Antivirus (The Horde Series Book 1) (7 page)

Chapter 8

National Security Agency Headquarters, Fort Meade, Maryland:
The man’s footsteps reverberated off the plain gray walls, echoing down the long corridor as he walked quickly to his destination near the end of the hall. Were Major Thomas Bolson to continue to the end of the corridor, he would pass through a huge steel door after a retina and a palm scan, and into the heart of the United States government cyber warfare division.

However, the emergency meeting he had been called to would have a couple of high-ranking officials who did not have the same clearance for the actual lab that he and only a handful of others did. So it would be held in the conference room outside the lab, which was just fine with him. He had neither the time nor the inclination to explain the complexities of what it was he did for the country and he reveled in the fact that he never had to worry about an endless stream of bureaucratic retards bumbling through his lab and pestering him with questions that any 6th grader with an X-box could answer. They would simply have to accept the fact that he was one of the world’s leading experts on cyber warfare, virus creation, and security.

What he didn’t know, though, was that his secret was out.

He entered the room and was surprised to find several others already seated, as if they had been waiting for him. The meeting wasn’t for fifteen more minutes, but Major Bolson was always early for meetings as he felt it gave him an edge, regardless of the meeting circumstances. This time, however, he was immediately uneasy, and for good reason.

“Close the door, major,” General James Hawthorne said, his voice clipped and formal. His blue eyes, set in a craggy but stern face, were cold and bored relentlessly into the young officer.

Bolson swallowed the sudden rise of concern and did what he was commanded. He then took a seat across from the general and placed his hands lightly on the table as he looked around the room. Besides his superior officer—who was directly in charge of the entire U.S. cyber warfare division and answered to only to the head of the NSA—there were two others. One was wearing a dark suit—a rugged looking man with features that could have been carved out of stone. Bolson had no idea who he was, although he pegged him for NSA muscle. The other was Lieutenant Danielle Martz, a young and brilliant computer programmer whose expertise had lent him considerable talent and knowledge in the project he had been working on for the better part of his three years here as a cyber warfare specialist.

“Major Bolson,” Hawthorne said gruffly as he opened up a file folder that was on the table before him. Picking up a piece of paper, he slid it across the table to the young officer. “Would you care to explain this?”

Bolson felt himself go red with anger, his fears confirmed. He didn’t need to see the paper to know what it said. He also knew there was only one way the general could have gotten the information, and that fact made him even angrier. “Sir,” he began, casting a venomous glance at Lieutenant Martz, who quickly looked down at the table top, unable or unwilling to meet his gaze.

Hawthorne held up a hand. “Save the excuses for later, son,” he snapped. “I want it explained.”

Bolson swallowed thickly and nodded. “It’s an anomaly, sir,” he answered, holding his anger in check. “At this point, we have no idea what the cause is or if it is even a correct reading.”

Hawthorne tapped his finger on the paper. “You damn well better find the cause, major. This is a project of unparalleled magnitude and if we don’t have control over this, we have a very serious problem. Would you agree?”

“We have control, sir,” the young man lied, but the general cut him off.

“Then where the hell is it?” he snapped.

Bolson paused before answering, dreading the words even as he spoke them. “I don’t know yet, sir.”

“You don’t know.”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still running tests and trying to ascertain the cause, sir,” Bolson answered, his fingers pressing painfully into the tabletop. “It could simply be a recoding of the transmission algorithm.”

“But you don’t know for certain,” Hawthorne shouted angrily, leaning across the table. “You haven’t had contact with it for almost two weeks and all you have is a friggen’ guess! Why the hell wasn’t I notified of this!?”

Bolson flushed. “I thought it best to ascertain the cause of the anomaly first, sir,” he said through clenched teeth. Truthfully, when the project had vanished, he had been quite terrified to inform the general of such a breach of security, and thus had launched his own frantic search for the missing program. A week into his 18 hour-a-day search, Lieutenant Martz had gotten wind of it. Bolson had sworn her to secrecy and, with her help, they had doubled their attempts. Apparently, though, Martz had rolled over on him after all and now the consequences would be infinitely worse.

“Lieutenant Martz,” Hawthorne said icily, not taking his eyes off the major. “What was the original projected sentience barrier of the project under optimal circumstances?”

“Approximately twenty-eight months from insertion,” she replied quietly.

“Which puts it at?”

“Approximately August 15th, two years from now,” she answered and then added. “Of course, that would be under optimal conditions.”

“That’s about twenty-five months from now, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

“Is it possible that barrier has been crossed already?”

“I don’t believe so, sir,” she answered.

“But can you be one hundred percent certain?”

She paused before answering. “No, sir.”

“Is it possible the virus has been compromised and beaten by a public or private sector hack?”

“No, sir,” Major Bolson cut in, but Hawthorne cut him off by slamming his hand on the table.

“That question was for Lieutenant Martz, major,” he said angrily. “You will shut your mouth and let her answer, do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Bolson replied, snapping his attention forward while he silently seethed inside.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but the major is correct,” Martz answered, casting an apologetic look toward the major. “The program itself is encrypted like nothing else in the world and as it grows, it adds to the layers of encryption. Without the base key, which only we have, it would take over a year for even a Kray network to break it from the point that it started at. But as you know, the virus is continuously progressing, so the moment a code breaker starts on the encryption, the encryption has already changed. There is no literal way to crack the encryption without starting from the base.”

Hawthorne nodded, knowing that was the answer she would give. The major might be running the lab, but there was little the computer-savvy general did not know about the project which he headed. “So, we have ruled out program compromise and we know it hasn’t been killed on our end,” he said, referring to the fact that the final kill code for the project, in event of emergency, was his and his alone. “That leaves us with a multi-million dollar black ops project with supposedly infallible tracking algorithms, that has simply vanished into cyberspace.”

“Sir, if I may,” Bolson dared to interrupt, looking at the general and waiting to see if the man would stop him again. When he didn’t, he went on. “Because of what we know, it is my belief the problem is simply in the tracking code. I believe that all I have to do is find the error and insert a new tracking algorithm to re-establish contact.”

“It’s a virus!” Hawthorne shouted. “I trust you have honeypots online”

“Yes, sir,” Bolson answered.

“Have you had any hits from it?”

“No, sir,” Bolson admitted after a long pause.

“Then your reasoning is flawed, major!” he boomed. “And that leaves only one remaining conclusion.”

“What is that, sir?” Bolson asked quietly.

Hawthorne paused and glanced at the suited man, who had remained silent the entire time. Looking back at Bolson, he finished. “Your little baby has crossed the sentience barrier two years ahead of schedule and has decided it doesn’t want to be found.”

Chapter 9

Sherrard Residence, Helena, Montana:
Jon Sherrard sat bolt upright in bed, the scream still lingering on his lips. Jen was sitting beside him again, her arms wrapping him up tightly and holding him close, shushing him as a mother would a frightened child. Truth be told, that’s exactly what he felt like. Two weeks ago, he had returned from an absolutely unbelievable and terrifying journey, his conscious reuniting with his body after being separated from it and lost for nearly three days in the very real and frighteningly vast reaches of cyberspace.

At first, all was well and he had spent a lot of time relating to Kat and Drew what had happened and what it was like to literally float while lost in an indescribable electronic universe. His explanation had gone a long way in answering the many questions they had. It was what had cast him adrift that troubled him so greatly.

During the demonstration for Systemtech, he had been very pleased with how smoothly the whole thing had gone, including the repair of the damaged thumb drive through channels they had not considered would be part of the show. It was as he was getting ready to make the trip back into the hub and then into his body, that he became aware of a new virus that had been attracted to one of the honeypots. This one was different – malevolent and almost thinking, and he would swear to that for the rest of his life. This newcomer, the Horde, began rewriting and assimilating portions of random code in many different programs and when he got too close, he could actually feel it reaching out for him, almost as if it was trying to absorb him as well.

So he had done the only thing he could think of to escape. He had thrown himself through the gate and literally out into the limitless expanse of cyberspace. Moments later, Kat had shouted the order to take the honeypots offline and he was suddenly stranded, cut off from his way home, and all alone. At first, he had lost all hope and nearly panicked, fearing that he would remain part of this futuristic alien landscape forever. But logic took over and he calmed down and began exploring his new surroundings, understanding how the strange world worked, but never straying too far from the sealed gates that led back into the honeypot.

Eventually, he began to venture out further, searching for data streams that looked familiar and would give him a clue that he was at least near FutureTek’s own network. As he was near the honeypots, it didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. It did, however, take him considerable time and effort to make use of it and bypass FutureTek’s firewalls and security systems to craft his short cry for help to Kat. Had she not been there to see it, he didn’t know what would have happened, because it was in those final moments that the Horde found him again.

During his stay in cyberspace, Jon had discovered that it was not just an empty landscape. Instead, it was almost like a living, breathing entity, populated by data streams, worms, and viruses of uncountable proportions. For the most part, he had nothing to fear from anything he ran across. Even the internet worms were unable to harm him and he had dismantled more than a few of them during his time out there.

However, that all changed when the Horde returned in its entirety, a massive entity far greater than the little tendril it had sent into the honeypot. To his horror, it had become aware of him and now was actively pursuing him as prey. So, the game of cat and mouse began. Jon would flee, letting his conscious slip among passing data streams and immersing himself into coded programs on various unprotected hard drives and clouds that he could get to. But the virus would inevitably find him, pursuing him relentlessly, and every time it did, it seemed to be just a little smarter, just a little quicker, and a little more determined to catch him.

Jon had no idea what the outcome would have been if it had caught him, nor did he ever want to find out. Fleeing in stark terror, he had finally managed to get Kat’s attention by manipulating her e-mail program to send his plea for help to her. He considered himself thoroughly blessed that she happened to be right there when he sent it because if she had not been, he didn’t know if the next time he encountered the virus would be his last.

So, he had made it back from impossible odds, reunited with his body, with his wife and friends, and most importantly, with reality. Several good night’s sleep had given way to quality time spent holed up in his house with Jen and Dakota and a promise that he would never again do anything so stupid as to separate his conscious from his body. He had even tendered his immediate resignation as FutureTek’s test pilot, preferring to keep his feet grounded solidly in their lab, a proposal that Drew Jackson had graciously accepted.

On the third day after his escape, he had finally consented to answering the official questions that had been waiting for him and he spent a considerable part of that day and evening speaking with Homeland Security Agent Rick Alders. He answered every question he was allowed to regarding the technology, as well as more personal questions concerning his friendship with the deceased Perry Edwards and the man’s still unbelievable betrayal of FutureTek and his country. That, in itself, was a bitter wound that would be raw with Jon for a long time to come.

He then finished the lengthy and ongoing interrogations by once more relating his entire story, this time to the same three Systemtech employees who had witnessed the ill-fated demonstration that had begun his nightmare. He had even managed during that discourse, although unintentionally, to regain their interest. After hearing his story, Michael Monroe had immediately tendered a substantial offer to buy out FutureTek, an offer that would make them all rich beyond anything they could imagine. And although the offer was contingent on the completion of the official investigation into Perry Edwards and his untimely death, it had still finished the day on a good note.

At least until he went to bed that night.

It was that very night when the first nightmare came. He awoke from it the same way he had awoken from it this night and every night since the first – with a scream. Jen was always there, consoling him and doing her best to sooth his jangled nerves. But he was starting to wonder if that was enough. The nightmare was terrifying – repeated run-ins with the virus in his subconscious state that always ended up with the scream starting in his dream and finishing as he woke up. However, each time he had the dream, the virus seemed to get just a little closer to him and he found himself wondering what would happen when it finally caught him, even if it was just in his dream?

So, he lay there shivering in his wife’s arms while Dakota nuzzled him with his own canine concern. He felt that something dark was still stalking him and he stayed that way the rest of the night.

Morning found Jon Sherrard staring into the bathroom mirror with tired eyes, peering at a pair of lesions that had somehow found their way onto his face just below his left eye, sometime during the night.