Tim Washburn - Cyber Attack

Huffing and puffing, she pushes to her knees and starts crawling. The gravel and rocks bite into her palms and knees as she wobbles forward. Her lungs feel as if they’re going to burn through her chest wall as she works her jaw, trying to keep her throat from closing.

But it’s a losing battle, and seconds later, Loretta Ortiz collapses to the ground, the images of her sons flashing through her mind slowly dimming to darkness.

Manhattan

Using her laptop, Paige logs in to her VPN and sends the malware to Natalie Lambert over at NSA. She gives Natalie a few minutes to peruse what she sent then makes a call. While she’s doing that, Hank plugs Paige’s flash drive into his laptop and pulls up the infected computer code. The first thing that is readily apparent is that the code appears very clean and well written. Usually when foreigners initiate a cyber attack, their code is riddled with misspelled words or the words are used in the wrong context. But here, it appears clean and concise. Hank digs a little deeper. As expected, the malware Paige found appears to be a rootkit, which allows administrator-level access to the network and is extremely difficult to detect. Hank leans back in his chair, thinking.

Could Natalie be right? Is an insider involved? Hank mulls that over for a moment. If it’s not an insider it’s someone with a firm grasp of the English language. Have they spent significant time in this country? Then his thoughts meander down another path. What if the hackers aren’t foreigners? Could a homegrown terrorist cell be behind the hack? Hank realizes they’re all unanswerable questions and they’ll stay that way if they can’t find any damn clues. Right now their batting average is nil with not much hope it’s going to improve anytime soon.

Paige disconnects the call to Natalie and turns to Hank. “Natalie told me this malware is some of the most sophisticated software she’s ever seen. But there is one bit of good news. The NSA has been working on developing several software tools that might kill it.”

“What’s the bad news?” Hank asks.

“It could take a while to reprogram the software to attack this particular piece of malware.”

“What’s your definition of ‘a while’?”

Paige grabs a strand of hair and wraps it around a finger, delaying. “A couple of days if we’re lucky.”

“Hell, Paige, there may be nothin’ left of this country in a couple of days.”

“Natalie is going to call me back after she’s had some time to closely examine the software. Maybe she can suggest a more reliable time frame. I know that’s not the answer you’re looking for, Hank, but this stuff is extremely complicated.”

“Can we use the program you used to find the malware and quarantine it?”

“No. It’s only a seek-and-find program.”

“So, what? We sit on our hands, waitin’ for the next tragedy?”

Paige lets the strand of hair fall and pushes to her feet. “I don’t know, Hank. Maybe we shut the factories and power plants down for a day or two until we develop a fix.”

“I can tell you right now that’s not goin’ to happen. No way in hell.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to save the remaining pieces of infrastructure so it could be restarted when we patch the software?”

Hank stands and walks over to the long glass wall that looks into the server room. The thousands of flashing green and red diodes are mesmerizing. “Think of the enormity of what you’re suggestin’, Paige. Jeez, you’re talkin’ about cuttin’ off power to millions of people. That would plunge the country into chaos.”

“I think we’re already well on our way. What’s worse? Losing power for a couple of days or a couple of months?”

“The main problem I see is that an overwhelmin’ majority of power suppliers and industrial plants are private companies. What then? Does the FBI call them up and ask if they’d mind shuttin’ down for a few days?”

Paige sighs. “I don’t know, Hank. Maybe the president could declare a national emergency.”

“That’s a big step and one I’ve already suggested to Elaine. But I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.” Hank begins to massage his temples with his left hand. “What a fuckin’ mess,” he says as he walks back to his chair and sits. “I think you and Natalie need to be in the same room together. Maybe you two could bang out a solution quicker with the help from other people at both agencies.”

“I agree, Hank.”

“Wrap up in here and I’ll go talk to Tomás to see if we can get a plane back to D.C.” Hank stands and walks toward the door. As he reaches for the handle, the lights in the hallway flash off and almost instantaneously flash back on. He turns to look at Paige. “That’s not a good sign.”

“You think the generators just kicked on?”

“Yep.”

Chicago

With her lacerated feet, Peyton had zero chance of running down the woman who stole her case of water. She did, however, recover her backpack containing the canned food. Hobbling through the lobby door of her office building, Peyton is trying to dial up enough courage to venture down the hall to check on Ranjeet. With each step, the pain radiates up her legs and it takes tremendous will to continue moving forward. I can’t go any further. The thought of having to walk all the way down the corridor to Ranjeet’s store makes her nauseous. She stops and scans the lobby, looking for something—anything—to protect her feet. What can I use? The artificial fig trees scattered around the lobby aren’t going to do her much good. The same applies to the wooden benches. Then her eyes drift to the upholstered furniture. I can’t walk around with large seat cushions on my feet. Peyton studies the furniture for another moment and then comes up with an idea. She shuffles over, digs through her bag, and pulls out the scissors.

After a few minutes of cutting and trimming, Peyton stands to test out her new shoes. They won’t be seen on any fashion runways anytime soon, but they’re adequate. After cutting the foam to fit her foot, Peyton used the material as an outer shell and wrapped everything up with the cushion’s cording. She takes a tentative step. Definitely not Nike Airs, but they’re not bad. The homemade shoes feel clumsy on Peyton’s feet, but they are fairly comfortable to walk on. How long they’ll last is anybody’s guess and, as for style, they’re not much to look at. But pair those with her shredded pencil skirt/loincloth, and Peyton looks like she’s on her way to a Village People concert.

Glancing at her watch she sees it’s nearly five-thirty. She turns to look out the window and discovers the stream of people on the sidewalk has slowed considerably, which could be a good thing or a bad thing. Good, because they’ll have a little more freedom of movement without the crowds, but on the flip side there’s safety in numbers. Peyton shivers at the thought of Eric and her walking home alone. Grabbing her bag, she stuffs the extra material for her homemade shoes in and shuffles over to the entrance to the corridor leading to Ranjeet’s store and takes a peek down the hall. She really, really, doesn’t want to do this alone. Her heart racing, she glances over her shoulder one final time, hoping to see Eric lumbering up the sidewalk. No such luck. She takes a deep breath and turns into the hallway, her senses on high alert.

At the entrance to the store, Peyton picks up a metallic scent. It’s a familiar odor but she can’t pinpoint the source. Street noise drifts through the shattered windows, making hearing difficult. She scans the dusky gloom, whispering Ranjeet’s name.