Dark Side of the Moon

by Alan Jacobson

  “Hang on a second,” Stroud said. “Open the computer? I don’t think so. The vehicle management computer costs tens of millions of dollars. It’s not a desktop PC where you just pop it open and swap out a stick of RAM.”

  “Actually,” Uzi said, “cost aside, the two aren’t that different. And in my prior life I was a hardware engineer for Intel.” Uzi unbuckled his restraint and floated over to the stowage where the tool kit was located. He stopped and swung back to Stroud. “Permission to proceed?”

  Stroud worked his jaw a moment, then said, “Do it.”

  Uzi selected his instruments and slid to the right using controlled movements. In zero gravity, it was easy to push off too hard and go flying into a wall. Then again, there was not a lot of extra room for him to drift before striking an obstruction.

  Uzi turned four fasteners and removed the panel, exposing the computer’s innards, and then did the same with the backup system. “This one also has that extra transmit chip.”

  Stroud came up beside him. “Before you start doing cyber surgery, are you absolutely sure this extra chip is not supposed to be there?”

  Uzi looked again at the tool kit components. “I’m as sure as I can be. It’s not on the schematic. Only explanation is that someone modified this board.” He leaned in close and turned on his flashlight. “Do we have a magnifying glass?”

  Carson bent over the tool kit and removed a small, round lens.

  Uzi took it and examined the chip. “Not sure if this is significant or not, but there’s a dimple in the metal portion of the capacitor.”

  “You got me,” Stroud said. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

  “Certain manufacturers have equipment that leaves behind unique marks because of the methods and machinery they use.”

  “And that dimple means what?”

  “It’s similar to the USB metal jackets that Apple uses to identify counterfeit lightning cables that are sold very inexpensively. They’re not MFI certified—made for iPhone or iPad—even though they claim to be. Apple uses that dimple, among other things, to help identify a fake product.”

  “So you think this is a counterfeit chip?” DeSantos said.

  Uzi leaned in for another look. “Not sure I’d call it counterfeit, but it’s a telltale sign as to where this chip was made.”

  “And?” Carson asked. “Why is that important?”

  Uzi sat back. “Because it tells me this extra transmit chip was probably made in China.”

  DeSantos came up behind both of them. “I’m sure there’s a joke here about everything in the US now being made in China. But this is not funny.”

  “It’s possible that one of the contractors outsourced some chips to one or more Chinese companies. It does happen with other systems, but it’d have to be approved. So I can’t say for sure this is a problem.”

  “Other than the fact that it’s not supposed to be there.”

  “Other than that.”

  “Maybe using Chinese components wouldn’t be an issue for NASA,” Carson said. “They used Russian made engines for the United Launch Alliance rockets for years. But no way is that happening in a critical system in a military vehicle. Hell, Congress goes apeshit when a Chinese company wants to buy a US company that makes sensitive government equipment. A computer chip in a military vehicle? I can’t see that being approved.”

  “But this isn’t a pure military vehicle,” Stroud said. “We piggybacked on NASA hardware and software, made modifications here and there so we could carry out certain aspects of the mission.”

  “I’ll hang onto the bad chip so DOD can examine it later. Right now, I’m removing it and swapping out the transmit chip, see if we can get comms back online.” Uzi located the correct circuit, and then, using a knife, sliced the traces around the suspect chip. After removing it, he located another one with similar functionality on the redundant computer’s mainboard and inserted it into the primary system. He finished it off with liquid solder. “Surgery’s done.”

  “Let’s hope you didn’t kill the patient,” DeSantos deadpanned.

  Uzi sat back down, turned to his instrument panel, and began working the touch screen. “The avionics system uses integrated modular technology to combine various systems into one. That came in handy because I didn’t have to turn off the vehicle management computer to work on the communications radio. Rebooting comms right now.”

  “You think we’re all clear of malware now?” Carson asked.

  Uzi blew air out through his lips. “Man, I wish I could say yes, but I honestly don’t know. This transmit chip issue is different from the malware problem—but it could’ve worked in tandem with it.”

  “Hold on a second,” DeSantos said. “The avionics system is the Patriot’s brains. Everything—power, data, tracking, nav, comms, sensors—it’s all controlled by this computer. I mean, it makes course corrections for us, supplies our oxygen, deploys the solar panels … How do we know it’s not gonna change our course? Even a few degrees, we’d miss lunar orbit. We wouldn’t be able to recover and we’d basically be toast.”

  “Good to see you were paying attention,” Stroud said.

  “Boychick, can we trust the computer to keep us on the correct course? To separate the Raptor from the Patriot and land us on the Moon without making us pancake on the surface?”

  Uzi stared at his display as the comms module finished its boot sequence. He did not know how to answer.

  “Other than the launch,” Stroud said, “we’re about to enter the most complicated part of the mission, which carries the most risk. We need our systems functioning properly. Is it safe to continue?”

  “Do we have a choice?” Uzi asked.

  “Not really. We could fly around the Moon and slingshot home. But to be so close and not at least try to complete the mission …”

  “Then we continue,” Carson said firmly. “And we complete the mission.”

  Uzi’s panel glowed green. “We’re back up.”

  Carson looked to Stroud. It was the commander’s decision.

  “We’ve got a job to do it and we’ve come 200,000 miles,” Stroud said. “We’re not turning around and going home. Not until we’ve done what we came to do.”

  The radio chirped to life. “Patriot, this is ground control. Do you read?”

  Uzi grinned at the sound of CAPCOM Bob Maddox’s scratchy voice. “Affirmative. It’s a relief to hear your voice, CAPCOM.”

  “You took the words right out of my mouth,” Maddox said.

  “We’ve got a lot to tell you,” Stroud said.

  “Ten-four,” Maddox said with a chuckle. “As do we.”

  39

  Fbi Laboratory

  Fbi Academy

  Quantico, Virginia

  Vail sat down on the stool in Tim Meadows’s office at the FBI’s crime lab.

  “So you found something?”

  “Nope. Just missed my favorite redhead and her crisp wit so I thought I’d imply I had info for you. I knew you’d have to come by.”

  Vail gave him a toothy smile and a toss of her curly hair. “I’m your favorite redhead?”

  “You nudged out Robert Redford.”

  Vail recoiled. “He’s like eighty years old. I’m not sure how to take that.”

  “It’s a compliment.”

  “Now I know why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “How do you know I don’t have a girlfriend?”

  “Do you?”

  “No.”

  Vail shook her head. “Do you or do you not have something for me?”

  “I do. The sample I was given from your crime scene was Semtex.”

  “Semtex. Not C-4?”

  Meadows pointed at her. “Aha! I knew you were going to ask that question. You’re so predictable, my dear Karen. Although Semtex is traditionally t
hought of as the overseas version of C-4, they are slightly different. The chemical makeup is the same but the manufacturing process isn’t. Did you know it was developed by Czechoslovakia for Vietnam in the mid-sixties in response to our development of C-4?”

  “Nope, did not know that, Tim. And how does that help me with this case?”

  “When you don’t have relevant information to give your boss, throw that factoid at him.”

  “Just like you did with me.”

  “Sorry, I wish I had something more to give you. Bottom line, Semtex doesn’t have any compulsory tagging.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “There’s no way of inserting something, like a unique metallic code, into the mass of the explosive, so Semtex isn’t tagged. Unfortunately, that means there’s no reliable way of identifying specific characteristics that would help you ID its country of origin, manufacturer, and so on. There’s no trail to trace.”

  “Terrific. And what about my house?”

  “Ah. That I can be a little more helpful with.”

  “Just a little?”

  “A wee exaggeration. I’ve got a lot to tell you about that. So you, my dear Karen, were the victim of an elaborate infiltration of enemy surveillance equipment.”

  “You mean someone was spying on us.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “I already knew that.”

  “Not exactly. There’s a lot more to it. A forensics cyber team scoured your house after you left. We found a wireless router connected through the untrusted interface. In this case, it was on the external, or firewalled side, plugged into your internal LAN. Typically, very few services, if any, are available on this interface, making it difficult to detect across the network.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you following me?”

  “Not at all. Do I need to?”

  Meadows stuck out his bottom lip. “Someone entered your garage using your wireless key code control panel.”

  “Are you serious? They—how’d they get the code?”

  “Not hard, my dear. Anyway, they hooked up a small off-the-rack router—we’re talking half the size of an iPhone.” He swiveled around to his keyboard and after a few taps called up a photo on the screen. “This is what they hooked into your router. They then hacked the camera and configured it to send audio and video to them.”

  Vail wrapped her arms across her chest. “I feel … violated. But how’d someone get inside my house? My dog woul—”

  “Your garage, not your house. But the cyber team is hard at work, trying to trace the IP address, parsing the cyber clues. But it’s not as easy as it sounds.”

  “I didn’t think it sounded easy.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Point is, hackers can be slippery sons of bitches. They use things to divert cops in the direction of the wrong criminal entity. So you may think it’s John but it’s really Scott.”

  “So should I arrest Scott? Or John?”

  “Huh? No, I meant th—”

  “Just giving you a hard time. That part I understood.”

  Meadows gave her an annoyed look, lips twisted and left cheek lifted. “I’m not going to let you bait me. The parts are locally sourced to an electronics store. And no, they don’t have security cameras. And these assholes paid with cash. So no credit card receipts to trace.”

  “So we’re nowhere. Great.” Vail got off the stool.

  “Not exactly. Because I’m on the case.”

  She turned to face Meadows. “What are you talking about?”

  “I was able to lift a partial latent off the antenna. They’re small and round and hard to screw in with gloves because of the fine work inside a small case. So I figured he probably had to remove a glove to do it.”

  “You mean you were hoping he removed a glove.”

  “And,” he said, ignoring her dig, “he didn’t think it’d matter because it’s a round, smooth surface—tough to get a usable print off something like that. But they didn’t know Timothy Patrick Meadows would be processing the evidence.”

  “And Ironman came to the rescue again, did he?”

  Meadows smiled. “You think I look like Ironman?”

  She frowned at him.

  “Hey, I can dream, right? Anyway, we haven’t gotten a hit yet, but I sent it over to Interpol in case your perp’s done this in other countries. And I was told there may be an international connection.”

  “There may be, yeah.”

  “So what else can you tell me about this case?”

  “That’s about it.”

  “Anything you give me can help me to—”

  “Not my call,” Vail said as she gave him a pat on the right shoulder. “I have my orders.”

  Meadows snorted. “Since when has that stopped you?”

  40

  Lunar Orbit

  The OPSIG astronauts conferred at length with Maddox and his team of engineers. But without having the systems in front of them to examine, the ground controllers confessed it was difficult to reach definitive conclusions.

  “That redundant transmit chip definitely should not be there,” Maddox said. “That much we can confirm. As for what it does and why it’s there, we’ll have to run it through a battery of tests when you get back.”

  “And the marking that Uzi saw?” DeSantos asked.

  “Yeah, a few of the guys here who have manufacturing backgrounds said he’s right about that. And one who’s familiar with the Chinese manufacturing process—he came from Apple—said it is a strong indicator of where it was made. So this is definitely disconcerting. But it’s not something we’re going to address with the Chinese. Not until we have more complete info and a thorough analysis of that chip … and the malware.”

  “I thought we’re operating on the assumption it’s Russian-designed malware,” Stroud said.

  “It’s just that,” Maddox said. “An assumption. But that’s the way it’s looking. I’m told that investigation is ongoing. We’ll keep you posted.”

  “Meantime, Bob,” Stroud said, the Moon is friggin’ huge. I mean, humongous. It completely fills the window.”

  “Sun’s behind it right now, so it’s backlighting it,” Carson said. “Like a halo.”

  “We’ve also got Earthshine,” Uzi said.

  “Earthshine?” DeSantos asked.

  “Sunlight that’s bounced off the Earth and back to the lunar surface. That whitish area in the center of the Moon. See it?”

  “Glad you’re enjoying the view,” Maddox said. “On a mission like this, we sometimes forget where we are, what we’re doing. I hope you grab a few minutes, when you can, to take a look around. Especially on the surface. I don’t want to shift your focus, but this mission aside, you guys are doing something truly extraordinary. As a former astronaut, I have to admit I’m living vicariously through you four.”

  “Hopefully we’ll give you something to get excited about,” Uzi said.

  “I’m showing our current velocity at 7,600 feet per second,” Carson said. “We’ve been steadily accelerating for the last fifteen hours.”

  “You’ll need to slow to 2,917 feet per second to be captured by the Moon’s gravity,” Maddox said.

  Stroud tapped his screen. “Roger, CAPCOM. Getting ready for LOI1 in eight minutes, thirty-two seconds,” he said, referring to the first lunar orbit insertion engine burn.

  “And we are coming up on LOS comms loss in forty seconds,” Maddox said. During the planned “line of sight” communications blackout when the Patriot passed behind the Moon’s far side—thus blocking the radio signal—the crew would be without ground support assistance. “We’ll be back on the radio with you thirty-three minutes and fifty seconds later.”

  “Hey,” DeSantos said, “you think we can rely on the computer to carry out LOI1 and LOI2?”

 
; There was a long pause before Maddox answered. “Let’s hope so.”

  41

  En Route to Black Site

  On the way back from the Academy, Vail swung by and picked up Rusakov at the Pentagon. She filled her in on the assistance she sought from Lewis Hurdle, the information Tim Meadows had provided regarding the explosive Kerwin used, and the clandestine router installed in Vail’s garage.

  “So we may still get an ID off the latent but the Semtex isn’t gonna help us any.”

  “Not ready to concede that.” Vail pulled out her phone. “Call Special Agent Richard Prati, DEA, office” she said to the Bluetooth interface.

  The line rang through Vail’s car speakers and was immediately answered.

  “I’m sorry,” the staffer said. “Agent Prati isn’t with DEA anymore.”

  “I just spoke to him a few months ago.” I wonder if Robby knows.

  “He’s gone over to ATF headquarters. I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

  Back to ATF?

  Vail thanked the man, then dialed the ATF. When constructed, the modern facility was in a less desirable northeastern neighborhood of the District, but in recent years the area had undergone—and was undergoing—a revitalization. Completed in 2007, the campus featured a 425,000 square foot futuristic spaceship-shaped blast-proof building that looked nothing like the stodgy government facilities that previously housed law enforcement agencies. Vail had been to the complex a couple of times.

  “Can I ask what this is about?” asked the woman who took the call.

  “He’s a friend. Tell Agent Prati it’s regarding a case I’m working.”

  “He’s the assistant special agent in charge. And I’ll get him on the line for you.”

  ASAC. At headquarters. Impressive.

  “Karen. How you doin’?”

  “I guess congrats is in order. ASAC? ATF?”

  “Yeah, definitely not something I was planning. Just kind of fell into my lap. A guy who worked with me on a case twenty years ago was named SAC of the DC field division and he put in a good word and next thing I know someone from the office of field ops was offering me a job.”