Cyber Attack (24 page)

“What’s the purpose of the legislation?”

“Of course, the President still has plenty of supporters. Last year in Kenya, he told the African Union he felt he’d been a pretty good president. If he were allowed to run for a third term, he’d probably win.”

“I remember that.”

“It was possibly tongue-in-cheek, but the legislation to repeal the 22
^nd
amendment introduced on the heels of the Clinton nomination suggests otherwise.”

“Is that the Presidential term limits amendment?”

“Yes. Not only does the President think he could win a third term, it appears he desperately wants to try.”

“He’s delusional.”

Chapter 38

July 30, 2016

The Hack House

Binney Street

East Cambridge, Massachusetts

Herm Walthaus was on top of his game. He’d met Wendy at a meeting of a social club at MIT—Improv-a-Do!—where students participate in impromptu computer and engineering challenges. They were paired together by random draw and instantly hit it off. As they worked on the project, they found a lot of things in common besides computing, namely weed and sex.

“C’mon, Herm, let’s smoke another one,” said Wendy. “I’m soooo chill—hashtag horny too.” Wendy was half dressed and rubbing her breasts on Herm’s shoulders as he studied the computer monitor.

“Okay, Wendy, but let’s have some fun first.”

“Yeah, I’m sooo ready!”

“No, we’ll do that again in a moment. I want to mess with somebody.” Wendy continued to rub on Herm and the distraction might soon pull him away from the task at hand—but teaching that pompous senator a lesson or two temporarily took priority.

Walthaus watched the vice presidential acceptance speech of Abbie a couple of days prior and inexplicably took her remarks on cyber war as a challenge. Foreign countries were receiving all of the praise for advancements in cyber intrusions. The accomplishments of the Zero Day Gamers were underappreciated.

“Who?”

“It’s Senator Morgan’s computer.”

“Yeah, fuck with that do-gooder. What are you going to do?”

“Watch.”

Wendy was now rubbing her hands down his chest and biting at his ears. His loins were feeling the urge.
Pot really makes me horny. Hurry up, big boy
.

The day after the DNC speech, Walthaus sent Abbie an email purporting to be a reporter requesting an interview for the UK
Telegraph
. He planted a miniscule one-pixel-by-one pixel image in the email. He
fingerprinted
her computer, which provided him the identity of her operating system, browser and security software she was using. When an email contains an image, despite its size, the receiver’s email client has to contact the sender’s email server in order to fetch the image. The exchange of data provided Walthaus the technical details of Abbie’s computer.

Later that day, he sent another email, which appeared to be a LinkedIn request from another journalist at the UK
Telegraph
. A button was provided to confirm or deny the request. Abbie chose to deny the request because she didn’t know the reporter. Walthaus designed the email so any form of interaction would result in further fingerprinting in addition to automatically triggering the download of a RAT—a remote access Trojan.

Walthaus now had complete administrative control of Abbie’s laptop. At this point, he was able to see everything Abbie did on the computer. He was able to open up folders, operate the webcam and download her computer files. He was now ready to launch his attack.

Walthaus quickly moved icons around on the screen of Abbie’s computer. He took a peek at the pictures folder—just for fun. He intended to install a version of keylogger, but Wendy was growing impatient.

Walthaus navigated to the settings icon and changed Abbie’s desktop wallpaper. He uploaded an animated gif—a cartoonish donkey copulating with an elephant.
There, done.

“I hope you enjoy that, Miss High and Mighty Senator.” He spun his chair around, leaving the screen open. He grabbed Wendy by her ponytails as she straddled his lap.

“Now, missy, what’s it gonna be—smoke or poke?”

Chapter 39

July 30, 2016

2723 N Street NW

Georgetown

Washington, D.C.

Abbie was enjoying a rare evening at home in Georgetown. By all accounts, including from right-leaning pundits, her acceptance speech Thursday night was a huge success. The last forty-eight hours had been a whirlwind of congratulatory phone calls, pressers, and meetings with campaign staffers. She kicked off her Alexander McQueen heels and poured herself a glass of wine.

She loved her home. Built in the early 1800s, her Federal-era townhome underwent a major renovation by Alaska Senator Lisa Murkowski in 2003 before she moved to northwest D.C. The size was much more than she needed, but her father insisted upon the prominent location.

Resisting the urge to change into some oversized sweatpants and a T-shirt, Abbie quickly settled on the sofa with her wine. Despite warnings from everyone not to look, Abbie instinctively had to look. She pulled her laptop out of the briefcase and propped her feet on the mahogany and glass coffee table.

Not too bad
. The majority of the criticism of her being selected came from the far left. Abbie knew they would vote for the ticket anyway.
Where else would they go
? She set the laptop aside and went to the kitchen to pour another glass of wine. She also took a moment to change clothes.

As she walked back into the living room, she noticed her cursor moving on the screen. Her icons were being shuffled. She ran to grab her laptop, but then remembered the reports of former CBS reporter Sharyl Attkisson’s computer hacking allegations. Despite a detailed report by an independent technical team substantiating the intrusion, the Department of Justice’s inspector general would not substantiate the allegations of FBI or government personnel involvement. The whole affair had been covered up and expertly buried using the White House press machine. Knowing there was nothing of informational value on the laptop, Abbie decided to let it play out.

But she did call Katie immediately.

“Katie, I’m watching someone remotely access my laptop as we speak. They are opening folders, moving icons and now they have uploaded an image to my desktop screen. It’s a donkey fucking an elephant!”

After the two shared some nervous laughter, Katie advised Abbie to leave her computer alone. Steven was in town for the weekend and they would both be over shortly. Reassured, Abbie hung up and let her secret service team know to expect visitors. She invited Drew inside.

Since her father had assigned Drew to her personal security detail two months ago, they became friends and he became her confidant. At this level of politics, Abbie knew trustworthiness and confidentiality were in short supply. She could always count on her friends within the Loyal Nine, but it was nice to have someone like Drew as a constant companion.

“Is everything all right, Senator?” asked Drew, still in earshot of the assigned secret service team. He and Abbie were well beyond such formalities.

“Please come in. I need to discuss something with you.” Not just because of Steven’s recommendation, but based upon her own observations, Abbie knew she could trust Drew Jackson with her intimate secrets—and her life. She closed the door behind him.

“Am I a vision of loveliness or what?”

Drew laughed at Abbie’s self-deprecation. “You don’t think I’d love to throw on a pair of shorts and a Vols T-shirt?”

Abbie immediately contemplated allowing Drew to keep some clothes in a drawer.
Whoa, Nellie
! “Trust me, I know wearing a suit all day and night is grueling.”

“Appearances are important. When we campaign down South, maybe I can loosen up on the collar.”

“I’ll insist upon it. Drew, I have a problem. I’ve called Steven and my friend Katie over to take a look. This has to be kept quiet, okay.”

Drew immediately searched around the townhouse, looking for threats. Out of habit, he placed his hand on his sidearm. Abbie noticed his heightened awareness.

“No, nothing dangerous. My computer has been hacked.”

“Shouldn’t we call the FBI?”

“I don’t know who is behind this, and I only trust Katie and her team to find out. This could be our government or a foreign nation. This could be political espionage from the GOP. Hell, it could have come from the Democrat side. Who knows?”

“I understand. Trust no one. Is there anything on there that’s
embarrassing
?”

“Embarrassing? Like what?”

“You know. Embarrassing, like photos or videos.”

“You mean sex tapes?”

Drew blushed. “No. Well, I was making sure…” Drew’s voice trailed off.

Abbie would let him off the hook. Using her best
Gone with the Wind
Southern belle voice, she said, “Why, Mr. Jackson, how dare you impugn my character. I am a proper lady and would never consider videotaping my romp in the hay with my beau.”

She teasingly led him by the arm to the sofa, where they stared at her laptop with the continuously moving gif of the copulating donkey and elephant.

“Does this do anything for you?” she asked.

“Reminds me of stump trainin’.”

“What’s stump training, Drew?”

“Really? You’ve never heard of stump trainin’?”

“No.”

“Well, down on the farm, it’s when a guy stands on a stump and backs a large farm animal up to him so he can…”

“STOP! I get the visual!”

“It’s really common in some parts. Here’s what they do…”

Abbie’s intercom system announced the arrival of Katie and Steven while saving Abbie from the detailed explanation of stump training.

“Thank God,” said Abbie. She stood and threw a pillow at Drew. “You, sir, are no gentleman, speaking to a proper lady in such a manner.” Abbie adjusted her sweatpants as she met her guests at the door.

“Hi, guys.”

“Abbie, are you okay?” asked Katie.

“Pretty nice digs, Abbie,” said Steven.

“Thanks. Katie, I was doing fine until this brutish friend of Steven’s forgot his manners.”

Steven and Drew gave each other a bro hug. “Are you taking good care of the next Vice President of the United States?”

“I guess. Sometimes I wonder if I should rejoin your unit.”

“Hey!” objected Abbie.

“Just kiddin’. Look at this, buddy.” Drew pointed to the constantly moving image on the laptop.

“Nice,” said Steven. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“Abbie, has this been in your possession the whole time?” asked Katie.

“Yes.”

“Even while in Philly?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve probably been hacked from a remote source,” said Katie. “We’ll have to analyze it to determine if they left a passive digital footprint.”

“What does that mean?” asked Abbie.

“A digital footprint is the data left behind by users of the Internet,” explained Katie. “Active digital footprints are created when personal data is released deliberately by a user for the purpose of sharing information, like on Facebook or in chatrooms.”

“What about passive?” asked Drew.

“A passive digital footprint is a little more complicated,” Katie replied. “It is created when data is collected at the moment the owner downloads or uploads data. I will have my people take a look.”

“Okay.”

“Have you touched anything?”

“No. Katie, we have to keep this quiet. I want to find out who is behind this before they can cover it up.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday. I’ll call in my most trusted assistants. We’ll get to the bottom of it, Abbie, I promise.”

Abbie gave Katie a hug. Two days into her VP nomination and someone was rifling through her laptop.
This sucks
.

PART FOUR

Chapter 40

August 1, 2016

27 O Street SW

Washington, D.C.

It was 3:00 a.m. when Katie entered her rented townhome and found Steven asleep on the couch. He immediately woke up and gave her a hug. She felt his
morning wake-up call
.

“Either you were dreaming about me or watching porn when you fell asleep,” she said, playfully pushing him away.

“I was dreaming about us—making a movie.”

“Forget it! After what Abbie went through, you’ll never film us having sex!”

“Okay, forget the filming part,” Steven said as he reached to pull her back.

“Can I put my briefcase down first?”

“Sure, let me help you with that.”

Katie squirmed out of his grasp. “Listen, horn dog, this is important. I’ve got something.”

Steven, looking like a little boy who just had his G.I Joe taken away, let her go.

She walked through the open floor plan to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Evian. She’d been awake for nearly twenty-four hours. In just five hours, she was expected in the Situation Room for the daily briefing. She’d feel
and look
like death warmed over.

“I have to get a few hours’ sleep before work, but let me tell you what I know. Come to bed and we’ll talk.” Katie led Steven to the bedroom, leaving a trail of shoes and various forms of apparel. Once in bed she kissed him and relayed her findings.

“I need to explain this to you and then I need you to set up a meeting as soon as possible with Mr. Morgan, okay?” she asked.

“Yes, but how bad is it?”

“I think I know the who, but I am unclear as to the why?” replied Katie. “You’ve read about the hacktivist group called the Zero Day Gamers. They took responsibility for the Callaway Nuclear Plant attack and the hijacking of the American Airlines flight back in May.”

“Weren’t they also suspected in the Vegas Casino deal when Sarge and Julia were in town?” asked Steven.

“Yes. They’re ghosts. No agency has been able to pin down their location or their intentions. So far, their activity has been referred to by the President as cyber vandalism. But I have noticed their cyber attacks have escalated and become more sophisticated.” Katie exhaled and relaxed as she was finally able to let her two worlds meet. Steven caressed her face and put her more at ease. She really liked him and was amazed at how caring and loving he could be considering his occupation—and boyish ways.