Buzzworm (A Technology Thriller): Computer virus or serial killer? (22 page)

“An eBomb…”

“Look it up. DoS. Denial of service. If I launched a DoS on the CIA through the Internet, they would be helpless. No communications. No interpretation. No satellite data. And based on what we’ve seen, they are totally vulnerable right now. Softened up.”

Hyde walked them over to a park bench, pointed, and Roger sat reluctantly. Then the detective undid his raincoat, slumped down and placed both elbows on his knees. He had his eyes on the pond, taking a deep breath. “You’re a cocky kid. I should kick your ass for talking like that.”

“I’m not getting through to you. What do you want me to say?
Buzzworm
put a bunch of garbage on my computer to get me arrested and nobody believes me. I’m pissed off.”

“He threatened me too, if that make you feel any better.”

Roger turned to the big cop who towered over him even sitting down. “Huh?”

“We had a friendly chat by web conference. Then the asshole threatened to go after my daughter if I continued the investigation.”

“Hyde. That’s the same threat that Wishnowsky was talking about. He was worried about his daughter. And I think he was referring to Xavier too. Xavier could be behind all of this.”

Hyde turned and looked at the hacker. “Does Med know this?” Roger stiffened, an image of her flashing through his mind.

“Do you think …”

“I don’t think the weasel is in Dubai. I think he’s like everything else in this town — smoke and mirrors.”

“Do you have any contacts at the FBI? Assuming their systems aren’t compromised like the CIA. Can they check out Xavier?”

Hyde was staring at two young women sharing a picnic lunch across from them. They seemed so happy and full of life. He frowned. “I may know someone.”

Roger closed his eyes. He had a sudden vision of Med’s face the last time they spoke. There was more than anger there; there was fear as well. He hadn’t noticed it before. He never had a chance to say goodbye, to explain the real reason he was so interested in Xavier. Roger got up. He couldn’t sit still anymore. His fight or flight instincts were on fire. He suddenly realized why. “Med. She’s in danger isn’t she?”

Hyde sat up, almost like he was thinking the same thing. “If you’re right about Xavier, then maybe he was able to bribe Scammel by somehow getting him off the sex crime. That would take powerful connections and money. That would explain a lot of things. Then when they were done with him at the CIA, they … convinced him to commit suicide.” Hyde looked at Roger. “These people will do anything to get what they want.”

“Can we get her protection?”

“If I were her I would just get away. Out of town. Away from home and work.” Hyde pulled his cell phone out of his inside jacket pocket. Roger was hoping he was making arrangements to get her moved. “Emile,” he started quietly, “Do you still see them? The two of them?” He listened, nodding.

“We’re going to continue on to the fountain and stop there. You move up from behind. Get at least one of them. I don’t care which one it is.” He put the phone away.

“Roger, if you even so much as turn your head, I will lock you up for obstruction. Walk with me.” They got up from the bench and started heading east again, the clouds hanging even lower over Washington downtown, the water in the pond reflecting a steely gray sky. “Emile is my partner. He’s been tailing us to see if we we’re being watched. He’s going to try to make an arrest now. Even ID’ing one might help in the event they’re not cooperative. Unless of course they’re the FBI, in which case we kick them in the balls and run like hell.”

Tyler McKinnon had been with Homeland Security
from its first inception. He had watched from the Washington bridge in New York on September 11
th
, stuck in a traffic jam, as the second jetliner sliced into the North tower.

Unlike others who had felt fear that morning, he had felt an instant sense of anger and betrayal. He knew instinctively that the crash was an attack on American interests. At that point, he had just been transferred to New York by the FBI where he had been working in a field office in Minneapolis. He applied to Homeland the day they announced the new agency was being formed.

Now he was standing in Memorial Park on recon duty, next to another Homeland agent he knew little about, although he came highly recommended. The agent’s name was Eppart. He was wearing a dark blue windbreaker and Ray Bans. Despite the heavy cloud cover.

“What have we got?” Eppart said, all business.

McKinnon showed him the screen of his iPhone. There was a grainy picture of a middle-aged man in a dark gray raincoat. He ran his finger along the screen, zooming in.

“What’s that?”

“Wires. He has wires showing under his coat,” answered McKinnon.

Eppart dipped his head down and slid the sunglasses up over his eyes, squinting at the little screen. He could make out a number of colored wires or tubes showing from under the coat where the wind had caught it. “Goddamn,” was all he said.

“This came in about twenty minutes ago from someone in the area. From a cell phone camera. A tourist, we think, taking a stroll in the park.” McKinnon ran his finger back on the screen, this time the image zooming out. They could both clearly see the Washington Memorial spike off in the distance behind the man in the long coat, a second man walking beside him. “He has an accomplice,” added McKinnon.

Two days before, Homeland Security had upped the threat level in the capital city from
guarded
(blue) to
elevated
(yellow) and everyone was wary and alert, and that hadn’t happened for years. McKinnon felt like it was the first day of school. He was anxious, but prepared.

“Is something going down here?” asked Eppart, snapping his gum. “Are we getting backup?”

“It’s an unconfirmed. They want us to check it out. So far, it’s just wires. He could be a cable guy.”

Eppart huffed. “Did you see him? He’s got something under that raincoat. I’d bet my pension on it. Where are they headed?”

“They’re moving towards the Memorial. How about you take the south side of the pond, I’ll take the north. Stay back until I give the word to move in closer.” Eppart nodded, his glasses back on. McKinnon decided he wanted Eppart as far away from the subjects as possible. Only an idiot couldn’t tell that the guy was a cop. If it weren’t his attitude that gave him away, it would be his neatly trimmed eighties-style mustache.

“I’m not letting this turn into some Oklahoma fuckup,” offered Eppart. “Are you ready to take them out if we need to?”

Before McKinnon could answer, his phone vibrated in his hand. He took the call, his head down. When he finished the call and looked up, Eppart knew the assessment had changed from the look on his partners face.

“Ever heard of LBS?” asked McKinnon, the blood drained out of his face. Eppart just stared at him. “It’s cell phone technology.
Location based services
. Most phones today have it. So kids in the mall can find their friends. We use it to track high profile politicians in the area. Keep an eye on them.” McKinnon tapped the screen on his iPhone several times and showed Eppart a different image, this one an aerial photo of the park. He pointed to a spot near the Reflecting Pond. “That’s where our two suspects are.” Then he slid his index finger across the screen, the map moving to the east. “See that blue dot? Close to the spire? That’s the Vice President. Going for a walk in the park with two undercover security staff. Something he likes to do.”

“Shit. You think they are after the Veep?”

McKinnon clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to say anything that would set Eppart off, but he had to share the facts as he knew them. “Stay cool, man. They’re headed in that direction, but that doesn’t mean anything. We’ll flank them.” He pressed his right ear where he wore his ear bud. “You copy?”

Eppart nodded, briefly touching the nylon necklace that held his microphone. McKinnon stepped back several feet and turned. They could now communicate clearly through their VHF ear buds. “Eppart. Keep as close as you can, try to stay within shooting distance. But don’t do anything until we agree.”

Eppart replied with “You got it.” But he was already moving at speed across the grass toward the two suspects.

Emile wasn’t wearing his signature snakeskin boots
this afternoon. For the surveillance gig around the memorials, he had laced on a pair of Mizuno Wave Alchemy Nine’s. They were the world’s best shoes for trail running over rough terrain. Emile should know — having raced in four Iron Man competitions.

In the Mizuno’s, he always felt like a spring about to be released. It took everything he had to hold himself back, to relax his muscles, to go with the flow. Ahead of him, he had two men in his sights. The closest one, off the path about thirty yards ahead on the south side of the pond, looked to him like an off-duty police officer. He had his hands in his pockets like he was going for a stroll, but he never took his eyes off Hyde and Strange in the distance. Emile was calling him Number Two.

Number One, who had on a beige windbreaker and a New York Yankees baseball cap, pacing Hyde on the other side of the pond, looked like the leader. Emile wasn’t sure why he thought that — maybe because the man wearing the cap looked less conspicuous, more professional. Both of them had slowed down significantly now that Hyde and the hacker were loitering by the fountain. Number Two was now kicking the grass with his feet, standing underneath a tree, trying to look casual.

Emile was now about twenty-five yards south of his position, a distance he could make up in seconds. Just thinking about going after these two gave him a lift. The problem was that Number Two was standing on the lawn and not on the path. That made casually sidling up to him more of a challenge.

He called Hyde on his cell phone using the walkie-talkie feature. No dialing required, just push the talk button. If someone was watching, it just looked like he was making a phone call. Hyde was with Strange standing by the fountain at the end of the Reflecting Pond just below the World War II Memorial.

“They’re still headed in your direction, but they’re holding back.”

“You ready to stop them?”

“What do you think?” hissed Emile.

“If they run, I’ll take the slowest one.”

“Same as your dating strategy. I get it.”

Emile dropped the phone into his jacket pocket, his gun in the other. He knelt down and checked his laces. When he looked up, he could see that Number Two was facing the other tracker, his finger to his ear and looking perplexed. Now he was shaking his head.
Son of a bitch,
thought Tantoon.
They’re using VHF to communicate. That’ll make things more interesting.
Emile began to jog in Number Two’s direction, looking down at his feet. He didn’t want the tracker to think that he was a target until the last possible moment.

Standing just out of range of the fine mist rolling away from the fountain, Hyde had pulled out a tourist map. He scanned the grounds and could see the man in beige moving slowly in his direction. Across the pond and off the main path he could see Emile vectoring in on the other tracker looking like a typical afternoon jogger.

Number Two seemed to be unaware of Emile until he closed the last ten yards. Then he moved back against a tree as if to make room for him. But Emile didn’t run past. He stopped and put both hands on his knees, breathing heavily, his face twisted in pain.

“You got a smoke?” he asked, between gulps of air.

“Fuck off,” was all one of the men said, irritated by the intrusion. Emile almost smiled.

“That’s not very friendly. I only asked for a friggin’ cigarette.”

McKinnon stopped to check
his phone, but noticed that the screen had gone blank. He frowned. He was surprised how naked he suddenly felt without communication to HQ. He tapped the phones screen, but nothing happened. When he tried to dial the phone, he got an error. It was like someone was jamming his phone signals as well as the iPhone’s Internet access, which meant he had not only lost phone communication – he no longer had the mapping info he had used to keep an eye on the Vice President’s location. He had heard about signal jamming technology and what it could do, but when he looked around he could see others happily tapping away at smart phones, responding to email or text messages. He hesitated then, aware for the first time of a sudden sense of danger ringing in his ears. He had never received training on selective phone jamming. He wasn’t even sure if it was possible. Maybe his phone just picked a bad time to die on him.
Fucking technology.

When McKinnon looked over to see what Eppart was up to he was shocked to see that he was talking to a jogger. What the hell was he doing? Was it another Homeland Security agent? From what he could see from their body language, the discussion didn’t look that collegial. When he called his name softly into the microphone around his neck, he got no answer back. A cold ripple of anxiety ran up through his chest. It was pretty apparent that Eppart was being flanked by someone suspicious. And now their communication system had failed. He put his head down and headed in the direction of the two men by the pond. He realized then that he had his hand on his P229, the gun concealed in his jacket pocket, a gun he had never used before despite over ten years in the service.