Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [80]
Daryl’s mind raced. “Oscar, does CSCIA think this is a cyber-attack being launched by a group?”
Oscar Lee, responsible for coordinating CISU/DHS’s effort with the various cyber-security vendors, was usually great at his job, but like the other team leaders, this time he was coming up short. “Boss, I can’t really say they’re on board with this thing. It’s like I told you, Superphreak’s not showing up in their honeypots. They think we’re overreacting. Besides, they’re dealing with fresh waves of variants of old viruses. It’s overwhelming them. They’ve got a nasty virus that’s blocking automatic update systems in computers, and they’re giving it priority.”
Daryl realized she’d heard this before but it hadn’t really registered. “You’re saying this virus is avoiding honeypots?”
“It looks that way.”
Daryl gritted her teeth. “Okay. I’ll call the director again and see if I can’t get DHS more active. At our last meeting, Oscar, I had you put people on chat rooms. Anything there?”
“Some, not enough. I was planning to e-mail you a status report after lunch.”
“I’ll look for it.”
Tom cleared his throat.
“Yes?” Daryl said impatiently.
“Boss, I think I have an explanation for Oscar’s problem with the vendors’ honeypots.”
“What’s that?”
“We’ve taken several of the Superphreak viruses apart. Pretty crude in some places, really slick in others. Anyway, they’re set up to avoid the IPs of the security vendors, including IPs of many of their stealth honeypots.”
The table sat in stunned silence for a long moment.
Daryl leaned forward. “You’re telling me this virus actively avoids the honeypots?”
“It sure does. Like I said, slick.”
A sound like a moan came from around the table. It was going to be hell getting anyone really interested in this. Daryl closed her eyes for a long moment. This is so very, very bad, she thought.
37
PARIS, FRANCE
5ÈME ARRONDISSEMENT
GRAPHISME COURAGEUX
TUESDAY, AUGUST 29
4:48 P.M.
European headquarters for the Franco-Arabe Chimique Compagnie occupied the upper floors of an enormous glass tower in La Défense, a contemporary business district on the outskirts of Paris composed of a cluster of towers more than thirty stories high. Considered ultramodern architectural gems by many and eyesores by others, they could be seen from central Paris on clear days. Sculptures and fountains abounded in the plazas, and entryways were decorated in colorful mosaics. There, in a corner office with a southern exposure, Labib al Dawar spent most of each workday.
But increasingly he left early and drove to the discreet offices of Graphisme Courageux across town. With just eight employees, it was located in a converted residence that legend said had been built for the mistress of King Louis XVI’s finance minister. Labib believed he could not have found a better location for this particular office, situated three short blocks from the busy rue Mouffetard. His young employees mixed freely with the many students of the Latin Quarter, and by design nothing about the company drew attention. Six of the employees actually performed graphics work. Only Labib and Michel Dufour, from their single office facing the alley and separated from the front staff by a locked door, were engaged in the work of Allah.
Grandson of a pied-noir and an Algerian woman, Dufour had thrown himself into the jihad with total commitment. His assignment had been to recruit and coordinate the various worldwide hacker networks they were employing. It was important that the viruses they distributed not be traced to this office, or to Paris for that matter. Dufour pulled together the three components for each virus package they unleashed. These he first placed into Labib’s computer, for the Arab had given himself the honor of actually assembling each virus before passing them back to Dufour for distribution. Never before in his life had Labib found such satisfaction in his work.
When he was not in contact with his hundred-odd hackers, Dufour