Mark Pryor - Cyberian Affair

With Sokolov and Zatan out of action, she hoped cyber-attacks would stop for a while. Of course, they would never stop as long as the US refused to go on offense.

It was time to relax and wait for Niko’s call. She grabbed the game controller.

Her phone chirped, and she looked at the message. Something happened in Russia. She grabbed her laptop and searched for more information. The International Space Station identified an anomaly in Siberia. Earthquake monitoring stations reported a significant event at the same location. Reporters speculated the Russians performed an underground test of a nuclear warhead.

The US government said nothing, so Vyper searched ex-military sites. Homeland Security and all military services were on high alert.

Vyper retreated into her mental safe place. She rocked back and forth and flapped her hands. Nothing bothered her now.

Austin, Texas

Niko admired the view of the Colorado River from their balcony. Vyper sat in a chair by his side, a computer on her lap. They had decided to visit the best cities in America for young people, in search of a place to settle down.

He was inclined to limit the search to America. Their experiences in Nassau, only two weeks ago, had soured him on leaving the country.

Vyper set her laptop on a low table. “Do you think the Russian nukes exploded because Smith slipped my firmware into them? They blew up inside their silos.”

“I think so, but Smith won’t tell us.” He reached out and held her hand. “Even if it was your program, you shouldn’t feel bad. The Russians must have decided to arm those missiles. If it hadn’t been for your firmware, they probably would have launched them as the US. It could have been a nuclear war.”

Vyper sipped on an iced tea. “I thought about that, but I do not understand how Russian leaders think. Why would they want to start a nuclear war?”

“All I can figure is they felt threatened. When your KILROY message popped up in their missile systems, they thought the US compromised all their nukes. I’m pretty sure we only penetrated a few, but the Russian Army may have thought differently. When our forces went on alert, they were afraid we’d launch before they had a chance.”

“That is crazy. But somehow, it seems to have stopped this cycle of cyber-attacks. I wonder how long that will last.”

Niko stood at the railing. “Cyberwarfare will never stop. We let the genie out of the bottle, and he won’t go back in.”

“You are so cynical.” Vyper opened her computer. “Did you see this? Bitcoin’s value dropped fifty percent overnight.”

“You don’t own any Bitcoins, do you? It’s not real money, you know.”

“No,” said Vyper. “I do not gamble. But something is going on. Bitcoin is dropping like a rock.” She typed in a few commands. “Hackers broke into three major exchanges and stole nearly two million coins. North Korea is the prime suspect.”

If you enjoyed this novel, I would appreciate your review on Amazon or wherever you buy your books. I’d also love to hear from you via email ( mark.pryor@pryorpatch.com), and I invite you to visit my website to keep up with my writing ( www.pryorpatch.com)

Read on for the first chapters of my novel, Noble Phoenix , available on Amazon.

1998—Prague, Czech Republic

Angry young men with spiky haircuts and shaved heads transformed a cheerful crowd of music lovers into an angry mob. Fourteen-year-old Viktor Prazsky had invited Delia, the prettiest girl in his class, to the Global Street Party. Now they were caught up in the middle of this developing riot.

Delia clung to Viktor’s arm, her dark, penetrating eyes shrouded with worry. “I don’t like this. Let’s get out of here.”

Viktor nodded. He searched for a break in the crowd, but the throng of protesters propelled them forward.

An hour ago, Viktor and Delia had been enjoying a music festival at Peace Square. Viktor’s father, a lieutenant in the federal police, had warned him not to go, claiming the festival was organized by anarchists. So, Viktor lied to him, saying he was taking Delia to see Titanic at the Old Town Theater. They were having fun, even when the bands stopped playing and the party moved to the streets.

Now, they were hemmed in by a gang of young men, raising their fists, shouting, “Reclaim the Streets,” and waving signs with slogans expressing the same sentiment. Some men marched with red and black flags, carrying a three-pronged symbol reminiscent of the Nazi swastika.

Most of the protesters were older than Viktor—bigger and taller. Despite the cool day, many were shirtless. Some tied handkerchiefs around their faces, leaving only their eyes exposed. They looked like bandits.

Viktor moved forward with the crowd, Delia in tow, when he spotted something. He turned to her and spoke loud enough to be heard. “The museum is up ahead.”

As they threaded their way through the mob, Delia cried out. “Leave me alone.” Her grip on Viktor’s arm tightened.

He stopped and looked back to see a tall man in a red ski mask holding Delia’s other arm, screaming at her. “Black swine! Gypsy whore!”

Viktor’s body stiffened, and his heart raced. He thinks she’s Roma—Gypsy . Actually, Delia was Greek, but her dark complexion must have drawn this man’s attention. They hate Roma . Two Czech men had killed a Roma woman a few months back. The story had been big news in all the papers—telling how those men assaulted her, then threw her into the river.

As the man in the ski mask continued his tirade, the crush of the crowd eased. People moved away from the confrontation, while continuing to march through the streets.

Viktor and Delia stood in the center of a small opening in the crowd, along with the man who towered over them, refusing to release her arm.

Delia struggled and screamed, while Viktor’s mind searched for a way out. Police sirens wailed in the distance. He doubted they’d arrive in time. He had learned a few Taekwondo moves, but he was only a novice.

Moving protectively close to Delia, Viktor faced her assailant. “Leave us alone. We don’t want trouble.”

Crooked, yellow teeth formed a smile that showed through a hole in the ski mask. The man reached into his pocket and fished out a knife—about twice the length of his hand. Click . The blade snapped open. He waved it in Delia’s face and pulled her closer with his other hand. “Get out of the way, boy. Your damn Gypsy whore isn’t worth it.”

Gotta do something . Viktor lifted his right knee and delivered a snap kick to the man’s groin, causing him to drop his knife and collapse, writhing in pain.

Someone grabbed Viktor from behind and held him in a bear hug.

Where’d he come from ? Viktor shouted, “Run, Delia.” He struggled to free himself. Despite his attempts, the man at his back held him tighter.

As Delia ran off, the man with the yellow teeth grabbed his knife and stumbled uneasily to his feet. “Bastard!” He pointed the blade at Viktor’s face. “I see you met my brother. He seems to like you.”

Behind Viktor, a scornful laugh burst out. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

In front of Viktor, the yellow teeth smiled through the mask. “Gonna cut you, boy.”

Only one way to break this hold . Viktor twisted to the left. As the man at his back moved his right leg forward, Viktor twisted right again, and stomped his heel on the arch of the man’s foot.