addresses. They were ordered to wait until they received the code word, ‘Bluebird’, to launch their best ever hacks, with the winner receiving one million dollars four days later. The code word went live at midday GMT, according to postings by LibertyCrossing on all the hacking websites. That’s when everything went mad.”
“The hackers waited six months to do this?” Agent Hatfield gasped. “It was all pre-planned?”
The woman nodded. “For some reason, the timing of today’s attacks is highly significant.”
“Please tell me you’ve traced LibertyCrossing?” Nathan said.
“Not yet. We’re working on that and trying to track down each individual hacker, but we’re talking about thousands of people, possibly from all over the world, being encouraged to attack targets in the United Kingdom and America right up until the Wednesday jackpot announcement.”
Sam enlarged an image. Hackers were already posting details of their feats on the websites. All involved hacks in both countries.
“This one claims to have hacked the federal bank,” Sam said.
“I’ll speak to our friends across the pond and see if they can verify that,” Nathan said. “If so, it’ll mean bringing the CIA on board.”
Agent Hatfield folded her arms. “Great. Inter-agency collaboration with the Yanks. That always goes so well.”
An alarm sounded again. Red lights flashed up on every computer, along with the words “Unauthorized Access”. Numbers rapidly scrolled down the screens.
“No, no, no!” Sam cried. He attempted to swipe at the images in the air, but they were snatched away, one by one.
“The whole system’s corrupted,” the woman shouted. “The virus is inside the mainframe.”
“Shut everything down now!” Nathan ordered. “Get everything offline.”
“We can’t,” Sam replied. “They’re in control, not us.”
“There must be something you can do,” Nathan said. “Break the connection.”
“I’m trying,” the woman replied.
“What are they doing now?” he asked.
“They’re downloading the identities of undercover agents working active MI6 cases.”
“Stop them!” Nathan yelled.
A figure suddenly appeared on every computer screen in the room as well as in a giant hologram in the air. The person’s face was obscured by a green hooded top, dark sunglasses and a black scarf.
“Do we have your attention now?” a male voice boomed. “I am LibertyCrossing, leader of The Collective, dedicated to total freedom and dissemination of information across the internet. No secrets, total openness, without interference from governments and security services across the world.”
“Impossible,” Nathan muttered under his breath. “Is this streaming live?”
Sam nodded. “It’s being uploaded into our mainframe via LibertyCrossing. We can’t turn it off.”
“Can he hear what we are saying?”
“No. It’s a one-way transmission. You can’t interact with him.”
The figure started to talk again. “You’ve seen what we can do and there’s plenty more to come if you do not comply with The Collective’s demand. Release Lee Caplin from prison in the United States and return him to the UK.”
An image of a young man flashed up on the screen. Jessica recognized him instantly. He was the most notorious cyberterrorist the country had ever produced. More images followed, including one of him hugging a small blonde woman who wore a pink dress and a long gold pendant. She’d been on the news a lot; it was his mum, Louise Caplin. Next, front pages of newspapers appeared, confirming what Jessica already knew. Three years ago, the teenager from Basildon, Essex, had hacked into the Pentagon, NASA and the CIA and downloaded hundreds of top-secret files on to his home computer. The sixteen-year-old had deleted hundreds more and uploaded viruses, causing damage worth millions of dollars. Not only that, he was accused of arming American missiles and locking them on to Russian military vessels in the Black Sea.
Lee swiftly became top of the FBI’s most-wanted list. He was indicted in his absence by an American federal jury for computer-related crimes and extradition proceedings were launched. The president of the United States had refused to offer clemency despite his age. Mrs Caplin, who was widowed, had tirelessly fought his extradition to the States but eventually lost the battle. The stress was believed to have contributed to her recent fatal heart attack. This week’s papers revealed that Lee had been allowed to attend his mum’s funeral before the start of his thirty-year jail sentence in Leavenworth Federal Peniten
tiary in Kansas.
“Comply with our simple request and prevent your agents’ identities from being published online for the whole world to see.”
“Alert every single handler and undercover agent that their cover could be compromised. Get them off the streets and to safety,” Nathan said, spinning around.
Men and women started dialling and talking into their headsets.
“I speak directly to MI6 because you have the power to return Lee Caplin to the UK,” the figure continued. “Refuse to meet our demands at your agents’ peril. You have four days to secure the release of Lee Caplin before the confidential files we have gathered will be published on the internet. Information like this...”
The figure vanished from the screen and a photo of a dark-haired young woman appeared in its place.
“This has just been uploaded,” the voice rang out from the transmission.
The screen changed again and confidential details appeared on one of the hacking websites.
Agent Andrea Lockwood, aged 21. Operating under the alias Jasmine Underwood. Location: Paris. Mission: To infiltrate jewel thief gang The Crystals.
“We’re on it,” Sam shouted, racing to a computer. He tapped furiously at the keyboard.
“Have we managed to warn her yet?” Jessica said, turning to Nathan.
Nathan snatched the headset off a woman. “Code name Jasmine’s been exposed. Pull her out now!” He listened as the other person spoke. “Good work. Call me as soon as she’s secured.”
The hooded figure returned to the screen. “Your deadline is three p.m. on Wednesday. Until then, the hacks will continue and the identity of an MI6 agent will be published online each day at three p.m. as a reminder of what’s to come. After the deadline has passed, we will publish your entire agent database and unleash fresh destruction that will bring this country’s infrastructure to its knees. You have received The Collective’s warning. From the ashes, the phoenix will rise.”
He vanished.
“I’ve managed to crash the website and bring down Andrea’s name,” Sam said, breaking the stunned silence. “That’s given her some breathing space at least. We’ll monitor Twitter and news websites to see if it’s been picked up by anyone, but so far we’re in the clear.”
“And our computer system?” Nathan barked.
“We’re in control of the mainframe again,” Sam said. “Pieces of the virus’s code self-destructed, but we’re working on what’s left. We can’t rule out the possibility that the virus could mutate and launch another attack.”
“Keep me updated.”
Sam nodded and fired off orders to his staff. Nathan turned around. His face was drawn and pinched. It looked like he’d aged in the last few minutes.
“Will you meet The Collective’s demands?” Jessica said quietly. “Will you release Lee Caplin?”
“It’s impossible,” he replied. “The US will never cave in to those demands, whatever the threat. These hackers must know that.”
“Then what do we do?” Agent Hatfield asked.
“Prepare for the worst,” Nathan said. “In the meantime, we need to discover the identity of LibertyCrossing and find out how his followers managed to hack MI6. Get to work, people. The countdown’s begun.”
It hadn’t taken long for London to descend into total anarchy: ninety-six minutes, to be precise, since the first wave of attacks by The Collective. Jessica had borrowed her train fare back home from Sasha; it hadn’t seemed like a good time to admit to Nathan that she might also have been a victim of the hackers. Having her Oyster card and security pass hacked and her dad’s credit card frozen were small fry compared to what was going on back at MI6 HQ. Nathan had a lot more on his plate to worry about than her temporary transport and cash-flow problems.
Two youths wearing scarves over their faces fled from the supermarket up ahead, carrying boxes stacked with bottles. More youths piled in, wearing balaclavas. The cash tills of major supermarket chains had been frozen, according to the last update she’d received from MI6 before she left. Looting was taking place in cities across the country.
Jessica kept her head down, avoiding eye contact, and ran past. She couldn’t intervene; she was a brown belt at kick-boxing, but there were too many thugs and not a police officer in sight. They were being kept busy elsewhere. It was going to be a long trek home across the capital. Hackers had targeted the radio communications for the Underground, causing near misses between trains at Westminster, King’s Cross and Upminster. The whole network was paralysed and every tube stopped, along with planes at Heathrow, Gatwick and Stansted as a precaution. Buses were running a restricted service, which meant the queues were massive.
She hadn’t wanted to risk her dad coming to fetch her by car since roads were blocked with accidents caused by the malfunctioning traffic-light systems. She planned to walk until she came across a bus service that was, hopefully, running normally. It gave her a chance to think, anyway. She googled LibertyCrossing on her iPhone. Interesting. Liberty Crossing was the name given to the two HQs of the National Counterterrorism Center and the US Office of the Director of National Intelligence in Virginia. So the hacker had a sense of humour. He was using the name of an American spy HQ to attack a British one.
Next, she typed “phoenix rising from the ashes”. According to Greek mythology, a phoenix was a bird that gains new life by rising from the ashes of its predecessor. What did that mean? Was LibertyCrossing’s objective to create a new world order, rising from the one The Collective planned to destroy? She crossed the road as she spotted a brawl outside a cashpoint ahead. How could MI6 take on a cyber-army of thousands? For the first time ever, she doubted whether this was an adversary the Secret Intelligence Service could beat.
Jessica’s silver haute couture digital gown sparkled with a thousand Swarovski crystals. Suddenly, it was lit up with over thirty-five hundred small LED lights. The extraordinary sight distracted her briefly from the fact she was cold and tired; she’d had to get up at five a.m. to cycle to the warehouse in East London for the seven-thirty a.m. shoot. She was dying for a coffee and croissant from the catering table, which was tantalizingly close.
“Testing three, two, one!” Ossa Cosway shouted from across the warehouse. “Start now!”
Jessica looked down as a text message scrolled across her floor-length evening dress: Ossa Cosway rocks!
“It’s amazing!” she exclaimed.
The fabric flashed with more words: #OssaCoswayCouture.
Ossa had certainly found a novel way to advertise his haute couture line, combining fashion with the latest digital technology. It was being launched around the world, while his ready-to-wear collection was showcased at London Fashion Week. His young assistants stood on the sidelines, busily messaging the dress, using the hashtag #OssaCosway on Twitter while he stared at the effects, mesmorized. The slightly built, fair-haired young man stroked his goatee, smiling broadly. Suddenly, he threw his arms around Christine Cooper, his chief dressmaker. The small fifty-something woman was caught off guard as she fiddled with her long gold pendant.
“Whoooaaa!” She clung on to Ossa as she lost her balance.
“You made it work, Chrissy!” her boss gushed. “You really did.”
Christine smoothed her sleek black bob behind her ears, revealing purple nail polish that matched her lipstick.
“We make a good team,” she said, laughing. “Particularly with the lovely Jessica fronting your ad campaign. We chose well, Ossa. The dress looks sensational on her. I had a feeling it would. She knows how to show it off to perfection.”
Jessica blushed as Ossa blew a kiss at her and Christine clapped.
“Let’s get started,” the photographer, Bryn, shouted over a pounding Calvin Harris track. “Work it, Jessica! I want to see what this dress can really do.”
She swished the skirts from side to side and spun around. This was t
he best and most high-profile modelling shoot she’d done to date: the cover and an inside spread of Teen Vogue to highlight her collaboration with Ossa, the hot, hot, hot designer who’d been the talk of fashion editors across the world since leaving Central Saint Martin’s College in London three years ago. His rise had been astronomical and the twenty-four-year-old was now the go-to designer for Hollywood actresses as well as the uber-rich who could afford to splash out tens of thousands of pounds for couture gowns.
“Keep twirling,” Bryn shouted. “I love it. Give me more.”
Jessica pirouetted, making sure she kept her eyes on a point on the wall between Ossa and Christine, the way she’d been taught in ballet. It prevented her from losing her balance. Well, in theory. It didn’t help that her mind was wandering. When she left MI6 HQ late yesterday, Andrea, the MI6 operative outed by The Collective, had made it to a safe house, but seven other agents were uncontactable and unaware of the looming threat from The Collective.
“Again, again, again!” the photographer demanded.
How much longer could she keep this up? Her head felt like it was going to explode. Another agent’s name would be published later today and Sam might not be able to remove his or her details from the web so fast. Who would it be, and had they managed to get to safety already? She hoped it wasn’t one of the seven who were MIA – missing in action.
“And that’s it!” Bryn said. “Let’s get the close-ups in the bag next.”
Jessica swayed on her feet slightly as she was surrounded by make-up artists, hair technicians and stylists, who touched up her face and fiddled with her dress. Christine knelt at her feet, pinning up the hem, which she’d accidentally caught with her spiked heel.
“The dress is stunning,” Jessica said, gazing down at the sparkling lights. Another message scrolled across: Ossa rules the world! His assistants, clutching mobiles, applauded, and Ossa took a bow, sporting an even bigger grin.
“How long did it take you to make this?”
