Chapter Seven
The secure telephone blinked red in FBI Director Henry
Quint’s office. His aide, Emmanuel Dorrity, answered,
“This is a secure line. Tell me your clearance code,
please,” Emmanuel asked politely.
The answer was less polite, even brusque, “I speak to
Quint and no one else. You will regret forever if you interfere.”
“I will try and locate the director, Sir. Please stay
on the line.”
Emmanuel pushed the security button which activated a
recording machine in the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building security office, and
signaled officers to listen in on the call. Next, he called the director on his
personal cell phone.
“This better be important.”
“It may be, Sir. The voice is threatening, and I think
it is more than just the usual crank call.”
“A hunch?”
“I guess so; but, my gut is giving me a trouble signal”
“You usually have a good gut and good hunches. Are you
ready for me to be patched in?”
“Yes, you will see the office number at the top of your
screen. When you do, tap it; and you will be in direct contact with the
caller.”
“And I’ll be recorded.”
“Yes, officially.”
Director Quint watched his iPhone screen for a moment
until the office number popped up. He took a breath and began to speak.
“This is FBI Director Henry Quint speaking on the
office secure line. Before we talk, give me your top secret code and tell me
how you came by this number.”
“No, you boob. Listen to me. I have a message. I am the
famous Beelzebub. Listen closely, I will not repeat myself. Instruct the
treasury secretary to send forty billion dollars in gold bullion to the
consulate in Paraguay addressed to me via the diplomatic pouch. I receive that
gold in three days or China and Russia will be at war. Guaranteed. I am
Beelzebub, the magnificent. Hark when I speak.”
Just before the line went dead, there was a
bone-chilling horror movie laugh, “hahaha.”
Quint asked his aide to arrange a conference call among
the presidents and heads of the US, Russia, China, the EU, the DCIA, the DNI,
and DARPA.
In ten minutes, every leader had checked in and the
DFBI informed them of the threatening call.
President Willets spoke first, “I assure everyone on
the line that the US had nothing to do with this and that we have been doing
everything in our power to locate and to apprehend this Beelzebub character. If
any of you are responsible for the sophisticated hacking, or, if your citizens
have perpetrated the murderous atrocities committed in the name of this
Beelzebub, now is the time to confess, be forgiven, and to help us all to get
this person into custody or otherwise stopped. Nothing you could gain would be
worth a Sino-Russian war which would soon spread everywhere.”
President Willets was severely disappointed when his
counterparts either refused to acknowledge their involvement, refused to talk
about the subject—China and Russia—or laughed the call and the Beelzebub story
as a hoax or poppycock. It appeared that it was going to be the United States
against Beelzebub alone. First, they were going to have to find the monster. He
had Norcroft, Quint, Dr. Steven Highnam from DARPA, and Admiral Hyman
Jincowitz, the DNI, remain on the line until all the leaders finished their
sardonic laughs and their scoffing rejoinders and signed off.
“I think this is the real thing,” President Willets said,
“this Beelzebub jerk has never bluffed before, and no common crank caller could
get access to my phone like he or she or whatever did. We need some serious
action. Something short of war, but serious.”
Dr. Highnam spoke first, “This is a cyberattack until
it becomes a physical attack, Mr. President. In my humble opinion, we need to
execute a reversible, serious, attention getting pre-emptive strike to get
their attention and to provoke real communication.”
“Like Stutznet?” asked Dr. Highnam, Dr. Norcroft, and
DFBI Quint almost simultaneously.
“Make it Stutznet on steroids,” Quint and Norcroft
said, and smiled at the coincidence.
“My DARPA jokers can shut down the governments of the
PRC and the Russian Federation, if you want.”
“Reversibly?”
“Of course, Mr. President”
“And without wrecking our economy at the same time,
Steven?” asked Sybil, looking directly into the man’s eyes.
The look said that no one on the line would acquiesce
to a half-baked disaster like the Stutznet attack on Iran that boomeranged.
“Guaranteed. We learned our lesson.”
“How long will it take for you to put this now worm or
virus into play, Dr. Highnam?” POTUS asked, “and how long will it take the rest
of us to warn our own military and major industries and our real allies?”
There was a serious discussion. Finally, Sybil spoke
for all the advisors to the president.
“We need a full day, and that’s stretching it.”
“Make it less,” said POTUS.
There was as scramble to get the attacks ready and the
warnings passed on. The question was, were they already too late?
Neurosurgeon turned Author who writes with Gripping Realism
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