An Armageddon Duology (15 page)

T
he location was ideal
. The overpass was large, the tunnel and space underneath deep and shadowed. They were concealed from nearby residential windows by the thundering highway above and from other eyes by the East River at their backs. The dark evening created numerous pockets of gloom away from any direct lighting. There had been a contingent of homeless, but at the sight of the figures entering the dark underpass, they seemed to sense danger, and one by one they filed out and seemed to dissolve into the flow of the city.

Savas had used Intel 1's access to city camera systems and determined that the area was poorly covered, a patchwork of lenses crossing nearby but leaving considerable holes, including the space underneath. It was not difficult to arrange for separate approaches that would avoid nearly all surveillance.

Miller, Lightfoote, and Rideout stood like statues in the cool air and watched three shadows approach from the opposite side of the tunnel. The distance was only fifty yards, and it was easy to identify one of the shapes. Cohen walked at a brisk pace several paces in front of the two other figures, her eyes locked on Savas. Behind her glided a lithe woman with a confident, feline gait, her body remaining shrouded in black even as she approached close enough for light to spill over her form. Her face was covered completely by a veil or mask. A slit in the dark fabric revealed a pair of intense, blue eyes. Beside her strode a powerfully built man, also black-clad but with his face uncovered, dark eyes and raven hair blending into the night. He seemed to possess an underlying tension that caught on the air like static.

Miller spoke quietly to Savas as the three neared. "Is that a cassock?"

"Maybe," Savas growled.

Rideout cut in. "If you mean the one next to the hot burqa-ninja, I would say yes. Definitely a cassock."

Miller shook his head. “John’s mystery project. Who are these ghosts?"

Lightfoote laughed, tipping her head to Miller's. "Avenging spirits, Frank."

The pair behind her stopped several feet in front of the others. Cohen stepped up to Savas and placed her hand gently on his shoulder. She glanced backward.

"They weren't happy to come, John. But they're here. They're ready." She slipped alongside him and turned to face the ciphers.

Savas spoke to his team. "I'm sorry for this secrecy, but it was necessary for reasons I can't go into. But they're here to help." He gestured toward the pair. "Gabriel and Mary. You're to know them by these names. They're professionals. They are off the radar. They have no ties or allegiances to anyone. But they're allies."

Savas saw Miller and Rideout appraising the pair. Lightfoote only smiled.

Cohen continued the introductions. "Mary is an experienced field operative. She's smart and can handle herself in just about any situation. Gabriel has a unique history, but he is unparalleled in combat and crisis."

Rideout cut in. "Gabriel and Mary? What's next, the Holy Spirit? Christ child?”

Lopez walked up to Rideout, who could not suppress an instinct to step backward. As Gabriel, he offered his hand. "We'll need all the help from God we can get, if what Rebecca has told us is true. You can trust us."

Rideout extended his hand cautiously. The two men shook. There followed a repeat of the ritual with the other members of the team. Houston paused a moment looking Lightfoote up and down.

"This the one? Your white hat hacker?”

Savas nodded. "I don't know what color she is. Red, by the color of her butchered hair." He gestured toward Houston. "Angel, meet Mary. You and JP will be paired with her and Gabriel to form a team to look into the drones and computer end of this case. The rest of us will pursue the human angle and try to dig out the members of Anonymous."

The two women shook hands.

Houston stared quietly a moment longer. The fabric around her mouth pulled tightly from a smirk. "I like this one. She's hardcore."

Lightfoote looked deeply into Houston's eyes. "We all have to be. Now the nightmare really begins."

Lopez moved between Savas and Lightfoote. "You said she was special."

Savas shook his head. "You have no idea."

"Now that we're one big, happy family," said Lightfoote, "Let's get the hell out of here. Meeting together is a bad idea. For all of us, because of Anonymous. For you," she said, indicating Lopez and Houston, "because of, well, everyone else. Right, Fearless Leader?"

Miller and Rideout looked over sharply, but Savas ignored them. "As usual, Angel is correct. But I felt to get us through this email wouldn’t cut it. Sometimes face-to-face is required. So, the drone data?"

Lightfoote pulled out a black binder filled with paper and handed it to Houston. "Mary, your homework for tonight."

"What is it?" Houston asked.

Savas answered. "Angel's been digging into the drones. Records of the sales and trades of the major manufactures in the country. Hardcopy in case we’d transfer the worm to your computers. You said yours are scrubbed?”

Houston nodded. “Re-virginized.”

"I think you'll find this interesting," said Angel, a sly look on her face, indicating the binder.

"Once you've had a chance to digest it, we can plan the next steps," said Savas. "Meanwhile, we split up again, contact only through burner cells without GPS. Anonymous may have compromised telecommunications, and we can't afford to tip our hands."

Miller grunted. "Or you may find a drone up your ass with an unfriendly payload."

"Who’s our contact point?" Lopez asked.

“You’ll have all our numbers, and should we need to dump a phone we'll update as we go. But you’ll funnel all communications through Angel. The rest of you, outside of an emergency, straight to me. We believe Anonymous is using the NSA-developed snooping tools, piggy-backing on US surveillance. That means anything and everything is possibly an eye or ear for them. Angel is monitoring those tools for any hint that we’ve been compromised. Unlikely given our precautions, but we need to be careful, so let’s keep communication minimal.”

"See, you aren't the only ones hiding from Big Brother," said Lightfoote, smiling toward Lopez and Houston.

Lopez arched an eyebrow and Savas cut in. “Frighteningly intuitive, as I mentioned. I’m still calling it a feature, not a bug.”

Houston half turned to leave. “Okay then. Let's break and communicate when we’re ready to move.”

Savas nodded, and with a last look across the members of Intel 1, Lopez and Houston walked back through the tunnel and disappeared into the darkness.

Rideout let out a long breath that condensed in the air. “Well, that was intense!"

"Trusting your judgment on this, John," Miller said. "But I know death when I see it. And it was just standing in front of me."

"They've been through hell and back," said Savas. “Believe me, you wouldn’t want to walk in their shoes.”

They turned to exit the tunnel in different directions, each to take a different path and avoid detection. Before leaving, Lightfoote dropped alongside Savas and pecked his cheek with a kiss.

“Explanation?” Savas had known her for too long to hope to guess.

“The Priest and the Whore." She nodded approvingly. "Good catch, Aging Overlord.”

Savas sighed. "Damn, Angel, sometimes I don't know whether you're our only hope or our doom. How the hell did—"

"And it's really something that you did for them." Her expression turned serious. “But don't forget—I’m the only Angel.”

I
t was
three in the morning, and a bleary-eyed Sara Houston lay back against the filthy wall of the abandoned brownstone. Small lamps were placed on the floor around a crouched figure in front of her. Cords ran to outlets in the wall at her left. Lopez sat cross-legged in the middle of the circle of light, his dark features giving him the appearance of some ancient priest petitioning the gods. Instead he bowed over reams of paper and rubbed his eyes.

"It's so obvious if anyone had been looking." His voice was deeper than usual, rough from lack of sleep.

Houston spoke over the wailing of an ambulance siren as the flashing lights played across the windows. "So, we’ve got records for six major drone manufacturers in the US. Every single one of them has seen a marked increase in sales over the last six months. No wonder Angel thought we’d find it ‘interesting.’”

Lopez nodded, stood up, and stretched. “But we could be jumping to conclusions. Maybe the market has picked up for drones? More and more police and news stations want to get their hands on these things. Doesn't mean it's Anonymous-related. Would they even shop local? Leave that kind of trail?”

"I don't know, but they haven’t shown the same talents in real world crime as they have online. Anyway, we can’t visit all these places across the country. Not in time to hope to contribute meaningfully to this case. But from what I can see, four of the six plants only ship smaller scale drones. I think we can forget those. The drones carrying explosives—they'd have to be much larger."

"Agreed."

"There are only two providing models of that size in any number in the US. And guess what? One of them happens to be across the Hudson in New Jersey."

Lopez stared down at her. "I suppose you’re interested in paying that place a visit?"

Houston smiled. "And there’s no time like the present. What do you say we make a little excursion to Jersey?"

Lopez began to pace. "We're not ready. We need to do recon. Find out what this place is, try to determine the security, what we'll be up against. And what’s our target? We won't have access to the guided tour."

"We'll need to be in and out in under half an hour to be sure the police don't arrive. We need their records. What they've been selling and to whom. Hopefully, we can use that to trace the drones to Anonymous. In the real world, you always leave footprints.”

"So we need to identify their offices, determine how to penetrate their perimeter and security, how to get into the records, all from outside with no computer access."

"We can't do it without online access."

Lopez raised his hands. "But that opens our computers to the worm. Right now they're wiped. Pristine. Who knows how long before we're infected online."

"From what Angel said, not long."

"Then we might as well be televising what we're doing. At some point we risk opening ourselves to discovery by that thing. Best case they blow our data. Worst case they send assassins."

"So we don't use our computers."

"Then what?"

Houston stood up, stretching slowly in different yoga positions as she spoke. "Public library. We'll disable some of their safe-browsing settings, install TOR for anonymity, and get what we need and hope for the best."

“All those computers are infected.”

“Yes, but the worm isn’t omniscient. It’s also latent until activated. Is there a trigger keyword in every strain on every computer about everything that might be a threat to them? Anonymous can’t anticipate all the threats.”

“And if they have anticipated that one?”

“We’ll lose the computer and connection as the worm is activated. Then we go back to the drawing board, or head into the plant blind.”

“With somebody alerted to our interest.”

She sighed. “A risk we have to take.”

Lopez nodded. “We need building specs. Satellite info. How do we get that from the library computer connections?”

Houston laughed. "More than you think is publicly available. But for the details, we need governmental access." She picked up her phone. "Angel must not be getting much sleep these days." She dialed.

Lopez walked to the window and stared out into the night. The streetlights took on a hazy blur from the soiled glass. The occasional passing car was enveloped in a glowing fog that seemed to give it a phantasmal quality. Sleep deprived and anxious, the images stirred his primitive emotions. To add to the suspense, a whistle rose and fell from a wind picking up and blowing through the alleyways.

"Hi Angel. Mary here." Houston made her way to their weapons cache. “We have a lead on a manufacturing plant in Jersey. No, not far. South of Newark. Yes. Look, we need to do some serious recon before we hit that place. We need access to FBI databases, satellite scans, building schematics. Anything on the site.” She paused, listening. “We don’t have time to wait until John’s back. Yeah, I know you’d like his approval, but he’s not my daddy. You’re point for us, remember? And don’t tell me permission from the boss ever got in your way!” Houston picked up a large handgun, a Browning 1911, and sighed. “Look, can you do this, give us access or not? Okay, then just do it.” She nodded and checked the magazine on the weapon. “Thanks. And tell John we’ll be careful.”

She closed and pocketed the phone as Lopez approached. He glanced down at the weapon in her hand.

“Tell your dad to watch over us.”

She smiled at the .45 caliber, semiautomatic. “He always does. Believe that.”

Lopez checked his watch. “So, what time does the library open?”

C
BD
: And it was at this point that you began to question the individual members of Anonymous.

MS. COHEN: Yes. We had compiled a list of known and suspected members that were in custody, serving time for hacking-related crimes. Other offenses. We could get immediate access to those.

C
BD
: How many were in custody?

MS. COHEN: In the tristate area? At that time, four. Three were minor hackers. One was a central figure in the underground community, Laurens Hanert, who had just been transferred from FCI Manchester in Kentucky. We focused on him.

C
BD
: Who is Hanert?

MS COHEN: An online activist, mainly. Started a hacker site open to the public. Criminal record consisted of a few Mary Jane possessions and participation in protests. Riled up a bunch of people by working with Wikileaks. Then in 2012 he was busted by the FBI in a sting operation using an informant who was a former member of Anonymous. Basically, he was set up for a hack of an intelligence company. Borderline entrapment but it worked. Pleaded guilty and got fifteen years. Longer than most murder sentences.

C
BD
: Did you speak to the other hackers in custody?

MS. COHEN: No. We were low on personnel. We didn’t have the manpower to question them all. We thought that Hanert was our best bet.

[
R
EDACTED
]: And so the other members of Anonymous remained free.

MS. COHEN: Free? Those we knew anything about were in lockup! Free from our rushed and crazy inquiry as the world fell apart, sure. But Hanert was important. We were right to zero in on him.

C
BD
: How so?

MS. COHEN: He led us to some of the local hacker cells, cells that were unknown, underground. And he was the first to clue us in to Fawkes.

[
R
EDACTED
]: The mythical Fawkes, again.

MS. COHEN: I don’t know what this witch hunt is about, but you’re missing the elephant in the room. It’s not John! Fawkes was real and nearly got us all killed as we hunted him down. If you want to understand this thing, you’d better start taking that seriously.

C
BD
: And where did you meet this Hanert?

MS. COHEN: FCI Ray Brook, up in the Adirondacks. Long five-hour drive from the city.

C
BD
: Why drive? Why not fly?

MS. COHEN: We considered it, but with the risks of the worm to air traffic and guidance systems, if we were blown it seemed an easy way to get us out of the picture to bring an aircraft down. Paranoid, sure, but staying off the grid as much as possible, that was our plan. We tried hard to stick to it. Which makes the end result so ironic. But Hanert was worth it, even if it almost cost us our lives.