“I’m with you,” Sam said. “I got infiltrated, but I saw it as it happened and blocked the intrusion before they could get a foothold.”
“Don’t risk it,” Jaggard said. “Shut everything down, isolate the building, and we’ll disinfect—” His cell phone rang, an urgent
“They’re after the planes,” he said. “Air traffic control in Los Angeles has just lost its flight-control systems.”
“How did they get in there?” Sam asked.
“Through here,” Dodge said quietly. “Once they busted us wide open, they got access to all areas. Wherever we can go, they can go.”
Jaggard swore violently behind them.
“We can’t shut down now,” Dodge said with uncharacteristic vehemence. “By the time we get back up, this country will be a scrap heap.”
Sam concentrated on his screens. Oily black fingers dripping with poison were sliding through the network around him. He built a protective screen surrounding his and Dodge’s computers, a wall of code, and lobbed fragmentation grenades over it at the intruders whenever they impinged, scrambling the data on the disk sectors they were occupying. So far it was holding.
“I want to know how they got in,” Jaggard was shouting. “Who’s still up?”
“I’m on it,” Socks called out from across the room. “Zombie is keeping me together, just.”
“Get into that firewall,” Jaggard ordered. “Find out how they breached it.”
“Shoot! Blue screen of death.” Bashful’s voice sounded to Sam’s left. “I’m gone. Sorry, guys.”
“Dodge, you gotta find out what they’re using,” Jaggard said. “I want its DNA and I want it now.”
“I’m on it,” Dodge said. “Shut up and let me do it.”
“There’s a gaping big tunnel under the firewall,” Socks shouted. “That’s how they got in.”
“How the hell did they get a tunnel through our firewall?” Jaggard asked. “That’s supposed to be invincible!”
“It’s in the firmware,” Socks called back. “Looks like an exploit.”
“Can’t be an exploit!” Jaggard said. “Must be a bug.”
“Nope, it’s a trapdoor,” Socks said. “It’s deliberate, not bad coding.”
A trapdoor in the firewall, Sam thought as he hurled a frag grenade at a murky pool of the intruder’s code. How could they get a trapdoor in the firmware for the firewall?
“When was the last firmware upgrade?” Dodge asked, his eyes intent on the screen.
“Five days ago,” Jaggard answered, then said, “Damn! It must be an inside job.”
He punched some numbers on his cell phone and started barking commands.
“Still on the same course?” Taylor asked behind Victoria.
“I’ll find out,” she said, but the radio preempted her.
“LAX Control, this is Southwest 3567, advising of a course change. Turning right to nor’east six-zero.”
“They’re heading back inland,” Taylor said. His face reflected in the inactive radar screen in front of her was grave. “Where are they going?”
Victoria plotted the course change on the chart with a pencil and a plastic ruler.
“If they stay on this course …”
“Yes?”
“San Jose,” she said.
Those with fried workstations gathered around behind Dodge and Sam, watching their battle against the intruder code. The group was getting bigger. Socks was trying to revert the firmware on the firewall, but the intruders had taken control of that too. He was trying to hack back into it, so far without success.
“They want us out of the picture so they can use our access to rip through the heart of this country,” Jaggard said behind them. “We’re looking at a potential China Syndrome, guys, and we need some answers.”
“China Syndrome” was a term that had originally come from the nuclear industry and referred to a catastrophic meltdown, supposedly a meltdown that would go all the way to China.
A meltdown of the country’s computer and data infrastructure was too frightening to contemplate.
“Okay, what do we know?” Jaggard asked. “They launched a diversionary attack on a series of nuclear plants, and while we were busy with that, they opened a trapdoor in our firewall and snuck in. They’re in the system and they’ve got control, but as long as we can keep them busy here, we can limit the damage they can do outside.”
“I don’t know how much longer we can hold them,” Dodge said through gritted teeth. “Every time I get my hands around them, they just disappear and I’m left with a handful of dust.”
“They’re recoding on the fly,” Sam said.
“Not possible,” Dodge said. “Nobody is that fast!”
“Tell
Jaggard said, “I want Cheyenne Mountain powered up now, but do not—repeat, do not—bring it online until we can confirm that the firewall there is secure. And get hold of air transport—I want all the jets fueled and sitting on the runway now. Team, we’re going to move out to the backup control center at Cheyenne. We’ll resume the fight from there. Dodge and Socks, you and your wingmen are going to keep them busy here. Cover the retreat. Okay, move it, people.”
The group dispersed as Jaggard’s cell phone rang.
“Jaggard.” He listened intently for a moment, interrupting only to say, “Heading where?”
When he clicked off the phone, his face seemed pale, but he kept a professional calm.
“Everybody out, right now. Emergency evacuation procedure. That means now. And it means everybody.” He was looking at Dodge and Sam.
“What is it, guv?” Dodge asked.
“Air traffic control has a 787 under remote ground control, UAS. Ninety-two passengers, heading for San Jose. We have to assume it’s under the control of the hackers.”
“What?”
“I think we’re the target.”
Vienna’s voice sounded from over by the door. “Keycard is not working. They’ve recoded the locks.”
“What?!” Jaggard spun around toward her.
“The freaking doors are jammed,” she said in a voice just teetering over into panic. “We can’t get out.”
21 | UAS
“How long have we got?” Dodge asked calmly.
Jaggard didn’t answer but pressed keys on his phone. “Put me through to LAX Control. I want the controller of that Southwest plane.”
While he waited for the connection, he called out, “Leave the intruders, Socks; you’re on the door codes. Find out what they did and undo it, or just find some way to open them.”
“On it,” Socks said.
“Dodge, you too—leave the intruders alone. Nothing we can do about them anyway. Get over to LAX and try and shut down the UAS system.”
“Can’t do that, guv,” Dodge said. “I’m all over this guy at the moment. He’s having to recode constantly to keep away from me. I take the pressure off and he’ll wipe our arses.”
“You don’t get over to LAX and you’re going to get your ass wiped by a 787,” Jaggard said. He listened to his phone for a second, then pressed a key. A voice came from the overhead speakers.
“This is Victoria Dean. Who am I talking to?”
“Victoria, this is John Jaggard at Homeland Security in San Jose. We believe we may be the target of your rogue 787.”
