Chapter Ten
Bad news continued to flow
in at an accelerated rate. A-P news services reported that Boeing, Airbus
Group, Lockheed Martin, Raytheon, and General Atomics, had been targeted. A-P
said that it was as yet unclear what had been stolen; but DARPA and the intelligences
services cyber units knew that millions of secure addresses, schematics, and
plans, had been compromised by China. Lincoln Howard reported the work of Zhang
Ling Min—a trusted employee of Apt 1 division of 61398, the Chinese government
hacking service—and his own contribution as a spy for Sybil. The DCIA was—at
the moment—in a Russian made turboprop Antonov AH-32 transport plane flying
over the North Atlantic en route to Moscow.
Sybil listened intently to
Lincoln’s report that was considered too sensitive to transmit in writing. She
was seated in a comfortable leather-bound reclining swivel chair and wearing
head-phones for privacy. Her plane was supplied by Air Branch—the aviation wing
of SAD [the CIA’s Special Activities Division]. The airplane had been modified
by the division for covert missions in support of CIA operations. She had been
trying to rest during the 2,000 mile air trip when Lincoln called.
“Sorry it took so long to
get through security this time, Lincoln. What do you have to report?”
“We have pinpointed the
hackers who got into our aircraft manufacturing companies. They are a Russian
cyberespionage group—known as “Fancy Bears.” They collude with the Chinese
61398. We have names and even know which computers in the building off Datong
Road in the public, mixed-use area of Pudong in Shanghai with which you are
thoroughly familiar.”
“The same building—known to
every intelligence organization in the developed world—which houses PLA Unit
61398/APT 1? That Pudong building?”
“The very same. Our Chinese
and Russian friends are up to their ears in this Beelzebub business. Why is not
entirely clear.”
“Maybe it is just grand
theft on a colossal scale; DARPA tells me that Beelzebub has now frozen whole
computer operations in these companies temporarily with ransom ware. Someone
needs to get on the line with the kidnapped companies and plead with them not
to pay ransom. We estimate that more than sixty billion dollars has been paid
out for ransom already,” Sybil told Lincoln.
“It’s more than just money,
Sybil. We have learned that a group called the Honker Union has political
motives. The group formed when the United States bombed the Chinese embassy in
Belgrade, Yugoslavia. So-called Honkers formed a Honker Union, whose members
combined hacking skills with misplaced patriotism and nationalism, and launched
a series of attacks on websites in the United States, mostly government-related
sites. The group uses the communist party red color to distinguish itself. They
romanticize their activities with the idea that a hacker in red is in combat
with evil hackers in the dark. Eventually Honkers morphed their hacktivism to
support the Chinese government against what they see as the imperialism of the
United States and the militarism of Japan. Last year, the group merged with the
Red Hacker Alliance.”
“And, I’m beginning to
think this whole affair is a very complicated set of actions, and we don’t
really know the core reason for all of this theft and mayhem. Lincoln, I have a
theory that we have a mole working against us—and by us, I mean the whole
civilized world—for his or her own gain. I am on my way to Russia to feel the
government out about cooperating instead of fighting with the Chinese and
eventually us. I may be wrong, but I am pretty sure that greed and a play for
power underlie this terrible calamity that has been developed on purpose.”
“So, you don’t think
Beelzebub, or Satan, or the Prince of the Knight, the Dark Force, or the Deep
Space is behind all of this devilish business, eh, Sybil?”
“And I don’t believe in
spirits, ghosts, or fairy dust, Lincoln. In the end, I think we will find some
power mad person or group who has come up with an incredibly successful way to
garner money for the cause. The world has lost over a trillion dollars up to
now, with three-quarters of that being money that is gone over to the dark side
to support the monsters’ purposes.”
“Would it be a good idea to
have the DDCIA meet with his counterpart in Beijing and try to spread the idea
you have? We are all going to agree, or a great many of us are going to die.”
“That’s a good idea. While
we’re at it, I’ll work on President Willets to send emissaries to the Japanese,
Russian, Saudi, Israeli, and Palestinian governments to convince them to back
off from military belligerence until we know what is really going on.”
“I’ll keep working here in
China, Sybil. The only real set of facts we have for sure right now is that
61398 is involved. I want to see if Min and I can develop some leads that
implicate some big snootin’ grouper in one of our countries as the culprit.”
“That is exactly my plan
for going to Moscow. Check in with me tomorrow night, if you can, Lincoln.
Let’s pool every resource and bit of information. Stay safe, my friend.”
The turboprop Antonov AH-32
landed in near total darkness at the Moscow Domodedovo Airport, the large,
busy, domestic facility that the CIA deemed safer for the security of the DCIA
and her mission.
She was whisked aboard a
re-worked unobtrusive 2105 Classic Lada—originally a knock-off, based on the
1966 Fiat 124. The Lada sedan was the most common model and was most
appreciated for its affordable price, its reliability, and the unpretentious
mechanics. The American spies appreciated the current American revised version
which looked beat-up and no better or no more worthy of a glance the other
several million of them still on Russian streets.
Sybil slid onto the
spacious seat’s leather comfort and met Special Agent, Danny Mortensen, with
whom she had worked in the jungles of the Congo four years previously.
There was not enough time
to indulge in doubt and suspicion. She came right to the point.
“Danny, tell me what you
know.”
“Yes, Madam Director. I do
know this much. There has been a great deal of money flowing into the side doors
of the Lubyanka FSB building. I’m not sure the head of the Federal Security
Service knows whether, how much, or for what purposes. Even stranger, my people
have spotted some known faces from the APL-1 in Shanghai, from the Honker
Union, from the Islamic State, Israel, and from the Fatah.
“Sounds like dinner with
the Satan family.”
“Yeah, it does. What do you
think is up, Director?”
She told Danny what she
knew and what she surmised.
“A mole? Think it could be
an American mole, even a CIA mole?”
“Heaven forbid; but no one
is above or beyond suspicion, Danny, not even me.”
The driver of the Russian
car had been told simply to drive around and await more definitive orders.
“What’s your plan, Madam
Director?”
“I need you to take me to
the basement of the Lubyanka, Danny. Time is very short, and I need to scare
the crap out of some teenagers.”
“Putin’s own teenage
hackers?”
“Yes, unless, you have a
better target of my inquiries.”
“I am out of ideas. But,
Director, did you know that the Lubyanka is considered the tallest building in
Russia?”
“No, I didn’t. I don’t. How
can that be true?”
“Because, as it is said,
‘from the basement of the Lubyanka, you can see Siberia a thousand miles
away.’”
She smiled.
The clever and pampered
“princes of the internet,” led cloistered and sheltered lives, and also viewed
their very secure lives as being slaves to the machinery of the Lubyanka and
its denizens. The teenagers Sybil needed to meet worked from Pb [informatsionnoye
protivoborstvo or Information countermeasures]. She would need the permission
of Alexander Bortnikov, head of the FSS [Federal Security Service] who reported
directly to President Vladimir Putin.
“It would probably be
better to see Alexander Bortnikov first,” Danny suggested. “I doubt you will
get past the main doors without a pass from him.”
“I don’t think that will be
a problem. He and I worked together about ten years ago on a human trafficking
case. We seemed to hit it off.”
It turned out that Sybil
was right. Borntikov opened his schedule to fit her in as soon as he knew she
was in the city and was requesting help. The Russian government was in enough
of a panic to be willing to talk to any senior US officer to help avoid a
massive escalation in hostilities in the Middle East. And, he liked Sybil
Norton, ever since she adroitly rebuffed his overly enthusiastic advances in a
time long ago and far away, as he saw it.
She entered a rear door
into the Lubyanka and was quickly escorted to Bortnikov’s large and ornate
office.
“Sybil, my dear, it has
been such a long time,” he said. “How good it is to see you. We are all very
worried at these uncertain times. Is there a way we can all help each other?”
“I certainly hope so,
Sasha,” she said, using his familiar nickname. “I have come with a mission. You
and I must be honest with each other; I promise that on my end. The stakes are
too high for any pretenses.”
“I agree. At first, here,
we all thought the Chinese had gone crazy, which is not at all like them. Then,
we decided it was a plot by the Americans to take back the prestige they once
enjoyed in Asia before the yellow-haired man became the ‘little Tzar’ as we
called him. It was a trick to get us and the Chinese to tear at each other’s
throats. I held out against that idea. We have not been on good terms with your
government, but I never believed the thoughtful people like you in the American
government would hatch such a scheme. It would eventually result in terrible
harm to your citizens as well as the rest of the world.”
“Sasha, I have been running
around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to find out who or what this
Beelzebub character is and why he or it is working so disastrously to cause
dissension. You are right about us. President Willets is not crazy, and neither
am I. I have my finger on the pulse of everything our country is doing with
regards to foreigners. Categorically, I can say it is not us who are the
monsters. Frankly, I don’t think it is the Chinese either. As you say, it is
not in their nature. They are long-term planners, and this Beelzebub thing is
the quintessence of short-term disaster.”
“Do you have one of your
famous hunches, my dear? I presume you are here and in a hurry to keep the
planet from being blown away by the hawks in America, Russia, China, and the
Middle East.”
“I have something of an
idea. It is only partial, and I know it is neither the whole story nor the
solution. However, I think your cyber counterintelligence bureaus may hold the
answer or can help me to find it. I need your permission. The Politburo and the
Chairman may well not like it, but I have to have some serious access.”
“That’s a big ask, my
friend, especially with everything so tense right now. However, I trust you. If
I am wrong, and you betray me; it will cost me my life. I will clear the way
for you. Please, by all you hold dear, do not use this clearance to trick me.”
He was intensely serious,
even emotional, a characteristic Sybil would never have thought the man of iron
could possess.
“You have my word, Sasha.
All of our lives may depend on our trust of each other.”
“So, what do you want,
specifically?”
“I need to have full and
unimpeded access to your Information Countermeasures Group—the adolescent
hackers who are so brilliant and resourceful.”
“You have met them before
and jousted with them, as I recall.”
“I did. That was an
unfortunate time when the russkaya mafiya launched an attack on our stock
markets. That is all in the past. Bad as that was, this situation is worse.”
“I will take you to them
this very day.”
When an FSB limousine races
through Moscow, just as happened when it was the KGB, pedestrians and vehicles
scurried to get out of the way and did not ask questions.
The house where the young
hackers worked was large but unimpressive, very much like all the rest of the
Khrushchev concrete block buildings on the street. There was no impressive show
of security, but Sybil knew it was one of the most closely guarded secrets in
the Russian Federation and guarded as such.
She and Director Borntikov
moved swiftly through a side door and up two flights of stairs. The entire
floor was dedicated to the tasks of a group of twenty young Russian boys and
girls. They looked like any other gathering of millennials—crazy haircuts and
colors, tattoos all over, and a number of rings and ear lobe guagers—including
straight and curved ear stretching tapers and claws for making ever larger
holes in their earlobes—all where such things should not be, in Sybil’s
opinion. Their clothing was like that of
youth all over the world—mixed and mis-matched colors, sizes, styles, and
mostly immodest enough to compel Sybil to fix her eyes on the eyes of the boys
and girls.
Sybil knew not to
under-estimate these pampered children. Because of their level of computer
genius, they had been imported from all over the Russian Federation to engage
in cyberwarfare for the Russian government. This included denial of service
attacks, hacker attacks, dissemination of disinformation and propaganda, participation
of state-sponsored teams in political blogs, internet surveillance using SORM
technology [System for Operative Investigative Activities], persecution of
cyber-dissidents, and other even more active measures.
Sybil wanted to make use of
their combined skills and knew she had to win them over. Moreover, she was
determined to get them to work with the Chinese Honker Union, their
counterparts in the Peoples’ Republic.
Their director introduced
Sybil to the assembled hackers and smilingly asked them to give every help they
could to this American spy master. There was no point in being coy or secretive
about her identity. They all knew perfectly well who Sybil Norcroft was and
regarded her as an enemy agent. It was her mission to win them over and to do
so quickly.
“Thank you all for taking
time away from your important work. The world is in a serious state of threat
as you all know. Much of the threat has originated from black hat hacking. I am
pretty sure that some of you have been assigned to do some of that work; in
fact that you have linkages with the Fancy Bears who work with the Chinese Red
Honkers. Well, I can say without reservation, that you and the other hackers
around the world have succeeded beyond your wildest imaginations—which are pretty
wild, I am told.”
She was gratified to see
that she had elicited a little laughter around the room.
“Look, Director Borntikov
and I—and in fact, the whole world—needs your help and needs it quickly. That
is no exaggeration. I have a daughter named Cerisse, who is also a great
hacker. You may know about her.”
They all nodded. Everyone
in the room had heard the harrowing story of the little pygmy girl who was
abused in the Congo, escaped by the heroism of her adoptive mother, and who was
kidnapped and held for ransom—another story of great resourcefulness and
bravery.
“I have traveled to the
ends of the earth for her, for you, and for the young people growing up now;
so, they can enjoy funny hairdos, tattoos, and piercings.”
Now, the room rocked with
laughter. Sybil knew she had them.
Sybil did not realize how extensive the hackers
were involved themselves, but they were fickle and responded to the highest
bidder, which—at the moment—was Sybil Norcroft and her old friend, Alexander
Borntikov. It was only a matter of minutes before the room’s computer keyboards
were buzzing with activity—some redoing their previous hacking, some hacking
new targets, and some doing creative detective work with a few gentle nudges
from the two directors.
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