Doomsday Apocalypse Page 4

  His desk resembled the cockpit of a modern airliner with eight flat-panel monitors at the ready. He pulled up different sets of notes on his upper-level computer monitors, which were mounted directly to the wall.

  One was labeled AIRPORTS—Reagan and Dulles. Another was labeled AMTRAK. The next screen was marked BUS TRANSPORT—MegaBus, Battle’s and Vamoose. The final screen was marked WMATA—DC Metro.

  He studied his notes. He’d been tasked early on with pen testing of each of the major infrastructures of a dozen of the nation’s largest cities plus Washington. Transportation, communication, utilities, and financial markets were all potential targets. Once he’d established a particular methodology for entering the computer systems of each of the subcomponents, like Reagan National Airport, he would conduct pen testing periodically to make sure countermeasures hadn’t been adopted.

  This was how he filled the extra hours of his day when he was away from INSCOM, in addition to monitoring chat boards and social media for instructions. Now he had work to do.

  He set about his task. The keyword Fare in the post indicated he was to target transportation infrastructure that was ordinarily paid for with a fare.

  The bus transport companies were the easiest to deal with. They were small companies with an unsophisticated firewall. It was easy for him to access their servers individually and schedule a DoS for the precise time indicated in his instructions.

  He thought of the ramifications of his cyber attacks and others like them. The message had read One instance among many more. He was not the only one participating in this plan, which he was admonished to trust.

  A DoS, or denial of service attack, was used to temporarily interrupt a web server’s ability to connect to the internet. The common method of attack saturated the target network with external communications requests to the point the computer system was unable to respond to legitimate web traffic. The result was server overload and a shutdown of the entire system, creating chaos within the bus transportation network.

  The servers at Washington Dulles and Reagan National airports would be attacked in a similar fashion, except the intrusion would involve the airlines as well. In this case, he would use a DDoS, or distributed denial of service attack, to completely weigh down the computer systems of the airports and the airlines that service them.

  He would employ multiple servers around the world to remotely access the computer systems of the two airports and the three major airlines that service them—American, United, and Delta. Each of the remote servers controlled multiple computers, both public and private, around the world. All of them would simultaneously attack the servers at the two DC airports, bringing air travel to a standstill.

  Amtrak would receive treatment similar to the airlines. The Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority, or WMATA, consisted of both bus and rail transportation. The bus transportation could be halted by a DoS attack easily enough.

  The DC rail system was a little more complicated. Because the rail system encompassed such a wide area, he thought it best to take down the dedicated power grid for its lines. He was instructed to undertake a cascading failure of the entire rail system without creating widespread power outages throughout the District. It could be done, but he hadn’t war-planned it.

  The trains would be brought to a halt, and the power would be taken down in the stations and tunnels, adding an extra layer of chaos. He smiled as he added his own demented twist to the instructions he’d been given. He planned on creating a cascading failure by penetrating DC Metro’s antiquated Windows-based servers.

  He logged on to his VPN, a virtual private network, which prevented his identity being tracked by cyber investigators. His earlier pen tests had allowed him to sneak a peek without prematurely alerting the IT department at WMATA of his presence.

  “Now that I’m in,” he mumbled, “let’s find their schematics and see what kind of software they’re using.”

  He raced through the internal servers of the WMATA, his fingers clicking faster than the screen could keep up. After several minutes, he found what he was looking for. The WMATA used an Automatic Train Control software, which dealt with all aspects of train operations from routes, scheduling, operations, and communications. Most importantly, it provided safety and protection by monitoring life-critical functions of the trains.

  “Hello, SCADA, old and out-of-date friend,” he said with a smile as he dug deeper into the network.

  SCADA, which is an acronym for supervisory control and data acquisition, was used by industrial utilities to provide interconnectivity across various platforms and networks throughout the utilities’ network.

  Many energy and transportation utilities around the world used SCADA despite the widely reported weaknesses and vulnerabilities the system was subject to. He reached for a USB drive and inserted it into a laptop that sat on the desk to his left. The portable computer went everywhere with him, you know, just in case he had to make a quick exit from public life.

  His adrenaline was pumping as he navigated through the laptop in search of the perfect worm to insert in the SCADA system. Do-gooder companies like Symantec always professed to be one step ahead of hackers, but, of course, they were wrong. If they were one step ahead, there would never be a cyber intrusion, right?

  The hacker community had a network, which he was part of. He rarely contributed anything of value, although he did post things from time to time to disrupt Russia’s activities in Syria. On one such occasion, it got a Russian Sukhoi Su-24 shot down near the Syrian-Turkey border by a Turkish F-16.

  The Turks swore the Sukhoi violated its airspace. What they were unaware of was the hack performed on their air defense radars that had temporarily moved the positioning of their border vis-à-vis the Russian aircraft. They thoroughly convinced the Russians that their military fighter had deviated into Turkish airspace, when it had not.

  The hack, and the subsequent downing of the aircraft, created an international incident, with Moscow blaming Washington for not informing them of the aircraft’s deviation. Washington never admitted that their data differed from Turkey’s. Eventually, the matter went away.

  He was applauded by the hacker community for providing the tools necessary to disrupt geopolitical affairs, and as a result, complex hacks were shared with him on a regular basis. He would deploy one of them that New Year’s Eve to bring the DC Metrorail system, along with the entirety of Washington’s transportation apparatus, to a screeching halt.

  Chapter 7

  Undisclosed Military Installation

  The Philippines

  The naval lieutenant eased back in a wooden office chair that was barely capable of remaining on its swivel base. The old facility in which he operated with the two junior members of his unit had been thrown together last summer. In the five months they’d been stationed there, they had done absolutely nothing except train on their simulators. They had minimal voice contact with their superior officers, instead relying upon daily directives and briefings via internal military communications.

  The room the trio occupied stank of body odor and Thai food. The drab, vanilla walls surrounded three desks with computer stations enabling them to conduct training sessions and, if called upon, deploy the drone submarines that fell under their purview.

  The lieutenant reviewed the newly received orders before he verbally passed them along to his team. The chain of command he’d been accustomed to had changed, but that was not unusual since their arrival. The new program was in the middle of an internal political struggle within the military that he wanted no part of.

  He read the new orders again, which were marked Top Secret Mission Sensitive. From his experiences, when a mission was marked sensitive, it meant there were certain operational aspects of a task that were eyes only for the commander of a unit, albeit a small one like his. Since their arrival, every set of orders received fell under a classification that required no level of secretiveness.

  He pushed his chair back from his
work console and stood. He paced back and forth before speaking.

  “What’s the situation, sir?” one of his men asked.

  “We need to clean up this room, now!” The lieutenant’s demand was out of character for his normal demeanor. Ordinarily, he was able to joke with his team and even spend after-hours time in local bars, chasing available women.

  “Okay, I’m almost—” one of his men protested, hurriedly finishing his meal.

  “Now. I have orders and we need to get prepared. There’s very little time before implementation.”

  The men scurried about, pulling a plastic trash can out of the restroom and shoving the take-out dinnerware into it.

  One of his men began to question his lieutenant. “Is this a drill, sir? Are we about to get a visit from someone?”

  The officer walked back and forth as sweat poured profusely from his brow. “No. At least I don’t think so. The suddenness of the orders puzzled me, but they are authenticated, and that leaves us a job to do.”

  “What is it?” one of the men asked.

  “Obviously, this is classified, but I’m going to tell you more than you should know. We’re a team and our actions may have an effect on a global level.”

  “Tell us.”

  “It’s labeled Operation Ocean Aero.”

  “Are we at war?”

  “Listen, I know as much as you do, but we need to focus. We only have a limited amount of time to position our AUV to hit a very defined target.”

  An AUV, or autonomous underwater vehicle, was commonly known as an unmanned submersible designed for survey missions like mapping the ocean floor, searching for sunken ships, or clearing possible obstructions to navigation for other vessels. Unlike an ROV, a remotely operated vehicle that is connected to another vessel by cables, AUVs had advanced technology to be controlled from locations on the other side of the planet via computer and satellite relay transmissions.

  The proliferation of these underwater drones allowed nations that possessed them to park the AUV on the ocean floor, sometimes miles beneath the surface, awaiting orders from its controller.

  Until now, no underwater drone in their fleet had been tested to fire an actual missile. The lieutenant and his crew conducted simulated war games daily, in part by orders from their superiors, but also out of sheer boredom. It was not unusual for them to pick locations to target all over the world, with varying degrees of difficulty and weaponry options.

  If they chose to obliterate Israel, for example, they’d maneuver one of their drones into the Mediterranean Sea undetected and run a simulation of detonating a nuclear warhead over Tel Aviv.

  Likewise, their AUVs were capable of attacking a ship or an airline with less destructive weapons. The arsenal at their disposal was as varied as the targets that they could be tasked to strike.

  “Sir, what is our objective?”

  “And what payload are we delivering?” asked the other man in the small unit.

  The lieutenant continued to study their mission orders. He began to mumble as he read them. “One-megaton, EMP-tipped warhead. Just above the visual horizon,” he summarized the orders. Then he paused, rubbed his temples, and considered the instructions. “Why is it so low? Targeted? None of this makes sense.”

  “Sir? Maybe this is just a drill.”

  The lieutenant shook his head and grimaced. “I don’t think so, unless they removed the payload without our knowledge, which is impossible. Let’s do our duty, gentlemen. Here are your coordinates.”

  He paused, and then he read them slowly to his team. “40° 0′ 34″ north latitude and 75° 8′ 0″ west longitude.”

  After several keystrokes were made at the terminal of one of the men, he took a deep breath and stated the physical location.

  Philadelphia.

  Chapter 8

  Hyatt Centric Times Square

  New York City

  From Central Park to Carnegie Hall to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Midtown Manhattan and the Times Square Theater District was the epitome of New York’s world-renowned persona. Once a year, on New Year’s Eve, Times Square becomes the center of the universe as revelers ring in the new year.

  The time ball itself was located on the roof of One Times Square, a twenty-five-story skyscraper located at Forty-Second Street and Broadway. Beginning at one minute until midnight, the ball descends one hundred forty-one feet in precisely sixty seconds until it rests to signal the start of the new year.

  This year, the special guest to activate the ball drop was former Secretary of State and presidential candidate Hillary Clinton, who’d just been defeated in the previous spring in the Democratic primary for the nomination. She and her husband, the former president, were residents of Long Island and were being honored by New York’s mayor for their service.

  Her entourage was staying at the Hyatt Centric, a luxury high-rise property overlooking Times Square. Security was tight and intentionally visible at the hotel. In fact, security was beefed up at all the buildings overlooking Times Square, as the memories of the Mandalay Bay shooting in Las Vegas were fresh in the minds of law enforcement. Rooftops were closely monitored for sniper activity, and several of the hotels employed temporary luggage scanners to detect for weapons.

  All of this didn’t dampen the spirits of Tom and Donna Shelton, who’d come to the city for the first time. In fact, they liked the added comfort and peace of mind afforded by the enhanced security measures.

  The Sheltons were celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary, although the actual event had taken place back in October. Donna had always wanted to come to New York to experience the shopping, dining, and overall excitement the city exuded. When Tom promised her the trip as part of their anniversary celebration, Donna upped the ante to set a specific weekend—New Year’s.

  Tom couldn’t deny his bride her request. He loved her with all his heart. During his tenure as the commanding officer of the Naval Weapons Station at Joint Base Charleston in Goose Creek, South Carolina, he’d spent an exorbitant amount of time doting over his ordnance cache of more than sixty million pounds of conventional explosives.

  For thirty-five years, he’d given his life to the United States Navy, oftentimes to the detriment of his wife and family. Since his retirement three years ago, he’d vowed to make it up to them. After Donna was diagnosed with breast cancer shortly thereafter, Tom’s outlook on life changed, and his love for Donna grew deeper.

  Donna was on a FaceTime call with their oldest daughter, Willa, and their three grandchildren. As she talked with the grandkids about the Christmas presents they’d received, Tom was deep in thought as he looked out the ceiling-to-floor plate-glass windows overlooking Times Square. It was only seven that evening, but people were packed shoulder to shoulder as they started their New Year’s Eve celebration.

  Erupting like tantrums, another strong gust of wind struck the building, pelting the glass with icy crystals of snow. Their view of the ball drop would be incredible that night. The room cost them over a thousand dollars a night for the weekend, but Tom didn’t hesitate to pay it. For one, he owed his wife this vacation and many more for the years when he couldn’t leave the base. Secondly, not that he was afraid, he preferred to stay in the safe confines of the hotel on a night when crazy was spelled with a capital C.

  As it was, parties were ongoing throughout the hotel, especially in Bar 54, where he and Donna had dinner reservations at eight. He’d tried to make them for later, hoping to view the ball drop from the outdoor balconies, but the restaurant closed at nine for an expensive, black-tie soiree, which involved four-hundred-dollar bottles of champagne and table reservations requiring a minimum purchase of a five-hundred-dollar bottle of Belvedere vodka. Tom was not frugal, but he wasn’t wasteful either.

  “Tom, do you wanna say good night to Willa and the kids?”

  Tom shook off the chill he’d received standing near the window and joined Donna, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. The king-size bed was in a separate
room from a small living area that made up their suite. The modern design and the art deco paintings that adorned the walls were a far cry from the traditional Southern style found throughout their home in downtown Charleston.

  “Of course, my darling,” said Tom as he walked through the doorway and joined her side. With the curtains drawn, the bedroom was much warmer, so he removed his jacket while Donna held the phone for him.

  “Hi again, Grandpa!” one of the youngsters exclaimed as he came into view on the FaceTime app.

  “Hi, munchkins!”

  They squealed in delight. He enjoyed his relationship with Willa and his grandchildren despite the distance between them. She and her husband lived in North Las Vegas near Creech Air Force Base, where Willa, a captain, served as a drone pilot. Her days were spent staring at glowing video screens and toggling a joystick that controlled armed drones flying throughout the world. At any given moment, hundreds of Predator and Reaper drones were aloft, most of which were controlled from the sun-scorched desert outpost north of Las Vegas.

  Donna handed Tom the phone. “Dear, I’m going to finish putting on my face before we go upstairs. Will you call our other daughter after you sign off?”

  “Of course,” replied Tom as he bent over to kiss Donna on the cheek. He managed a smile as she left and entered the bathroom suite in the thick sherpa bathrobe he’d purchased for her at Macy’s. Even though her cancer was in remission, her body tended to chill easily, even in the warmer confines of Charleston.

  He turned his attention back to the phone. “Are you guys gonna stay awake for the ball drop later?”

  The oldest of the three granddaughters replied, “We sure are, Grandpa, but only for the New York ball. It will be too late for the Vegas ball.”

  “That’s okay,” he said with a laugh. He adored his grandchildren every bit as much as he loved his wife and two daughters. He was surrounded by women and that suited him just fine. As the only man in the Shelton family, he was taken care of like no other grandfather. “After midnight here, you guys can close your peepers, and when you wake up, it will be a brand-new year at your house too!”