by Dean Atwood
“It’s a simple case, but I doubt you’d want some high publicity one to come along at the same time you’re about to leave.”
“You’ve got that right. My retirement was confirmed yesterday, and Kathy has already made plans for our first international trip. She’d kill me if something work-related delayed it. It would have to be something really big for the bureaucrats to ask me to stay on longer.”
“Anything else we need to discuss this morning, boss?”
“No, that’s it. Keep your eyes and ears open about the task force.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
Quinton left Clinton’s office and went to his. The first thing he did after he arrived at his desk was to fire up his laptop. While it was booting up, he removed the digital fingerprint scanner from his desk drawer and scanned the lieutenant’s latent print from the Styrofoam cup.
It wasn’t like the old days when his dad was an FBI agent. There was a time when fingerprint analysis required dusting and the prints had to be manually analyzed by experts at the Quantico lab. But now, a simple print analysis could be done locally in a matter of minutes. Of course, the lab wasn’t obsolete. It was still the place where DNA and other specialized crime scene analysis was done.
Once the fingerprint was uploaded from the scanner to his laptop, QT initiated a search against the fingerprint databases available to the FBI. While the search was in process, he plugged his phone into the laptop and simultaneously ran the lieutenant’s photo against the facial recognition database.
Quinton went to the table where a pot of coffee was brewing and poured himself his second cup of the day. He kept telling himself he needed to cut down on his intake to eliminate the jitters and heartburn he sometimes got, but his caffeine addiction was strong and his resolve to quit was weak.
When he returned to his desk, the two programs were still running in the background. While they were chugging away, he removed the candy wrapper from his pocket and searched the registration database for the license plate number the lieutenant had jotted down. As he expected, it wasn’t a valid number. Either the lieutenant was correct, and the mysterious man had deliberately put a counterfeit plate on his SUV, or she imagined the entire incident with the man in the SUV.
By the time he’d finished the registration search, a probable match for the fingerprint was identified, and pertinent information appeared on the screen:
Lieutenant Madeline Frances Casey
US Army Military Intelligence
Born: September 15, 1986 in Hickory, NC
Died: June 18, 2013 in Fallujah, Iraq
A rectangle with dotted-line borders, which was a placeholder for a photograph, was visible, but empty. An elliptical button with the words, more information, appeared on the bottom of the screen. QT clicked it and received a loud beep in response, along with a message that said:
User does not have security clearance to access this information.
A few seconds after the warning message flashed, the screen refreshed and a response from the facial recognition program popped up:
The subject of your search has yielded a possible match with a person of interest.
Click the following link to provide contact information, so we can interview you.
As soon as Quinton saw the letters, CIA, embedded in the URL name for the link, he immediately closed the facial recognition program and shut down his computer.
“Holy shit!” he said. “What can of worms have I opened up?”
Maybe this was all a big coincidence, but he doubted it. A nickname of Lieutenant Mad for Madeline Casey made a lot of sense — except the Lieutenant Mad he knew was very much alive.
Chapter 3
B laire entered the Joint Use Intelligence Analysis Facility (JUIAF) at Rivanna Station in Charlottesville, VA. Although the structure was built to house three army intelligence agencies (DIA, NGIC, and NGIA), the Defense Department also allotted office space for a limited number of NSA cyber analysts, including Blaire Saunders.
The NSA dress code is lax, which is a good thing because the vast majority of their employees are computer nerds, who prefer casual attire. Blaire wasn’t your typical geek. She looked good whether she was dressed up or dressed down. Relaxed was her clothing style selection for the day. She was wearing tight, designer jeans and a T-shirt with NSA printed across the front and politically incorrect agency nicknames on the back: “No Such Agency”, “Never Say Anything”, and “Now Spying on Americans”. Her blonde hair flowed down her back, stopping at the top of the lettering on the T-shirt’s back, as if her hair were cut specifically to that length to avoid blocking the message. Most of the men she passed in the hall took the opportunity to glance at the NSA written on her chest, and those who turned to watch her walk away were more likely to stare at the tight jeans than the inappropriate nomenclature written on the back of her shirt.
As she entered the media room, a short, balding man was standing behind the power chair at the front end of the oval table. He wasn’t wearing an army uniform, but everything about his demeanor screamed military. The small amount of hair he had remaining was cut short, his shirt with a button-down collar was neatly tucked into his dress pants, his black shoes were spit shined, and he stood at attention with his shoulders back.
“Good morning, Cyber Analyst Saunders,” he said. If he was taken aback by her casual attire, he didn’t show it.
Blaire smiled and said, “Good morning, Special Agent Warren.”
He managed to turn up the corners of his lips slightly, which was the closest thing to a welcoming smile the uptight task force leader could generate.
She took a seat at the side of the table facing the door. A man about Blaire’s age entered the room. He and Special Agent Warren glanced at each other and nodded a manly acknowledgement but didn’t exchange pleasantries. It was obvious his attention was directed toward Blaire, not the task force leader. He sat in the chair next to her and leaned in her direction.
“What time did you get home last night?” he whispered.
“I didn’t get to bed until after two this morning. I’m still tired.”
“Yeah, same here. I don’t know why Old Blood and Guts Warren made us come in at six thirty and then delayed this meeting four hours.”
“I know. I could have used the extra sleep. When the meeting was delayed, I went out to Krispy Kreme and got a coffee and a couple of donuts, which perked me up a little.”
“Why didn’t you come and get me?”
“It was spur of the moment. I couldn’t wait.”
“What did QT say about you getting in so late last night? Was he suspicious?”
“No, he wasn’t suspicious,” Blaire said, sounding annoyed. “He was asleep, but he woke up when I crawled into bed. We talked for a minute and then went to sleep.”
“Oh, OK. Don’t get bent out of shape. If you were living with me and came home that late after spending the previous night with another man, I’d be suspicious.”
“QT and I don’t talk about our overnight trips. We assume they’re company related and not open for discussion.”
“Convenient,” Jeremy said.
Blaire gave him a dirty look but didn’t say anything.
Another man and woman came into the room. They were speaking in technobabble as they entered and continued jawing after they sat down.
“The team is assembled, so let’s get started,” Special Agent Warren said. “For the record, this is a Project Typhon status meeting.”
Warren pressed his clicker and an image appeared on the screen mounted on the front wall:
PROJECT TYPHON TASK FORCE
- DIA Special Agent John Warren, Leader
- FBI Agent Jeremy Glover
- CIA Analyst Todd Andrews
- NSA (SCS) Cyber Analyst Blaire Saunders
- NSA (Internal) Cyber Analyst Karen Williams
He read the name of each person listed on the slide and left the chart visible for several seconds after he finished
reading to allow the group to absorb what was blatantly obvious to everyone in the room, which was that they were the task force. Warren clicked again to bring up a second slide which summarized goals, strategies, objectives, and tactics.
Blaire spaced out while the special agent read the bullets on the chart verbatim, like he had at the beginning of all their status meetings. She thought it was a waste of time rehashing high-level goals. Yes, the lofty goal of protecting our Middle East forces from cyberattacks was important, but their team wasn’t going to totally achieve it with their limited efforts. They were a small cog in a much bigger wheel. Whether the cyberattacks were aimed at stealing top secret information, directed at disabling computerized weaponry, geared at shutting down critical infrastructure, or endangering human assets, didn’t really matter. It was obvious that all forms of cyberattacks must be countered to protect our military and civilian citizens abroad and at home. Likewise, who except for anarchists, extremists, or those who lacked an understanding of our increasingly complex world could object to strategies encompassing the use of assets from all sixteen of the US intelligence agencies, as circumstances dictated, to achieve the goals?
Blaire mentally reconnected with the meeting when Special Agent Warren began reviewing specifics. Unlike the lofty goals and strategies, which were black and white to her, the Project Typhon team was being drawn into some gray areas by the individually assigned objectives and the tactics the task force members were using to achieve those objectives. Initially, this hadn’t bothered Blaire. She did whatever she was asked to do and left it up to her superiors to deal with the legal and moral implications of her and the other task force members’ actions. But, she was beginning to question some of her recent activities, although she hadn’t shared her concerns with anyone, not even QT — especially not QT.
“Agent Saunders,” Warren said, “Your objective, with the assistance of Agent Glover, is to gain access to the private servers, personal computers, tablets, and smartphones of CEO Anne Bailey Upshaw and her immediate staff and retrofit them with NSA enhancements. Are you on schedule to achieve this objective by the end of the week?”
Government agencies sure do have a way of twisting words to suit their purposes, Blaire thought. What Special Agent Warren really meant to ask her was had she broken into the homes of the CEO and her staff, copied electronic data from their personal electronic devices, and installed bugs to track all their communications and personal activities going forward?
“We’ve completed our assignment for the Executive VP’s of Finance, HR, Sales & Marketing, and Operations; however, we’ve encountered some obstacles with the remaining executive. CEO Anne Upshaw’s home is a fortress. In addition to security guards, she has a highly sophisticated electronic security system installed. With NSA Analyst Williams’s help, we modified the biometric entry system to allow us to gain entrance into the house when we’re ready, but we still have to figure out a way to get by the cameras and guards unnoticed.”
“Do you need additional resources to plan and execute your entry?”
“Perhaps, Jeremy … I mean FBI Agent Glover, could better answer that question. I don’t need any help with what I have to do once I’m inside but getting inside without being detected is a potential problem.”
“Obviously, we can’t go in with guns blazing,” Jeremy said. “This has to be accomplished quietly without anyone finding out what we’ve done, so I don’t want additional agents brought in. The CEO’s security force isn’t that imposing. There’s one guard posted at the gated entrance. He looks and acts more like a mall cop than a trained professional. From what I saw, he doesn’t even have a gun. If he does, the bullets are probably in his pocket, like Barney Fife’s.”
This comment solicited a few chuckles from the team members, but the leader remained stone-faced and said, “Continue with your assessment, Agent Glover.”
“The driveway is over a half mile long, and trees block visibility to the house from the guard station. There are two private bodyguards that follow the CEO everywhere. From what I’ve observed, they are well-trained and do have guns. When the CEO is home, they hang out by the front door most of the time. Occasionally, one of them walks the perimeter of the property. But, when she goes somewhere, they go with her. They depend on the mall cop along with the physical barriers and electronic security system to protect the house when they’re gone. We need to time our entry to coincide with the CEO’s absence from the house. We have to gain access to her schedule, so we know when she’ll be out of the house long enough for Blaire to do her thing. We also need to find a way to bypass those cameras inside the house, so we aren’t recorded.”
“Perhaps, NSA Analyst Williams and I can be of assistance,” CIA Analyst Todd Andrews said, looking at Warren as if he were asking permission to continue.
“Proceed,” the leader said.
“The CIA has a candygram already set up that happens to be nearby the CEO’s house. Her smartphone is well-protected, but it appears that her bodyguard’s phones have a minimum of protection. We should be able to remotely install a monkey calendar on their phones.”
“What the hell is a candygram and a monkey calendar?”
Todd looked over at Blaire. “A candygram is a device invented by our NSA friends. It’s a fake mobile phone base station that can be used to intercept calls and text messages. And a monkey calendar is software that is installed on a phone to allow us to track its location through a hidden text message. It will override any normal blocks that the phone has for GPS tracking.”
“Why didn’t you say so. Speak in plain English so we can all understand.”
“Yes, sir.” Todd paused and looked at his leader as if he wanted to say something else but was afraid to say it.
“Is there something additional you want to say? Speak up man. I’m not a mind reader.”
“Do we need warrants to record the bodyguards’ phones?”
“Let me worry about legalities. You initiate the tracking right away, so we can find the best time to equip the CEO’s home with the modifications we need.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll do it as soon as this meeting is over.”
“Analyst Williams, one of your objectives is to find the holes in the CEO’s home security system. What have you come up with?”
“I’ve tracked down the company that installed her security system and tapped into their databases to get the specifics on the security equipment and layout used at her house. As Analyst Saunders said, I already provided a way for Agent Glover and her to bypass the security identification system. I forced the security company to loan them a van, which they used to trick the guards into letting them enter to make modifications to the ID system. If they need a van for their return trip to enter the house, I can arrange it.”
“I think we’ll need the van again. It worked really well,” Jeremy said. “What do you think, Blaire?”
Her face turned a little pink as she said without looking at him, “We’ll see after Karen works out the plan for disabling the cameras.”
Karen Williams added, “I don’t think the cameras will be a problem. There are several ways to disable them. I’m working on the best way to circumvent the cameras without being detected. Also, there are sensors in some of the rooms, so I’m going to have to disable them or guide Agent Saunders around them, so she doesn’t trigger an alarm from inside the house.”
“Finding the best method to disable the cameras and bypass the sensors is your top priority, Cyber Analyst Williams,” Warren said, “but I also need to know what you’ve gleaned from the four executives who Cyber Analyst Saunders has put online.”
“We have the data captured by the cottonmouth that Cyber Analyst Saunders installed, but we haven’t broken through the encryption yet.”
“Cottonmouth? What’s a God damn snake have to do with this?”
“I’m sorry, sir. A cottonmouth is another device designed by the NSA, which plugs into the USB drive on a computer and captures all the data
on that computer. As, I was saying, we have the data, but for us to read it, we need to crack the encryption. Data encryption is a specialty of Upshaw Corporation, so it won’t be easy to break the code, but they’re no match for our processing power at NSA’s Bluffdale, Utah Data Center. It’s only a matter of time.”
“What about their recent phone calls, emails, messages and social media that weren’t encrypted. Have you found anything?”
“I found some anomalies in Ted Danziger’s communications that I need to delve into further. He’s Upshaw’s VP of Operations. There’s nothing actionable yet, but there’s a lot more data to mine.”
“Let’s you and I get together after lunch, and you can explain to me in detail what you’ve found in Danziger’s communications. I’ll decide whether it’s actionable.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Andrews, I want you to contact Agent Glover as soon as you have candy man and monkey wrench, or whatever you call the God damn things, installed so that he can figure out the best time for Saunders and him to enter CEO Upshaw’s place.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll use candygram and monkey calendar to begin intercepting the bodyguards’ phone activity by this afternoon.”
“We have another status meeting scheduled for next week, but none of you has to wait until then to contact me. If you run into any obstacles that require my assistance to remove, talk to me right away.”
They all nodded slightly to indicate they understood.
“If there’s nothing else anyone wants to bring up, this meeting is over.”
The four team members got up from their seats and started to leave. When Blaire and Jeremy reached the door, Warren said, “Cyber Analyst Saunders, please remain behind. I have a few things I want to discuss with you.”
“I wonder what that’s all about,” Jeremy said quietly to Blaire. “I need to make a few calls. Are we still on for lunch?”
“Yes, I’ll go to lunch with you. I don’t expect this to take long. I’ll meet you near the exit at noon.”
