by Ken Fite
“What kind of questions did they ask you, Sam?”
The man got quiet as I took a seat on the sidewalk and joined him underneath the awning in front of the entrance to some business that had closed down months ago. “Sammy?” I said, trying to get him to talk.
“I don’t know who these guys are, but they were asking me a lot of questions about some fellow named Blake Jordan,” he said and paused to look at me. “Said they needed to find the guy, that it was important.” My heart started to beat faster as he continued the story. “Told them I didn’t know who they were talking about. So they described him. Five feet eleven. Short brown hair. Hazel eyes. Said I didn’t know the guy.”
Sammy got quiet.
“Then what happened?” I asked, although I already had an idea where this was going.
“They said, ‘Sure you do.’ One of the guys picked me up and slammed me against this wall right here. Grabbed my neck and started to squeeze. They said they had seen me talking to him a few times and wanted to know where the guy lived. I told them that I didn’t know anyone by the name of Blake.” He paused again before adding, “Told them I live on the street. I talk to a lot of people out here, you know.”
I turned and looked over my shoulder as another car passed us. “They leave you alone after that?”
Sammy shrugged again. “The guy let go of me and smiled real big. Then he busted me in the gut, man.” He looked down to his right. “Fell on top of my shopping cart, got the wind knocked right out of me. The guys said they’d be back, and the next time they came to visit me, I had better have some answers for them.”
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end as I wondered if we were being watched right now. “Sammy,” I said, “do you know where Carpenter’s Shelter is? Five blocks west of here?”
He nodded.
“Good. I need you to get your stuff together and head over there right now. Can you do that for me?”
He furrowed his brow, not happy with my request. “Don’t like that place. Besides, this is my spot, Frank.”
“I know, but this is important,” I said, thinking about the Russian men and the warning I had been given six months ago. “I don’t think it’s safe out here.”
The man shook his head.
“Come on. I’ll walk with you.”
After a few seconds, he started nodding. “Alright, man. But only until I can think of a new place. And you gotta find me wherever I end up and keep bringing me that coffee,” he said as he crouched down and started to transfer some of his things into the shopping cart. I set my book down and helped him. “Deal?”
I smiled as we set the last of his things into the cart and I picked my book up from the sidewalk. “Deal.”
We walked the five blocks, and I asked Sammy to describe the men. He said they were foreign and spoke with heavy accents. He wasn’t sure where they were from, but knew for sure that English wasn’t their first language. I kept looking over my shoulder and scanning the streets until we finally arrived at Carpenter’s Shelter. I knocked on the door and spoke with a woman who told me that they were full, and I explained Sammy’s situation. Finally, she agreed to let him stay for a few days.
The woman gestured for him to enter, and he popped his cart up over the threshold and smiled at me.
“Okay, Sammy,” I said as I took a few steps back and started to leave. “I’ll find you in a couple of days.”
I turned and walked back toward the sidewalk. “Okay, Blake,” I heard the man say behind me.
Realizing what he had said, I turned around, only to see him walk farther inside the shelter as the woman smiled at me and closed the door behind them. I smiled to myself and looked north on Henry Street, scanning the area before heading south, back toward the Kingsley, and deciding to take a circuitous path to get back home. As I did, I wondered who the two men were who had roughed Sammy up a few days ago. Someone was looking for me. I didn’t know who they were or what they wanted. But I needed to find out.
SIX
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, I arrived back at the Kingsley. Taking the stairs to my third-floor apartment, I unlocked the door and opened it carefully, wishing that I had my weapon on me before I entered. Gently closing the door behind me, I stepped into the kitchen to my left, opened one of the drawers, and grabbed my Glock 22 that I had hidden there, before I proceeded to walk through the apartment.
Rays of sunlight broke through the blinds in my bedroom and illuminated the area, helping me navigate the otherwise dark space since I had decided to keep the lights off after entering my apartment. I was relieved when I cleared all of the rooms and decided that the two guys that Sammy had warned me about hadn’t figured out where I lived. Not yet, at least. Setting my Glock down on top of my dresser, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as I emptied my pockets while trying to figure out who the men could be.
The last thing I pulled from my pockets was a diamond ring, something I had been carrying with me every day for the last six months. It was a reminder of the decision that I had made one cold January night in New York. A decision to break the curse of losing everyone I ever cared about by walking away from Jami.
I loved her more than anything, and on New Year’s Eve, I had planned on proving that to her. And in a way, I did. Walking away from Jami was the hardest thing I had ever done. But what I needed even more was for Jami to be safe. And for me, that meant loving her from a distance. Holding the ring up to my eyes, I stared at it for a moment, thinking about what could have been, and finally set it down and changed out of my dress shirt and slacks and put on a shirt and jeans. I stared at myself in the mirror, then went to the window and looked out through the closed blinds to scan the busy street below my apartment.
I had noticed that there was a CCTV camera across the street from where Sammy had been staying. I figured I could make a few phone calls and get access to the footage from that camera, but Sam had said that the incident happened a couple of days ago. I knew that with every passing day, getting access to that footage would become more difficult. I walked to the dresser and grabbed my cell phone to call in a favor.
But my phone was completely drained and wouldn’t turn on, which I thought was strange. It had been at least an hour since I had checked it, just before I left the White House after breakfast with Keller. I found my charger, plugged it in, and set my cell on the dresser and stared at it, wondering if I was being tracked.
A loud knock at the door startled me. My first thought was about the men that I knew were looking for me.
I grabbed my weapon and quickly approached the front door to my apartment.
I moved quickly, aiming my weapon at the floor as I went. There was another knock, louder this time. I crept closer, looked through the peephole, and saw a man on the other side with his back turned away.
Taking a deep breath, I gripped my Glock tighter in my right hand, grabbed the door handle with my left, and opened it. I reached out, grabbed the man’s shirt, and was about to push him against the wall when I realized that I knew him. I loosened my grip, lowered my weapon, and looked past him down the hallway.
“Blake, take it easy,” said the familiar voice.
“What are you doing here?” I asked my friend and partner over at the FBI, Chris Reed.
Reed looked me over, straightened his shirt, and nodded to the door. “Well, if you promise not to kill me, maybe we can go inside and talk about it.”
I looked down the hallway again.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I gestured for him to enter as I tucked the gun into the small of my back and followed him inside.
Closing the door behind me, I locked it and turned the kitchen light on. “A couple of guys are looking for me,” I said as I walked around to the other side of the small island in the middle of the kitchen, placed my hands on top of the counter, and leaned against it. “I just found out about it a little while ago. Heard the knock on the door and thought for a second I might be in trouble,” I sa
id and looked up at my friend.
“Who are they? And why are they looking for you?” asked Reed.
I shook my head and thought about it. “Don’t know yet,” I replied and looked back down. “They were giving some homeless guy that I’ve talked with a few times a hard time. They described what I looked like to him.” I shook my head slowly before adding, “I think they’ve been following me. Maybe watching me.”
Reed crossed his arms and looked at me sideways. “Aren’t you tired of this?”
“Tired of what?”
“Living like this. Always looking over your shoulder. Sleeping with one eye open. Blake, I’ve known you for a long time now,” he said and paused briefly, looking me over, choosing his words carefully. “First as my boss, now as my partner and friend. I’m worried about you, man. Mark, Morgan, Jami—we’re all worried.”
“I’m fine, Chris.”
“You don’t look fine. You look tired, like you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks, maybe months.”
I stood up straight, removing my hands from the counter that I was leaning on, and started to rub my eyes. “Chris, is there a reason why you stopped by?” I asked. “Or did you just want to give me a hard time? Because I could really use your help with trying to figure out who these two guys are and what they want.”
Reed stared at me briefly before explaining the reason for his visit. “Been trying to call for half an hour.”
“Phone died,” I said. “Not sure why, it had a full charge a few hours ago.” I stepped into my bedroom, grabbed my phone, and yanked the charger from the wall. I went back into the kitchen and plugged the charger into a closer outlet and turned on my cell to check on the charge. “Tell me what’s going on, Chris?”
“Let me call Morgan,” said Reed as he reached into his pocket, found his cell, and called Department of Domestic Counterterrorism analyst Morgan Lennox. A man, like Chris Reed, who had worked for me back in Chicago when I ran the first DDC field office as special agent in charge. Reed had been my assistant SAIC before we were both fired for the actions we took while trying to save then-Senator Keller’s life.
Chris put the call on speakerphone and set his cell phone down on the counter in between us. It rang once.
“Morgan Lennox,” the Australian-born analyst answered.
“Morgan, it’s Chris Reed. I have Blake here with me.”
“Been trying to reach you for a while, mate,” said the data-analytics guy from the DDC office in Chicago.
“Go ahead, Morgan,” I said. “Bring me up to speed.”
“Hang on,” said Lennox as I stared at Chris, hearing Morgan typing frantically in the background. Finally, the typing stopped. I heard him pull the receiver away from his face and answer a question before coming back on the line. “Okay. There’s a cyberattack in progress, and I’m trying to help stop it.” Before I could ask how bad the attack was, Morgan answered my question. “It’s ransomware, Blake. It’s spreading across the country at a very rapid rate. And it looks like it was introduced into the network right here in Chicago.”
SEVEN
I CROSSED MY arms and stared at Reed’s cell phone on the counter, processing what Morgan had said. “What do you mean introduced into the network in Chicago? Are you saying that DDC was hit by this?”
“No,” replied Morgan as Chris and I heard him start typing again in the background, multitasking while trying to also bring us up to speed. “I’m working with Simon Harris at the Washington DDC field office over by you guys, and based on what we’re seeing, the virus is spreading at an exponential rate, and the highest concentration of impacted machines is in the Chicago area. This thing is just out of control, mate.”
“Tell me more,” I said. “Is this a repeat of the attack we had six months ago?”
“Nothing like that, Blake,” replied Chris. “That was a DDoS attack against the network. This is malware.”
“Ransomware, to be precise,” said Morgan.
“Explain,” I said.
“A particularly nasty type of malware,” said Morgan as Chris raised the volume on his cell. “It blocks access to a computer or, more specifically, its data and demands money to release it. It moves from computer to computer and hides itself inside documents and other files. It’s programmed so that if you don’t pay the ransom within a few hours, the price doubles. You enter a credit card number and pay the ransom, it’s supposed to give you access to your data—but that’s not how this particular strain is working.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Morgan cleared his throat. “With this one, you pay the ransom, and nothing happens. Actually, it doesn’t even look like the payment is going through. We’ve tested it, and the charge isn’t hitting credit cards at all.”
I shook my head. “So then what are we dealing with here? Some high school hacker having some fun?”
“I don’t think so,” replied Morgan. “I’ve seen something like this before, after the NSA breach where the Shadow Agents hacking group broke in and accessed government cyberwarfare programs. Simon and I are looking at the code, and it looks similar to what was stolen and went up for auction online at that time. I’m not saying it’s the same group that’s responsible, but the base code that I’m seeing looks very similar.”
“So they don’t want money,” I said. “They want to see how much damage they can do. Could be worse.”
“It is a lot worse, Blake. And, Chris, this is an update I haven’t even given you yet.”
I looked up at Reed and waited for Morgan to continue.
“The hackers aren’t targeting everyday citizens. I told you that the highest concentration of this is in the Chicago area. Well, from what Simon and I can tell, it’s inside every hospital located within a hundred-mile radius. And since so many hospitals are owned by a handful of companies now, they’re all on the same network, which is just helping the malware spread even faster. We still need to pinpoint the exact location of where the attack started, but for now, we’re just trying to stop this thing.”
“Why would they be targeting hospitals?” I asked. Chris and I stared at each other as I started to realize what was going on. “Oh my God,” I said in a low voice. “These people want to cripple the hospital system. Doctors, healthcare workers—they’re relying on those systems being up and running.” Chris nodded and dropped his gaze as I thought about the broader implications. “Have we heard from any of the hospitals?”
“Not directly,” replied Lennox. “I can only imagine that hospital staff are in a bit of a panic right now. There are others besides Simon and me trying to stop this. Chris, you want to fill Blake in on that piece?”
Reed looked up at me again. “Blake, you know that the Bureau is the lead federal agency for investigating cyberattacks,” he said, and I nodded. “The Cyber Division at the Hoover Building is taking a look at this.”
I thought about Roger Shapiro at DDC Chicago and Chris’s boss at the Bureau, Bill Landry. The two had created a strong partnership between the two agencies lately, so it wasn’t a surprise that they were working together on this.
“Okay, Morgan,” Reed continued, “what do you need from us? How can we help?”
“Can you head over to the DDC field office over by you guys? Simon and I are heads down on this thing. Jami’s assisting where she can while she waits on Lynne May to arrive, but she could use some help.”
I knew of May, the new special agent in charge at DDC Washington. I thought about what Morgan was asking us to do. It wouldn’t be unusual, given the relationship between DDC and the Bureau, for Chris Reed to help them out. And given my unique position within President Keller’s administration, I had clearance to work with any federal agency on matters of domestic terrorism. I remained quiet, thinking about seeing Jami again.
“Guys?” Morgan said as I became fully present again and looked over at Chris.
“We’re on our way,” replied Reed.
“Thanks, mate,” said Morgan, and the line wa
s disconnected.
Chris grabbed his cell, dropped it in his pocket, and headed for the door. “Let’s roll,” he said as he walked.
Opening my front door, he turned around and saw me still standing in the same spot. “What’s wrong?”
I slowly shook my head. “I’m not going, Chris.”
“Why not? Because of Jami?”
“No, because I don’t think I’m needed on this one,” I lied. “I’ll give you a call later and check in, okay?”
“Blake, you know that—”
“Chris,” I said, interrupting my friend, “Morgan is more than capable of finding the source of the ransomware and stopping it. And it sounds like this guy Simon is all over it, too. Not to mention all of your guys,” I said, referring to the Bureau’s Cyber Division. “There’s nothing I can do. I’ll just be in the way.”
Reed stood at the door. “So what are you gonna do, Blake? Stay here and do nothing? Morgan said that Jami could use some help over there. Don’t turn your back on her—again,” he added after pausing a beat.
I walked over to my cell and picked it up, confirming that it was charging quickly, and showed it to Chris. “You should be able to get a hold of me now if you really need me,” I said, setting my phone back down.
Reed stared at me coldly. “What the hell happened to you, man?” he asked and waited for my response.
But I didn’t say a word—I just stared at him from across the room.
“The president asked you to form an off-the-books black ops team. We’re not operating like a team, Blake. We’ve been through a hell of a lot together. But for the last six months, you’ve disconnected from the group. We’re supposed to be a team.”
