Tim Washburn - Cyber Attack

Allison leans forward and adds more wine to her own glass. “Seattle. He was scheduled to come back tomorrow, but I don’t know what’s going to happen now that all flights are grounded.”

“Did they ever say what happened to cause all those airline crashes?” Peyton asks.

“They don’t know,” Eric says. “What’s strange is that the jets, from the little I heard, were all 737s.”

“Is that significant?” Allison asks.

“Maybe. I think something hinky is going on with the jet crashes and the power outages.”

“Why? What do you think is happening?” Peyton asks, her anger with Eric now on extra-low simmer.

“Peyton, remember me telling you about that book I read recently? The one where it proves people have already hacked into our power grids?”

Peyton nods. “I remember. How could I not? That’s all you talked about for several days.”

Eric takes a sip from his wineglass. “I talked about it because the book scared the hell out of me. Anyway, I think someone hacked our power grids and maybe even those jets.”

“But who?” Allison asks.

Eric shrugs. “Who knows? Probably the damn Russians. It looks like they’ve hacked everything else in this country.”

“What would Russia have to gain?” Allison asks. “They’d have to know that we’d respond in kind. Hacking an election is much different than cutting off power to millions of people.”

“I don’t know,” Eric says, “but you make a good point.” Eric braces his left hand against the arm of the sofa and groans as he pushes to his feet. “Maybe it’s not the Russians. Maybe it’s a terrorist group.” Eric bends to the left, trying to stretch his right side. “Regardless of who it was, we’re screwed.”

“Speaking of that,” Allison says, “my offer still stands. You two can stay with me. There’s no telling when Jordan’s going to come home. And, to tell you the truth, I don’t like the idea of me being in this house all by myself after your story about the shoot-out at Target.”

“Let’s see what tomorrow brings,” Peyton says.

Eric walks over to the front door and steps out onto the porch.

Allison looks at Peyton. “I’m serious. I’m terrified to stay here alone.”

“What are we going to do for food and water?”

“What were you going to do at your mom’s house?”

Peyton shrugs. “We haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Your mother lives alone. How much food is she going to have on hand?”

“Good point. But after everything I saw today, I don’t know if we’ll be safe anywhere in this city.”

“You’re a hell of a lot safer inside this house than you would be traipsing all across the country,” Allison says.

Eric comes back inside and closes the front door. “Looks like the fire’s almost out.”

“Does it look like we’ll be able to salvage anything?” Peyton asks.

“Uh, no,” Eric says. “It’s all gone. I bet the Singletons are going to be pissed.”

“Did they drive on their trip up north?” Allison asks.

“Yes,” Peyton says.

“Judging by the clogged roads, it’s going to be a while before they return.”

“You’re probably right.” Eric runs his hands across the top of his head, massaging his skull. “I’m beat. I’m going to bed.”

Peyton stands. “Me, too.”

Eric looks at Allison. “Do you have any weapons in the house?”

“Jordan has a shotgun that he uses to go bird hunting. Why?”

“Might be best if we get it out and load it up, just in case.”

Somewhere near Boston

Hassan leans back in his chair, removes his glasses, and rubs his eyes. When he enjoys the work Hassan can go long stretches and never notice if his eyes are bothering him. Not so, today. In addition to blurry vision, he can feel a wicked headache coming on. And he hasn’t had one of those in months. For the last two hours Hassan has been cherry-picking the least lethal targets to attack, although he doesn’t know how much difference there is between two deaths or twenty. Dead is dead.

After cleaning the lenses with the tail of his T-shirt, Hassan puts his glasses back on and opens the chat program on his screen. Unfortunately, Nazeri has been on his computer since ending his phone call and Jermar hasn’t had a chance to apply his hacking skills. Nazeri has access to everything Hassan and his team do, except the chat program, and he appears to be taking great pleasure sowing death and carnage among the American people. Hassan closes the chat window without sending a message, knowing what Jermar’s answer would be. Standing, he walks into the break room and grabs a bottle of water, thinking about Nazeri. They’re running out of time.

Opening one of the drawers, he pulls out a bottle of ibuprofen and pops three pills and washes them down as his tired brain continues to churn. His mind drifts from Nazeri to his own predicament. If I can get out, where do I go? Hassan has lived in the Boston area since his arrival in the United States, but he hasn’t had a lot of free time nor a real desire to do much exploring. Would it be better if we all left together? Hassan thinks about that for a moment. They’d be much easier to find as a group. And if one gets caught it could spell doom for the rest. But that spurs another thought. How much energy would Nazeri devote to finding us? Hassan realizes that’s the one answer he needs yet he has no idea how to obtain it. He looks up as Yuusef steps into the break room.

Yuusef hurries over and whispers, “You saw the gun. What are we going to do?”

Hassan scans the ceiling, looking for cameras. He doesn’t see anything obvious, but the ones they found in their sleeping quarters were well hidden. And a microphone can be placed almost anywhere. “Go back to your computer,” Hassan whispers.

Yuusef’s facial features scrunch in anger. “Why?”

Hassan points to his ear and then the ceiling.

Yuusef nods. He grabs a drink and heads back to his computer. Hassan waits a moment then follows. At his computer, he pulls up a chat window and stares at the names, trying to decide whom to include in this conversation. He clicks on Yuusef’s name only and types: How well do you know the city?

Hassan watches Yuusef read the message and sees a confused look wash across his face. Hassan types: Need place to hide. When Hassan looks up he sees Yuusef nod.

Yuusef’s message pops up on Hassan’s screen seconds later. Know city well. When do we leave?

Tonight, Hassan types. When Nazeri sleeps. Hassan pauses then types: How much effort will he devote to finding us? Hassan sends the message and waits.

The telephone rings and the loud clanging startles everyone in the room. Nazeri stands, tucks the pistol behind his back, and walks across the room to answer. Hassan coughs to get Jermar’s attention. When he looks up, Hassan nods toward Nazeri’s computer.

Jermar nods and begins to type.

Yuusef’s reply pops up on Hassan’s screen: We must burrow deep.

Hassan silently curses in his native tongue. He’s surprised a moment later when Nazeri hangs up the phone and strides out of the room. Usually Nazeri’s conversations last much longer. Hassan jumps up from his chair and hurries around to Jermar’s side of the table and whispers, “Any luck?”

“My program was running in the background while Nazeri was using his computer,” Jermar whispers. “I’m in but everything on his hard drive is encrypted.”

“I can crack it,” Sheezal says, joining the conversation.

His willingness to help lessens Hassan’s distrust of him. And, more important, Sheezal is a wizard at opening encrypted files.