by D. B. Goodin
Next, he checked his scrapping data and found 901 of them had registered email addresses and social media accounts. He used another spider tool to capture all possible correlations to grab other real-world information such as names, birthdays, and sometimes addresses and phone numbers.
People leave a wealth of information for me to find.
“I love it when people make my job easier,” Freeman said, laughing.
By the end of the evening, he had to be able to dox more than five hundred users. He cross-referenced those users with the database he had dumped earlier for the Magi world site, where he’d been so rudely insulted earlier.
Time for some further analysis.
Further examination revealed the Magi world database not only had real names, addresses, and card information. But it also contained fields for social security numbers, credit scores, and other things like the percentage of available credit and online shopping histories.
They are not only profiling their users—they are seeing when it’s the best time to steal their identity.
As Freeman sifted through the code, he acquired from various ProgHub repository pages, he spotted something unusual. References to a repository called Bad Actor Punishment appeared on the list.
What can this be? Freeman thought.
As Freeman scanned the code, he gasped
I think I just found a suitable delivery system.
After spending the better part of a week collecting code, hiring programmers, and securing the processing power and network bandwidth from less-than-reputable internet service providers, Freeman was almost ready. He found his delivery system by mistake when looking for random exploit code for the Colossal Machine.
His red phone chirped. It was his new benefactor.
“Hello D, I suppose you’re calling about the status of your project,” he said upon answering.
“Yes, among other things,” she replied. “Are we ready for deployment?”
“Almost, I’m still assembling code. I may have had a breakthrough on the delivery system. I should have it ready in a few days.”
“Good, I need the code fully operational in less than a week. And I need you to provide a demonstration to my colleagues. I’m sending you the funds to cover the costs of travel,” Dahlia said.
“Travel? I thought I would make myself available remotely.”
“No, you’re too far away, I need you in Newport in four days.”
That’s a Thursday, I can make that work . . . I think.
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
“Good, and one other thing. When the malware gets deployed, how will the Cabal protect its machines?”
“The malware detects and exploits a vulnerability in more than ninety-one percent of machines running High Tower operating system (HTOS). It’s the most popular OS in the world. My machine runs Hally Ninex, and ChangeOS, another Ninex variant.”
“Wait a minute, let me see if I understood you. If I’m running this ChangeOS, or the latest version of HTOS, I’m not vulnerable to the exploit?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“What about anti-virus programs? Will they detect it?” Dahlia asked.
“This custom malware I’m developing is a zero-day exploit. That means no anti-virus mechanism in the world can detect it—yet. So we need a swift delivery system. We need as many systems affected as possible.”
“Okay, so we need to identify the OS our targets are using. How can we accomplish that?”
“Hmmm, it shouldn’t be too difficult. I subscribe to a service called ShowALLD. It scans every machine connected to the internet for out-of-date versions. I can correlate the public IPs that it has with our targets. It will take a day just to do that.”
“Just make sure you’re ready by Friday,” Dahlia said as she disconnected.
Nigel found a quiet place to work atop a pile of boxes. He routed an extension cord he found in a nearby closet to his high perch. Skylights provided plenty of natural light, for now.
Nigel studied the flow of network traffic that led out of Jeremiah Mason’s compound that his daughter Melissa maintained as a rehabilitation center.
There’s something odd about this traffic—a dedicated circuit routes to the internet service provider, as expected. But there is another connection that keeps going offline. Time to get a closer look.
Nigel scanned the IP range where the Edinburgh facility connected to the compound. At least seventy percent of all available addresses were in use.
Either someone has a lot of external connections, or a server farm is in use.
After some additional scans, Nigel outputted all the services that were in use. Most appeared to be mundane, well-known server ports that resembled web traffic. At least one connection used at least half of the entire facility’s available bandwidth.
That is suspicious.
Nigel used the two-way radio feature on his cell phone to contact Melissa.
“Hey, Mel, do you have a server farm running at your facility?” Nigel asked.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Is it possible Leviathan may still be accessing systems there? I’m seeing a large encrypted set of data flow from your compound to the internet.”
“Any idea of who it might be communicating with?” Melissa asked.
“No, but I’m willing to bet it is connected to Leviathan, wherever it may be hiding.”
“Can you break the encryption?”
“I already tried decoding some packets, but it will require more processing power than I have access to,” Nigel replied. Then he saw something. “Wait, I see a connection that may be of interest.” He pulled up the logs at the Edinburgh facility. “I think I have found a lead after all.”
“That’s great! I may have found a facility for Brody to perform Treeka’s examination. It is a proper medical office in Brooklyn,” Melissa said.
“So long as it has a decent internet connection and an actual chair for me to sit on, I’m all for a location change.”
“Keep working on tracing that connection while I get us better accommodations.”
Nigel resumed his reconnaissance.
Melissa entered the penthouse suite at the Roxy Hotel. She was about to disrobe and take a long hot bath when an incessant rapping sound boomed through the suite. When she answered the door, George was standing there with an urgent look.
“What is it?” Melissa asked.
He walked into the room and closed the door.
“You need to see this,” he said.
George handed Melissa a tablet. It looked like grainy video footage of a woman. Melissa couldn’t see the image clearly.
“So, what am I looking at?”
“This is some footage taken at your compound in Edinburgh. Now look at the next photo.”
Melissa swiped to reveal the next photo in the series. She gasped.
“Is this the same person that attacked us in Edinburgh?”
“Yes,” George replied. “The second photo was taken from a security camera in Chinatown last night. It showed a woman with white hair decapitating people near a noodle shop in the area.”
“The first photo is grainy—are you sure it’s the same person?”
“I had my top investigator authenticate both photos—it’s the same woman in both photos.”
Melissa’s heart sank.
Is this woman looking for April?
“Do we have any information about who she is?”
“Yes, she is known as Noz the Dark in the criminal underworld. I believe her name is Nozomi.”
“Excellent work. Increase the guard—but I don’t want an army of men following us around.”
“I’ve got the perfect man in mind. His name is Klaus, and he is professionally trained and very discreet.”
George rechecked the suite, and when he was satisfied it was secure, he left Melissa to her thoughts.
Chapter 11
Meanwhile, somewhere across the Atlantic Ocean
&nb
sp; Nasri Zubayr Hadad, otherwise known as the Sultan, sat in the stateroom of his magnificent yacht. It would be several days before he would reach his destination in Lisbon. He would spend the time gathering information about the meetings to come and continue to conduct meetings with his associates, when in range of the nearest satellite. Some of his new compatriots preferred the use of videoconferencing technology. The Sultan didn’t care for such devices, but he understood the appeal.
“Bring in Seymour,” the Sultan said to a nearby servant.
He didn’t have to wait long. Even with the massive size of his superyacht, it didn’t take long before anyone answered the Sultan’s calls—especially Seymour.
That man is insufferable, the Sultan thought, but he is a master at finding anyone.
“Yes, Your Highness?” Seymour said, entering the room.
“I have a job for you. I need you to find this man,” the Sultan said as he handed Seymour a folded note.
Seymour caressed the note, held it to his nose, and inhaled. A faint grin of pleasure could be seen on his face.
“What are you doing?” the Sultan asked.
“Oh, I just like the smell of your royal paper,” Seymour replied. “The scent of your twenty-four-pound bond is particularly captivating.”
“I will need that person in my presence by the time we dock in Lisbon.”
“That’s less than four days’ time.”
“Deliver, or suffer the consequences. Should I start reviewing resumes for my next chief of staff?”
“No, Sultan. Forgive my impertinence,” Seymour said.
“Take the helicopter back to port—have a member of the Dark Angels take you. I think Gerry is available. This man must be in my presence in four days’ time.”
“I pride myself on my thoroughness, which takes considerable time—”
“He lives in the United States, somewhere in the Dakotas, I think. That should give you enough time to convince him. Oh, I almost forgot—give this to him when you see him. Tell him Nas gives his regards.”
Seymour took a sealed envelope from the Sultan, and Seymour’s expression changed.
“This feels heavy,” he asked. “What’s in it?”
“That’s not your concern—bringing him here is.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Seymour said as he hurried away.
The cyborg Nozomi made it to her safe house in lower Manhattan. She opened her satchel and pulled out an object that resembled a full head of hair. As Nozomi pealed back the layers of hair and fleshy scalp, she found what she’d was looking for: a data core. She tapped her temple three times. An AR interface appeared. She scanned the data core with the AR interface built into her left eye and confirmed the data core was functional. She uploaded the data core’s metadata information via the stolen Wi-Fi connection that belonged to a neighboring apartment. The encryption slowed the data transfer, but she had time. She sensed Dr. Ash had been trying to reach her, but she was having too much fun extracting data cores. Soon she would have the treacherous Treeka’s and her sister’s information. Instead of a chirping noise, Nozomi’s cybernetic perception abilities and connection to Dr. Ash’s AI allowed her to detect when the doctor needed to speak.
I’d better call her back.
Nozomi accessed her communications menu and dialed Dr. Ash. She selected the audio-only option because she didn’t want Dr. Ash to see the bloody mess she had made with the data cores.
“Hello, dear, it’s about time you called me back,” Dr. Ash said.
“I trust your body is holding up okay?” Nozomi asked.
“Yes, quite well. Have you been able to locate Delta-51?”
“She’s no longer at the Edinburgh facility. Neither is anyone else,” Nozomi said, chuckling.
“Nozomi, what you have done?”
“Let’s just say no one from the Mason foundation will bother us any longer.”
“Nozomi, listen to me carefully. I want you to bring Delta-51 in, but you need to promise me you will not kill innocents.”
“I didn’t kill innocents, I killed enemy combatants.”
“Promise me, no more killing.”
Nozomi thought for a moment.
“Alright, no more killing civilians, but if another gunslinger tries to take another shot, they will be sorry.”
A thought occurred to Nozomi. Do we need to bring Delta-51 in, or just her core?
“What happens if I’m unable to bring Delta-51’s body back?” she asked. “I mean, what if there is an accident, and she is injured or dying? What then?”
“In such dire circumstances, we would want to preserve her data core,” Dr. Ash replied. “But a word of caution: Delta-51 is unique. She has absorbed a powerful AI. If you learn it is still active, you need to consult me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, that is clear, Dr. Ash.”
Thank you for giving me a loophole Dr. Ash. If Delta-51 doesn’t come I’m stealing her core.
“I have a lead on Delta-51’s location,” Dr. Ash continued. “Her last known location is in New York, close to our meeting in Newport, which is in three days’ time. I need you to rendezvous with me before entering the Bromwick Hotel. That is Mr. Chen’s territory. With any luck, you will find Delta-51 by then.”
“I will find her.”
“She has a bond with a woman named Josephine Smith, who goes by Jet. I have sent Jet’s dossier, along with her known associates, to your neural AR interface.”
Nozomi reviewed the information. She saw a photo of Nigel.
Ooh, the boy is kind of cute. I bet I can seduce him. It will be fun trying.
“I will analyze and scout ahead for clues,” Nozomi said. “Treeka might be with them.”
“Treeka is to be returned unharmed. You have authorization to dispatch her sister and extract her data core,” Dr. Ash replied.
I will extract all of their memory cores, and no one will be the wiser. Dr. Ash made me a hunter, and that’s what I shall do.
“Affirmative, I’ll provide another update soon,” Nozomi said.
“There’s one more detail that needs to be attended to,” Dr. Ash said.
“What’s that?”
“The data core is fragile—you need to transport it in a specialized container. It looks like a gray plastic bag. The outside of the bag will have some markings that resemble a lightning bolt with a circle and slash through it. It’s very important the data core be transported in the proper container.”
“If the data core is damaged, is there anything you can do to repair it?”
“I do not possess the technology to do so. I’ve tried partnering with chip makers before. It didn’t end well.”
“I’ll be careful when extracting the core,” Nozomi said.
“Thank you, young one. We are all counting on you to bring all your sisters home.”
Chapter 12
Long Island, New York, October 20th
The Sultan’s limo pulled up to the gravesite where his friend Tony Gratzano would be laid to rest. The dark gray skies emphasized his somber mood. He watched as Nico Gratzano, Tony’s son, comforted his mother. The woman clung to Nico as the casket of her late husband was lowered into the ground.
“They will pay for this, Ma, I promise,” Nico said.
Moments after Tony was laid to rest, the cloudy day turned into a torrent of wind and rain. The service was at the graveside, at the far end of the cemetery. Onlookers ran for cover under trees or inside open mausoleums. Nico and his mother took shelter in the crevice of a nearby tomb. The Sultan and the remainder of the funeral procession clustered together with black umbrellas; if someone had looked from above, the crowd would have resembled the carcass of a giant bat.
“Tony was a kind man, a family man, and he will be missed,” the priest said.
Afterward, the Sultan waited until most of the mourners had paid their respects to Nico and his mother before approaching.
“Mr. Gratzano, I came to pay my respects,” the Sultan said to Nico. “Tony
, your father, was a trusted associate, and he will be missed.”
“I appreciate you coming in person, Nas,” Nico said.
“Of course. If there is anything I can do to help the family, please let me know.”
“I think you can help me,” Nico said.
“Name it, and it will be done.”
“Do you have access to the security footage at the dock? I would sleep better knowing we’ve exhausted every lead before giving up.”
“I have cameras everywhere on my vessel, and I’ve already reviewed it.”
“What about the dock?”
“I can obtain it. I’ll put my best man on retrieving the footage. I should have it to you this evening.”
“Much appreciated. When are you going back home?”
“I have business in Newport in two days. Not sure if you are familiar with it, but it’s a seaport town about two hundred miles north of the city.”
“I would be honored if you could join us for dinner tonight,” Nico said.
“The honor would be mine.”
“Vince, a trusted member of the family, will give you the details. And Nas, thanks again for coming—it means a great deal to me,” Nico said.
Later that evening
The Sultan knocked on Nico Gratzano’s door, and a woman answered. She was in her mid-twenties and was dressed in black.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked.
Before the Sultan could respond, he heard a familiar voice calling for him.
“Nas, welcome to my home. Would you let our guest in, dear?" Nico said.
The woman stepped aside. She had the starstruck look of someone who was in the presence of a celebrity. The Sultan entered, and everyone gave him a wide berth. He was dressed in clothes that people in New York weren’t used to seeing. The djellaba made Nas look like royalty. Many of the Sultan’s men stood guard at each of the house’s doors.
“I’m Irene,” the woman said. “It’s good to meet you. Is Nas your proper name?”
“Nasri Zubayr Hadad is my birth name, but you may call me Nas, or the Sultan if you prefer.”
