Tim Washburn - Cyber Attack

“Hold up,” Campbell says. He turns and barks out another name. Seconds later another officer hurries out of the store, this time a woman. “Janice, help her back to the station.”

“I’m on it, Sarge,” the woman replies, hurrying across the street.

“Ma’am, go with her,” Campbell says. “We’ll look after your husband.”

“I’d rather stay,” Peyton says.

“Ma’am, in all honesty, you’re just slowing us down,” Campbell says.

Peyton nods and Campbell and Evans take off at a jog.

Peyton looks at Janice, the female officer, and takes a second to read her name tag. “Where’s the police station, Officer Jacobs?”

Janice points at a beige building on the corner, a little over a hundred yards away.

Even with all that has happened today—all of the turmoil, including the death of Ranjeet, the shoot-out, and now Eric’s wounding—Peyton’s first thought is that those were some really dumb-ass looters to hit a store next door to a police station.

Manhattan

Paige and Hank are currently hiding behind a building at the northwest corner of Walker and Broadway as the gun battle rages on. The best Hank can tell is that it looks as if a group of nasty-looking characters are trying to stick up the big bank just up the block on Broadway. The store near where they’re currently positioned, some kind of jeans and footwear place, has already been looted and empty shoeboxes and broken glass litter the sidewalk.

“Why are they trying to rob a bank?” Paige asks.

“Hell if I know. I guess because they think they can. What they don’t know is the bank manager most likely put all the cash drawers in the vault and locked it up when the power went out.”

“Then why don’t the employees just walk out the back door and let them have at it?”

“I don’t know, Paige. I’m not a bank manager or a bank robber. All I know is this is takin’ up valuable time.”

“You don’t have to be so cranky about it.”

Hank scowls then takes another peek around the corner. Those people caught out in the open when the gun battle began are still crawling around through the broken glass, trying to take cover wherever they can. If he and Paige can just get across the street they’ll be golden. Hank spends a moment studying the layout. They could backtrack and pick up another street, but every second that ticks off the clock is an opportunity for something else bad to happen. And their exposure to ricocheting bullets will be limited by all the abandoned cars clogging the street. Hank ducks back behind the building.

He glances at his watch and calculates the number of blocks ahead of them. By his calculation they’ve covered eighteen blocks, and if they can cover ten blocks every eight minutes they can be at the heliport in about forty minutes. He turns to look at Paige. “We’re crossin’ the street.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. Just stay low until you get behind those other buildin’s across the street.”

“You want me to go first?”

“It doesn’t matter, Paige. We’re wastin’ time.”

“Okay, you go first.”

Hank sighs, bends over, and races to the other side.

Paige takes a deep breath and follows. When she’s about midway across, the gangbangers on the street open up again and she has to dive behind an abandoned taxi. She looks to Hank for help. He holds up a hand as he watches the scene play out up the street. When he sees the bad guys duck back down, he waves Paige onward. Paige scrambles to her feet and duckwalks the rest of the way across, standing only when she’s safely behind the building.

Hank takes one look at her once-elegant, expensive clothing and knows to bite his tongue. Paige, noticing the expression on his face, looks down at her grease-streaked clothing and groans. “Well, hell. So much for this outfit.”

“You’ve got plenty more back at your place. Let’s roll.” Hank turns and starts walking, setting a brisk pace.

Paige has to hurry to catch up, but once she does she has little trouble. With her long legs and taut muscles honed in the gym three days a week, Paige can match Hank step for step with limited exertion. But with the heat, humidity, and having to fight through the crowds, Paige can feel her energy draining away.

When they reach the next intersection, Hank pauses and pulls out his cell phone to check for a signal. He’s disappointed—but not surprised—to find the phone has no service. “I wish we had some way to communicate with Elaine.”

“We can use Wi-Fi when we get on the plane.”

Hank glances at his watch. “That could be a while. And we’ve been out of contact with her for a good while already. There’s no tellin’ how many catastrophes have occurred while we’ve been incommunicado.”

“Does it matter?”

Hank glances at Paige, a scowl on his face. “Yeah, it matters.”

“Why? There’s not a damn thing we can do about it. At least not until we find a way to eliminate that nasty piece of malware.”

“Speakin’ of that, do you think Natalie has made any progress?”

“I hope so. I’ll call her when we get on the plane.”

They cover the next ten blocks in less than eight minutes, much to Hank’s delight. Or, rather, he’s as delighted as he can be considering the ongoing crisis. Walker Street had merged into Canal Street five blocks back, meaning they’re now only a few blocks from the East River. Over the years, billions of dollars have been spent on upgrading the city’s sewage treatment plants in an effort to clean up the East River, yet it still remains one of the most polluted waterways in the country. A fishy, briny odor lingers over the area as Hank pauses to pull up the map of Manhattan in his mind. If they turn north on Allen Street, it’s thirty-eight blocks to reach the East 34th Street Heliport. Hank glances at his watch and says, “If we can keep up this pace, we’ll be at the heliport in less than thirty minutes.”

“That’s assuming we don’t run into any more trouble,” Paige says.

“No negative thoughts, Paige,” Hank says, turning up Allen Street. When Paige catches up, he asks, “What do you think is next on the hackers’ list of targets?”

“Who knows? I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a computer network left in this country that they haven’t hacked.”

Hank wipes the sweat from his brow. “Let me rephrase the question. If you were hackin’ to inflict the most damage, what would your next target be?”

“The most damage you could inflict on the largest populations would be to keep doing what they’re doing—hitting the power grids. Cut the power and you cut off the water supply, the sewage treatment plants, and everything else that we’ve come to rely on to live.”

“I agree,” Hank says. “But I keep gettin’ hung up on the motive. If it’s a foreign nation or state they have to know we’ll retaliate with overwhelmin’ force. So what would they gain? A few days of pleasure watchin’ us squirm before we obliterate them? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t make sense, but I think this cyber attack is much too sophisticated for it to be anyone other than a well-funded nation or state group.”

“I disagree. The hackers have spent years refinin’ their attack, and if they have access to one or more supercomputers, say, at the larger research universities or major tech companies, then why not?”

Paige licks her lips, trying to generate more saliva. She’s regretting not bringing along some of the bottles of water from the stock exchange offices. “Are you suggesting a group of college students or a few rogue employees are behind this hack?”

Hank, his shirt saturated with sweat, switches his backpack to the other shoulder. “I don’t know what I’m suggestin’. Who hates this country enough to try and destroy it?”