“Straub,” he called. “Come here and hold this box right over that outlet.”
Straub did so. Franklin pulled up the spring-loaded handle and twisted it as far as it would go, about half- way around the raised circle. A soft hum floated from inside the box. He pressed six number keys on the pad and walked to the table, where he picked up the other box and took it to an outlet on the other side of the room.
“Kelley, go over to the door and tell me if you see anything happen out in the hallway in a second.”
Franklin then twisted the round handle on that one and pressed six numbers. As he released the last of the numbers, the lights went off in the room.
Kelley grunted in surprise and said, “Uh, the power just went off in several offices and part of the hallway. The copier right outside this door is still running, though.” He paused, then added, “The emergency lights aren’t kicking on like they should.”
Franklin then twisted the handle to its original place, and the lights came back on instantly.
“Uh, huh! I got it,” Franklin said triumphantly as he walked back to the table. He set the box down and took it apart again.
“Can I take this thing off the wall?” asked Straub, who was still bent over the outlet across the room.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Bring it over here.”
“So, what is it?”
“It’s an active relay power switch of some kind. Not only that, but it’s an intelligent hard-coded network device. Their power source is some iteration of an electromagnetic Tesla machine, incorporating magnets to siphon energy from the nearest electrical source.” He glanced up from the device and turned to the EOD officers. “Do you guys have an EPROM reader?”
Kelley gave him a blank look. “We’re bomb squad, not geek squad. Speak English.”
Franklin thought for a second and translated into laymen’s terms. “They’re computers that are powered by pulling energy into the magnets under the board inside the box. The magnets are activated by turning the handle on the front.” He pointed to the board and continued. “The EPROM’s are these little, rectangular black silicon chips that are soldered onto the board. Each one has a code programmed with a particular set of instructions. The devices are set up to communicate with each other across a network of regular electrical wires. You put one at one end of a circuit, the other at the other end. Turn them on, and voila! When the two devices see each other, they run a command to disrupt the circuit between them. They turn off the power to everything in that line.”
“Wow,” Straub said. “That’s incredible.”
“Actually, it’s a fairly simple machine. Not very fancy, but effective,” Franklin answered.
“So, how did you know the combination?”
“Oh, that was easy. The designers must not have expected anyone to capture one. They used a simple electronic door lock keypad and just wired the active buttons directly to the board. They didn’t even require a particular order. You just had to hit all six numbers in any sequence. When I did it, I actually typed the numbers in different sequences on each box and it still worked. They dumbed it down so a less-than-stellar grunt could run them.”
He turned back to the computer and said, “If I had an EPROM reader, I could find the code that’s on those chips and get more detail as to exactly how these things work. But if we can’t do that, I’m pretty sure my guesses are almost on the bull’s eye.”
“How do you know all this stuff?” said Straub.
“Remember when the lights went out in Baghdad just before the Marine invasion in ’03?”
“Yeah, saw it on CNN. I watched the whole thing.”
“I did that, with a similar but much more complex device. We were trying to make it dark without destroying the electrical infrastructure. Saddam’s guys ended up blowing up the grid on their own as a bridge-burning retreat kind of maneuver. The news networks blamed our planes for smashing their infrastructure, but we were actually working our butts off trying to save it.”
“Man, Eckert, what in the world are you doing as a dispatcher at TVEC? You should be at the NSA or at least with the CIA or something.”
“Not unless they open an office here in Fairbanks. I’m not leaving Alaska again, even if I have to work as a logger to make a living.”
Chapter 29
Marcus Johnson’s Cabin
Salt Jacket
19 December
23:58 hours
“I don’t know who you think you are, mister, but we do not torture people in this country!” Tomer’s face was beet-red as he recovered from Marcus’s aggression. White flecks of spit sprayed from between his teeth as he flung the word ‘torture’.
Marcus ignored him. He turned his back to Tomer and watched Lonnie talk softly to Sergeant Choi. He tried to listen to what Choi was saying. The FBI agent’s harangue made it impossible.
“Everything that went on here is going to be reported in writing, and you will be held accountable for any illegal actions.”
Wasner approached Tomer, a genteel grin on his face. “Agent Tomer? Can I call you Tony?”
“Who are you?” Tomer demanded.
“I am Chief Warrant Officer Harley Wasner, US Navy, Special Operations Command. I am in charge of this team of elite warriors. I also happen to have an above top-secret level security clearance and direct access to the director of Homeland Security, who, under the recent reorganization, I believe is
