Buzzworm (A Technology Thriller): Computer virus or serial killer? (21 page)

Med stared into the dark of her small apartment
, a cold weight on her chest.

What had her sister said
? Find some guy who doesn’t think he’s James Bond.
It was partly said in fun, but it had hurt nonetheless. In fact, the pain was so sharp and sudden that it had brought tears to her eyes.

At the same time, she marveled at the insight. She loved her sister dearly, but sometimes she came a little too close to the mark for comfort.

Now Med crossed her arms over her chest wishing the dread would go away
. Who was Xavier anyway?
Roger had been instantly suspicious of him
.
He was probably jealous. A rich guy who traveled the world. What was not to be envious about? If you thought about it, took all the happy smiles and warm glances into account and, ok, the lingering touching and the passion — then wiped them right out of the equation, you were left with one unalterable question.
Why was David interested in her?
He had homes in three cities. A company that made millions. He could have his choice of women.

She tried to slow her breathing.

Her suspicions had nagged her right from the beginning, but she had ignored them. This whole love affair, even the idea of being in love period, felt so good and she didn't want to jinx it. But doesn't everyone ask themselves that question... why me? What did David see in little Mary Ellen Duke, the skinny tomboy from Minnesota? He was one of those people born directly into opportunity and control, tall, convincing, assured. Yes, dammit, assured. One of those guys never at a loss for words. He always knew what to say, what to wear, where to look, what to think. And did he have to be so freaking charming?

She got up and paced around the clutter of files and magazines on the floor. Look at this place? Was this the nest of a future Mrs. Anyone? She kicked one pile and sent it tumbling under the coffee table. They had their moments together. But then, so did Beauty and the Beast. She cringed at the analogy. She imagined him grimacing at her, out of her sight, and this sent a shaft of pain through her center that momentarily made her dizzy. Shit. She had been in love, but it was beginning to feel like a disease – a huge insurmountable sticky kind of a love that was blurring her vision. With a man who might have chosen her to be some kind of dupe, although she couldn't imagine to what purpose. She hadn't given up any state secrets in a moment of passion, that she was clear on. She couldn't remember him even once mentioning her work. But she still had a sense that she had fallen for a manipulator; a cool opportunist with charcoal gray eyes and perfect teeth. Someone her mother would have loved. She thrashed at another pile of files and got some tiny bit of satisfaction seeing the cover of an issue of
Wired
separate itself from the body of the magazine.

After talking to her sister, Laura, her eyes stinging with anger and hurt, she had taken the fancy key ring hard drive David had given to her and had thrown it against the kitchen wall.
Why had she done that?
She had solidly defended him to Laura. Very few people understood the life of a successful business person or for that matter, people like herself who slaved away in the bowels of the CIA. But her sister laughed it off.
This wasn't about intelligence,
she had said.
This was about fucking.
That word had upset her more than anything else because what they did wasn't just screwing. It was more than that. Wasn't it?

The clear plastic cover of the tiny key ring hard drive shattered and lay on the kitchen counter and she stared at it as if it were parts of David lying there. Attractive, shiny and hard.

Her sister had been right. There was something cold about him; despite the perfect set of his mouth when he smiled at you, the way his eyes seemed to be seeing only her... she choked slightly. She was mourning his loss already, she thought, numbed by the idea.

David clearly acted like he cared about her. He was thoughtful to a fault. He was just never around. That was the problem. She was a bright, attractive partner for him, and he had shown that he enjoyed the company of intelligent and imaginative people. And she couldn't help but think that romantically, what they had, was special. Maybe even for him, there was some surprise in his attraction to this number crunching, obsessive female.

Making love to David — no, that wasn't quite right. David making love to her — was the highlight of their time together. It was so unlike anything she had ever experienced with anyone else. He was so totally dedicated to her needs. So totally unselfish in the act of love. She couldn't help but smile then, standing in the tiny kitchen, feeling a chill run through her body. Was any man that perfect?

She leaned on the counter and set about cleaning up the pieces of the drive, hoping it would take her mind off her confusion, when she froze. In her hand she held the tiny memory drive attached to a key chain ring minus its plastic cover. This was not a cheap Radio Shack consumer product. Etched on the blue-green circuit board in tiny gold letters, she read 500 GB. Five hundred gigabytes? That was more memory than most people had on their desktops. And it felt expensive — that was the only way she could categorize it. Even the CIA, which was quite proud of its technology, had nothing bigger than a 64 Gigabyte USB drive. Here was David
, Mr. What Do I Know About Computers
handing off some high-end advanced techno-bauble to his girlfriend.

Then she noticed something else. There was no brand name; this from a guy who lived the brand image from his Ferrari sports car to his hand-tailored Australian merino wool Raymond Unlimited suits. If this were some high-priced premium product made for guys like David, who needed to believe they had to own the world’s best, then wouldn't it be branded that way? Wouldn't it say "You hold in your hands the world’s finest and most expensive product in its class and the person who paid for them obviously has money to burn and an ego to match?” But it didn't say that. It said nothing. A no-brand.

She wandered back into the living room and inserted the connector of the tiny drive into one of the USB ports on the front of her laptop. She stared at the screen for a few seconds trying to understand why this portable storage device would be any different from the garden-variety type. They might be better made, she thought — less likely to be damaged, military-quality — although she couldn't imagine why the CIA wouldn't use the same type, if they were as superior as they looked. She slid her finger over the mouse pad below the keyboard and read out the contents of the drive. She had never transferred her own files to the drive, not having the time or having security concerns about transferring work documents.

MicroFlight.doc 9,002,340

There was one file on the disk. It was over nine gigabytes in size. That was enough to store an entire 3D movie. She double-clicked on the file and watched as it loaded. She noticed something then that puzzled her. There were three small lights on the front panel of her IBM laptop. A green light indicated that the CD disk was operating, an orange light indicated Intranet activity, and a red LED flashed when the hard drive was busy. Not only had the red light begun to flash, but so did the high-speed Internet indicator. She had never noticed before the hard drive on her laptop starting-up during the loading of a document file from a USB device. Why would it do that? She tried it once more. Again, the red light flashed on and off. She then took one of her USB drives, a much smaller one she used to take work home on, and loaded a file from it. Only the green light glowed as the file was processed.

Med inserted David's drive again and for the third time loaded the file. She skimmed through the contents. It was clearly a copy of the MicroFlight website, the one that David’s company used to promote its products. But something didn't make sense. Document files were normally pretty small, about a hundredth of the size of this file, and usually even less. There were quite a few pictures, but that still didn’t account for the size. She felt a headache coming on. That meant, in computer terms, an awful lot of something was hidden in the files that David had loaded on the flash drive. The document was like an iceberg; ninety-five percent hidden from view, but massive just the same. When she plugged this into her computer at work, what had happened? What had she done?

Med felt her skin flush. She had been looking everywhere throughout the GIPPETO computer system, for the source of that terrible video. She had access to one of the most powerful computers ever built, and now it looked like she was the one who had done the impossible. She had infected an Avion supercomputer — with a simple memory device she had been routinely taking into work — a present from her boyfriend.

Roger Strange noticed for the first time
, as he was being escorted out of Building 213 by security for the second time, that he could see the Lincoln Memorial off in the distance to the north, through a slight haze of mist.

He stood there, on the edge of the parking lot, considering his options.

Vienna had fired him that morning. She said she was sorry, but the Division no longer required his services.

Within a few minutes the same two uniforms that had presented him to Wishnowsky, were marching him out onto the street. They seemed filled with satisfaction over their simple task; he felt defeated and worthless. And naked without his laptop, which the police still had in custody.

Lacking any real destination for the moment, he decided a long walk would clear his head, so he headed up along the river walk that followed the Potomac River. He knew the Lincoln and Washington Memorials, as well as the Reflecting Pool, were close by — famous landmarks he’d seen in movies. And since he only had one or two days left in D.C., he didn’t want to miss them.

Vienna had been apologetic to him, but she said she had no choice in the matter. Her division was under siege, and all non-essential personnel had been asked to leave. Strange had no idea how this affected the terms of his contract or the deal he had made to find the virus. He wasn’t in the mood right now to call his boss and tell her that her gravy train had just derailed.

Roger continued walking south. The clouds hung low over the nations capital and the sky was threatening rain, which only added to his sense of being alone and helpless. He needed to forget about his argument with Med and the fact that he would probably never see her again. He also had the complete failure of his primary mission to contend with – which meant a quick return to his jail cell and maybe worse.

Over the past week, the Internet, the blogosphere and the media, were filled with reports of virus attacks on public and private sites. But Roger knew something most bloggers didn’t; the CIA was already bloodied and about to collapse. And no one seemed aware of it. If that was the case with other organizations in other countries. He couldn’t even imagine what this could lead to.

Following the Rock Creek Park trail next to the river, he passed the John Ericsson Memorial and was quickly into parkland. He could see the Lincoln Memorial rising up like a Greek temple in the distance, and off to the east, the unmistakable spire of the Washington Memorial. He felt like he had crossed over into another world. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck tingle.
Could a small army of fanatics have an impact on all that this represented?
Roger knew that 9/11 proved that it could. Only this time the terrorism came from within.

He arrived at the traffic circle surrounding the Lincoln Memorial. Tourists who had come to the capital were pouring up and down the steps. Everyone seemed so oblivious to what was going on only a few blocks away.

Roger checked his cell phone. He still had Hyde’s cell number in memory. What he knew about Xavier was giving him a headache, but he had been afraid to bring it up in detail. Roger knew that Hyde could easily pry the source out of him. That would only support everyone’s belief that he was a low life hacker skulking around the Internet and stealing data. Which he was.

Roger pressed the re-dial. The detective answered immediately. He was understandably distant and gruff when he learned who had called.

“You back in Canada yet?” was all he growled.

“Close. They just kicked me out of the CIA. They’re melting down and don’t want any eyewitnesses. But before I go, there is something we need to talk about."

"Why don’t you send me an email. Isn’t that what you guys do?" Roger didn’t answer. “I’m busy, Strange. Tell me now.”

“Not over the phone.”

Hyde was skeptical, but reluctantly agreed to meet on the Memorial steps in about half an hour. Roger hung up and then walked through the traffic and sat on the steps leading up to the Lincoln statue. The view across the Reflecting pond to the Washington memorial in the distance made him forget his problems for a few minutes. It was breath taking. This was what
Buzzworm
was attacking? Human beings had finally got it right after all these centuries and built a true democracy, and now some army of malcontents was trying to tear it all down.

Hyde was right on time, wearing a long rumpled black raincoat. He sat down beside Strange.

Roger pointed across at the view. “Do you come here often?”

Hyde looked slightly surprised by the question. “Used to bring my daughter here when she was younger. Sometimes an out-of-town relative.”

“It’s humbling,” was all Roger could think of to say. “But I guess that’s the point.”

Hyde looked at Strange like he was about to comment, then thought better of it. “So what do you have?”

“Before we talk about that, what do you know about being followed? I just got this funny feeling like I was being watched.”

Hyde stood up. “Let’s go for a walk. Soak up some more history.” As they started off on the grass along the verge of the Reflecting Pool, Hyde appeared wary. “Did you see anyone or just have a moment of paranoia back there?”

“You know the videos that the CIA staff were talking about — me with the chainsaw? They talk about a handful, but I figure there have been maybe hundreds sent out over the past months to create as much misery and fear as possible. It’s someone’s psychological campaign on CIA employees. To make those videos they need to have people taking photos and movies of staff and their friends. Even relatives. So
Buzzworm
must have help keeping tabs on everyone. And no one reported any suspicious behavior of that kind?”

“You mean has anyone made a police report – on the paparazzi? Hasn’t happened.”

Roger dodged a small boy staring out over the water of the pond. “Don’t sound so skeptical. Doesn’t anyone take attacks on computer systems seriously?”

Roger shook his head. “You have no idea what a dedicated hacker can accomplish. How about on Friday, you go to your local ATM to take out some of your hard earned paycheck and there’s no money in the account.”

“Nothing unusual there. It’s called alimony.”

“OK. How about millions of people all across the U.S. No cash. And when they go to use their credit cards, they don’t work. They can’t buy food. They can’t buy booze or cigarettes. They can’t put gas in their cars. Besides, the pumps at the gas station don’t work anyway.”

“That sounds like a big bad fairy tale. Like the Y2K scare that never happened.”

“No one talks about the vulnerabilities because institutions don’t want the public to know how close they are to a meltdown. The banks especially. They get hacked for billions every year.”

Hyde gave him a side-glance. “I guess you would know about that.”

“If you checked my priors, which I guess you did, you’d know I never stole anything.”

“Fine. Attempted robbery then.”

Roger realized there was no point in arguing his criminal history. His hacking experience put him on the other side of the line with Hyde and there was no changing that. “I know the banks, all financial institutions, want everyone to think they’re secure, but they are all as leaky as an aging fleet of submarines.
Buzzworm
could do untold damage.”

“OK. I’m shakin’ in my boots. I’m going to go home and hide some cash in a tin under the bed. But I came here out of my busy schedule to talk about your lead. Is this about Xavier?”

Roger swallowed. After the meeting in Scammel’s lab with Med and Vienna, they had visited security to go over the logs. Over three hundred people had signed into Building 213 on the day of Scammel’s death, only three from the outside. They all checked out. So they had a shadow, but that was all. Then Hyde asked Roger about the fireworks going on over this David Xavier. Roger told him to check the file on Scammel for a link to Xavier. He had heard a rumor. That was all.

“Did you find a link?” Roger asked.

Hyde had his hands in his raincoat pocket, his head down. “Not much. When Wishnowsky sent in the report, Xavier’s name was mentioned once in the notes section. When the data was entered into the national crime base, that note was included. Xavier visited Scammel the day he was arrested.”

“So he was a lawyer? Xavier?”

“He never passed the bar in the United States. I checked.”

“So how did he get in to see Scammel?”

Hyde thought about that for a few steps. “Where did you get this information from?”

“It was given to me by a trusted source.”

Hyde stopped. They still hadn’t reached the East end of the pool. It was much larger than Roger had imagined. “I could hold your head under water for a few minutes, test your commitment on that trusted source.” Roger felt the blood running out of his head. He believed that Hyde could do it. He seemed like one of those people who were capable of anything on a minute’s notice.

Roger looked at the water then back at Hyde. He couldn’t imagine doing Hyde’s job in a million years, so he decided to cut him some slack. “I’m good with computer systems. I find things others miss.” Hyde started walking again, apparently no longer interested in dragging Roger into the water. They could both see Constitution Gardens off in the distance, their apparent destination.

“Besides a name, what else do you know about him?” asked Hyde. “You and your buddy the Internet.”

“I guess you know a lot more than I do.”

Hyde smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Xavier is a military contractor, but this town is infested with them. He’s done work for the CIA of course. I called his company, got a receptionist. She said he’s out of the country for a week on business. In Dubai. She took my number and said he would call me. But he hasn’t.”

Roger didn’t look happy. “Mary Ellen Duke, the team lead you met at the lab? She’s been going out with him.”

Hyde gave Roger a sidelong glance. “That got your blood boiling, son?”

Roger ignored the jab. “Don’t you think it’s suspicious that Xavier has a connection with your suicide victim and a dead cop and a female employee at the CIA?”

Hyde looked up at the brooding sky. “Yeah, it sounds fucked up. But what I have is two suicides and an accidental death, one which you witnessed. Nothing that a prosecuting attorney is going to want to waste any time on. The only actual homicide case connected to the CIA is Dodge’s, which is really about an ex-military screw-up who loved to go to his favorite bar, drink himself into fighting shape and take on the biggest guy in the room. Which is exactly what he did the night he died, his blood alcohol level off the charts. From what the owner tells us, some customer decided to get even for some previous beating. All we need to do now is find the murder weapon, a pickup truck of uncertain origination. And this we got from one witness who at the time was puking up his Jack Daniels in the weeds behind the bar’s trash bins.”

Roger looked surprised. “I don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t want any more leads?”

“Does this Dodge business sound to you like the work of an intelligence genius? Why would a businessman with connections to the military care about Dodge anyway? He didn’t even work directly for the CIA. He was a contractor working for a security company. A rent-a-cop.”

Roger noticed that Hyde seemed suddenly distracted. Like he was putting things together in his head. “My advice is to stay out of this, Strange. This all smells like typical Washington intrigue and you have no idea how ugly that can get. First, don’t look around. We
are
being followed. They’re fairly good too. They’ve obviously been trained on surveillance. But it could just be the FBI or Homeland Security keeping an eye on foreigners. If you’re poking around on the Internet, you could be alerting all kinds of Intelligence attention. And then there’s also the possibility that the whackos behind
Buzzworm
are watching you as well.”

“What do I do?”

“Go home. Before your Visa expires and the feds come after you. Let me figure this out.”

Roger was tired of being treated like a nuisance. “I don’t think you can figure this out, Hyde. I think your perp is
Buzzworm,
not a guy with a half-ton truck. And you just can’t see that. Division 213 has some kind of launch taking place on Monday, very top secret, so I don’t know the details, but I think
Buzzworm
will do anything to mess that up. Including killing and threatening people. I think that’s what he has been working up to all these months. He could be working for Al Qaeda, the Koreans, the Chinese - anybody. But this is like war in the 21
st
Century and we know a bomb is about to go off. And you don’t know enough to care.”

Hyde stared at Strange for a few long seconds. “I think it’s you that doesn’t get it. Look around you. This town lives and breathes this shit every day. They’ll deal with it. Congress will give them another ten billion and the problem will go away.”

“Congress can’t stop a denial of service attack.”

“Denial of what?”

“That’s what hackers use to attack websites. I’m not talking about someone’s web page. I’m talking the way companies do business today. Financial institutions, the government, the stock market, commodities markets, police, CIA, air traffic control, energy grids. Everything. Everyone uses the Internet now. A denial of service attack is a very powerful weapon. Some call it an eBomb. It blows up everything.”