The Florentine Deception (41 page)

A final click of my remote control caused the mushroom clouds to fade from the screen.

“Of course, my intention was to reset these 304 million computers back to their original English and Hebrew personas with my Flounder2 payload once the Iranian Angel of Death had ‘passed over,' but as they say, stuff happens.” The audience chuckled at my euphemism. “As a result, all 304 million of these computers retained their new Japanese identity until either their owners manually switched them back—no doubt with a confused look on their faces and the help of a Japanese-speaking neighbor—or a day later when Microsoft, at the urging of the NSA, released their own traditional Windows Update to restore those computers back to normal.

“Of course, unless you have been holed up in a cave,” I nodded to my host, “you know that rumors have abounded about the cause of the mass outage. My favorite was the space alien-generated computer virus hypothesis in the
Enquirer
. Oh, and in a moment of supreme irony, the official Iranian Fars News Agency blamed Israeli agents for the outage.

“So where are we now? Well, I'm happy to say that the Florentine system is no longer functional. The weekend after the attack, an NSA team worked around the clock with Microsoft to remove the Florentine back door from their Windows Update servers. Without the update server back door, attacks could no longer be uploaded and distributed, effectively neutering the Florentine system. And, as I understand it, this morning Microsoft released a ‘critical' patch that they claim addresses a serious flaw in Windows. They have urged users to download and install the patch as soon as possible, lest they be susceptible to a new super virus. The cable news shows are all over the story. Of course, in reality, this patch simply expunges the Florentine back door from Windows.

“So at this time, as far as we know, the world's computers are safe from further attack.”

Chapter 64

One week later

Los Angeles

“Sit, boy.”

Eyeing the box of fresh doughnuts in my hand, Rusty eased onto his haunches and then, shifting his gaze to my face, fixed me with a pair of sad eyes.

“Don't worry, I'll give you one,” I whispered. “Just wait until we get inside.”

“Alex!” admonished Linda, ambling over on her crutch, “If you give that dog so much as a crumb, you'll be the one on crutches.”

“You're out of luck, pooch,” I said, ringing the doorbell. Rusty's eyes continued to bore into mine. “Don't give me that look. Give
her
the guilt trip.”

A few seconds later, Pippin began barking maniacally from behind the door.

“Who's that outside, Pipp?” asked Steven. “Could that be Alex?”

Pippin responded with a fresh bout of yelping, his tail thumping wildly against the inside of the door.

“I've never seen him this excited.” Steven eased the door open a hair. “You bring a pound of bacon or something?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, here goes.”

Pippin came flying through the doorway like a bat out of hell and scampered straight past me and up to Rusty. A frenzied bout of mutual sniffing and tail wagging ensued.

“Welcome back, Alex! Hi Linda!” Steven shifted his gaze down. “And who's this?” he asked, extending his hand for Rusty to sniff.

“That's old man Rusty,” said Linda.

“Nice to meet you, Rusty,” he said, scratching the dog behind the ear. “Well come on in. Hildegard! Linda and Alex are here.”

“Hey guys!” yelled Hillary from the kitchen. “I'm almost finished cooking breakfast, come on in and take a seat.”

Upon reaching the kitchen, Linda propped her crutch against the wall, grabbed my arm, and limped over to the table to sit down. I took a seat next to her and deposited the box of doughnuts on the table.

“Those smell great,” said Steven.

“Have one,” I offered, sliding the pink box across the table. “They're your favorite, chocolate with rainbow sprinkles. Fresh out of the deep fryer.”

“Linda, you're looking much better,” said Hillary from the stove. “You had us worried there for a few days.”

“Thanks, Hillary. It helped to get out of that hospital and back home with Rusty.” She patted him on the head, then reached over and squeezed my hand. “And Alex has been a real help these past few days, too.”

“Now I understand my place. Just below the dog,” I joked.

“I wouldn't say
just
below,” said Linda with a grin.

“So, Alex, fill us in,” said Steven. “That power outage a few days after the cave—was that the Iranian attack?”

“Top secret, man,” I said. “But let's put it this way … your computer still working?”

“Yeah,” said Steven.

“Still getting water and power to the house?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then, it probably wasn't the Iranian attack.”

Hillary deposited a large bowl of scrambled eggs, a stack of toast, and a heaping plate of bacon on the table, then took the seat next to Steven. “Tuck in,” she said.

“So you stopped it?” he persisted, picking up several strips of bacon.

“More or less.”

“Then why the disappearing act for the last five weeks?”

“Days and days of meetings and debriefings with lots of three-letter agencies and VIPs,” I said, “including one with a pretty powerful guy.”

“No!” said Hillary.

I smirked.

“Unreal!” said Steven, scooping out a heaping mound of eggs. “Did you mention my Oscar-winning performance as a house inspector?”

“How could I not?”

Hillary shook her head in mock disapproval. “Well, in any case, I'm glad it's finally all over.” She looked at me questioningly. “It
is
finally over, right? No more violence?”

“It's over,” I said, nodding. “The FBI's been in cleanup mode all month. Two weeks ago they arrested a group of Russian engineers at Microsoft. Then last week, they rounded up another two Iranian agents who'd been working with Khalimmy. And, most important, the back door's been totally deactivated, so technically, we don't know anything that could make us targets.”

“Good riddance,” said Hillary.

“Well, here's to normalcy.” Steven held his coffee cup up for a toast. “And we've got something else to toast!”

“Yeah? What?”

“We're the proud owners of nearly four-point-six-million dollars in loot. Everything but the Van Gogh is ours to keep. The painting was stolen several years ago from a private collector, and has to be returned.”

“Wow! That much?” I exclaimed.

“That's what Sotheby's thinks. I've got a meeting scheduled with Christie's tomorrow.”

“So, Alex, what are you going to do with your share?” asked Linda.

“You mean after covering all your medical bills? After that, I don't know. I've been thinking of using it to honor Potter, maybe establish a charity for homeless kids. Something he'd have been proud of.”

“That's so nice of you, Alex.” Hillary's eyes began to tear.

“It's the least I can do for him,” I said, tearing up myself.

“Anyway, guys, we should probably get going,” I said, standing up. “Linda and I were thinking of driving up to the park at the north end of Wellingsworth Canyon for some fresh air, maybe playing some catch with Rusty. Isn't that right boy?”

The old hound stared at me for a moment, then let out a hearty “woof” and rose to his feet.

“Got room for three mo— Ouch!” Steven looked under the table. “Why'd you do that?”

Hillary shot him an exasperated look.

“Oh,” he said, “on second thought, we're busy this afternoon. But have fun.”

“Thanks for being so transparent, Steven,” chuckled Linda.

“What are friends for?” Steven smiled. “You know, Alex, they say there's treasure hidden somewhere in that canyon.”

“That's what I hear. Maybe once your leg's all better—”

“Alex, don't even think about it!” shrieked Hillary.

“Now Hill.” I winked. “What could possibly go wrong?”

About the Author

Carey Nachenberg has spent his life doing the three things he enjoys most: defending computers and networks against cyber-attacks (at Symantec Corp.), educating the next generation of eager Freshman Computer Science majors (at UCLA), and rock-climbing (in the local Santa Monica Mountains). He lives in sunny Southern California.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Carey Nachenberg

Cover design by Sony Nguyen

ISBN: 978-1-5040-0922-5

Distributed in 2015 by Open Road Distribution

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www.openroadmedia.com