Kill Switch (50 page)

“Easy-peasy, Mrs. Wheezy,” he said. Bolton made a disgusted grunt. Violin blew Harry a little kiss. The dynamic in the room was getting kind of strange.

Church placed a flat palm on the book to prevent Harry from opening it.

“Here's the issue,” said Church. “I have some experience with ancient books. Perhaps not as much as Circe O'Tree, but enough. From what you've told me, Violin, and from what your mother has said, the Brotherhood and the Closers were both after this book because it is the last of the Unlearnable Truths. All of the others, according to the inventory sheet we found among the Gateway papers, have been accounted for. They were all obtained by Gateway, and it is presumed they were destroyed along with the lab.”

That earned me a few chilly looks but I managed not to fall down. That bell was already rung and couldn't be unrung.

“Apart from some aspects of their subject matter,” continued Church, “one of the few things that each of those books shares is that they are all examples of anthropodermic bibliopegy.”

“What the heck's that?” asked Harry, beating me to the question.

It was Violin who answered. “He means that each of those accursed books is bound in human skin.”

“Okay,” said Harry, “I may throw up.”

“Be a man,” his father said under his breath.

“This book,” said Church, tapping the cover with a forefinger, “is bound in leather. Ordinary bovine leather.”

Harcourt Bolton pushed past his son and peered suspiciously down at the book. “I don't understand.”

“People have gone to great lengths to obtain
De Vermis Mysteriis,
” said Church. He flipped open the cover and then fanned through the pages. They were all blank. “This is not it.”

 

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

HUMPHRIES-BELMONT ELECTRONICS SOLUTIONS

THE ABSALOM FOGELMAN BUILDING

6082 CENTER DRIVE

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

SEPTEMBER 9, 9:29
A.M.

“And that, sir,” said Dr. Kang, “is the long and short of it.”

Across the desk from the director of the computer lab sat a man with a visitor's badge clipped to his lapel and an NSA identification card hung on a lanyard around his neck. The name on the card was Special Agent Stephen Priest.

“You're entirely confident in your computer and Net security?” asked Mr. Priest. He was slim and tall, and even in his bland black suit and plain dark tie he seemed to exude a tigerish strength. It made Kang as uncomfortable now as it had when they'd begun this tour.

Kang was certain that Mr. Priest was a very dangerous man. He had the look. His smile was warm but his eyes were cold. Very, very cold. And though he always laughed in the right places—even at Kang's lamest jokes—there was something creepy about it. As if the laughs were faked to present an air of affability instead of being genuinely good-natured.

“Our security team is second to none,” said Kang. “We've worked very closely with DARPA since the beginning, and, after all, DARPA
invented
the Internet.”

“Not Al Gore?” said Mr. Priest, smiling.

They shared a laugh.

“Hardly. My predecessors here at the AEL, along with their colleagues at MIT's Lincoln Lab and in our main offices in Virginia, developed the prototype military networks—ARPANET, MILNET, and then the Defense Data Network—before—”

Mr. Priest held up a hand to stop him. “Please don't take this the wrong way, Dr. Kang, but that was decades ago. I don't need a history lesson. My concern is how your research is being protected right now.”

Kang took a breath and nodded. “With the Russians, Iranians, Chinese, and North Koreans working so hard to hack our systems, as well as the power grids and everything else, it's—” He paused and twirled a finger as he fished for the right word. “It's
encouraged
us to make some radical jumps forward in cybersecurity to protect our vulnerabilities. We have whole teams dedicated to protecting us against malware, worms, viruses, and targeted attacks, as well as soft-probe and no-footprint intrusions. We've built firewalls, counterintrusion software packages, alert systems, and more. We're impregnable.”

“‘Impregnable' is a risky word choice, Doctor,” said Mr. Priest. “It smacks of hubris.”

Kang felt himself stiffen. Mr. Priest had been smiling when he said it but now there was no trace of evident humor. Certainly no affability.

When Mr. Priest's visit had been arranged, Kang had made sure his people did a thorough background and authority check, and the pingbacks had come from deep inside the intelligence community. Everything had been triple verified and memos had been sent by all the right people to grant Mr. Priest an unusually high level of clearance. That meant he was allowed to ask these kinds of questions and make these kinds of statements. Even the uncomfortable ones.

Kang felt his face redden and swallowed nervously. “I can assure you, Mr. Priest, that I'm not overstating things. Our system is ultrasecure. It's updated all the time. Even our own design and cybersecurity staff have to go through special procedures in order to log on. Codes are changed randomly, we have filtering systems, self-monitoring security subroutines, and—”

Mr. Priest held up his hand again. “What's to stop a terrorist from breaking in here, putting a gun to your head, and forcing you to log on and download one of your research projects?”

“Can't happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because the master control programs require typed and verbal codes, and a retina scan and thumbprint.”

“All of which could be coerced from you.”

“No, sir,” said Kang, shaking his head. “If any of our team were under coercion we would input a false command that would appear to access the system, but which would really only access a self-limiting clone. At the same time it would send out a system-wide alert that would result in all other users being asked to verify their status. They also have fail-safe codes. If two or more users indicate that they're under duress, the fail-safes crash the network.”

“Wouldn't that take crucial services offline from the defense community? If you've seen the news you know that we are in a time of national crisis.”

“Under those circumstances, key individuals would have to input today's command codes. Very similar to the way missile codes are handled. The codes are sealed in snap-cases that send an alert when opened, and the codes must be input only after thumbprint, personal code, and retina scan verification.”

“Cumbersome,” observed Mr. Priest.

“Necessary,” countered Kang. “Otherwise a coordinated terrorist attack could overwhelm the system by physical force.”

Mr. Priest nodded and picked up the teacup that had remained untouched on his side of the desk. He sipped, nodded again, and set the cup down. “And you don't see any holes or soft spots in this process?”

“No. If I did they'd be fixed immediately. We have our own team of cyber-hackers whose only job is to try and crack our security. Every time they do, we use that as a guide to upgrade.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Priest.

“Excuse me, sir, but what does that mean?”

Mr. Priest sighed. “Please don't take this the wrong way, but I can see at least two major holes in this system. I'm rather troubled that you don't.”

Kang leaned forward and rested his forearms on his desk. His nervousness was quickly being trumped by irritation and anger. “I wasn't aware that you are an expert in cybersecurity.”

“I know my way around. However, I'm surprised someone with your limited skill set has been given control over so many sensitive projects.”

“What is that supposed to mean? What do you know about what I do?”

Mr. Priest spread his hands. “You're an electrical engineer and a mathematician. Essentially a glorified code-breaker who also writes security system code under contract to the Department of Defense. You work on operational systems including firing controls for missile systems, nuclear plant security regulation codes, and so on. How am I doing?”

Kang stared at him, lips parting in surprise, shocked that Mr. Priest knew all of this. And he did a very fast reevaluation of this man and his potential status in the intelligence network. He cleared his throat. “The security of this office and my teams is, naturally, of the highest concern.”

“Naturally,” agreed Mr. Priest. “However, I'm sure you'll agree that ‘concern' is a quality of intention rather than action.”

“I—” Kang stopped himself and tried again. “I would value any input you have, Mr. Priest. If it's your opinion that there are problems with our system, then please explain. Maintaining the strictest security is absolutely crucial.”

“I'm delighted to hear it.”

Kang nearly winced. He said, “If you wouldn't mind explaining our
faults,
as you see them. Perhaps walk me through them?”

“It would be my pleasure,” said Mr. Priest. He raised his hand and pointed his index finger like a gun. “You say that under direct coercion you would input a false entry code, correct?”

Kang looked at the pointed finger. The gesture was borderline rude, but he dared not say anything. “That is correct,” he said.

Mr. Priest nodded and then moved his hand slowly over to the row of framed photographs on the right side of Kang's desk. There were five pictures in unmatched frames. His wife, Mary; their wedding picture; three school photos of fifteen-year-old Ashleigh, nine-year-old Kimmie, and three-year-old Jason.

“And what if someone pointed a gun at someone you loved?” asked Mr. Priest.

Kang did not answer. Such a question, such an
action,
even in a discussion of hypotheticals, was appalling. It was incredibly rude and violative.

“Sorry, Doctor,” said Mr. Priest, “I didn't hear your answer.”

“This is hardly a proper—”

“Doctor, I want you to answer my question. I know the lengths I would go to to protect my brother, and he is something of a disappointment to me. By all accounts you genuinely
love
your family. So, my question stands. If there were guns pointed right this minute at the heads of your wife and each of your three very lovely children, are you going to sit there and tell me that you would still input a false code? Would you actually risk such appalling harm coming to your entire family?
Could
you stick to your protocols and let them die?”

Kang said nothing. He was far too horrified to risk saying the things that rose to his tongue. And he was also trying to determine exactly who he should report this to. National security spot checks and unscheduled evaluations were all good and well, but this interview had crossed a line. Anyone would see that.

“I'd really like an answer, Doctor,” insisted Mr. Priest.

“This is ridiculous and I think we're done here.”

“No, I don't think we are.”

Kang stood up. “Yes, we are. If you want to file an official report, then please do so, but this discussion is closed and this interview over. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Mr. Priest lowered his hand and leaned back in his chair. “Dr. Kang, if you don't sit down right now I will kneecap you.”

“I'm sorry—what did you say?”

Mr. Priest opened his jacket and produced a pistol. He did not point it, but instead laid it on his lap. “Do you know what ‘kneecapping' is? Can you imagine what it would feel like? A bullet punching through your knee, through bone and tissue. The shock of the entry wound, the red splatter as it exits the back of your knee, carrying pieces of tissue and nerve and tendon with it. The pain, Doctor. The searing agony.”

Kang felt the blood drain from his face. “Get the fuck out of my office.
Right now.
”

“No,” said Mr. Priest. His tone was mild, conversational.

“I'm calling security.” Kang reached for the phone.

“Make that call, Doctor, and you'll kill your wife.”

Kang froze, his fingers an inch from the phone. His heart seemed to freeze, too. The world had suddenly become surreal. When he spoke his voice was barely a whisper.

“What … what did you say?”

“For a smart man you are moderately slow on the uptake, Dr. Kang. Let me make it clear, and since you're likely in shock I'll use small words, yes?” Mr. Priest looked amused. “Right now, even as we're having our chat, there are four teams in play. One has been following your wife since she dropped Jason off at preschool. Another is in the preschool. A third team is at Los Angeles Elementary School, and the fourth is inside University High School. Go, Wildcats.” He paused for a small laugh. “If I don't send a coded signal at the appropriate time, four bullets will be fired. Five, counting the first round I fire, which will be through your left kneecap.”

Kang collapsed into his chair, landed badly, and began sliding out onto the floor.

Mr. Priest made a disgusted noise. “Show a little self-respect, Doctor. Sit up like an adult.” He waited while Kang wrestled his slack and clumsy limbs into the chair. “That's better. Now, I think even taking into account the degree of shock and anxiety you're feeling right now, you can predict what's coming next, yes? Indulge me, though. Tell me, just so I know your brain hasn't actually shorted out. Why is this happening?”

It took a lot for Kang to say it, to organize it into a simple sentence, but even then it stalled as he tried to force it out. “You … you … you…”

“Take a breath, Doctor. That's it. Now try again.”

It cost him so much. Tears sprang into his eyes. “You … want the nuclear reset codes to—”

“No. Try again. Think of something a bit more outré.”

Kang's eyes brightened as he understood, but then he frowned. “The book code? This is about that silly book code?”