Clive cusslers dark vect.., p.27
Clive Cussler's Dark Vector, page 27
“He could link them together,” she said. “If they were set up to operate in a parallel fashion, he could build a tremendously powerful supercomputer. It would be an order of magnitude faster than the fastest existing machines out there, but it would require a whiz of a programmer . . . Which, of course, he has now.”
Yaeger had considered that. “But how does that benefit him? Supercomputers are good at studying the intricacies of nuclear explosions and modeling the universe in seventeen dimensions. Universities and governments use them. But I fail to see how such a machine would be of value to a man like Emmerson.”
She nodded and adjusted the hospital bed so she could sit up higher. “He could process Bitcoin and other cryptocurrencies,” she suggested. “I read recently that the mining of crypto uses more electricity than the nations Finland, Denmark and Sweden combined. Because the Vectors can be self-powered by tides and currents and don’t require intricate cooling systems, they could mine and process crypto transactions much more efficiently than the currently existing server farms. That was actually one of the original ideas behind the project.”
“How much wealth could he generate that way?” Yaeger asked.
“Difficult to say,” she replied. “Depending on the price of the various currencies, of course, it would probably add up to several million dollars per month.”
It sounded like a lot of money, but CIPHER had been looking at a five-hundred-million-dollar payday for selling the machines. The idea that Emmerson would choose to grind out income on crypto mining while shunning a half-billion-dollar one-time offer didn’t sound likely. Yaeger figured that wasn’t it.
“There has to be something your Vector machines can do that no other computer can accomplish. Something that would be of more value to a crime lord than a regular corporation or government.”
Sabrina leaned back, her eyes drifting, as she pondered Hiram’s question. It required a different way of thinking, different inputs and information. As a security specialist, she was trained to think like a hacker, like a criminal. It was the only way to stay ahead of the black hats.
An answer finally came to her and she refocused on her visitor, smiling once again.
CHAPTER 52
WASHINGTON, D.C.
The phone on Rudi Gunn’s nightstand chirped to attention. Rolling over, Rudi opened one eye and glanced at the screen. He saw Hiram Yaeger’s name and answered immediately.
“Ivy Bells,” Yaeger announced without saying hello.
Rudi propped himself up. “It’s a little early for Christmas carols but hum a few bars and I might recognize the tune.”
“It’s not a song,” Yaeger told him. “It’s the code name for an intelligence operation our Navy pulled off during the Cold War.”
“Operation Ivy Bells,” Rudi said.
“Exactly,” Yaeger replied.
Rudi was wide awake now.
“Early seventies,” Yaeger continued, “middle of the conflict. The Russians were using the Sea of Okhotsk as a private lake for testing submarines and developing new missile technology. They had an ICBM site on the Kamchatka Peninsula and they were in the process of developing submarine-launched anti-ship missiles. Despite all the activity in the area, our intelligence agencies could pick up only sparse radio chatter and nothing of major importance. This led them to conclude a subsurface cable had been laid between the peninsula and the mainland.”
Rudi recalled some of the particulars. “The Navy went out and found the cable using a modified attack submarine.”
“The USS Halibut,” Yaeger said. “It had been fitted with the most advanced electronic gear of the time, a deep-sea lockout system for saturation divers and protective skids that allowed it to touch down on the seafloor without damaging the hull. After sneaking past several Russian patrols, divers from the Halibut placed an electronic collar on the cable. The collar recorded all the information passing from one side to the other without interrupting it. Because the Russians assumed the cable was secure, the communications weren’t encrypted. And because it was the analog era, the Navy had to record the information on tape and send people back to get it and change out the tapes.”
Rudi recalled hearing about it from an old Annapolis buddy years ago. The adrenaline-filled missions were some of the most highly guarded secrets of the Cold War. Even the sailors on the submarines were given cover stories in case they got captured. “The recordings were brought back to Washington,” Rudi recalled, “where the CIA could analyze them and listen in on unfiltered top secret Russian communications. It was, as they say, an intelligence coup.”
“Exactly,” Yaeger said. “And I think Emmerson’s planning something similar, only in a twenty-first-century internet-based style.”
“We don’t have any military cables in the Pacific,” Rudi said. “And neither do the Russians or the Chinese.”
“Emmerson isn’t a military man,” Yaeger countered. “He’s a civilian. He’s after civilian—that is, commercial—information. Things he can use to make money or leverage power.”
“Go on,” Rudi said.
“The world runs on data these days,” Yaeger began. “Corporate reports, financial information, blueprints, technical diagrams, chemical formulas. All this information is in constant motion, flying around us every second of every day. It moves markets, makes and destroys fortunes, lifts some nations to the heights of power while consigning others to the dustbin of history. In the twenty-first century, information is worth more than all the gold, oil and Bitcoin combined. And since the world’s economy is linked, the vast majority of data crosses borders repeatedly, racing around the globe on a web of fiber-optic cables that span the world’s oceans.”
“Not via satellite?” Rudi asked.
“Common misconception,” Yaeger insisted. “Despite hundreds of communication satellites in orbit, less than one percent of all data travels through space. The rest of it—billions upon billions of megabytes per day—travels underwater in shielded cables like the ones Kurt and Joe found stored in Kinnard Emmerson’s hangar.”
Rudi saw where Yaeger was going. “And using that cable and Hydro-Com’s servers, Emmerson is going to tap into the flow and drink from the firehose.”
“Just like the Navy did with Operation Ivy Bells,” Yaeger said. “Only in this case, there won’t be any tapes to retrieve because he’ll have the Hydro-Com servers sitting on the bottom of the sea stealing the data and delivering it to his fingertips at whatever computer terminal he uses to access the news of the world.”
“That explains why he needed the source code but never looked for a buyer to take the machines off his hands.”
“Precisely,” Yaeger said. “It’s also why he tried to fake the destruction of the Canberra Swift, because he wanted everyone to assume the computers had been obliterated, allowing him to splice them into the network without anyone knowing they still existed.”
“Pretty shrewd,” Rudi admitted. “I’ll assume that the ability of the Hydro-Com machines to operate underwater plays a part in this.”
“You assume correctly,” Yaeger replied. “With a regular server, the hack would have to take place on land, which is far easier to spot and eliminate. But the Hydro-Com units can operate at great depth, functioning independently by drawing power from the currents and the tides. He can place them in any ocean around the world, splicing them into whatever trunk line he chooses to attack.”
Rudi had more questions. “How does this hack actually work? Operation Ivy Bells was the equivalent of a deepwater phone tap, but today’s systems use pulses of light. Emmerson can’t overhear them, he’d have to see them.”
“There are really only two ways for him to accomplish this,” Yaeger said. “Through the utilization of a beam splitter or by installing a shunt loop bypass.”
Rudi sighed. “Layman’s terms, Hiram. It’s two a.m. here.”
“Of course,” Yaeger said. “A beam splitter divides the light, reflecting a small portion off in one direction while allowing the rest to pass. Beam splitters have been used in hacking before, but they’re problematic for Emmerson because they would cause a noticeable drop in signal strength. Which would be a sure giveaway that there’s a problem with the cable or that a hack is taking place.”
Rudi understood that. “And the second method,” he said. “This loop bypass. How does that work?”
“In this type of operation, the fiber-optic cable is cut in two places and a bypass loop is spliced into it. This loop takes the full signal and funnels it through another device that reads and copies the data before being sent back to the main line. The data arrives at the far end in full strength but in fractions of a second late. Think of it like a detour on the highway,” Yaeger added. “You’re still driving at highway speeds but you have to take the long way around and therefore you arrive later than planned.”
“I get it,” Rudi said. “But light travels at one hundred eighty-six thousand miles per second. Are we really going to notice a delay?”
“A detour of even a single mile would throw off the arrival of the data packets,” Yaeger insisted.
Rudi accepted this. “Which means Emmerson would have to put the machines right next to the trunk line, something he’s able to do because Hydro-Com machines were designed to operate at great depth.”
“That’s right,” Yaeger said. “In fact, he can splice them directly into the submerged cables because the Vector units are equipped with their own signal boosters. This makes it possible for the data to arrive at full strength with virtually zero delay, rendering the hack impossible to detect.”
A few choice words came to mind, but Rudi kept them to himself. “The entire planet’s information at his fingertips and the world’s second-largest economy at his back to buy that data from him.”
“Yep,” Yaeger said, uncharacteristically succinct. “He’ll have access to industrial secrets, governmental communiqués, profit reports that move the markets. Not to mention illicit texts and emails sent between people having affairs or engaged in otherwise compromising behavior. Anything sent between the two nations or regions on the cable.”
“You forgot to mention cat videos and dating profiles,” Rudi joked.
“Those too,” Yaeger said, laughing.
Rudi grew serious again. He thought there might be a catch. “Isn’t all this data encrypted?”
“Of course,” Yaeger said. “But with eight of the most powerful computing systems in the world at his disposal, none of it will stay encrypted for very long.”
Rudi sat back. The combination of information to sell and leverage would make Emmerson one of the most powerful men in all of China and, for that matter, the rest of the world. He’d be the closest thing to omniscient the world has ever seen.
“Semper magis,” Rudi said, recalling Emmerson’s family motto. “Always more.”
“Trust me,” Yaeger replied. “If Emmerson gets these machines, there won’t be any more.”
CHAPTER 53
CABLE-LAYING SHIP OCEANIC NAVIGATOR
The Oceanic Navigator was an ungainly ship from any angle. It looked front-heavy and awkward, with a superstructure pushed all the way forward to the bow and a midships section given over to a giant drum around which thousands of feet of fiber-optic cable were wrapped. The stern housed a forest of cranes and curved metal bands called tensioners that allowed the cable to be safely lowered to the seafloor.
Yan-Li’s trip to the vessel had been uneventful, if not tedious and slow. After reaching the ship, the mini-sub had been hauled aboard with a crane and covered with tarps. Similar precautions had hidden the skimmers near the stern of the ship.
Since then, they’d traveled southwest at the ship’s top speed for seventeen consecutive hours. The tension and the monotony had driven Yan outside for some fresh air.
She stood near the port rail, where several plastic chairs had been screwed to the deck to keep them from going overboard and a sign that sarcastically read Crew Lounge had been affixed to the wall.
It wasn’t much of a lounge, Yan thought, but there was enough of a breeze to make it pleasant.
Leaning over the rail like any passenger on a cruise ship, Yan gazed at the horizon. She felt a sense of freedom for the moment. At least until Kinnard Emmerson and Guānchá appeared.
Emmerson left Guānchá at the door and stepped toward her. “I was told you wanted to see me.”
She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. It was time for a leap of faith. “I accept your proposition,” she said. “I doubt it means the kind of luxury and glory you’ve promised, but it’s better than the alternative.”
He accepted this without any fanfare as if it were a foregone conclusion.
“But first,” she added, “I want to speak with my children.”
“Do you, now?”
“I do,” she said firmly. “I have no illusions about what we’re trying to do. CIPHER’s people will be on full alert after what happened with Degra. Not everyone who goes into this is going to come back. I’d like to see my children’s faces and tell them how much I love them. Just in case I’m not one of the lucky ones.”
“You have very little to worry about,” he insisted. “The men I’ve brought on will deal with what’s left of CIPHER. You’ll simply have to steal the computers while the combat is going on above you.”
“Nevertheless,” she said, “I want to make that call. Things can go wrong. I had to fight my way out of Taipei. I might not be so lucky this time.”
He sighed, pursed his lips and shook his head. “Afraid not. I want you properly incentivized to survive and succeed. Let me be clear. When I have what I want, you’ll get what you want.”
She’d fully expected this response. In fact, it would have thrown her off had he reacted in any other fashion.
She pressed him. “Even you can’t be sure we’ll succeed.”
“You’d better,” he replied coldly. “If you ever want to see your children again, you’d better not fail me as your husband did.”
The velvet glove was off, the iron fist out. She tensed up, pulling back and stiffening at his change in tone, but it was all for show. In fact, she hadn’t felt this free since before she’d encountered Emmerson in her apartment two weeks prior.
“I’ll do my best,” she said, sounding subservient.
He reached out and touched her arm. It made her skin crawl. “I know you will,” he said.
With that, Emmerson turned and left. Guānchá eyed her for a second and then retreated back into the ship with his boss.
Yan was left alone at the rail.
She turned back to the sea, staring out at the endless blue waves, suppressing a smile. She was certain now. Emmerson no longer had her son and daughter or her mother. Someone had stormed the hangar and taken the hostages away. But it wasn’t CIPHER because they’d have burned the place to the ground and blown Emmerson’s precious aircraft to confetti.
The joy and relief she felt grew in waves to the point where she couldn’t contain it. The grin began to force its way out, like sunbeams breaking through the clouds.
Who would come in from the sea and storm a fortress like Emmerson’s hangar just to rescue an old woman and a couple children, she wondered. Who could possibly hope to pull off such an audacious act? Who would even try?
“Who indeed,” she whispered to the wind.
Shoving her hands into the front pocket of her pullover, she touched a small device. She’d found it in her dive bag. A memento from her time with Kurt and Joe. A parting gift Joe had given her on a lark. He’d even said all she need do is twist the top and they would come running. She hoped against hope that his little quip would come true.
Without pulling her hands free, she twisted the top until it clicked. Now all she needed to do was get it into the water.
With a deep breath, she steeled herself to act. She wrapped her palm around the device and tensed her core. Pulling her hands out of the pocket, she faked a yawn, stretching her arms out behind her over the rail, at which point she flicked it overboard with a snap of her wrist.
The tiny device flew outward from the hull, hitting the water twenty feet away. It plunged downward for a couple seconds, then rose as its natural buoyancy took over.
By the time it reached the surface, it was caught in the ship’s bow wave and being drawn back along the hull. It was pulled into the ship’s wake, swept under and spat out once more, reappearing a hundred feet behind the ship.
At this point, the device was all but invisible, especially since Yan had destroyed the flashing strobe that might have given it away. But its L-band signal was broadcasting at full strength just as it was designed to do.
Yan only hoped that someone at NUMA was listening.
CHAPTER 54
NUMA HEADQUARTERS,
WASHINGTON, D.C.
On the top floor of the NUMA building, the night shift in the Remote Sensing and Communications department was puzzling over a mystery.
“There it is again,” Lexi Fields said. She pointed the eraser end of her number two pencil at the blip on the screen.
Lexi was a new hire at NUMA, fresh out of Caltech. She still got excited every time something unusual happened. Which was rare in her department.
Lee Garland, director of the department, stood over her shoulder, studying the screen.
“What are we looking at?” Lexi asked.
“It’s a dive recovery beacon,” Lee said. “But the location doesn’t make any sense. It’s got to be a glitch.”
Lexi shook her head. “I’ve run every diagnostic possible. It’s a legitimate signal. A weak signal,” she added, “but it’s not a ghost or a malfunction.”
