Technosis: The Kensington Virus (6 page)

“I’m leaning toward one or two,” Rosen said.

Jamie did not respond.

“Fine, I’ll put on a damn blindfold.”

A few minutes later a blindfolded Sergeant Rosen came down the escalator. Jamie guided him off.

“Now what?” Rosen asked.

“You put a hand on my shoulder and we walk out of here.”

“That simple, huh?”

“I’m hoping,” Jamie answered.

They walked slowly down the concourse. The people in the mall were transfixed, staring at the monitors. “We’re doing fine,” Jamie said. “They are calm. I’m going to pick up the pace.”

The two men began to trot, with Jamie guiding them in an arc that would take them to their point of entry.

“How many clips do you have?” Jamie asked.

“Six, why?”

Jamie looked at the crush of people gathered at the far end of the corridor. The monitors flickered out to black and the people turned as one toward him and Rosen. “No reason, just might be a good idea to have your gun ready.”

“With a blindfold on?”

“I think we can ditch the blindfold,” Jamie said.

Rosen took off the blindfold. He did a quick mental count and said, “Wonderful.”

The people moved forward, en masse, converging on them.

∞

“What are you doing?” Sam yelled, as his mother dragged him down the concourse of the mall, just a few steps behind her boyfriend.

His mother said nothing. She just shuffled faster. People were crowding in either side of Sam. “Hey, watch it!” he yelled.

No one took any notice. “CHILD ABUSE!” Sam yelled at the top of his lungs. Then he looked around expectantly.

The crowd continued to lurch. The HDMP and Family Emergency Services Evaluation Team Response (FESTER) failed to materialize and he continued to be dragged toward the area where two armed officers were standing.

“Mom! This is a bad idea!” Sam was now negotiating as he tried to twist free of his mother’s grip. “They are federal; they are going to kill us!”

His mother slowed, but she didn’t stop. Sam saw a blur to his right and felt himself being thrown sideways.

∞

“Why aren’t they texting or complaining?” Rosen asked.

“It’s different; something is changing it,” Jamie said, then fired into the skull of one of the KVs.

“Think it’s time we go low tech,” Rosen said, shooting four of them.

“Knives?” Jamie asked, shooting three more.

“No, old school,” Rosen replied, detaching the long flat blade strapped between his shoulders.

Jamie followed suit. The two men swung machetes through the necks of the pressing crowd, kicking falling bodies out of the way. After hacking their way through more than twenty people they managed to reach the entrance to the mall.

“We make a run for the truck?” Rosen asked.

“On three,” Jamie agreed, hacking down another KV who used to be an insurance salesman.

“One,” Rosen said.

The glass of the entrance doors exploded. Rosen and Jamie dropped to the ground. Jamie looked over his arms that covered his head and saw where the gun fire was coming from. Two soldiers were firing into the mall. They were strafing the entrance.

∞

“You okay?” a voice behind Sam asked.

“Where’s my mom?” he demanded.

“If she is lucky, dead.”

Sam looked up expecting to see one of the adults, instead he saw a girl, maybe fifteen years old. “Follow me.”

Sam got up and set out in the opposite direction to the girl. He found that she had dragged him into one of the clothes stores. He stepped out and saw gunfire ripping through his mother’s creepy boyfriend.

He looked for his mother and was getting ready to run out into the concourse when he felt something pull him back.

∞

“It’s Jackson and Sanchez,” Rosen said. “What the hell are they doing?”

“They aren’t doing anything,” Jamie said. “It’s the virus.”

Rosen took aim with his firearm and shot Jackson and then Sanchez. The two soldiers fell, but kept firing.

Glass continued to shatter as the fallen soldiers, heads all but obliterated, continued to send a hail of bullets into the front of the mall. Then there was a moment’s silence. Both soldiers ran out of ammunition, and their hands wandered across their bodies, probing and feeling their way until they found their ammunition clips.

“Now!” Rosen yelled.

∞

“Let go of me!” Sam yelled, as hands pulled him back.

“And watch you die? No thanks,” the girl spat out, dragging him backwards through the store.

Sam spun around, “Who do you think you are? I’m going to get -”

“Killed. Killed is what you are going to get if you don’t follow me out of here,” she insisted, not slowing her retreat to the back of the store.

She came to a doorway and cracked the door open. Peering out she saw a black federal transport van in the parking lot. “You see that over there?”

Sam looked out through the gray and black of the Paramus, New Jersey winter night at the vehicle, and nodded his head. “Yeah, so?”

“When they leave, we leave,” she said, and retrieved a back pack from behind a shelf in the storage room.

“Why?”

“Because if we try to leave before they do, we’re dead,” she told him, and slipped on the backpack.

“And if we stay?”

“We’re dead.”

∞

Both men jumped to their feet and ran into the parking lot. The dead soldiers’ hands tried to put the clips into the guns but were struggling. Rosen kicked the weapons away and removed the hands. The bodies lay quivering.

“I thought text messaging was bad enough,” Rosen said.

“We better see what’s waiting for us in the truck,” Jamie replied.

The two men moved toward the transport vehicle. There were four soldiers, dead, outside the vehicle. Rosen and Jamie examined them. They’d been shot through the head, their weapons gone.

Rosen knocked on the back door of the transport, “What’s your status?” he yelled.

“We have a situation,” one of the soldiers yelled back.

“What situation is that?”

“Private Ahern is trying to text his wife,” the soldier said.

“Did he turn?” Rosen asked.

“Hard to tell, sarge. He always was big on social media. But it is taking two of us to keep him from his panel.”

“Ahern, can you hear me?” Rosen yelled.

“I want to tell my wife that she needs to add basil to the chicken. She never listens to me,” Ahern grunted.

“Ahern, this is Sergeant Rosen. You will unscrew yourself and you will do it now or I will be forced to do it for you,” Rosen barked.

There was silence.

“What’s he doing now?”

“Complaining about how he’s unappreciated and still demanding his panel,” the soldier replied.

“Put on your glasses,” Rosen told Jamie.

Jamie put on the heat signature goggles. “We are opening this can up, send Ahern out,” Rosen said.

The double doors opened and Ahearn bolted for the mall.

∞

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Sam said.

“Shh.”

“Look, I’m going -“

“Jane, Jane Kroger,” she hissed. “Now shut up.”

“They’re opening up the truck again,” Sam told her.

“Stay calm.”

“Stay calm? He is running straight at us!”

∞

“He’s going to go to the panel kiosk,” Jamie yelled.

“No he won’t,” Rosen said, and shot the soldier in the back of the head ten meters from the entrance to the mall.

∞

Sam fell back against the wall. “They shot him,” he muttered. “They shot one of their own guys.”

“Must’ve turned. Get ready. When they leave, we leave and we have to do it quick,” Jane asserted.

“Why?” Sam asked.

“Because we are going to follow them.” Jane opened the door and took Sam by the wrist.

∞

“How are the rest of you?” Jamie asked the remaining three soldiers.

“Paulson was shot in the leg when Musky went nuts. But we’ve got a tourniquet on it,” the soldier said.

“Who’s got the keys for the transport?” Rosen asked.

“Mukowsky drove,” the soldier replied.

Jamie patted down the body of Musky and found the keys.

“You drive,” Rosen ordered.

“Gentlemen, you did well. But this situation just moved from red shirts to brown trousers. We are getting out now. All tech stays off. I’m going to try secured com to the fort and update them. If you have a pack of cards I suggest you get them out. Otherwise it is a long quiet drive home,” he said.

They secured the vehicle and left the mall parking lot.

∞

“Where are your parents?” Sam demanded as Jane started up the vehicle.

“Dead,” Jane said, following the vehicle. “Just like yours.”

“That guy wasn’t my dad. That was one of my mother’s asshole boyfriends.”

“Sorry.”.

“I’m not, he was a -”

“I meant about your mother.”

“Yeah.” Sam fell silent for a moment. “Could you drop me off at my apartment?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Sam said, staring at her.

“They will be waiting for you,” Jane . told him

“They?”

“The people that clean up the loose ends.”

∞

“Fort, this is strike team KV; fort, this is strike team KV,” Rosen called over the com.

“I copy, strike team KV, what is your status?” Cyber Warfare Base responded.

“Thirty KVs targeted and eliminated. Seven casualties. But the big news is the change.”

“Change?”

“Not chump change. Big change. The monitors lit up with the virus. Every display in the mall. Flashed everyone on both floors.”

“That caused your seven casualties?

“Three. I had my eyes closed. Doc here is immune. It got Sanchez, Jackson and Musky. Musky shot four. Three fatal, one wounded.”

“Did you say shot?”

“Yes, I said shot. Jackson and Sanchez were shooting into the mall with no brains. Shooting seems to be something else these things can do now,” Rosen said.

“Hold the line.”

“Sergeant Rosen, this is General Talbot. Repeat your status.”

“We have one wounded, sustained seven casualties. Took out thirty of the originally identified KVs and then someone or something took over the store and mall monitor displays. Virus message flashed the entire mall. I had my eyes closed when it first happened and then was blindfolded and led out by Dr. Baxter. We took fire from two of our casualties who had been turned. They kept firing with accuracy after sustaining head shots. They even tried to reload with no brains. Sir.”

There was a long silence.

“Get your ass out of there as fast as possible.”

“Yes sir, even as we speak.”

∞

“Slow down! You can’t go that fast!” Sam was shouting as the e-car weaved along the ice covered roads.

“I can if they can!” Jane said, holding the pedal to the floor as she tried to keep the federal transport in sight.

∞

“You’ve got thirty minutes to put sixty miles between you and that mall. I repeat thirty minutes.” Cyber Warfare Base informed Sergeant Rosen.

“I understand. One other thing sir.”

“Yes sergeant?”

“The coms were compromised. We had to change channels. We think someone or something is causing this to change and adapt.”

“Run coms silent until you get back to the fort.”

“Yes sir, Sergeant Rosen, out.”

“Sixty miles?” Jamie asked.

“You have to drive out of New Jersey at 120 miles an hour for the next thirty minutes,” Rosen said.

“Or?”

“We will be in the blast zone radius.”

CHAPTER 7

CYBER WARFARE BASE CONFERNECE

“I
’m sorry about Paramus,” General Talbot said to Rosen when they arrived, “I understand you had family there.”

“Sir, thank you sir. They lived within five miles of the mall. So they didn’t know what hit them, sir.”

“We have seen the situation turn across the globe today. We’ve no intel on why. Commander Halle is escorting in our ‘Blue Ribbon Panel’ from the CDC, FBI, NSA and CIA to give us an in person update. So far we know that all major malls are falling to the virus. After Paramus we lost Mall of America, King of Prussia Mall, Aventura Mall, South Coast Plaza, Del Amos Fashion Center, Destiny USA, Saw Grass Mills, The Galleria, Roosevelt Field, Woodfield Mall, Palisade Center, Tysons Corner Center, Plaza Los Americas, South Shore Plaza, Ala Moana Center, Lakewood Center, Scottsdale Fashion Square and Oak Brook Center,” the general said.

“Sir, we called in tactical nuclear strikes on all of those malls?” Sergeant Rosen asked.

“No, the president only authorized a strike on Paramus, New Jersey.”

“Sir, meaning no disrespect, but why?”

“Because it’s Paramus, New Jersey,” the general explained.

“Sorry sir, of course. I wasn’t thinking straight sir,” Rosen said.

“I understand, when you’re from New Jersey you sometimes forget it is New Jersey. But right now we’ve got bigger issues. Based on what we’ve seen we expect it to move to the smaller malls. Once we receive the report of the ‘Blue Ribbon Panel’ we will be meeting to discuss tactical responses. For now we are shutting down the electric and tech grids in a two mile radius around the malls that are infected, sending in ground troops for cleanup and containment. We hope the brainiacs will be able to give us some new tools for fighting this thing. Dr. Baxter, you are going to be our liaison with the committee. That means you will be responsible for translating what we hear today from technical gibberish to military applications.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Jamie said. “I will translate it from technical gibberish to military gibberish, sir.”

“Good, now that is settled we assemble at 0900 hours in the planning room to receive the panel report. Dismissed,” the general ordered, and retired to his office.

“You okay Rosen?” Jamie asked.

“I’ll be fine. He was right, New Jersey is New Jersey. There is no escaping that. I just wish they’d hit King of Prussia and Roosevelt Field, that way it would have seemed a little more balanced.”

“I know, I can think of a few places myself I would have liked them to hit. But these decisions are out of our hands. For now we just have to get ready for what comes next.”

“I’m going to get some rack time.” Rosen said, and went off to his quarters.

∞

The fort planning room was standing room only by 0830. Jamie and Rosen were front and center when the general walked in with the panel members. “At ease, and be seated,” the general said.

Those that had seats took them. The rest remained standing. “As you know, the Kensington virus is picking up speed. The panel is here today to share their findings. Please listen carefully.”

A woman in her late thirties stood up and clipped a microphone to the collar of her blue suit jacket, “I’m Dr. Angel Lee, head of the pandemic tracking division of the CDC.”

Behind her the monitors lit up and the room lights dimmed. “We have tracked the virus outbreak across the globe. While Kensington is where it was first identified, we have reason to believe it was a simultaneous outbreak. The timing, coroner reports, arrest reports and other indicators of present and future crime show over fifty outbreaks more than one thousand miles apart across the planet involving populations of not less than 100 people being infected per outbreak. The first outbreak had a minimal impact of not less than 5000 people. Within twenty-four hours more than 100,000 people worldwide were infected. It is our belief that by the following day 1.9 million people were infected.” The monitor showed a globe with a series of small red spots marking the initial outbreaks. These included locations in Europe, the Middle East, India, Asia, Africa, North America, South America and Australia. The next signature showed larger but more diversely distributed infections. By the third image the infections were mixed within populations in every possible province or country that had a basic tech grid.

“In principle the virus should have already wiped out the entire population of the planet that has any tech exposure. Meaning 99.9 percent of all human life.”

A hand went up.

“Yes,” she pointed at the officer who had raised a hand.

“What populations don’t have tech?” the officer asked.

“Isolated groups in Africa, some remote populations in Indonesia, the Pacific islands, parts of Siberia, Mongolia and of course the Amish,” she said, lighting up areas on the globe not impacted by the virus.”

The officer who asked the question wrote down her answer.

“As I was saying, based on predicted distributions of the virus at a minimum, each infected person should have twenty contacts in their databases – phones, emails, flash message services – so the geometric progression should have already wiped us out. We believe, however, a peculiar feature of the virus is that infected individuals, after their latency period – the period when they are dead but no one seems to notice – move into an obsessive period. This is when they become their most virulent. But their transmissions become limited to a few individuals out of their database. These targets occupy their full attention. The infected soon no longer can engage in the activities of normal daily life. They become incapable of productive work or other social interaction. They deteriorate from this...,” the monitor displayed the image of a woman in her late twenties at work, texting, drinking coffee and preparing reports, “...to this.” The woman was now dead, her skin dry, tight and cracking across her face, neck and arms, her clothes rotting from her, but her cell phone still firmly grasped as she continued to text.

“There is little to no discernible brain activity identified during this period. Yet they continue to communicate obsessive, angry and offensive messages. Stalking their target across a range of tech and social media. They can also manage to recharge their devices and call customer service for problems and necessary service of their devices. When they are without any form of communications tech, they shut down to a lower energy level and sulk; until tech is available.”

The same officer raised his hand. “Yes?”

“Have the customer service divisions become infected?”

“No. They are automated. They ignore all complaints and the few humans who were ever involved with those operations have been dead for more than a decade.”

The officer nodded his head, made another note, this time about why he’d not gotten the replacement for the tech he’d returned that was damaged in delivery.

“At present, the CDC is only able to offer tracking data. We’ve no information on resistance to direct exposure to the virus or counter measures,” Dr. Lee said. She unclipped the microphone and returned to her seat.

A man in a conservative three piece suit offset by a very loud tie put on the clip microphone and stepped forward. “I’m Agent Weckohov of the FBI, tech criminal investigation division. I have a few points I need to make. The virus is jumping tech. As you know from the Paramus incident, the virus has moved to public grids and commercial monitor displays, and in Nevada it has moved to public address systems. While we have had tech viruses crash planes, derail commuter lines, snarl traffic and cause discharges of radioactive gas and waste as far back as 2002, all of these were targeted and designed software viruses that were delivered by trojans and controlled by remote systems. Outside of our own capability to run such cyber ops, the leading world powers to run them were Russian, with the aid of the Russian Mob, China and North Korea. We have seen some Middle East operatives launch successful cyber-attacks. But the present virus does not have any back feeds or check-in codes that take us to main systems. So not only is it unique in that it crosses the tech human barrier. It is unique in that it is entirely autonomous.”

“Do we have any domestic suspects?” the general asked.

“While I rarely concede jurisdiction, I believe my colleague in the CIA is the person to answer that question,” Agent Weckohov said and took off the microphone, handing it to the man who was seated to his left.

“I’m Assistant Director Peter Morrison,” the man, who looked like an emaciated accountant, informed them.

His voice was slightly high and his words vacillated in a way that carried them throughout the room and jarred the listener.

“We have been focusing on finding the originator of this particular virus as we believe it is a variant of the graphosocial virus, that the U.S., Russia and European Union security agencies were developing in the teens. The graphosocial was an exploit virus that worked its way backwards through social media psychographics and pushed data in a way that would influence the media exposure of social media members.”

The officer’s hand went up.

“Yes?” Assistant Director Morrison asked.

“What was the benefit of that particular approach?”

“As you know, from the fort’s cyber command, we have successfully demoralized troops through emails in several Middle Eastern conflicts in the previous three decades. The graphosocial allowed us to target general populations and manage their media exposure. In test runs, the graphosocial was using social media psychographics to identify fears of social media members. Men who were afraid of losing their virility would receive advertisements that would heighten their anxiety, images that should arouse them but were encoded to cause performance anxiety, and news items that suggested that if they were unable to sustain a three hour erection they were clinically suffering from erectile dysfunction.”

Assistant Director Morrison paused to let the full significance of the graphosocial virus sink in. “Before we suspended testing, we successfully made impotent over five hundred healthy, active and heterosexual males between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five.”

There was a murmur among the troops, and the officer who had been asking questions raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“Why did you discontinue development of that virus?”

“Because it did everything we wanted it to do. We started focusing on developing variants. Which is why, we believe, the current virus was launched by one of the former developers either here, in the European Union, or Russia. We have had unprecedented levels of cooperation by foreign security services on this and they are running down their assets to determine who would have the capabilities to create this particular virus. Our own internal reviews suggest that there was a common developer who was involved in all three development groups.”

“That’s impossible,” the general exploded, and the room filled with muttering.

Assistant Director Morrison was silent until the uproar subsided. “Our country has, since President Bill Clinton, had a policy of open exchanges, sales and transfers for military technologies with our partners and our enemies. Prior to him, such exchanges occurred but away from public scrutiny. All agencies released limited security development notices to reduce the expense of maintaining mole assets in the others’ camps. But the teams themselves should not have a common member. What we are finding is that we, Russia and the EU each have a missing link in our development teams. While we are exploring the possibility, there were three such people who formed a cell group. Our Department of O.I. (Outrageous Improbabilities) suggests that one person could have been in all three departments. That they could have created profiles, achieved security clearance and then erased themselves from all records and from the individual memories of colleagues and superiors. As improbable as that may seem, our experience with O.I. predictions is that the more outrageous they are, the more likely they are correct.”

The hand went up again. Director Morrison ignored it.

“We know that based on lex parsimoniae, or Ockham’s Razor, the hypothesis with the fewest assumptions and the greatest simplicity is the one we should test first. However, where it involves governments and technologies, we find O.I.’s premise of Q.I. (Quantum Irrationality) more accurately models the circumstances necessary to create these outcomes. Based on that we are, of course, pursuing both theories. We are looking for three suspects and one suspect who engineered the present virus.”

“What is the CIA’s public side planning to do?” the general asked.

Assistant Director Morrison cleared his throat and his voice hit some very disconcerting notes when he next spoke. “We are following the administration’s policy of obfuscation, outright lies and show trials. We expect to make half a dozen indiscriminate arrests over the next month, claim the virus was developed by a discontented member of the general public and that it has mutated from its intended form to its present virulent state. The president will make a series of bombastic and poorly informed public condemnations of the parties arrested. Most of them will be killed in prison and the one or two that survive the experience will clear their names after ten or twenty years, receive compensation and sell their story rights to entertainment companies. We believe this will be the policy in the EU and Russia as well.”

“Side show operations aside, we have been working with the NSA to track down the one we believe to be all three and they have developed some intel that we believe may identify our suspect.”

Assistant Director Morrison disconnected the microphone and handed it to the woman sitting to his left.

The woman who stood up was tall, nearly half a head taller than Assistant Director Morrison, and was wearing a light blue turtle neck and khaki pants. She clipped the microphone to her turtle neck and stepped forward to address the assembled soldiers.

“I’m Janelle Foster, Cyber Ops Director for the NSA. I’ve been working with all the members of this panel, their staff, their staff profilers and other specialists to gather data that might take us to our suspect.”