Devil Wind (Sammy Greene Mysteries) (46 page)

He gave his daughter a quick hug, encouraging her in Greek to be brave, then put his arm over Sammy’s shoulders and whispered, “Please go with Ana. Make sure she and Teddy are okay. Be ready to move out right away on my signal.”

As Sammy nodded, Pappajohn looked at Bishop. “If there hasn’t been an intrusion in the computer system, I’ll be the first to pull back and let the FBI or the LAPD take over. If there has, you’ll need to raise the alarm and start evacuating this hospital now.”

Miller turned the L.A. Edison van onto Westwood Boulevard just as Fahim phoned to tell him the computer worms were in place. Operation Y2K was right on schedule. “Good work. The rest of your money will be in Dubai in the morning,” he said, adding, “Happy New Year.”

Entering the LAU Medical campus, he drove to the Peter Falk Eye Institute, a quarter mile upstream from the hospital tower. At ten p.m. the specialty facility was closed, its lot deserted, with no attendant sitting sentry at the entrance. He backed into a space that provided a clear line of sight to the hospital, turned off the engine, and hopped out.

Dressed in the utility company’s uniform, Miller ambled over to the side of the van, admiring the professional lettering job his ops men had done to alter the exterior. A week ago the same vehicle had posed as a Canyon City PD van, parked next to city hall. Curious passersby tonight would assume this was an L.A. Edison repair truck on the scene in the midst of a power failure. His radiation-safe hazmat suit was well hidden inside.

Cracking the rear door to enter the cargo bay, he climbed up, bolted the door shut, and took his place at the central console. With a few flicked switches, Miller started the cascade of boot-ups of the van’s computer systems. The resonator was the last to come on line. Nestled in the front of the cargo bay, the equipment relayed its first ready signal to Miller’s monitor, cueing him to approve the wireless transmission of the Trojan horse. Inside the virus, masquerading as a “friendly visitor,” were the kernels of the resonator’s program. Once released from the Trojan horse software, these kernels would move in and take over the operations and functions of the hospital’s active seismic-control system, allowing Miller to run the computers remotely from his van.

Miller held his breath, nervously typing a sequence of instructions on the resonator’s input keyboard and entering the Trojan horse launch code into the hospital’s control system’s computer. Operation Y2K was a “go.” Success tonight could promote the election of a new—and better—administration. And, with Prescott’s support, God bless him, a new—and infinitely better—CIA Director.

In minutes, the monitor returned the contact achieved notification, followed by the control established report. Miller breathed a sigh of relief. The resonator’s software had climbed out of its Trojan horse casing and invaded the hospital’s seismic-control system. It was now ready to align the counterweight function with the building in a way that would magnify any shaking created by the dirty bomb’s explosion. And just like the walls of Jericho, the hospital’s walls would come a-tumblin’ down.

Bishop motioned for Pappajohn to wait while he flashed his ID at the sensor and punched in the Omni lock code to enter the ICCC on Level B3. Hearing the latch click open, he pushed the door forward to allow them both access into the large suite.

Expecting to see the overnight technicians at their stations, Bishop was surprised to find the room totally deserted, save for an agitated and glassy-eyed Eccles. The only sounds were the bells and whistles of computer equipment whirring and buzzing on autopilot from one end to the other.

“Ventilation, oxygen, electricity, natural gas, monitors, elevators, Internet,” Eccles listed. “All systems are operational.” The LCD monitors along the control counter displaying shots from the multiple security cameras all showed scenes typical for the university hospital in the evening hours. “But my night shift staff is MIA.”

“Where’s the seismic-control system hookup?” Pappajohn scanned the millions of dollars worth of equipment that represented the heart and brain of the Schwarzenegger Hospital.

“I’ve got it.” Eccles rolled his chair over to one control panel and began typing on the system’s keyboard. His expression of intense concentration became a worried frown. “Or maybe I don’t. I can’t seem to access certain levels of the program.”

Eccles moved to an adjacent keyboard, typed a few entries, then slammed the counter in frustration. “We’re locked out.”

Pappajohn put Sammy’s phone next to Bishop. “Keith?”

“Yeah, I heard. If a worm’s taken over access and security, you’ll be blocked from entry.”

“Impossible,” Bishop said. “You have a firewall and screen for malware. How could a virus get in?”

“That might keep out your average hacker, but, if it’s someone in the government, it’s as good as a paper lock. All you need is a Trojan horse and your computer practically opens the door and invites the worm in itself. Then closes the barn door and leaves you in the cold.”

“So what can we do now?”

“Frankly, your best bet is to try to shut the whole system down,” Keith advised.

Pappajohn’s eyes had drifted to the security monitors displaying rotating videos of the entire hospital. For a split second, he thought he recognized a man entering the hospital lobby, but the face turned from the camera before Pappajohn could be sure. Still, he’d spent too many years as a Boston street cop not to want a second look. Just in case.

“Any way to rewind this security tape?” he asked. “I want to check a face.”

Eccles nodded. “One minute. Nope, can’t shut it down either. I’m blocked on all fronts.” He turned to Pappajohn. “What’d you see?”

“I’m not sure, but one of the visitors walking into the lobby might be al-Harbi.”

Before Eccles could respond, the room was plunged into total darkness. A moment later, the transfer switch to the ICCC’s generator kicked on, providing dim runner lights and ongoing power to the computers.

“Dammit! Central power’s not coming back online.” Eccles moved to another computer and queried system status. “Local generators are feeding critical units, but noncritical areas of the hospital are without power or light,” he reported with a hint of panic.

Pappajohn noticed the security systems monitors had gone black as well.

“Elevators just went out.” Red lights dotting Eccles’s screen indicated cars halted throughout the hospital. “Can’t get generator power to any of the lift systems.”

Keith’s voice came over the speaker. “Gus, it’s time to get everybody out of there and bring in the bomb squad. I’ll alert the feds about a possible sighting of al-Harbi. Keep your phone with you, so I can stay in touch. What about the seismic-control area?”

“Generator’s still running up there.” Eccles’s voice rose another register as he barked, “I’m calling a level one red alert.”

“Evacuation.” Bishop directed as he walked Pappajohn to the exit door. “Runner lights and reflectors should guide you up to the ER on the main floor. Tell Dr. Wyndham—Reed—to implement disaster response protocol STAT, but no Klaxon. We need to get folks out as quickly and quietly as possible. We don’t want to start a panic.”

Pappajohn agreed. “If the attackers know we’re on to them, they might move up their plans sooner than midnight.” He looked over at Eccles still seated at the control counter. “Aren’t you coming?”

“We’ll join you in a few minutes. There’s something down here Dr. Bishop and I have to do first.”

Teddy had just fallen asleep. Ana and Sammy were talking quietly when the lights in his seventh-floor hospital room flickered, then died. From where she sat, Sammy could see through the open door into the hallway. The corridor too had just gone dark, except for a row of runner lights leading to the exit.

“What happened?” Ana whispered.

Sammy leaned over and picked up the bedside land line. No dial tone. “Power’s out. Phone, too.”

“You don’t think it’s the Y2K Operation?” Ana asked, her voice trembling.

“It’s only ten thirty,” Sammy tried to reassure her. “My guess, it’s the winds again. Give it a few minutes. Hospitals have back-up generators. We don’t want to wake Teddy with a false alarm.”

Sammy crossed her fingers in the dark, hoping it was just that.

By the time Pappajohn had hiked up three floors to the main level and was hurrying down the darkened hallway to the ER, his wheezing had grown louder. On the way, he’d dialed Teddy’s room, but surmised the power to that floor was out when no one answered. Despite his ragged breathing, he urged himself forward, until he pushed through the glass doors and nearly collided with Reed.

“Gus, what’s going on? We just heard the power’s out in most of the hospital. Luckily, our generator’s working.”

Pappajohn realized that while the ER’s generators were functioning now, there was no way of knowing if a capricious computer worm might suddenly switch them off. “Dr. Bishop’s still down with security in the ICCC trying to get the system up again, but he wants you all to implement the disaster response protocol right away.”

“You mean evacuate the whole hospital? For real?” Reed’s jaw dropped.

“Afraid so. And he wants it done quietly, so no one panics.” From the other side of the ER, Pappajohn saw De’andray wave his badge at the triage nurse, then march past her toward them. “Dee! Am I glad to see you.” With Reed listening, he quickly apprised them both of the situation. “Looks like this may turn out to be a lot worse than just a power outage.”

De’andray nodded, looking unruffled despite the crisis. “I could only pull a half dozen men with all the Y2K action around town. I’ll send two down to the B levels to meet Eccles, get a couple searching the floors, and one’s already doing recon on the perimeter. Bomb squad’s on the way and the FBI’s sending a field operations team.” He shook his head. “They’d already been alerted by your Boston friend.”

“Good.” Pappajohn pulled out the picture of Fahim he’d put into his pocket. “This man’s on the terror watch list. I’m not sure, but I thought I saw him enter the hospital about fifteen minutes ago on one of the security videos.” He checked his watch: 10:45 p.m. “We’ve got less than seventy-five minutes.”

Miller studied the feed from his rooftop camera into the cargo bay of the L.A. Edison van. The display had been fuzzier than he’d expected, blurred by the smoke and haze from the winds and the fires. Fortunately, right on schedule, at exactly 10:30 p.m. Pacific standard time, the worm had extinguished the lights, swallowing the Schwarzenegger hospital in instant darkness. Perfect. The elevators and dumbwaiters would be next to malfunction, and then, in a few minutes, at eleven, the oxygen supplies would be cut off.

All of these steps had the goal of both slowing down evacuations and amplifying the terror of the impending attack. A few staff and patients might make their way out, but without elevators, casualties in the adult and children’s ICUs were a sure bet.

If al-Salid and his men had followed the plans, the dirty bomb should have been planted in the central core elevator shaft. In half an hour, Fahim would enter its activation code to begin the sequence toward detonation.

As Bishop was guiding Pappajohn out of the ICCC, Eccles remained hunched over one of the still functioning computer consoles. Luckily, his password worked on this system, allowing him access to administrator’s privileges. With a heavy heart, he typed instructions for a last resort program few on the ICCC team knew about and one he had hoped he’d never need—activation of the hospital base firewalls. In case of bioterrorism, these physical firewalls would keep gases like sarin or other bioterror agents quarantined in enclosed sections until the hazmat teams could clear out the hospital.

If the attackers had a bomb, conventional or even a small nuke, the lead shielded partitions should limit the damage to a localized area, and allow the building to remain standing and stable long enough for evacuation. On the critical B-level floors, partitions had been built to slide in behind the standard fire doors, like a second set of portals, only permitting evacuees out before closing and latching again. On upstairs wards, shield doors would slide in just outside the building core, isolating the central core and elevators, but facilitating patient transport by allowing both exit and egress. If the worst-case scenario did come to pass, Eccles prayed these untested safety systems would buy the hospital and its staff and patients valuable time and save lives.

The loud banging startled Miller who’d been focused on the monitors.

“LAPD, open up.”

Gritting his teeth, Miller pushed back from the console and checked the time: 11:10 p.m. This was cutting it close. Anticipating that once the lights went out, someone might approach the utility van and ask for assistance, he’d held off donning his hazmat suit and made sure the rear of the truck had been packed with equipment supporting his cover as repairman. He hadn’t figured that LAPD would stumble on his truck and waste his time.

Now he stood, dimmed the interior lights, and like an actor about to enter the stage, walked to the back and cracked the door just wide enough to see and be seen. The young cop standing before him in the dark, windy night had to be a rookie, Miller guessed. No more than twenty-five. “Can I help you?” His smile was feigned innocence.

The officer flashed his badge. “Mind stepping out of the vehicle, John?” he asked, reading the name stitched over the pocket of Miller’s L.A. Edison uniform.

Miller hopped out of the truck with a dramatic sigh of impatience. “Look, officer, we’re busting ass trying to get power back up to the hospital. What’s the problem?”

“No problem. Just a routine security check. Let me take a quick look inside, and you can get back to work.”

Miller shrugged and opened the rear door so the officer could scan the bay. “We’re in the middle of analyzing their transformer connections right now,” he said, adding a few more lines of techno-babble as distraction. “Guess you guys are up to your own you-know-what’s with the fires and this millennium business.”