Netspionage

NETSPIONAGE

by

Edward Thames

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Edward Thames on Smashwords

Netspionage

Copyright © 2006 by Edward Thames

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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DEDICATION

To my A girls. To Saint A, who has been with me from the beginning and Ava, a child of my child who I will probably never see or know but who I love anyway.

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NETSPIONAGE

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CHAPTER 1

It is night although one would never know it because the room is always dark and quiet. Only the blinking of computer power lights and the indirect reflection of a solitary monitor pierce the darkness. The steady hum of the machines is fragmented by the rhythmic tapping of typing on a keyboard.

This is a computer control room but not the kind you see in commercials and movies. There is a large mainframe with several upright computer racks on either side. Hundreds of fiber cables fill multiple patch panels.

The mainframe is running a completely customized version of BSD, the shadowy giant among free operating systems. The Big Beastie was the CnC for 875,000 bots across the world. The racks are loaded with routers, switches and numerous proxy servers.

There is only one person in the room. He is hunched over his keyboard as he types with four fingers. His fingers fly across the keyboard. The monitor screen fills with code as the instructions flow like a rushing river from his mind into the system. He hits enter and the data pushes out through the wires and backbone cables into the vast dark sea of data known as the internet. It races across the world at the speed of light and exits the cyber world in another computer command center; The NSA Central Command Center.

A computer screen in one of the empty cubicles fills with lines of code as instructions are fed into the system and the systems are processing and executing the commands.

There are several geeks lounging about. The geek in charge is Brian Kokopeli. He has buzz-cut black hair and is wearing rose colored, granny glasses. He is playing World of Warcraft online. He's really into it when he notices an alert flashing on a monitor nearby. He kicks away from his game and rolls over to an empty cubical in his chair. He clicks on the flashing alert. The word INTRUDER flashes on the screen.

Kokopeli yells, WE HAVE AN INTRUDER! He grabs the phone, hits autodial and intercom while frantically typing with one hand. The other Geeks are now doing the same.

I've got you! I'll rip your heart out! Mutters Kokopeli then yells, PUT HIM ON THE BIG BOARD!"

A huge screen with a map of the world and all the data paths flashes on. The red line highlights the back path of the intruder as he skips around the world through one proxy server after the other; Washington to London, to Amsterdam, to Beijing, to Moscow, to Beirut, to Warsaw, to Denver, to Houston, to New York, back to Washington. Moments later the IP address of the intruder appears.

Got you asshole! Said Kokopeli. Then he paused and said, What the hell? He types in ipconfig followed by the IP address and the screen pops up. The IP address of the intruder is the very machine Kokopeli is working on.

*****

The head of the Computer Crimes Division of the NSA, Vincent Pardow answers the phone.

Yes.

Sir, this Kokopeli. We have an intruder.

Did you get him? Asked Pardow tiredly.

Sorta. Replied Kokopeli hesitantly. He really didn’t want to have this conversation.

Clarify? Demanded Pardow whose whole attention was now engaged. He hated vagueness in general because it was unnecessary and usually indicated something was wrong. He especially hated vagueness regarding his network.

We tracked him through the networks and it appears as if .... Sir, I think you need to see this for yourself.

Cut the crap! Ordered Pardow.

Sir, it appears as if he used one of our terminals.

What? Shut it down! Now! I'm on my way!

Yes Sir!

*****

Night comes early in Eastern Europe as winter draws near. The narrow streets only serve to accelerate the effect. The street lights had just come on when Illia, a slim blond-haired teenager walks out of a corner grocery store. He’s carrying a bag of necessities; a 12 pack of Monster, a dozen Hot Pockets, two bags of chips, and eight assorted candy bars as he heads home. He has been working at a local internet café for the last eight hours and is eager to get home and do his thing. He reaches inside the bag and rummages around and pulls out a can of Monster. He stops and adjusts the bag so he can open the energy drink.

Car lights appear behind him at the far end of the street. The car moves slowly down the street toward Illia until it is almost beside him. Illia is preoccupied with opening his soda and hanging onto the bag. He finally manages to complete his balancing act and opens his soda. As he takes a swallow he notices the car. A rear tinted window quietly slides down. A taser appears.

Illia drops his groceries and runs as the taser is fired. He is hit between the shoulder blades and stumbles forward as the electric shock incapacitates him. He lies on the ground jerking spasmodically.

The rear door of the car opens and a large, heavy-set man emerges. He picks Illia up and carries him to the rear of the car.

The trunk of the car opens and the large man tosses Illia into the trunk and closes the lid. He looks around for any witnesses and then climbs back into the car. The car disappears into the night.

CHAPTER 2

It is dawn as a Falcon 900B corporate jet lands in a small Eastern European airfield. The Falcon taxies to a stop as a black Mercedes limousine pulls up near the plane. The