Tim Washburn - Cyber Attack

“Can you copy it to the cloud?” Sheezal asks.

“Working on that now,” Jermar answers.

Sheezal turns to Hassan. “We need to escape as soon as possible if we wish to remain alive.”

“I concur,” Hassan whispers. “We leave when Nazeri sleeps.”

“If he sleeps,” Sheezal says. “If not, we need another pla—”

Their conversation is interrupted when Nazeri returns. “Plotting, are we?” he asks, looking at Hassan. Nazeri smiles. Seconds later three additional men enter the room, all heavily armed with pistols at their waists and rifles slung over their shoulders.

Nazeri smugly crosses his arms. “Hassan, did you really believe turning on the water in the restroom would mask your words?”

Hassan sags and has to grab Jermar’s chair to keep from sinking to his knees.

Nazeri switches his gaze to Raahim. “Raahim, I can assure you there are no more phones in the building. And,” Nazeri says, turning his gaze back to Hassan, “yes, I do plan on sleeping. I cannot say the same for you.”

Hassan, stunned at this sudden turn of events, shuffles to Nazeri’s vacant chair and sits.

“Oh, one more thing,” Nazeri says, holding up a finger. “Jermar, I know you’re very clever, but you are wasting time copying my hard drive. There is nothing on it. I store everything on a private server in the cloud.”

Jermar’s shoulders sag and he takes his hands off the keyboard and leans back in his chair.

“I am now implementing a new set of rules,” Nazeri says. “One: If these three men ask you to do something, you do it. And two: If you attempt to escape you will be shot. Any questions?” Nazeri pauses and looks gleefully around the room. “Good. Gentlemen, let’s move to target 1-A before I bid you good night.” Nazeri nudges Hassan out of his seat and sits as the three armed men take up positions around the room.

Attica

Captain Scott Butler takes off his helmet and wipes the sweat from his brow. With the power still off and all the fans silent, it’s hotter than hell inside the prison, and combined with the adrenaline coursing through his system, Butler is sweating like a whore in church. He puts his helmet back on and refastens the straps. The floors are awash with fresh blood as he orders his men to move out. It’s early morning now, and they still have much work to do.

As they creep deeper into cellblock D, Butler makes a radio call to Lieutenant Gary Clark, who’s running the show over in cellblock C. “Gary, keep your eyes open. Watch the choke points.”

“I am on it, sir,” Clark replies. “Sir, you didn’t say during our earlier discussion, but did any prisoners survive the ambush attempt?”

“No, they did not,” Butler radios back. “We’re now facing some of the most diabolical, evil men on the planet, Gary. Do not hesitate. Have your finger on the trigger at all times and shoot to kill.”

“Yes… yes, sir.”

Butler hears the fear in Clark’s voice yet he doesn’t say anything to dissuade it. A little fear will help to keep Clark focused. And, to tell the truth, Butler’s dealing with his own fears. It’s hard not to when you’re surrounded by dead bodies and you know that the next man you encounter will kill you without compunction. A few moments later, Butler startles when he hears gunfire from the other side of the prison. Rather than short bursts, it’s continuous bombardment and Butler wonders if his men on that side have encountered another ambush attempt.

When the gunfire slows to a few sporadic shots Butler triggers his radio. “Butler to Clark.” He waits a moment for Clark to respond. And waits. “Butler to Clark, over,” he tries again. A tingle of dread slithers down his spine. “Men,” he shouts, “hold your positions.”

“Captain,” an anxious voice says over the radio, “this is Sergeant Tyler Fields. Lieutenant Clark is injured.”

“How badly, Sergeant Fields?” Butler asks.

“Bad, sir. He was stabbed in the neck.”

Butler’s shoulders sag. He takes a deep breath and triggers the radio. “Put pressure on the wound and get him to an ambulance. Any other injuries?”

“Yes, sir,” Fields replies. “We’re trying to sort it out now, sir.”

“Roger. Status of the prisoners?”

“Dead, sir.”

“How many, Sergeant Fields?”

“A bunch, Captain. They hit us when we entered the chow hall.”

“‘A bunch’ doesn’t tell me much, Sergeant.”

“Stand by, sir.”

Butler looks around at his men and says, “Move out, men. Remember my instructions.” Butler’s brain clicks through the list of personnel on the other side of the prison. Lieutenant Marvin Maxwell, a social studies teacher, is with that group, but he’s a tad skittish and that’s the last thing Butler needs at the moment. His mind continues to run through the list. He clicks his radio and says, “Sergeant Vasquez, you are in command.” Hugo Vasquez is an Erie County sheriff’s deputy.

“Roger, sir,” Vasquez replies. “Inmate body count is twenty-seven, sir.”

A moment later, there’s another voice on the radio. “Maxwell to Butler, over.”

Butler sighs. He clicks the transmit button and says, “Lieutenant Maxwell, now is not the time. Vasquez has command. Roger the twenty-seven, Sergeant.”

“But, sir,” Maxwell whines over the radio.

Butler is exhausted, hungry, and angry. “That’s a direct fucking order, Lieutenant. Butler out.” He clicks the handset back in place and follows his men as they move deeper into D-Block. Finding no living people, it doesn’t take them long to clear the empty cellblock. Now it’s time to clear the tunnels. They return to the entrance inside cellblock D and make their way toward Times Square.

Butler removes the prison radio from his belt and puts it to his lips. He’ll be announcing their location but he wants to give Lydia Darnell a heads-up. “Officer Darnell, almost to you.”

“Roger, Captain,” Darnell radios back. “Visitors at three o’clock.”

Butler pulls up a mental map of the prison. The three o’clock position would put prisoners in the tunnel from cellblock B. “Stay sharp,” Butler tells his men. “Bogies to your right when we clear the tunnel.” He quickens his pace and moves to the point.

A few moments later they’re approaching the intersection of the four corridors and Times Square. Butler holds up a hand and everyone comes to a stop. Moving into the center of the group, Butler whispers directions. Unsure if there are other prisoners in the adjoining tunnels, he orders squads three and four to clear those while squads one and two swing into the tunnel to cellblock B. “Hard and fast,” Butler tells his men. After positioning a rear guard, Butler orders the men to move out.

The four squads fan out at once. The eight members of squads one and two hit B tunnel hard and fast, firing as the group of prisoners attempt to push forward. Butler edges out and starts picking off the prisoners at the back of the pack. The door to the guard booth swings open and Butler gets his first look at Corrections Officer Lydia Darnell as she steps out, the shotgun tucked tight to her shoulder. She fires two rounds at the group of inmates and walks forward, mowing down any inmates left standing. Within fifteen seconds, it’s over.

“Cease fire,” Butler shouts. Smoke and the acrid smell of spent gunpowder linger in the air. Butler orders a body count then turns to Darnell and offers his hand.

Darnell bypasses his outstretched hand and leans in for a hug. “Thank you, Captain Butler.”

“You’re welcome.” He looks at the shotgun in her hands. “Payback?”

Darnell nods. “I lost some good friends today.”