Cyber Attack

by Tim Washburn

  Hank relays the name and the corporal writes it down before waving them through. Hank follows the feeder road to the parking lot and slots the Mustang into a spot under a large oak tree.

  “Aren’t you worried about birds crapping on your precious car?”

  “They do a good job of keepin’ the birds away from here.” Hank reaches over, pops the glove box, and grabs his pistol.

  “What type of trouble are you expecting at the stock exchange?”

  Hank pushes open his door. “It’s not the stock exchange I’m worried about.”

  “Are you worried they’re going to cut the power to Manhattan?”

  He and Paige pile out of the car and Hank seats the pistol in his holster. “If I was, I’m a little less worried now.

  The roar of jet engines reverberates off the nearby hangars and Hank looks up to see their jet, a Gulfstream IV, touching down. He pops the trunk, busts a gut unloading Paige’s suitcase, and grabs his bag and a couple of FBI Windbreakers. He puts his on and tosses the other to Paige, pausing before closing the lid, wondering if he should grab more firepower. He has another go bag in the trunk that contains another pistol, an M16, a Browning 12-gauge shotgun, and extra ammo for each weapon. He unzips the bag and reaches in, grabbing two extra clips for the Glock 22. He closes the trunk and drops the extra clips into the pocket of his Windbreaker as they head for the jet.

  Hank feels a tad bit guilty when Paige struggles to get her suitcase up the steps, but she packed it, and the way Hank looks at it, it’s a teaching moment. He follows her up the stairs and the pilot ducks his head out of the cockpit. He and Hank fist-bump. “How you doin’, Donnie?” Hank asks.

  “I’m good, Hank. New York’s kinda tame for you, isn’t it?”

  “I bet I can still find my way into some trouble. Who’s playin’ second fiddle?”

  “Theresa Slayton.” Donnie steps aside and Hank sticks his head into the cockpit.

  “How you doin’, Theresa?”

  “I’d be better if you’d take me on a date, Hank,” Slayton says.

  Hank chuckles. “Maybe one of these days our schedules will sync up. You keep a close eye on Donnie, here. He’s gettin’ mighty old to be drivin’ these jet planes.” Hank ducks back out.

  Donnie laughs. “I’m not that damn old, Hank. We’re ready when you are.”

  “Let’s roll.” Hank walks deeper into the cabin and takes a seat across the aisle from Paige.

  Paige nods toward the cockpit. “Buddies of yours?”

  “It’s always good to make friends with the people who hold your life in their hands.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Chicago

  Peyton Lynch pulls her polo shirt away from her torso, hoping the faint movement of air through the lobby will dry the sweat dripping down her back. Descending seventeen flights of stairs in a building with no air-conditioning is a hot, tiring task, especially carrying an overloaded bag and two large umbrellas. And to make matters worse, Peyton picked today to wear that new pencil skirt and matching heels she bought on sale last week. She prowled through the goody closet looking for something else to wear, but the advertisers usually ship their smallest garments that are designed to fit the emaciated models and Peyton didn’t have a prayer of finding anything that would fit. Even with that she thought about shucking the skirt several times on the way down, and probably would have if she hadn’t decided to wear a thong to avoid the dreaded panty lines. Letting go of her shirt, she walks over to the window. The storms have moved on but they left behind a thick layer of humidity that seeps through every crack and crevice of the large lobby. Peyton still hasn’t heard from Eric, so her plan is to camp out here until he arrives.

  Standing next to the wall of glass, Peyton pulls out her phone to see if a change in location has improved her chances for getting a signal. It hasn’t. The result is the same—no service. During her trek down, she’d mulled over the few snippets of conversation from the phone call with her sister. The words that Peyton dwelled on, and continues to dwell on, are when Paige said “get out.” Did she mean out of the building? Out of the condo? Or is it something more sinister, like get out of the city? Peyton wonders about that for a moment. Paige works for the FBI and usually knows the scoop on what’s going on. Could the power be out for an extended period of time?

  Peyton grabs her bag and the umbrellas and drifts over to one of the sitting areas positioned around the lobby. She kicks off her shoes and gently massages her arches, keeping her hands well away from the nasty blisters that have bubbled up on both heels. She brushes her dark hair out of her eyes and scans the lobby. Usually bustling with people, the lobby now feels like a tomb. The two guards who usually man the large circular desk in the center of the room are either attending to some crisis or they’ve abandoned their post. The ground-floor space inside the building was carved up to attract high-end retail, but most spaces remain vacant and have been that way since Peyton took the job at Brown, Wright, Zuker, Tomlinson & Qualls five years ago. The only successful venture is the small sundry store and newsstand that occupies the northeastern corner of the building.

  “Shoot,” Peyton mumbles, thinking about the cramped store and its small selection of food items. That’s one thing she hasn’t thought about. And if Paige’s intent is for them to get out of the city, it’s going to be a major problem because the pantry back at the condo is about as bare as the grocery store shelves before a blizzard.

  Peyton digs through her overstuffed bag, pulls out her purse, and unzips it to retrieve her wallet. Knowing the probabilities are low for her having more than twenty dollars cash, she opens her wallet to check. Yep, a twenty-dollar bill is it. She has half a dozen credit cards, but they’re just worthless pieces of plastic at the moment. Unless . . .

  Peyton stands, throws her bag over her shoulder, and looks down at her shoes then at the blisters on her heels. “Screw it,” she mutters. She leans over, crams the umbrellas and shoes under the chair, and pads across the lobby and down the corridor to the small store. She sticks her head through the door. “Ranjeet?”

  “Yes?” a voice calls from the rear of the store. A moment later, Ranjeet appears. “Peyton. Come in.” At five-six, Ranjeet might weigh 110 pounds if he stood in the rain for an hour before stepping on the scales. Immigrants from India, he and his family took over the lease and purchased the contents of the store about five years ago. He and Peyton became fast friends after only her second visit.

  “Are you open?” Peyton asks, stepping inside.

  “For cash customers, always open.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Ranjeet,” Peyton says, crossing her fingers. “I only have twenty bucks cash and I was wondering if you would be willing to take an imprint of my credit card and run it through the system when the power is restored.”

  Ranjeet thinks it over for a moment. “For you, Peyton, of course.” He leads her over to the front counter and hands her a small shopping basket. “You think storms cause power outage?”

  “Maybe. I just hope that it comes back on soon.” Peyton feels a little guilty, but in reality she doesn’t know any more about the situation than Ranjeet does, other than that very ambiguous phone call from Paige. She heads down the aisle with her basket.

  Ranjeet doesn’t stock a lot of food items, but he does have a can or two of various soups, some Spam and Vienna sausages, and a few tins of canned pasta that Peyton hasn’t eaten since she was about six years old. Nevertheless, they go in the basket along with the other items. Peyton wanders up and down the aisles. Most of Ranjeet’s inventory consists of grab-and-go items for the building’s condo owners. She finds a small section of nutritional supplement items and loads up on granola bars and protein power bars. The rest of the store’s inventory is mostly candy, chips, gum, and a rack full of tabloid magazines. Peyton walks to the front and places her basket on the counter.

  “No water?” Ranjeet asks. “That is usually first thing to go.”

  “Damn. I did
n’t even think about that.” That’s when the magnitude of the situation hits her. There’s not going to be any water, or air-conditioning, or lighting, or any way to use the bathroom for the foreseeable future, if she’s interpreting Paige’s few words correctly. “Do you have a couple of cases of the small bottles of water?”

  “I can spare one, Peyton. I need water for my family, also.” Ranjeet turns and grabs a case of water from behind the counter.

  “Thank you, Ranjeet. You’re a lifesaver.”

  Ranjeet smiles. He pulls out his calculator and tallies up the items and piles them into Peyton’s bag. She passes him her card and he uses a pencil to shade the card’s information on a slip of paper.

  “You can have my twenty if you want,” Peyton offers.

  “No, you keep, Peyton. Credit card fine.”

  Peyton grabs the case of water and balances her bag on top then pauses before picking it up. “Ranjeet, how much water are you saving for your family?”

  “Two cases.”

  Peyton knows there are at least six people in Ranjeet’s household and maybe more. “You’re going to need a lot more than that.”

  Ranjeet looks at her with a bewildered expression on his face. “Why?”

  “The power may be off for quite a while.”

  “How long, Peyton?”

  “I don’t know. But you need to hang on to as much water as you can.”

  “How much?”

  “Let me put it to you this way, Ranjeet—I wouldn’t let another bottle of water leave the store.”

  “Oh my. Okay. Okay. Thank you, Peyton. You be safe.”

  Peyton leans across the counter and gives Ranjeet a hug. “I will. Same to you and your family.” Peyton grabs her items and exits the store.

  CHAPTER 19

  Davison Army Airfield, Fort Belvoir, Virginia

  Now aboard the jet as it taxis toward the runway, Paige makes one more attempt to call her sister, but, as expected, the call won’t go through. She types out a quick e-mail to Peyton outlining what she knows about the power situation and hits send. She’s hoping that Peyton’s phone will eventually ping an active cell tower and the e-mail will automatically download. Options for contacting her sister exhausted, Paige scrolls to her favorites menu, touches her mother’s picture, and puts the phone to her ear.

  Her mother, Frances, answers on the second ring. “Paige, what in the world is going on? I’ve tried to call your sister several times after I found out Chicago was without power, but nothing happens.”

  “I managed to get a call through and talked to Peyton for a few seconds. I tried to tell her to get out of the city.”

  “Out of the city? Why? Surely they’ll have the power back on soon.”

  Paige glances out the oval window as the jet accelerates down the tarmac. “Listen, Mom, there are a lot of strange things going on. We’re dealing with some type of cyber attack and I’m now on a jet headed to New York City, so I don’t know how long I’ll have a signal. If Peyton manages to make contact, you need to tell her to get out of town as soon as possible. Tell her that she and Eric need to head for your house. The power in Chicago could be out for an extended length of time.”

  “Oh, my word. How long?”

  “I don’t know for sure, Mom, but it could be weeks—maybe months.”

  “Oh my.” There’s a pause then Frances says, “Should . . . should I drive up to Chicago and pick them up?”

  The aircraft shudders slightly as the plane takes flight. “Absolutely not. You stay where you are. Peyton’s smart. She’ll figure it out.”

  “But they could be in danger.”

  “That’s why I don’t want you driving up there. Eric’s resourceful. He can navigate their way out of the city.”

  “I hope you’re right, Paige. And what are you doing? Can’t you please just stay home? Why do you have to go to New York?”

  “I’m working, Mom. I don’t have time for specifics, but New York City might be our best chance to discover who’s responsible for these attacks.”

  As Paige’s phone conversation continues, Hank pulls his computer out and places it on his lap. Before raising the screen he takes a moment to study Paige. She’d changed clothes back at her place and gone are the Doc Martens, the jeans, and the T-shirt. Taking their place is a pair of tailored navy slacks, a sleeveless lightweight gray sweater, and a pair of navy peep-toe wedges that show just enough of her toes for Hank to see her nails painted a royal blue. The clothes are a perfect fit and, judging by the quality of the material, he has no doubt they were expensive. He allows his gaze to travel up her body. Paige’s shoulder-length, straight, dark hair is blended with auburn highlights and, when she tucks it behind her ear—a habit he noticed quickly—he catches a glimpse of her simple, yet elegant diamond teardrop earrings.

  Paige glances up and catches Hank staring. Embarrassed, he looks away, but it’s not long before his gaze drifts back to her. With an oval-shaped face, her high arching eyebrows act as a perfect frame for her tantalizing green irises. She’s tall and willowy thin, but Hank can see the ropy muscles in her forearms as she grasps the phone. Overall, she’s very attractive and Hank wonders, again, about the lack of a significant other in the pictures on her fireplace mantel. Not that it’s any of his business, but he is curious.

  Paige looks up to catch Hank staring again. She arches her brows in a questioning look and Hank sheepishly lifts the lid on his laptop and hits the power button. Moments later, Paige wraps up her phone conversation and asks, “Do I have something on my face?”

  “No,” Hank says.

  “What is it, then?”

  Hank squirms in his seat. “Nothing. I guess I was daydreaming.”

  “Uh. Most people stare out the window or at something in the middle distance when they’re daydreaming. You sure you weren’t checking me out?”

  Hank’s cheeks flush red.

  “That’s okay. I did some checking out of my own while you were driving.”

  Hank is suddenly desperate to change the subject. “So your mom hasn’t heard from Peyton, either?”

  “No. She wanted to drive to Chicago and look for her and Eric.”

  “I hope you talked her out of it.”

  “I did. She can’t navigate the Chicago traffic on a good day. I can’t imagine what traffic is like now that the signal lights aren’t working.”

  “It’ll be a mess,” Hank says. “But I think traffic problems will soon be way down the list of things to worry about for the Chicago PD.”

  “How do you know this? Can you see the future, too?”

  “No, smartass. I was assigned to one of the agency’s Critical Incident Response Groups when Hurricane Sandy hit. Lootin’ began before the storm even passed. And it wasn’t just the lootin’. You’d be surprised what humans can do to one another in enormously stressful situations.”

  Paige shudders. “I can only imagine. I just hope Eric and Peyton can get out of the city.”

  Hank’s phone dings. He pulls it out of his pocket and lights the screen to see a text from Mercer. He unlocks the screen and reads through the message and mutters, “Jesus.”

  “What now?”

  “The hackers hit several chemical manufacturers. Somehow they triggered the release of some pretty nasty stuff.”

  “Anything around Manhattan?”

  “Not yet, but it’s probably comin’.”

  Paige sighs. “What makes you think that?”

  “They’ll be targetin’ the most densely populated areas,” Hank answers, “hopin’ to get the most bang for their buck.”

  “I just hope there’s something left of this country when we do find out who’s responsible.”

  “Stuff like this pisses me off,” Hank says. “We’ve known for years that these chemical plants are vulnerable to either a conventional attack or a cyber attack, and no one’s done a damn thing about it.”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  Hank drops the phone on the empty seat next
to him. “No. But that doesn’t make it any less frustratin’.”

  “So far we haven’t heard about the hackers attacking any of the federal government’s networks, but you have to believe they’ve infiltrated those. And that frightens me way more than these chemical plants.”

  “What are you thinkin’?” Hank asks.

  “What’s the one thing that’s been proven to be vulnerable by the government accounting office?”

  “Some of the military weapons?”

  Paige nods. “Yep.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Mudiyah, Abyan Governorate, Yemen

  July 14, 2011

  TARGET: Al-Qaeda

  CONFIRMED KILLED: 50

  CIVILIANS KILLED: 30

  Eighteen-year-old Jermar Bakal is enjoying his last few days at home before beginning his journey halfway around the world to a place he’d never been before—Boston, Massachusetts. All of the prep work has been completed online and all the financial documents regarding his scholarship have been signed. Jermar is both excited and apprehensive about his prospects. An excellent student, in sixth grade he was plucked from his local school by a ministry of education official and enrolled in a special program through the University of Science and Technology in Sana’a. That was the first time Jermar had ever been away from home and the adjustments in the beginning were difficult. But over time, Jermar flourished, finishing first in his class.

  Today, the day is hot, the temps pushing close to 37 degrees Celsius with a light breeze out of the east. That’s one thing Jermar is not going to miss—the oppressive, merciless heat. While Jermar is busy packing, his mother is out in the garden picking fresh vegetables for lunch. He steps over to his small desk, searching for his passport. When he doesn’t find it he walks across the room and sticks his head out the door to ask his mother. And that’s when he hears a peculiar whistling noise. Before Jermar’s brain can interpret the sound, the house next door explodes, launching shrapnel in all directions and knocking him to the ground. He scrambles back up, shouting his mother’s name. He stumbles through the door and hurries out to the garden.