Some of the “gamers” had even pushed themselves past the absolute limit by playing for almost 96 hours straight, fueled by nothing more than soda and junk food, only to pay the ultimate price by collapsing dead onto the floor. But the deaths did not deter the rest. Their addiction was total.
Just like before, it provided the perfect cover for Ron, since no one ever managed to look away from their own screens to observe what he was doing.
He now had almost ten million infected computers waiting for his command. Tran triple checked the details in his window before hitting the Enter key. This was it. There was no turning back after this. But he was ready and had been for over a year.
He purposefully hit the Enter key with his forefinger and watched the letters scroll slowly in the window, showing the command was being sent to all bots in a daisy chain. They were being loaded with all the computer network addresses of their intended targets. Phase One had begun, and when all of the bots had received their data, they would wait for the next command, or Phase Two.
Tran looked around at the crowded room of gamers. They were the personification of the world around him. Bright but completely under the spell of an electronic drug that turned them into cattle. It was complete sensory addiction.
These kids spent thousands and thousands of hours every year playing the latest games. When they finished or got bored with one, there was always another waiting for them. Tran thought about his last two years, spent in front of a monitor for a very different reason. He was collaborating with dozens of other secret hackers, all having no idea what each other looked like, yet working for a common goal. It had not been hard convincing them, since many shared his anti-government, anti-greed views, but he still kept them segregated and working on smaller pieces of code. Tran had divvied up the job to ensure none of the others knew what the final virus would do. Of course, some already had relationships with each other and probably talked, but they would need many pieces of the puzzle to really know what it would do. Frankly, some of them did not even care. They knew Tran’s reputation and were excited to have a hand in changing a horribly corrupt system.
Tran logged out of his computer session and removed the DVD. He stood up and took one last look at the screen. Stuxnet was nothing, he thought. They had taken its original design and framework and created something truly incredible. In fact, they were about to show the entire world the original Stuxnet was child’s play.
39
Zahn was furious. “No contact? How in the hell did we lose contact?! How many did you send?”
“Thirty,” Sarat said quietly. “Led by Murad.”
Zahn closed his eyes and put his hand over his face. Murad was one of the best they had. He was ruthless and a natural warrior. By comparison, Murad considered the Taliban and Al Qaeda to be nothing more than sloppy, religious zealots. If you wanted to affect real change, you did it from within. Murad was as committed as anyone, but worst of all, he was Kia’s brother.
“How long has it been?” asked Zahn.
“Almost six hours.”
There was only one conclusion to be drawn. The girl and the woman were not alone. They had help, a lot of help. Zahn let his anger go. He had to think about this. He didn’t know who or how many others were involved, but the girl clearly had talked! Time was growing short, yet it was still possible for things to unravel, and quickly. He couldn’t take any chances.
“Get me their last coordinates,” Zahn said. He reached for the phone and picked it up. There was no one on the other end at this hour, so the phone automatically forwarded to one of his staff at home.
“It’s me,” he said when she picked up the other end. “I need to talk to Benecke at Homeland Security right now.” Zahn hung up and looked back at Sarat.
“Do we go after them?” Sarat asked.
“No, god no,” said Zahn. “They’re most likely all dead.” He saw Sarat visibly flinch, but it had to be said. “They could have driven all the way back by now!” He looked at his watch. “Christ, they could have done it without even breaking the speed limit! No, we need to find out where the girls are and where they’re headed.”
The phone beeped, and Zahn quickly picked it up. He waited a moment while the phone was transferred to Ron Benecke, the Director of Homeland Security.
“Hello?” answered Benecke on the other end. There was no doubt he had just been woken up.
“Benecke, it’s Zahn.”
“What is it?”
Zahn glanced at Sarat as he spoke. “I need one of your drones.”
“Foreign or domestic?” Benecke asked.
“Domestic.”
There was a short pause. “Do I want to know why?”
“No,” Zahn replied. “And I need full access, including all archived data.”
Benecke sighed. “Let me make some calls.” He promptly hung up.
Zahn stood up and walked over to the window. He looked out over the sleeping city of Washington, D.C. Its golden lights sparkled across the low lying hills as far as the eye could see. “Get another team ready.”
Unfortunately, using a drone for the strike was out of the question. It would draw immediate attention from nearly every arm of the government, and he couldn’t distance himself from something like that. But using the drone’s surveillance capability and picture quality, they could still find them.
40
Chaplain Wilcox walked through the empty lobby of the hotel and headed for the elevator. He had spent the entire day meeting with families, holding group prayer and counseling sessions, and he didn’t want to look at his watch to see what time it was.
He smiled and waved to the young clerk at the check-in counter before heading down the carpeted hallway toward the elevators. Once inside, he sighed, pressed his floor number, fell softly against the elevator wall, and watched each floor light up at an agonizingly slow pace.
Finally, the doors sounded a ding and opened, revealing the green patterned carpet running down the long hallway to the far end. Wilcox stepped out and walked two-thirds of the way down the hall to his room. He found his card, slid it in and out of the slot, and waited for the small light to turn green.
The chaplain opened the door to find the lights were off, so he felt for the wall switch and flipped it on. Still nothing.
Is the power out? he wondered. The chaplain quickly caught the door behind him before it closed. He peered out at the bright lights in the hallway and wondered what was wrong, when he suddenly felt the tip of a gun barrel press into his soft back.
The chaplain gasped and froze where he stood. Someone behind him reached out and pushed the door handle out of his grip, letting the door close shut and plunging the room into darkness.
Wilcox stood shaking, now unable to see anything at all.
“Are you alone?” a man’s voice whispered into his ear.
The chaplain nodded his head nervously.
“Move forward.” The man prodded him away from the door, and the chaplain slowly walked forward in the darkness, trying to remember where the coffee table and small couch were located. After several steps, he abruptly ran into the arm of the couch.
“Sit down,” the voice said.
The chaplain felt around the cushioned arm and lowered himself down. His eyes were beginning to adjust, and he could see a silhouette standing in front of him. Without warning, a bright flashlight came on and blinded him momentarily until it was set down onto the coffee table, pointing toward the ceiling. The chaplain was stunned to see the man’s face. It was Aaron Bazes.
“What are you doing here?” the chaplain stuttered.
Bazes stared down at him. “Why have you been investigating me?”
The chaplain was petrified. “I uh…just saw you at some of the sites. I didn’t…I was just curious…”
Bazes watched him fumble and then reached behind himself, causing the chaplain to stop when he spotted the semi-automatic pistol.
The chaplain closed his eyes hard, trying to remain calm, th
en looked back up at Bazes. “Listen, I’m just here to help. I saw you at the church and remembered seeing you in New York…” He trailed off as Bazes continued glaring at him.
Bazes lowered his gun. “You’re lucky you did.”
“Lucky?”
“Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now.” Bazes’ expression relaxed.
“What do you mean?”
Without a word, Bazes motioned to the chaplain’s right. Wilcox turned and peered into the darkness. “OH LORD!” he cried. Wilcox jumped off the couch and backed away quickly, staring at a dark figure sitting motionless in the chair in front of the window. After a few moments, he looked back at Bazes and then back at the large man in the chair. “What’s happened?!”
Bazes calmly looked at the chaplain and then back to the chair. “He was waiting for you when I got here.”
“What?”
Bazes reached behind himself and re-holstered his gun. “He was already here. And he didn’t seem very friendly.”
The chaplain felt like his head was spinning. He kept looking back and forth trying to understand. “What? Why? Who is he?”
“I don’t know,” Bazes replied.
The chaplain took a worried step forward. He could barely make out the man’s features. Dark hair and dark skinned. His head was tilted onto the back of the chair with his mouth slightly open. “Is...he dead?”
“No. But he’s going to need some medical attention when he wakes up.”
Wilcox took the hint. “He was here to hurt me?”
“That’s my guess since he broke all of your light bulbs,” Bazes said sarcastically. He picked up the flashlight and shined it directly on the man. He was dressed in black clothes with what appeared to be a gun tucked under his thin jacket. “Then again, maybe he’s just a light bulb salesman. Either way, neither one of us should probably be here when he wakes up.”
The two men exited the hotel through the front doors, with Bazes walking slightly behind the chaplain. They continued down the long driveway where Bazes nodded toward a small park across the busy street. They crossed and headed through the trees, far out of sight from the hotel, and toward a small round fountain. A small, gray statue of George Washington stood next to it.
“The bench closest to the fountain,” Bazes instructed.
The chaplain walked to the bench. It was shorter than usual, but he managed to lower himself down onto it with a quiet grunt.
Bazes wasted no time. “Who else is trying to find out about me?”
The chaplain could see him clearly now. He guessed him to be in his late forties with a shaved head and slender, yet muscular frame. He looked military but definitely not a front line soldier. “No one else, just me.” He shook his head.
Bazes looked around. They were alone and the fountain was loud enough. “What do you want?”
The chaplain held his hands out innocently. “As I said, I was curious who you were. I saw you both in New York and then again here, looking through the rubble.”
“A lot of people were looking through the rubble.”
The chaplain shook his head again. “Not the way you were.”
“And what did you see?” asked Bazes.
“I don’t really know. You looked like you were poking around in some pretty specific places. Like around the altars.”
Bazes stared at him quietly. “And what did you find out?”
“You mean from the FBI?”
“Yes.”
The chaplain shrugged. “Not very much. You seem to have the shortest file of anyone I’ve seen. All I know is your name, where you’re from, and that you have a security clearance higher than any of us have ever seen before.”
“What else?”
“Nothing. That’s it. Just your name and country. Both being Israeli. Actually your name is Hebrew if I’m not mistaken.”
Bazes continued to study him. “I find it hard to believe that you were just curious.”
This time the chaplain was quiet for a moment. He finally sighed and continued. “Well, I suppose I was a little suspicious.” He glanced at the fountain. “This whole thing…these attacks…they’re more than a little weird.”
The expression on Bazes’ face became curious. “What do you mean?”
The chaplain rested a hand on the bench. “I just think there are some things about these attacks that don’t make a lot of sense.”
“Such as?” Bazes pressed.
“This is a strange interrogation.” Wilcox rocked back on the bench and took a deep breath. “In a younger life, I used to be a theologian, or a research scholar.” He looked at Bazes. “I’m going to assume you already knew that.” Bazes’ lack of reaction told the chaplain he was right. “These bombings look a lot more like an attack on faith than terrorist attacks.”
“Terror attacks are an attack on faith,” Bazes replied dryly.
“That’s true,” the chaplain conceded. “They can be considered that, yes. But when I say faith, I don’t just mean Christianity, I mean all faiths. I originally thought this might be some kind of resurfacing of the ancient Crusades by some fanatical group, as Saint Patrick’s was a Catholic cathedral. However, the Washington National was different. It is dedicated to all faiths. And when you consider the bombs were not set off to yield the highest casualties, it makes me wonder what denomination or sect might be next.” Bazes was listening to him intently. “Even leaving some important things out, like the real meaning of jihad, something here still feels awfully strange.” He tried to manage a small smile. “And you putting a gun in my back doesn’t help.”
Bazes continued watching him carefully. He sensed Wilcox to be a much more intelligent and knowledgeable man than he let on with his grandfather-like image. “What else?” Bazes asked.
“I think that’s enough,” frowned the chaplain. “At least until you tell me who you really are.”
Bazes tilted his head slightly. “Do you have more information?”
“I might.”
Bazes shook his head and looked away. He was frustrated. What he was about to do was forbidden, on every level. But time was running out and the stakes were too high. Besides, he certainly wasn’t about to the kill the man.
Bazes scanned the area around them again and kept his gun easily accessible. “Okay,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
The chaplain sighed. “Son, I’m an old man. I’ve had a long life, raised a couple boys, and got to marry a miracle of a woman.” He dropped his head and looked at the dark grass in front of him. “Unfortunately, my wife was called home many years ago, and I’ve been alone for a long time.” The chaplain cleared his voice and looked back at Bazes. “In my life, I’ve seen darn near everything: the good, the bad, and the very, very ugly. At my age, there is only one thing that any man wants…”
Bazes raised an eyebrow.
“The truth,” added Wilcox. “I’m near the end of my road now, and all I care about is the truth.”
Bazes let a small grin creep across his lips. This was no ordinary chaplain. He nodded his head. “Okay. The truth you will get. But then you must help me.”
“Agreed.”
Now it was Bazes’ turn to take a deep breath. He was suddenly nervous. “You’re right, my name is Hebrew, and it’s one of the oldest. It’s an Israelite name. I belong to one of the oldest and purest Israelite bloodlines in existence, going to back to Levi.”
The chaplain’s mouth opened in surprise. “You’re a Levite?”
Bazes nodded. “Of the Twelve Tribes, the Levites were tasked by Moses with the highest responsibility and the highest honor of all. To protect the word and the truth, of God. That not only means the word of God but everything related to it. We have dedicated our lives, and given those lives, without hesitation for over 3,000 years to ensure the truth of God is never lost.” He paused. “But now…now I believe we face the greatest threat to that task in the history of humanity.”
Across from him, Wilcox sat speechless.
“
I agree the attacks on the churches were not acts of terrorism, at least not as we know it. I believe they were carried out by a group of people, led by one specific and evil man, who intend the greatest harm to God’s children that we have ever known.”
41
Christine woke up when the car’s engine started and roared to life. She blinked and opened her eyes, squinting into the bright morning light. Rand pulled the car forward, rounded several trees and slowly rolled back down the dirt road the way they came.
Sarah stirred on her lap as the bumps shook them gently from side to side. She looked up at Christine and smiled.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Christine whispered and stroked her hair.
Sarah blinked and glanced at Rand and Avery in the front seats. She lay her head back down and snuggled in closer to Christine with her arms tucked in tight.
Christine watched her. She was so beautiful and so innocent. The thought of someone trying to hurt Sarah caused a feeling of rage deep inside of her, and it was growing. She no longer cared about herself; all she wanted to do was keep Sarah safe. And she would fight to the very end to do it.
Rand pulled the Dodge back out onto the road and continued south, while the girls in the back watched the rising sun through the opposite side window.
Avery tucked the shotgun down next to his door and reached into the back seat next to them. He pulled a second bag out of the larger duffle bag and unzipped it, handing each girl an energy bar and bottle of water.
He smiled. “I know it’s not exactly a continental breakfast.”
The girls took them appreciatively. After Avery turned back around, Christine opened a wrapper and handed the bar to Sarah with a wink. She grabbed it with her small hands and winked back.
“Is that what a grandpa is like?” Sarah whispered.
Christine almost laughed. Aside from his white hair and some wrinkles, Avery was almost as far as you could get from a traditional grandfather. But just as quickly, Christine suddenly felt a sadness in her heart, wondering what had happened to Sarah’s grandfathers. How much disappointment did this girl have to endure?
Amid the Shadows Page 17
