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    Web War One: Paul Decker assignments, #3
    Web War One: Paul Decker assignments, #3
    Web War One: Paul Decker assignments, #3
    Ebook482 pages6 hours

    Web War One: Paul Decker assignments, #3

    By Jeffry Weiss

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    About this ebook

    The U.S. is being subjected to a cyber attack.  The country's infrastructure is crumbling.  Air, rail, gas and electric services have ground to a halt.  With banks unable to operate, ATMs out of money and store shelves bare of food, people are starting to loot and commit even more serious crimes.  The U.S. is just days away from anarchy.

     

    A wealthy industrialist in China, Lee Han, has turned on hidden "logic bombs", which have broken all internet connections between and among the public and private sectors in the U.S.

     

    Han is planning to draw the Chinese Government into war by sinking his own fleet of fishing ships within the territorial waters of South Korea, Taiwan, and The Philippines.  Han's next step is to cut off the U.S. military internet, halting any U.S. response.

     

    China needs only a narrow window of opportunity to secure their gains.  At stake are billions of dollars in oil and gas hidden under the disputed islands.

     

    With the help of an imprisoned computer hacker, a rogue CIA agent, and Lee Han's mistress, Paul Decker slices a path through Han's organization.  But can he get to the saboteur in time to stop the invasion?

     

     

     

     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJeffry Weiss
    Release dateSep 5, 2019
    ISBN9781386639725
    Web War One: Paul Decker assignments, #3
    Author

    Jeffry Weiss

    BIOGRAPHY Mr. Weiss attended Central High School, at the time recognized as the top High School academically in the U.S.  He then attended Drexel University where he gained a BS in History, Temple University where he earned an MA in Economics and the University of Pennsylvania where he received an MA in International Affairs.  Those studies provided him with unique insights in the realm of foreign policy, military capabilities, détente, and trade. He has been a writer for forty plus years and has penned hundreds of articles on social, political, and economic issues.  He has written position papers for the Carter and Clinton Administrations and his work on social issues has received recognition directly from the office of the President of México.  He speaks regularly with Noam Chomsky on political, economic, cultural, and military issues. Mr. Weiss writes political, military, economic and scientific thrillers.  There are now twelve books in the Paul Decker series.  All his stories come right off the front pages of the major magazines and newspapers but none of his plots has ever found their way into novel before.  His characters are ones readers can relate to: flawed, not superheroes.  His stories do not require a leap of faith or use deus ex machina. Finally, he has written a stage play, “Einstein at the Guten Zeiten (good times) Beer Garden, and an urban horror novel: “The Art of Theft”, a modern day version of “The Picture of Dorian Grey” by Oscar Wilde.

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      Book preview

      Web War One - Jeffry Weiss

      by

      Jeffry Weiss

      OTHER BOOKS BY JEFFRY WEISS

      POLITICAL THRILLER SERIES; PAUL DECKER ASSIGNMENTS

      1) The Go Code Protocol

      2) Web War One

      3) The Patriot Betrayal

      4) The Cern Revelation

      5) The Euro Option

      6) The Eugenics Solution

      7) Code 6 North of the DMZ

      8) We the People

      9) The Neanderthal Regression

      10) To Live and Die in Juarez

      11) The Mouth of Allah

      12) Changing Of the Tides

      13) Year of the Crocodile

      14) The Order

      15) The Death Zone

      16) The Kremlin Insider

      SCREENPLAYS

      From The Depth

      The Auto Auction

      DIET / NUTRITION

      Why We Eat...And Why We Keep Eating

      The Perfect Day

      The Caffeine Diet

      Turning Off the Hunger Gene

      Warning

      Living a Alzheimer Free Life

      SCI-FI

      A Dystopian Tale

      Message from Ceti-Alpha-6

      REMAKES OF OLD CLASSICS

      A Story Of Revenge (based on The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas)

      Faust 2000 A.D. (based on Faust by Goethe)

      The Art of Theft (based on The Portrait of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde)

      POLITICAL SATIRE

      The Wizards of Oz

      SOLVING THE KENNEDY ASSASSINATION

      Who Bought the Bullets

      STAGE PLAY

      Einstein at the Guten Zieten Beer Garden

      THE PLAYERS

      The president’s Cabinet and Operatives

      President: Richard Webster

      Chief of Staff: Alan Carmichael

      Secretary of homeland security: Charles Lautner

      President’s personal secretary: Mary Cleveland

      Dir. Defense Intelligence Agency: Arthur Long

      Secretary of Transportation: Zachery Latham

      Chairman of the Federal Reserve: Dan Henning

      Director of Cyber Warfare: Samuel Resnick

      NSA Director: Frank Kowalski

      Secretary of Defense: Gregory Turner

      CIA Director Tom Courtney

      Treasury Secretary Louis Blackman.

      Michael Davenport, U.S. Ambassador to U.N.

      Zachary Forrester, Chairman of the JCS

      Paul Decker / Paul Richards

      Kyle Lacy, CIA

      THE PLAYERS

      The opposition

      Lee Han

      Conrad Fletcher, Rear Admiral, ret.

      Christen Anders

      Khan, assassin

      Xiao Chen, Hacker extraordinaire

      Dr. Tau, Professor

      Clone of Wen Chu, Chinese UN Ambassador

      Ms. May

      ––––––––

      Civilian support for Paul Decker

      Pavlik Lasky, IT prodigy

      Lexi, hacker

      Natasha, scientist, hacker

      Lydia, Paul’s Mexican girl friend

      THE PLAYERS

      Chinese support for Paul Decker

      Mark Jin, assist. police chief, Fuzhou

      Nancy Chu Han

      Commander Gung, police chief, Fuzhou

      Miss Lin Wau, House of Pleasure

      Zhi Yao, Chinese operative

      Zahir Seyid, Arms dealer

      ––––––––

      CIA Station Chiefs in China

      Larry Scott in Shenyang

      Vince Garry in Beijing

      James Rush in Hong Kong

      Frank Newhouse in Fuzhou

      ––––––––

      Chinese Government Officials and Military

      General Chén, PLA Chief

      Win Su, representative of Chinese President

      Chinese President, Shěn."

      Chinese Vice-President, Jin Xeng

      Sun Liú, personal rep of Chinese President

      Wen Chu, Chinese Ambassador to the U.NJin Zhōu: right hand man to Pres. Shěn

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Chapter one – The Oval Office   

      Chapter two – Puerto Vallarta, Mex.  

      Chapter three – Fuzoh, China   

      Chapter four – UN.  New York   

      Chapter five – The Oval Office   

      Chapter six – Manhattan, NYC   

      Chapter seven – The Oval Office  

      Chapter eight – Manhattan, NYC  

      Chapter nine – Beijing, China   

      Chapter ten – Florence, Colorado  

      Chapter eleven – The Oval Office  

      Chapter twelve – in route to China  

      Chapter thirteen – The Oval Office  

      Chapter fourteen – in route to China  

      Chapter fifteen – The Oval Office  

      Chapter sixteen – Beijing, China   

      Chapter seventeen - White House  

      Chapter eighteen – Beijing, China  

      Chapter nineteen – Washington, D.C, 

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Chapter twenty - Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan  

      Chapter twenty-one – Rose Garden  

      Chapter twenty-two - Kyrgyzstan  

      Chapter twenty-three - Situation Rm.  

      Chapter twenty-four - Kyrgyzstan  

      Chapter twenty-five – Oval Office

      Chapter twenty-six - Kyrgyzstan   

      Chapter twenty-seven – Oval Office  

      Chapter twenty-eight - Fuzhou, China  

      Chapter twenty-nine – Phone call  

      Chapter thirty - Fuzhou, China   

      Chapter thirty-one – Oval Office   

      Chapter thirty-two – Fuzhou, China  

      Chapter thirty-three – The Pentagon  

      Chapter thirty-four – Fuzhou, China  

      Chapter thirty-five - Fuzhou, China

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Chapter thirty-six - Fuzhou, China  

      Chapter thirty-seven - Fuzhou, China  

      Chapter thirty-eight - Fuzhou, China  

      Chapter thirty-nine - Fuzhou, China  

      Chapter forty - Fuzhou, China   

      Chapter forty-one - Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter forty-two - Fuzhou, China  

      Chapter forty-three – The Oval Office 

      Chapter forty-four - Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter forty-five – The Oval Office 

      Chapter forty-six – Fuzhou, China

      Chapter forty-seven – Situation Room 

      Chapter forty-eight – Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter forty-nine – Phone call  

      Chapter fifty – Fuzhou, China  

      Chapter fifty-one - Fuzhou, China

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Chapter fifty-two – Oval Office, Wash. 

      Chapter fifty-three – Talas, Kyrgyzstan 

      Chapter fifty-four - Fuzhou, China

      Chapter fifty-five - Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter fifty-six – Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter fifty-seven - Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter fifty-eight – Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter fifty-nine – Situation Room 

      Chapter sixty – Fuzhou China  

      Chapter sixty-one – Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter sixty-two – Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter sixty-three – Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter sixty-four – Situation Room 

      Chapter sixty-five – Fuzhou, China

      Chapter sixty-six – Inchon, S. Korea 

      Chapter sixty-seven – Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter sixty-eight – Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter sixty-nine – Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter seventy – Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter seventy-one – Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter seventy-two – Fuzhou, China 

      Chapter seventy-three – Oval Office 

      CHAPTER ONE

      The Oval Office.  Washington, D.C.

      Richard Webster was roused from his work by a nor'easter storm that shook the windows of the Oval Office.  Dark clouds settled atop the Washington Memorial at the east end of The National Mall. 

      A gloom hovered over the capital beset with so many domestic and international trials that the weather only seemed fitting. 

      The president was startled by a clap of thunder, causing him to reflexively drop his pen and push back from the desk, as if the storm had driven its way inside the room.

      The commander-in-chief quickly regained his composure, but realized he wasn’t going to get much work done under the circumstances.  He became lost in thought.  When he arose from that state, he was more introspective.  Have you ever been to the Black Hills of South Dakota, Alan?

      White House Chief of Staff, Alan Carmichael, set down the phone, having just finished a call, and turned toward the boss.  Alan was a thin, wiry man, a holdover from his days as a long distance runner in college.  He had made a fortune as a dot com innovator but left that life behind to work in government for nothing; he even donated his salary to charities.

      No, Mr. President, Alan replied.  Have you?

      Webster rose from the grand desk made from the timbers of H.M.S. Resolute.  He followed the carpeted path, walking past pictures of Abraham Lincoln, Woodrow Wilson and John F. Kennedy, around to the sliding glass doors that overlooked the Rose Garden.

      Every step took him past great men and great moments in history: Washington and the War of Independence, Lincoln and the Civil War, FDR and World War II, Truman and the Cold War.  And while President Webster now followed in those footsteps, many believed that he would soon be tested and leave his own storied legacy. 

      A long time ago.

      Webster stared at his reflection in the glass.  At six feet two, two hundred pounds, he was an imposing figure who seemed well-poised to take his place in history.  The Commander-in Chief had a dare me jaw, military hair cut, and wide-set, deep blue, steely eyes.  His years in the army prepared him for such exigencies, and his leadership skills came out best in such situations.  The commander in chief was a man all too happy to fight fire with fire and add a little napalm for good measure.

      "They’ve been working for sixty-four years on a tribute to Crazy Horse.  It’ll be three times as big as Mt. Rushmore.  We call Indians heathens while we honor men for massacring tribes of men, women, and children who lived in harmony with the land.  The Apache, and Shoshoni, and all the great tribes, valued principles and traditions.  Hell, they not only believed in God but listened and spoke to him.

      "Crazy Horse was killed at Fort Robinson, Nebraska, in 1877.  He lived barely thirty-three years.  He once said, ‘It does not require many words to speak the truth.’  The man fought with honor; he was never involved with the massacres.

      Notwithstanding all the lies historians have said of him, it’s only fair to judge a man by the esteme of his own people rather than that of his enemies.  And in that regard he was a true warrior, a leader.  I could use a dozen like him right now.

      Webster walked over to the fireplace and stared into the smoldering embers.  He put his hands out and rubbed them together like a man holding on to a great revelation.  The president picked up the poker and pushed the logs around until sparks flared, whirling up the chimney.

      They lied to him, trapped him, then stabbed him in the back.  A hell of a way for a warrior to die.

      There was a gentle knock on the door, followed by the face of the president’s personal secretary, Mary Cleveland.  The petite woman, with her hair in a bun, glasses dangling from a silver chain, and the look of a librarian - which in fact she had been - said, Sir, it’s a half hour past lunch time.

      I’m not hungry, Webster replied, annoyed at being disturbed from his musings.

      It’s your blood sugar I’m worried about, not your appetite.

      He reluctantly set down the poker and turned to Mary.  Okay, you win.  What’s on the menu?

      For Alan, a cheese burger; for you a chicken salad.

      I’m commander-in-chief of the greatest nation on earth and I can’t even choose my own lunch?

      You could if you chose wisely, Obi Wan Kenobi, she said on the way out.

      The door connecting the West Wing with the Oval Office opened with a rush.  Mr. President, Cyber Warfare Director, Samuel Resnick, waving a sheet from the encrypted fax machine, announced, there’s been a large scale attack on the Internet; critical infrastructure is down.

      Sam was a tall, thin, gangly man.  He had a slightly hound dog face and narrow shoulders that sloped down sharply from his collarbone as if some heavy weight was set atop them.  He wore an ill-fitting suit, glasses teetering on the tip of his nose, hair looked like it was brushed in a tempest.  He paced fretfully about the room, his movements awkward and graceless. 

      How serious is it, Sam? Webster asked, setting aside the poker and walking to the center of the room to meet the CWD.

      I’m not sure, Mr. President, he said.  We need to get—-.  Sam turned around as the entrance he had come through opened again, as if it were a revolving door.

      Charles Lautner, Secretary of Homeland Security, barged into the room.  The secretary still looked like the defensive tackle he was in his three years in the NFL.  He had the flat face of a bulldog, and his hands were as large as catcher’s mitts.  People tended to give him a wide berth. 

      Mr. President, Charlie said, joining Webster and Resnick, the unclassified White House network is collapsing.  Large scale routers are failing, and constantly rebooting.  Network traffic has essentially been halted.

      Webster stood rigid, trying to assimilate all the information.  He often steadied himself so info would come to him, rather than he going to it.  And what—? the president asked, but was cut off.

      Wait! the Homeland Secretary called out, flipping his cell phone open and putting it to his ear.  Now it’s happening on our USAA, too.

      What the hell is USAA, Charlie?  You know I don’t like those damn acronyms, the president said, his ire rising.

      It means the lines to our ambassadors all over the world are no longer encrypted.  Our messages are being intercepted, the homeland secretary explained, a tinge of remorse in his voice for making an assumption about the president’s awareness of obscure vernacular.  Not only that, but the hackers could have the capability to remotely turn on a computer’s camera and microphone without alerting the user, and to export the images and sound back to the server.

      Mary Cleveland stepped into the room.  Sir, Arthur Long, Director of the Defense Intelligence Agency, is on the speaker.

      A Golden Retriever bounded into the room right behind Mary, almost bowling her over.  He was a big K-9; seventy-five pounds of sinewy muscle, and seemed intelligent enough to vote in the next election.  He rushed to the president’s side.  It looked like it took all the dog’s willpower to keep from jumping on Webster.

      Lucky, the president reprimanded, you’re supposed to be guarding the gates.

      The Retriever nodded emphatically, accepting his role as White House watch dog.

      The secretary started to leave the office with Lucky in tow.

      Mary, Webster said, after you situate Lucky, come back in here.  It looks like this is turning into a crisis.

      Yes, sir, she replied.

      The president pressed the blinking button on his desk phone.  What is it, Art?

      We’re getting a report that two of the Federal Emergency Management Agency’s regional offices are reporting large refinery fires and explosions, the DoDIA said over the phone.  Several plants in Texas are spewing lethal clouds of chlorine gas.

      Chief of Staff Carmichael picked up another phone on the desk that was ringing and exchanged a few quick words.  FEMA is announcing that its national system went down due to an overload of calls, he relayed.

      Mary Cleveland came back in the room.  Sir, Mary said, Secretary of Transportation, Zachery Latham, is on line three.  He wants to know if the county is under attack. 

      Why the hell does he think that? Webster asked, a voice filled with incredulity.  Put him on speaker.  If there’s any more buttons on the damn thing, he said to himself.

      The commander in chief saw the flashing button, pushed it, and said, Talk to me Zach.

      Mr. President, Zachery said, the Federal Aviation Administration’s National Air Traffic Control Center in Herndon, Virginia has experienced a total collapse of its system.  There was an air of desperation in his voice: a tone that indicated the situation was out of control.

      Alan leaned in over the table.  What about the back up in Leesburg? he asked of the transportation secretary.

      All the regional centers are going down as well, Zachery replied.  They’re trying to manually identify aircraft but there’s already been a mid-air collision of two Air Bus A380s.  I thought it was just an FAA situation, but there have been reports of train wrecks in Sacramento, Pittsburgh, and Atlanta.

      Mary stuck her head in the room for the third time in as many minutes.  Sir, Dan Henning, Chairman of the Federal Reserve, says their information and control center and back-ups have experienced a virus that is eating all their data and they can’t stop it.

      Can someone tell me what the hell is happening! the president demanded.  He stared at his staff with the characteristic concentration that so often unnerved those who worked for him.  Webster was a man who compelled you to tell the cold, hard truth. 

      Unless you were the Grand Master of Lies, it was nearly impossible to lie to the president. 

      We don’t know yet, sir, the DHS secretary replied defensively.

      Mr. President, Mary announced, Treasury Secretary Lewis Blackman is on line five.

      The commander-in-chief pushed the button on the speaker phone.  What is it, Blackie? he asked, wincing as if he was a fighter about to be hit by a blow he counldn’t block in time.

      The systems that control the financial computer centers in New York are dissolving, the treasury secretary said.  Nobody will know who owns what.

      On the television, the president, along with his staff, watched in horror the scene of a train derailment on the AMTRAC system in Philadelphia.  Another screen showed a major gas pipeline explosion in Oklahoma. 

      An image from Dallas of the eruption of a natural gas pipeline, the fire raging out of control.  From Louisville, Kentucky a traffic jam now six miles long of people trying to escape a chemical plant’s explosion that was releasing poisonous gas into the atmosphere.  A Red Cross shelter in Atlanta trying to keep hundreds of needy from overwhelming the already full facility.  In Sioux Falls, a dozen fire trucks pouring water on a downed jet while a score of ambulances stood by, waiting for the flames to subside so they could go in after passengers they must have known were all dead.

      The lights in the Oval Office suddenly flickered, then went out.  Battery-operated emergency spotlights activated, casting the room in eerie shadows.  The TV screens and computer monitors went blank.  The lights flickered again, then came back on, as did the TVs and computer screens, accompanied by a loud, distant droning.

      What the hell is that? the president asked, hitting the desk with his fist in a knuckle-cracking bang.  Is the White House under attack?  A small vein on Webster’s neck pulsated as if there was a beetle trapped under the skin.

      That’s the backup generators, sir, a secret service agent said, rushing into the room.

      Charlie, what the hell is going on? Webster asked his DHS who was scrolling down the screen on his iphone. 

      Charlie hesitated.  Give me a second, sir.  I’m trying to get as much info as possible before answering your question.

      A brief moment went by before the head of the DHS said, Two hundred major metropolitan areas have been thrown into knots by the power black-out.  Poison gas is wafting out of Texas, Louisiana, and Florida.  Refineries are burning up oil supplies in Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, and Newark.  Subways have crashed in New York, Oakland, and Washington.  Freight trains have derailed on four major lines.  Pipelines carrying natural gas to the Northeast have shut down, leaving millions in the cold.  The financial system has frozen solid because terabytes of data have been wiped out.  Weather, navigation, and communication satellites are spinning out of their space orbits.

      Even though the room was cool by anyone’s standard, Charlie swiped at beads of sweat that ran down the side of his face.

      There’s probably more going on but the people who report to us can’t get through, the Homeland Secretary added.  He looked at his boss, arms extended, palms spread wide.

      What’s our next step? the president asked of all.

      We can’t fix anything until we can stop the attack, Sam explained.

      Do any of you have a plan of action? the commander-in-chief demanded, searching each face in the room. 

      At that moment, the best minds in government were stymied.

      Get the vice president in here! Webster ordered.  His voice hardened, like quick-drying cement.  Can anyone tell me what the hell is going on?

      Sir, his secretary said, Vice President Hardessy is already on his way.

      The president tapped his pen incessantly on his desk, once for every step he was allocating to the VP.

      James P. Hardessy entered with the slow, easy gate he honed on his West Texas property.  He was a tall, lanky man; a person who did most of the work himself on his beloved ranch.  He was more apt to laugh than tense up when the shit hit the fan.

      Hardessy walked to the center of the room to shake hands with Webster.  Are you up to speed on this, James? the president asked, extending a hand to his second in command and good friend.

      Yes, sir, the VP said, giving the president as good as he got on the shake.

      I’ve been monitoring the situation.  But I imagined that during the four minutes it took me to walk in here, the situation has morphed.

      Sam, the president said to his CWD, bring Jim up to date.

      We’re being hit by simultaneous attacks on every segment of our infrastructure, Sam explained.

      What can be done to slow this thing down and reverse what’s already happened? James asked the CWD.

      The only thing we can do is reroute essential services to servers outside the country, Sam said.  But that’s just a stop-gap measure, Mr. Vice President.  The attacking computers are adapting almost as fast as we can act.  We’re chasing them around the world, but most of our computers are off line.  And we’re using our limited manpower to keep essential services up and running.

      How much time do we have before there’s rioting in the streets? James asked the DHS.

      A few days; maybe a week, Mr. Vice President, Charlie replied.  If people can’t get money from banks or ATMs they’ll start by protesting, then rioting.  Maybe worse.  Police and emergency services will be overwhelmed.

      What could be worse? the president asked.

      Looting, sir, Charlie replied.

      We’ve got to find the master controlling computers, Sam said.

      They’ve got to be in China, Russia, or North Korea, right? the vice-president suggested.

      It’s not that simple, sir the CWD explained.  The attacks can be routed through different countries.  It can appear as though the packets are coming from servers in Canada, Turkey, England, or even from the U.S.

      Anyone else have something to add? the president asked critically.

      When the others remained silent, Sam spoke up.  "There’s no precedent for what’s happening, sir.  We don’t have a well-thought out contingency plan.  Our economy, infrastructure, and military are so tied to and dependent on our computers we’re just not set up to operate without them.

      We’ve got the most powerful computers on earth, the president insisted.  Why can’t we fight back, overwhelm them?

      Our computers are useless, Mr. President, Sam replied.  We’re being hit simultaneously by a DDoS attack.

      And just what the hell is that? the commander-in-chief demanded, smacking an open palm on the desk.  You may as well be speaking Swahili to me as that geek talk.

      Distributed Denial of Services, the CWD said.  It’s a flood of traffic distributed by thousands, maybe tens of thousands of computers sending electronic pings that bombard our servers, overwhelming them, and rendering them useless.  But that’s not the worst of it, Mr. President.

      It could be worse? the president asked, in amazement.  Is it your sole occupation to make my life more complicated?

      Sam gave a halfhearted nod.  This is a shot across the bow, Mr. President: a warning, he explained.  The country, or men who did this, are capable of even worse actions. 

      What else can they do? Webster asked, turning to look at over the Rose Garden for a moment of solace.

      A pall descended on the room.  For a moment no one seemed to have the courage to speak. 

      Sam Resnick stepped up to the plate.  There’s a difference between a virus which stops a computer from doing what it’s supposed to do and a worm that reprograms it to do the opposite, then erases any indication of it’s presence.  Think of a switch on a power grid that’s given instructions to shut down.

      Secretary of Defense John Armatagh entered the room quietly and stood off to the side.  Webster, Resnick, and Carmichael all nodded in his direction.

      People would be out of service until it’s fixed, Sam continued.  But if a computer reroutes power so that it overloads the system and burns out entire grid stations, then we’re talking months to repair.  The same thing can take place with FAA, satellites in orbit, or natural gas pipelines.  Reverse the flow and blow up miles of pipe.

      Armatagh waited until he was in sync before entering the conversation.  I think their goal is far greater than that, Sam, he suggested.  The purpose of the attacks may be to determine what level of interference would be sufficient to jam the fiber-optic cables and routers leading out of the country.  Then we couldn’t coordinate military action with our allies overseas.

      The president turned away from the window and his moment of solace.  I want to go on the attack, goddamn it.  As soon as possible.  He pronounced his words with the solemnity of a judge passing sentence.  He was the type of man to dispense justice with a sledge hammer rather than a court case.  I want someone’s balls on a toothpick!

      Those other countries can launch a cyber attack then disconnect their critical infrastructure from the rest of cyber space, the CWD replied.  There’s almost nothing to attack.  In normal times we would be able to disrupt their military capabilities, reduce their ability to project force, and occupy their leadership with disruption of their domestic infrastructure.  Or use propaganda to weaken the government and forment unrest to the point where there could be a coup.

      Then let’s do it! the president demanded, his voice thick with frustration.

      To whom, Mr. President? the CWD countered falteringly.  We don’t know which country, or if it’s a country at all.  It could be a bunch a school kids sitting in an Internet café in Vietnam, or Rumania, or Sweden. 

      Will somebody get me Paul Decker on the phone! the president yelled, tapping his finger on the desk like a metronome.

      Right away, Mr. President, Mary replied.  A moment passed before she said, Mr. Decker’s on the speaker phone, line two, sir.  Calling from Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.

      Sorry to interrupt your vacation, Paul.

      More like retirement, actually, Mr. President.

      There is no retirement for a soldier, Decker.  There’s only R&R between wars.

      Yes, sir, Paul acquiesced.  How can I help, Mr. President?

      How can you help!  Don’t they have TV down there, goddamn it? Webster asked, leaning over the table and putting his face right next to the speaker.

      I assume it’s about the air and train accidents?

      They weren’t accidents.

      Then what where they?

      That’s what we want you to find out.  When can you get your ass up here?

      I always have a bag packed, sir, he assured, realizing as he spoke the words that he lived like a man who expected at any moment to be given notice to vacate his premises.  I’ll be on the first flight out.

      Don’t bother with the commercial flights; they’re all shut down.  I’ll have a military jet pick you up at the airport tomorrow morning.  The president flicked his wrist to see his watch.  What time zone are you in?

      Pacific.

      Webster got up and slid back the panel covering a map of the world.  He ran a finger down from Arizona through Mexico until he came to Puerto Vallarta.  The map had a different color for each time zone and showed PV three hours behind Washington time. 

      They do have airports down there, don’t they? the president chided.

      Yes, sir.  Puerto Vallarta International.

      Ooo, International! Webster repeated.  Well, now that we know you’re still part of the modern world, does that give you time to wrap up your affairs down there and say your goodbyes?

      That’s what I do best, Mr. President, say goodbye.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Old Town.  Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

      That’s what he said, but he had no idea if he could do it.  After six months on a tequila binge in Puerto Vallarta he didn’t know if he had any good qualities, or fight, left in him.

      He was, first and foremost, an adept soldier, a poor excuse as a husband and father second, and lastly, a very proficient drunk.  He achieved most of his success as an alcoholic.  Yet he had the best training ever provided by the army.  A ranger, yes, but much more.  He was a new breed of soldier.  He may have started out as a grunt in the field, but had developed an understanding of computers the Internet, and the capability of conducting cyber warfare.  He was the first 21st century warrior: a 6’2" piece of granite, still working out every day with a vengeance in spite of the booze at night.

      The country was constantly facing crises and he was hanging out on the beach, living the life of a surfing bum.  There had always come a point at which his desires came in conflict with those of the people he worked for.  And rather than work toward resolution he would just walk off, taking an asset away from his country and immersing himself back in the bottle.

      It was that same willingness to take everything to the max that had made him a success on covert intelligence operations and a disaster as a parent.  That commitment set him apart from others but also set others against him.  He had made lots of enemies along the way and he never knew what lengths they would go to to get even.  Not the president, but maybe someone in the NSA or CIA with an axe to grind.  Maybe send him on a suicide mission or not send in the troops if he got in a crunch.

      But now he was called upon once again.  And he wouldn’t let the president down.

      He had served under Webster during the first Iraq war when the man was a brigadier in charge of all Special Forces operations in the Gulf.  Then, when the second gulf war was about to break out, Joint Chiefs Chairman Webster called on him to wage a cyber operation to de-stabilize and demoralize the enemy before the first shots were fired.  He used the latest computer technology to minimize American causalities and also collateral damage on the ground.  The president had awarded him a plumb assignment after that conflict was over: White House attaché in charge of the football holding the missile Go Codes.  He dropped the ball there.  This was a chance for redemption.

      He looked around their small bungalow at Vallarta Shores on Los Muertos Beach.  It was a palapa: a five hundred square foot shack with a single pole for support.  Paul and Lydia – his twenty-two year old Mexican girlfriend - made it themselves but took the advice of a local man, a white shaman, who gave the structure his blessing.  They used teak wood for the floor, properly dried bamboo for the walls, and the elephant leaves found in the mountains east of town for the roof.  Lydia sewed the window curtains, table cloth, and bed linens, and painted pictures of the sky and mountains to decorate the walls.

      Paul was proud of what he had accomplished.  But after that he didn’t have a sense of purpose, so he fell back into the bottle.  She deserved better than a man who drank like he owned stock in a distillery.  It was Lydia who suffered.  And she didn’t even know what she had done to deserve it.

      Each night they would drink cheap tequila and screw their heads off, which was sometimes even better than listening to Cuban jazz.  After living with her for a year, she had willingly shed most of the old strictures and hang-ups of village life, including Catholicism.  That wasn't easy, but once it was done, it was done forever. 

      Paul believed, or wanted to believe that the freedom he instilled in Lydia made her a woman of the world rather than remain a child of a small village.  It made things easier for him, thinking that way.  He wasn’t proud of what he had done with her: taken away the innocence of a young girl, promising Lydia that her dreams would come true, but instead having her adopt every bad habit he had ever picked up.  Now her soul was as far from Jesus as a Christian could get; quite a feat to accomplish in only a year.

      And she was so young.  But then, to Paul, anyone under forty was young.

      * * *

      The sun had set an hour earlier.  Lydia was dressing for dinner which was their ritual after honoring the sunset from their small porch.  She took off her two-piece bathing suit that consisted of a thong and micro top, exposing her young, firm, full breasts, flat stomach and carefully trimmed patch between her legs.

      Lydia’s face was heart-shaped, her cheekbones resembled acorns, and there was a child-like curiosity in the eyes.  Her light brown skin had a sheen about it.  She lifted her long black hair into a bun.  Do you like my hair this way? she asked, twisting her hips; knowing the only thing Paul would not look at was her hair.  Would you like dessert now, or after dinner? she enticed, striking a pose.

      Paul looked at her as if she was standing in the distance and not just on the other side of the room.  I’ve got too much on my mind right now, Paul replied. Can I take a rain check?  He didn’t want to tell her, but he was already consumed by the mission entrusted to him.  And from what the president said, this one was going to challenge him to the limits of his abilities.

      "We have to wait until it rains?’ she asked, surprised, then disappointed, as if she had swallowed salt when she was

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