Cyberian Affair Read online

  Cyberian Affair

  Mark A Pryor

  Author website: www.pryorpatch.com

  Email: [email protected]

  Cover design by:

  Mark Pryor: www.pryorpatch.com

  Katherine Schumm: www.schummwords.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally.

  Copyright © 2018

  Mark A Pryor

  To Diane

  My wife, my best friend, and the love of my life, who has stayed by my side and encouraged me through the good times and the bad.

  I am the luckiest man in the world.

  Acknowledgements

  To my family and friends for their encouragement and support.

  To my fellow writers who reviewed my early drafts and supplied valuable criticism—especially:

  David Bishop, Christie Seiler-Boeke, Judi Ciance, Chris Coward, Ray Flynt, Bev Johnson, John Mallon, Katherine Schumm, Phil Walker, the Wannabee Writers, and the Oxford Writers.

  To Katherine Schumm, one of my fellow writers,

  who helped me design the cover of this book.

  To my wife, Diane, who has always been there for me.

  And most of all to you, my readers.

  Part I: Payback

  1: Russian Money

  2: Go Deep

  3: The Pythia

  4: Vyper

  5: Critical Threat

  6: Prixster

  7: Falcon

  8: Tracker

  9: Trotsky

  10: Christmas Eve

  11: Cybercade

  12: Profiling

  13: Zatan

  14: Weaponize

  15: Sock Puppets

  16: Sokolov

  Part II: Game Changer

  17: Mr. Bodnar

  18: Evidence

  19: Matter of Trust

  20: Time Bombs

  21: Cat and Mouse

  22: Defense

  23: Secrets

  Part III: Offense

  24: Making Plans

  25: Mission

  26: Nassau

  27: Vanished

  28: Nuclear Threat

  29: Kilroy

  30: Final Preparation

  31: Blue Koala

  32: Aftermath

  Preview: Noble Phoenix

  33: Viktor

  34: Desperation

  35: Madrid

  About the Author

  Cyberian Affair

  Part I: Payback

  Russian Money

  Chapter 1

  Kozel Action Center —Ashburn, Virginia

  Beads of sweat formed on Niko’s forehead.

  Sokolov’s gonna be pissed.

  Niko copied the next account number on his list and pasted it into the welcome screen of the National Bank of Cyprus. Then he entered the stolen password and transferred five million rubles into a Cayman Island bank account. This amount, less than $90,000, wouldn’t trigger any reporting alerts within the government of Cyprus.

  Nervously tapping his fingers on the table, Niko waited for the transaction to clear. He half expected someone to break the door down and arrest him.

  It cleared.

  He checked the remaining Cyprus balance—nearly one hundred million rubles. Niko ran a program to make twenty-two more transfers, each into a different Cayman Island account.

  At the console next to him, Joey was removing money from Seychelles Islands Bank and Trust. Joey’s curly blond hair and boyish looks contrasted with Niko’s dark military haircut and rugged build. It made them an odd couple when they hit the bars together.

  But tonight, the bars would have to wait. They had a special assignment. A Russian billionaire would pay dearly for meddling in the American mid-term elections.

  Their boss, Marko Kozel, a tall, muscular man, graying at the temples, urged them on. “Keep it up, guys. Drain ’em dry.” He stood at the front of the Action Center, a room with seats for twenty operators—all but two of them empty.

  He pointed to the large screen which displayed charts of the increasing amount of money transferring out of each bank. “Sixty million rubles—over a million dollars—but we’ve got a lot more to go. We need to wrap this up before ten o’clock. That’s five o’clock in Moscow. The early risers will start checking their investments by then. Our unlucky billionaire might notice his missing cash.”

  Niko looked at his watch. Quarter after eight. He chose the next account number. The password started with the letter “A.” He had to use his ring finger to stretch across the keyboard because of the brutal lesson he received a few years ago. He should be happy the man only took his little finger.

  Marko interrupted his thoughts. “Something wrong, Adam?”

  Adam. That’s what Marko called him, but to everyone else he was Niko, like the guy in the video game, Grand Theft Auto. Adam felt a kindred spirit with the character in the game, so he chose the nickname as his online “handle.” Adam was a name from Niko’s Ukrainian past—a past he preferred to forget.

  He looked at Marko, the only father he’d ever known—the man who’d turned his life around. “I volunteered for this assignment because we need to stop the Russians. But those assholes can be truly brutal. Hell, I’m not even sure what our own government would do if they caught us.”

  Joey playfully punched Niko in the shoulder. “C’mon, man. We agreed to do this. It’s no big deal.” He turned back to his console and continued typing. “Now stop whining. Let’s move the money.”

  It was a game to Joey, but he was right. They’d both agreed to do this, and it was too late to back down now.

  Marko took a seat next to Niko. “You know I’ll take the blame if our government finds out.” A smile lit up his face. “We’re the best security experts in the world. That’s why Kozel Group won the contract to stop Russian meddling. No matter how much they object, the NSA knows we can’t just play defense—simply sticking our finger into the dike every time it springs a leak. Besides, when we stop the Russians, no one’ll complain about our methods.”

  Niko nodded and turned back to his computer to select the next account. “Twelve state primaries next week. Time to defend the will of the American voters.” As corny as that must have sounded, he meant it. In the last two months, thousands of registered voters had been turned away from the polls in key precincts because the Russians deleted them from the voter rolls. No more of that shit.

  He stopped briefly to stretch and looked up at the chart. They had stolen fifty million dollars so far. “We could use some help here. I thought Vyper would join us. I want to meet this super hacker.”

  Marko shook his head. “As I’ve told you before, some people don’t work well with others. Vyper supplied the passwords and procedures for the banks. You guys handle it from here.”

  “You said no one else can access the accounts tonight. Did Vyper take care of that, too?”

  Joey spoke up. “Niko, you might be able to talk a nun out of her habit, but you’re not getting the boss to spill details about Vyper. He’s—”

  A high-pitched warble drew Niko’s attention to the screen. A red stop sign shape flashed at the peak of the chart. Sweat dripped from his forehead. “No more Cyprus transfers. Everything’s on hold. They’re onto us.”

  On the screen below the chart appeared a flashing message:

  AWAITING CONFIRMATION.

  Marko placed a hand on Niko’s shoulder. “We’re cool. Stick to the plan. You’re just pulling off another con. Vyper told us to expect this. It’s normal.”

  Another con. Niko shook his head. He grazed his finger on the stump where his pinky used to be “Russians don’t play games. They kill people. You don’t kn
ow what they’re like.”

  “You’re in America now. We’ve covered our tracks. Remember, the Russians don’t know what we’re doing. The banks simply need approval because the number of money transfers exceeds the default limit. Vyper will redirect the call to us shortly.”

  The phone rang. Niko answered in his native Russian tongue. “Allo? … One moment, I will transfer you.”

  Marko waited ten seconds before picking up the phone. He spoke in an authoritative Russian voice. “Allo? … Da, this is Sergei Orlov … Da, I approve for Alexei Ivanovich Sokolov … password Indrik.” He hung up.

  One minute passed, then another. Finally, the flashing message on the screen disappeared.

  Niko looked at his console. “We’re good!” He let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Transfers are going through now.” He picked up where he left off, entering more wire transfers to move funds out of Cyprus.

  It felt good stealing cash from this man. Marko had told him Vyper traced the Russian hackers and their money back to Alexei Sokolov, a Russian oligarch on the sanctions list. Apparently, the Russian believed he could swing the American election to favor politicians who would end the sanctions against him—perhaps even promote trade with his technology and weapons companies. In addition, Vyper discovered where Sokolov stashed his cash.

  By 9:30, they had stolen over two billion dollars and deposited it into Marko’s temporary accounts. Niko had settled into a rhythm, preparing to enter each new piece of data as soon as the computer responded. Then he noticed the system at the was bank slowing down.

  The warbling alert sounded once more. On the screen below the chart, a flashing message appeared:

  DISTRIBUTED DENIAL OF SERVICE.

  CYPRUS AND SEYCHELLES BANKS.

  DDoS! Someone was flooding the bank servers with hundreds of network messages—too many to handle. This was not a coincidence.

  Marko spoke first. “They’re onto us. These attacks are the fastest way to stop our transfers. Move the funds out of the Cayman accounts NOW.”

  The race was on. The banks would soon be forced to tell the Russians where their money went. They could also block all access.

  Niko began at the top of the list of Cayman accounts—the ones where he deposited the stolen rubles. He transferred the entire balance into a backup account in the Bahamas. This wasn’t the time to worry about reporting limits. He and Joey continued to work their way down the list.

  They had moved nearly the entire two billion dollars before Niko’s access was blocked. “I can’t get in.”

  “I’m locked out, too,” said Joey.

  Marko waved his hand. “Abandon the remaining money. We took enough. Start the laundry.”

  Niko ran Vyper’s Kleener program which controlled a few hundred “bots”—robotic programs that rapidly moved funds through several accounts. They methodically transferred millions of rubles in small batches to hundreds of accounts in Panama. Once all the money was in Panama, the bots moved it through more banks in Eastern Europe.

  Joey leaned back in his chair and watched the charts on the wall, tracking the laundering progress.

  Niko couldn’t relax. “The Russians caught us in the act. Are you sure they can’t find us?”

  A smile crossed Marko’s face. “Don’t worry. They can’t trace us through the dark net, and all the bank accounts were registered under fictitious names.” He turned his laptop toward Niko. “Help me out here. Your Russian is better than mine. Proofread this email. I’ll be sending it anonymously to our unlucky billionaire.”

  Niko read it once, then again. Holy shit! He’s stirring up a hornet’s nest.

  Spasíbo for your generous involuntary contribution. We have removed over 100 billion rubles from your banks in Cyprus and the Seychelles.

  These are the funds you preferred to keep secret. We also know where you keep the rest of your cash. If you move it, we will find it. If you do not do as we demand, we will take all your money, your family’s money, and your friends’ money—every ruble.

  We know what you are doing to the American election. You have 24 hours to stop. If we detect any interference after the deadline, we will destroy your comfortable life.

  We will monitor the CONTRIBUTIONS post on the XIRO.COM website waiting for your reply.

  Niko looked up. “The language is clear. So is the message.” He hoped this would stop the attacks. But he also worried the Russians might discover who took their money.

  Marko sent the email.

  Once the laundry operation was complete, Niko and Joey scrubbed all traces of their activity from the computers. Only the three of them—plus Vyper—would ever know who did this.

  Before they left, Marko checked XIRO.COM, a website used for anonymous communication. “We received a message. Take a look.”

  Four words appeared on the screen:

  I AM NOT AMUSED.

  Joey stood and grabbed his coat. “Well, I’m amused. Let’s go get a beer.”

  “A beer sounds good,” said Niko. “But I’m pretty sure Sokolov just threatened to hunt us down and make us pay. I’ll need at least two beers.”

  Go Deep

  Chapter 2

  Kozel Action Center: Eight months later

  Niko looked up from the console and raised his voice so everyone in the room could hear. “It’s Sokolov again—this time in Virginia. He’s probing Fairfax County servers, doing port scans, looking for a way in.”

  Russian meddling in the election had stopped after Marko stole their money. Now that the election was over, Sokolov must have directed his hackers to a different target.

  Niko shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why is he going after local government servers? It won’t get his sanctions removed, and it doesn’t bring him new business.”

  Marko looked at Niko’s console. “A lot of government experts are wondering the same thing. We believe the Russian intelligence agencies may have subcontracted this work to Sokolov.” He pointed to the front of the room. “Display the Fairfax data on the big screen. Which servers are they targeting?”

  Niko tapped a few keys. A network diagram appeared, large enough for everyone to see. In the center, the images of three computers were highlighted in red. “Looks like the public safety servers—9-1-1 dispatch, police, and fire.”

  Every seat was full today, all eyes fixed on the screen. Next month there would be even more people—once they relocated operations into a larger building with tighter security. Marko needed the new center to support Kozel Group’s newest contract, protecting the nation’s critical infrastructure.

  Across the room, another operator announced, “Same thing’s going on in DC. Definitely Sokolov.”

  This is what Niko hoped for. The team had monitored these hackers for months while they probed local government systems in other cities. Vyper always made sure they couldn’t break in. But today, Sokolov’s folks targeted DC and several nearby counties, including locations where Vyper’s traps were deployed.

  “Let them break into Fairfax this time,” said Marko. “We’re ready for them. They won’t get any sensitive documents, and Vyper’s tracker will infect their computers. If things work as planned, the tracker will communicate with us from the hackers’ sites.”

  Two more operators entered the room. Marko checked his watch. “Second shift’s arriving. Let’s bring them up to speed. We need them to watch for feedback from the tracker.”

  Twenty minutes later, Niko got ready to leave with the rest of the first shift. He was heading directly home, no stopping for a drink. Bar-hopping and socializing after work ended for him five weeks ago when someone stuck a knife in Joey and vanished into the middle of the night.

  “Wait.” Marko grabbed Niko’s arm. “Do you have plans this evening?”

  “Plans?” He shrugged. “I guess not. Not since Joey…”

  Marko nodded. “Would you like to join me for a beer or two at Alpha World? Happy hour starts in ten minutes. I’m a regular there on Mondays
.”

  An evening with Joey had always been fun—two young studs on the move. But no matter how much Niko admired Marko, they were from different generations. The idea of a night at a brewpub with the “old man” promised to be awkward.

  He looked down at his feet. “I don’t know…”

  “C’mon, you need a night out.”

  It did sound tempting. “Any hot women there?”

  “All the time. Maybe you can hook up.” Marko smiled. “I know this isn’t like a night out with Joey, but I don’t think you’ve been out with friends even once since he died.”

  “Murdered, you mean. Damn it, Marko, you know it wasn’t a mugging.”

  “You’re right, but there isn’t much we can do about it. I guess you need more time.”

  Niko was disappointed with himself. He was alienating his friends, and it wasn’t good for his own health. He hurried to catch up with Marko. “On second thought, Alpha World sounds good. Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

  When Marko left, Niko grabbed his laptop and coat, and handed them to the security guard. After a quick check, the guard motioned him to pass.

  Niko ventured out into the cold and walked across the lot to his blue Camaro. He turned the key, hoping the engine would turn over. Need a new battery. When it finally started, he turned on the heater, and crossed his arms. With his hands in his armpits he waited until the heater warmed the car and the defroster cleared the windshield. The Alpha World brewpub was on the other side of VA-625.

  Gotta move to Florida.

  Niko spotted Marko’s Porsche, parked two spaces from the door of the pub. No more spots up front, so he parked around the side. The frigid air hit him when he opened the car door and walked to the front of the building.

  When the sliding glass doors opened, warm air and the inviting aroma of pizza and beer washed across his face. He didn’t see Marko at any of the tables, so Niko headed toward the bar. Working his way through the crowd, he spotted the back of a tall man with a beer in his hand.