Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [33]
“One I found wanted to replicate,” Jeff confirmed. “The system went down so fast I doubt any of it got out, but that was its intention.”
“What if every variant is self-replicating?”
Jeff sat back in his chair. “I hate to bring up more bad news, but have you considered this? Whoever is spreading this virus might be still at it. They could be sending new variants out every day. I’m sorry to add to your misery, but you need to get CERT and DHS serious about this.”
Daryl threw up her hands. “I’m only one person with a small team. We’ve had six directors heading up DHS cyber-security since it was created. Almost none of them have lasted so much as a year, most only a few months. They have no clout in DHS, and if they’re in the driver’s seat when the attack comes, it could end their career.”
“This is all very familiar, isn’t it?” Jeff asked. He’d worked long enough in the government system to know what she was up against.
“I’m afraid so.” Daryl’s beautiful face was creased with worry. “We’re trying to get the industry interested. But we’re way behind the curve on this. We have no idea how many variants there are, or how many others are coming out. I lay awake last night imagining the harm that will come if we’re only seeing a small portion of the Superphreak viruses.”
“Take it easy. We’re probably overevaluating, and it’s not as bad as we fear.”
Daryl wasn’t buying it. “Look at the body count already! Superphreak, if that’s what’s causing this, is already the most deadly virus ever unleashed, and it’s just starting. That’s why I’m in Manhattan. There are dead people here because of this thing. We have no idea of the long-term harm Superphreak can cause.” She paused, then leaned across the table, her blond hair falling forward. “Let me tell you what I think. What we need to do is to stop this at the source.”
“How?” Despite himself, Jeff knew she was right. He’d had the same thought late the night before, but hadn’t wanted to admit it until she’d said it aloud.
“Find the cracker in his home, get distribution stopped at the wellspring, then learn from him or his computers exactly how many variants there are. If we had that information, I could rush through the fix and the antivirus changes, and we could stop this thing in its tracks.”
Jeff smiled. “You have a black-ops team that does that?”
“Hell, no,” Daryl said grimly, “but we sure as hell need one.”
13
LOWER MANHATTAN, NYC
WORLD TRADE CENTER SITE
TUESDAY, AUGUST 15
11:47 A.M.
Exhausted as he was, Jeff wanted nothing so much as to go straight to his hotel room, but there was no denying this. It had to be done.
Two blocks to the west he located a subway, bought a MetroCard, then rode the train downtown. The car was clean, cleaner than he recalled from his summer of weekend trips here that ill-fated year.
For two years, Jeff had been in a serious relationship with Cynthia Wheel. They’d lived in the same complex just outside Richmond, Virginia, and had met at the gym they shared. Petite with raven hair, she’d been a vivacious and bright young woman. It had been easy to settle into the life of an old married couple with her, without ever actually “doing the deed,” as she was fond of saying, especially when naked and about to suggest another bout of sexual play.
Jeff felt a real sense of loss when, in May of 2001, Cynthia’s company, ARM—Account Resources Management—of Richmond, Virginia, had transferred her to Manhattan. Jeff helped her pack, then drove her to her new apartment. “We won’t let this be the end of us,” she assured him just as he prepared to leave. “I promise.” She’d kissed him sweetly on the mouth, stepped back, flashed her winning smile, and said, “Wish me luck.”
In the months that followed, his routine was consistent. He began recording the long hours he normally gave the CIA gratis and left the office at 1:00 p.m. every Friday, to take the shuttle flight to New