Digital Winter (14 page)

“Sorry, no. Just a break. I told them I need to hit the head.”

“There are bathrooms all over the White House.” She returned to the table and poured coffee into a cup that bore the presidential seal of the United States and positioned it at his spot.

“I know that, but I need a few minutes away. Besides, you haven't seen me since lunch, and I know how that makes you pine.”

“It's true, I've been known to think about you two or three times a day.” She returned to her seat. The humor lacked its usual snap.

Barlow sipped the coffee. He drank more coffee than he should, not because of an addiction to caffeine but because he truly loved the taste. The caffeine didn't hurt.

“I had the kitchen send up a few things. I didn't know when I'd see you, so I just went with lunch meat and cheeses. I can ask for something else.”

Barlow raised a hand. “No, this is fine. It's going to be a long night, and too much food would just slow the gears in my head. Besides, I only have about ten minutes.”

“Then back to the Woodshed?”

“Yes. The advisors are getting more information.”

Katey nodded and picked up a bite-sized slice of cheddar and set it on a rye cracker. “How bad is it?”

He shrugged in an unconvincing manner. He sighed. He had been a politician so long, he could lie to a priest and not think twice about it, but he could never pull the wool over Katey's eyes. Protocols of secrecy meant that he couldn't tell his wife some things. In those times, he would just say he couldn't talk about it.

“That bad, eh?”

“The whole country is dark, and so is most of Europe. London lost power a few hours ago, and the rest of UK followed. Australia went out like a light…sorry. I wasn't trying to be funny. Their grids went down faster than I thought possible. Italy. Central Europe. It's like watching dominoes fall. Egypt. Saudi Arabia. You name it, and it's either dark or going dark.”

“This has to be terrorism.” Katey's face paled.

“We're still hoping that it's something else, but we're proceeding as if the country is under attack.”

“How can this happen?”

“A digital worm, a virus, or something like it. USCYBERCOM is working with DHS to narrow it down.”

“Someone infected our power grid?”

Barlow rolled a slice of ham lunch meat into a tube and took a bite. “Most likely.”

“What else could it be?”

He frowned. He was tired of talking about it, but Katey had a right to know. “There's a slim chance we did it to ourselves.”

“What? How?”

He sighed. “Military action in the twenty-first century is different than it was just a decade or two ago. Our country is digitally attacked every day. So are other countries. We know about them because we've done a little attacking of our own. The Chinese planted hidden programs in some of our key infrastructures, including the power grid. Truth is, we've done the same to them. These days, the first act of war is to take out the computers, a country's Internet access, communications, and…well, you get the idea.”

“Are you saying one of the worm thingies went out of control? We attacked ourselves?”

“Not likely, but we have to look at the possibility.”

She leaned back in the chair. “If that's true and we caused power outages around the world…Oh my, that's going to be hard to explain.”

“I don't even want to think about it. People are dying because of this.”

“Will the power come back on?”

Barlow took her hand. “Yes. I can't tell you when, but the problem can be fixed, and we have the world's best people working on it. For now, we're on a full military alert and trying to deal with the problems as they arise.”

“What happens if we don't get the power back on?”

“There's no need to talk about that now.” He reached for a cheese spread and a few crackers. “Have you talked to the kids?”

“Yes, but I had to get help from Communications. The phones are still working, but the circuits are maxed out.” She rubbed her forehead. “Cell phones are almost useless. It takes hours for a simple text to go through.”

“I'll have someone bring up a special phone. It uses the military cell technology and has priority in the system. You say you got through?”

“Yes. Teddy is home with the family. He left the office early today. He said it took hours to get home.”

“But he and the grandbuddies are doing okay?”

“Everyone's fine. So are Abigail and her husband.”

Barlow looked at his plate as if a message were magically appearing in the cracker crumbs. He looked up. “Katey, I need you to pull a few things together.”

She stiffened. “We're leaving?”

He nodded. “We have to assume the worst, and the White House may be a target. Security is at its highest. The airspace around DC has been closed. Most commercial planes have landed at the closest airports anyway, so anything up there will be police or military. The military has cordoned off the area around the building. We're good for now, but we have to vacate to a continuation-of-government location.”

“Mount Weather?”

He nodded.

“When?”

“Soon. We'll ride on Marine One. I need you to be ready as soon as you can be.”

“Teddy and Abigail?”

“Secret Service is taking care of them. They will be moved to another site at first and then brought to Mount Weather if it looks like we're going to be there more than a couple of days.”

Katey raised a hand to her mouth. Not being one to show shock, the response troubled Barlow. He hated upsetting his wife. Her welfare had been his primary concern since the day they married. For a time he had given up any thought of running for president because the position put this private woman in the public crosshairs unlike any other political position. She had given him the freedom to run. “I could never be comfortable knowing you made such a sacrifice. The country needs you. I'll be fine.”

She had been fine and had even warmed up to the job of being first lady.

Barlow rubbed the center of his chest. “We're going to be fine, babe. This will all blow over soon enough. We're just going to Mount Weather as a precaution. Besides, the Secret Service and the military need the practice.” He forced a smile, which dropped to a grimace a moment later.

“Are you feeling all right?”

Barlow waved her off. “Yes, I'm fine. A little indigestion. Lunch meat does that to me sometimes. That and coffee this late at night.”

“I don't recall that happening before.”

“I don't tell you everything, dear. I have to keep up my international man of mystery image.”

“Man of mystery, eh? I think you should let the doctor look at you.”

He shook his head. “No need. I know indigestion when I feel it. Besides, it would take some time for him to make it over here. DC has the worst traffic in the nation. Imagine what it's like without traffic lights. I'm fine, dear. Really.” He stood. There was a tightening in his chest. “Pull those things together, will you? Pack a few books too just in case I get bored.” He grinned.

He moved from the table to the door, hoping he had downplayed everything sufficiently. There was no need for her to be as alarmed as he was.

A
s the night wore on, Jeremy wished for bed although he would not be able to sleep. His mind ran like the engine of an Indy car, but his body, while appearing relaxed, had become taut, unable to fully relax. His mind processed information like the computers he spent his life with. Jeremy was one of those people who saw code when others saw programs. It was a second language to him. Once, while working on a project at home, Roni had come in and seen a screen of “gibberish.”

“Gibberish? You gotta be kidding me. This is poetry. This is highbrow composition.”

“I don't see it.” She had brought him a cup of green tea.

He took a sip. “Scholars say Mozart could compose long, complicated pieces of music without mistakes. He and Vivaldi could hear music in their heads and transcribe it note for note, part by part. That's what code is to some of us. This gibberish paints pictures on my mind, creates words and lines. It's like reading a novel.”

“If you say so.”

“When a patient is on your surgical table, what do you see? Just a person, or do you see the components?”

She paused before answering, and he knew he had her. “Okay, I get the point. I see a biological system in need of repair.”

“When I see a computer program, I see the same thing. I see its parts, and I also see the fingerprints of the coder.”

“Really?” There was a flicker of interest.

“It's the same as reading novels by different authors or poetry by different poets. They follow certain rules, but their personality slips in.” He turned back to the computer monitor. “I do the same thing as epidemiologists at the CDC. They track down biological viruses; I track down the digital version.”

“You know I've heard all this before.”

He shrugged. “You know how men like to talk about their work.”

“You got that right.” She kissed the top of his head. “Back to it, Sherlock. Track your Moriarty.”

It was that personality that Jeremy searched for now. Teams of USCYBERCOM personnel were doing the same. Time had become crucial. The country had been attacked, and the sooner they found the facts and the coder, the better.

Jeremy's office was next to General Holt's. Holt walked in every thirty minutes or so and updated Jeremy on what the president was doing, what DHS was up to, and what part of the world had just gone dark. His last report had been brief.

“England is down, so is France. Most of Western Europe has lost power. At least it's daytime over there. For now.”

Jeremy rubbed his weary eyes and hoped he didn't look as worn as Holt. “You know this is impossible, right?”

“I do, Colonel. It can't be happening, but unless we've all been chewing on the same magic mushroom, it is. Possible or not, it's happening. A blackout is rolling around the world.”

“Yes, sir. I was hoping you were going to tell me that I had lost my grip on reality.”

“I order you to stay sane, Jeremy. The country needs you.” He paused.

“There's more?” Jeremy didn't like the look on Holt's face.

“We're going to Mount Weather. Order came down from the C in C.”

Commander in chief. The president. In general, that job didn't pay enough, and Jeremy wouldn't trade chairs with the man for all the world's gold. “When?”

“We depart in twenty. Lieutenant Colonel Carpenter will be our man on the ground here, but we'll still be running things from there.”

Jeremy already knew this. Over the past few years they had run drills from Mount Weather. The agricultural age had given way to the industrial, which had been subsumed by the digital. Now the world was digital dependent. Modern society couldn't last long without power.

“Understood, sir.”

“There is no need for me to say this, but it's required. I'm afraid you can't inform your wife.”

“Yes, sir.” Although he knew the words were coming, they still landed like a prizefighter's punch. “She knows how it works.”

Holt studied the floor for a few moments. “She's going to be okay, Jeremy. Roni is a smart woman. She's resourceful.”

“Thank you, sir. Your wife, sir?”

“We signed up for this, son, but that doesn't mean we have to like it. She's in Oregon, spoiling grandkids and spending my hard-earned money.”

Jeremy chuckled. “Not anymore. The ATMs are down.”

“Ah, the silver lining.” He nodded at Jeremy's bank of computer monitors. “Any headway?”

“Not enough. About an hour ago, we determined that the code that hit the Hoover power station is a worm and not a virus. We've just confirmed it.”

Holt took the news in, chewing it like a man masticating a bite of steak. Holt was one of most computer-literate people in the military. He didn't need Jeremy to tell him the difference, but the president would certainly need a brief definition.

“We guessed from the beginning. A virus might bring down a computer and spread to other computers through shared files, e-mail, or one of a dozen other delivery systems. But a worm…” His jaw tightened as if fighting a twenty-second bout of lockjaw. Worms self-replicated and spread from one computer system to another without users doing anything or even knowing. They were malware that could spread itself.

“I'll pass that on to the president. Anything else I should use to ruin his day?”

“Well, you can tell him that it looks an awful lot like Stuxnet. That might finish his day off.”