Chapter Three
It was no great surprise when another of those
“make-you-nervous” calls came via the blinking red lights of the secure line.
She had been expecting this particular call.
Sybil took a deep breath and picked it up on the second
ring.
“This is a secure line.”
“Is this you, Sybil?’’ came the very familiar voice of
POTUS, Parker Conrad Willets.
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Can you give me anything…anything on this Beelzebub
terrorist, Sybil? This becoming a political nightmare as well as colossal human
tragedy.”
“Not yet, Sir. We have made him or her our first
priority and so have has the FBI. Nada. Regular channels including Interpol,
the intelligence, diplomatic, and security services of every civilized country
have come up dry. We’re still at it, but whoever this is has no digital
signature or address, no criminal record, and none of our assets in the white
supremacist circles has ever heard of such a character.”
“Is this terrorism?”
“Apparently, not exactly, that is, not by the technical
definition. He or she doesn’t have a consistent axe to grind or message to
trumpet. Beelzebub doesn’t credit any known group for the outrages. His modus
operandi is basically chaotic; nobody can get a handle on how he does things.
Worse, we cannot predict anything about the next set of victims.”
“Have you had a chat with the Russians and the
Chinese—the usual suspects?”
“No, and not for lack of trying. It won’t come as any
surprise to you, but the Russians are enjoying a Cold War with us, and the
Chinese have been thrilled beyond measure that the last administration cut us
off from any meaningful interchange with them. The South China Sea and
Southeast Asia is their sphere of interest, and they are flexing their muscles
everywhere and every time they get a chance. That includes not bothering to
return calls or messages. We are working at getting to them through back doors,
but no luck yet.”
“Well, Sybil, I sure am glad I called and got cheered
up,” President Willets said, “I think I’ll go up to the residence, assume the
fetal position, and turn the electric blanket up to nine.”
“That sounds like a luxury, Mr. President. Given the
level of concern and threat, may I assume that I have near carte blanche to do
spy wizardry to get places I shouldn’t, Sir?”
“Do what you have to do, Sybil. I trust you.”
That afternoon, a new development, a terrible one, but
with some promise of a new avenue to explore took place. The New York Stock
Exchange main frame was hacked. In fact, it was held up for ransom—one billion
dollars, payable in one week, or the cost would be two billion. If the ransom
was not paid at that time, the “kidnappers” promised to crash the entire system
and to divert the holdings of the Exchange.
To prove to the New York executives that the kidnappers
were both serious and capable, the town of Rincon, South Carolina went through
the same set of ransom threat, repeat threat, and as of yesterday, every
financial asset of the town and Jesse Jackson County disappeared without a
trace. The FBI finally followed what appeared to be an intentional digital
trail to the Ministry of State Security [MSS]----the intelligence, security and
secret police agency of the People’s Republic of China[PRC] for nonmilitary
interests.
It was obviously no coincidence that a letter signed by
Beelzebub, The Magnificent appeared the same afternoon--written in Mandarin
Chinese when translated--in the People’s Daily and the China Daily.
It was printed untranslated in its original form in Beijing Morning Post
with a web site in the Chinese language, the Beijing Evening News, the Beijing News,
and the Global
Times with a daily circulation of 1,042,000, making it one of the
biggest newspapers in the world.
PEOPLE’S DAILY, November 12,
Dear citizens of Beijing, did you
think you could escape my great eye? How silly of you. And bad joss. I will
visit your evil country soon, and you will regret all your communist sins. I am
the great end-times avenger. Live in fear and trembling.
- Beelzebub, The Magnificent
Hahaha
The PRC public was very well informed about Beelzebub
from reprints of the letters from western outlets and from news articles and
commentaries approved by the party. The general gist of the news the Chinese
had been absorbing was that an irate and downtrodden victim of the imperialist
bandits had broken his fetters and was lashing back at the capitalist
hegemonists. The new take was that Beelzebub was threatening the PRC because
Russia and America had bought him off. The editorialists scoffed at the thought
that a lunatic could succeed in his terrorism while the great Chinese nation
was protected by the MSS and PLA [People’s Liberation Army].
On November 13, at noon, near a disputed island named
Sandy Cay [Philippine-occupied island called Pag-asa by Filipinos], two
destroyers from a flotilla of 200 Chinese naval vessels were sunk by explosions
from limpet mines. The Chinese accused the Filipinos; Philippine President
Dutarte assailed the Chinese for “perpetrating a hoax to inflame world
opinion.” The United States ordered the Seventh Fleet to the area, and Russia
began fly-overs with its a large, four-engine turboprop-powered strategic
bomber and missile platform Tupolev_Tu-95. All sabers were rattling.
Fanning the growing fire, a missive from a largely
unknown person in the Philippine Islands was printed in the Manilla
Bulletin and the Manilla Times, written in Tagalog
per the demands of the secret submitter, a letter which shifted blame and
interest.
Manilla Bulletin, November 13
Dear citizens of the Philippine
Islands, did you think you could escape the wrath of the Chinese? Do you now
think you can evade my great eye? How silly of you all. And malas [tagalog: bad
luck]? I will visit your own evil country soon, and you will regret all your
sins of being the lapdogs of the Great Satan, America. I am the great end-times
avenger. The fool Chinese are but my tools. Live in fear and trembling. Look
overhead for my people. Look to the sea for your enemy.
- Beelzebub, The Magnificent
Hahaha
The latest atrocities resulted in 3,123 Chinese sailors
and marines KIA and presumed lost at sea. The financial loss was a closely held
national secret by the PRC. The plighst of the financially ruined little South
Carolina city of Rincon was largely eclipsed by the international crisis, but
the town essentially died when all its money and services evaporated in a
single key-stroke.
The shock-waves were not over: the NYSE announced that
hackers, presumably from Red China, had caused a billion dollars to disappear
into the dark digital cloud without so much as a set of 0-1, 1-0 hints as to
where.
DCIA Norcroft was alarmed and sprang into action. She
made two encrypted telephone calls, the first to Dr. Steven Highnam, the
director of DARPA [Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency].
“Hello, Dr. Norcroft, to what do I owe the pleasure of
this call, my co-conspirator?” the director said as soon as the two secure
lines were connected.
“No pleasure, Steven, I’m afraid; and I don’t suppose
you were expecting any. I am sure you know all about this Beelzebub
entity—probably more than me. The Firm is getting nowhere. We need all the help
we can get. First off, can you get a look at the encrypted messages he or she
sent? Find us a signature, or an IP address, or something that identifies the
monster or even where the messages come from.”
“We’re already on it. What we found is not of any help
it seems. The signature is hidden all over in the encryptions—Beezebub, The
Magnificent. No surprises or real intel there. The digital track is
circular—pings from stations all around the globe and back again. This is
likely a state sponsor. It seems like too much work for an individual, however
smart or handy with the keyboard he or she is.”
“Pretty thin, Steven. Any idea what state sponsor?”
“Certainly not yet. Could be Russian government, the
vory v zakone [russaya mafiya], or the very quickly advancing Chinese, even the
Philippine president’s office. He hates us enough. I wouldn’t rule out
organized crime from anywhere in the world, or the Islamic militants. I am
going to assign my deputy, Peter Walker to head up things at our end. He’ll be
working with the spooks at the Tactical Technology Office; that gives us both a
defensive and an offensive channel. I presume you can get the necessary
approvals from the president, Madame Director?
“I’ll take care of it, Steven.”
Sybil’s next call was to a long dormant agent with whom she
had worked previously. He knew were all the bodies were buried or hidden, and
everything about everyone who mattered in black ops world.
Neurosurgeon turned Author who writes with Gripping Realism
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