The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI #5)(14)

Mike said, “This seems to be an entirely new weapons system. Has there been any talk of this, Adam?”

“There’s always talk, Mike, but about a drone firing frog spit? I’ll start looking in the dark web, but as far as I know, this is something new. There are lots of warnings about weaponized drones, but this is beyond anything I’ve seen. Like I said, the drone’s undercarriage looks like the base of a Black Hornet, but the military Black Hornets are mainly for reconnaissance and close personal use for soldiers in the field. This is something different. This one has been custom-made to kill.”

“Tear it apart, Adam, and let us know what else you find.”

“It would help if you could FedEx one to me. Just kidding. I’ll see what I can do.”

Adam’s portion of the screen went black. Nicholas saw Mike staring at the marked-up photo of the undercarriage of the drone.

“What is it?”

She touched the screen, enlarged a small section behind the back rail. “It’s fuzzy, but I can make out something, right here.”

Nicholas circled the spot and clicked a button, and the spot grew larger.

Mike took off her glasses and bent down, nose nearly to the screen. “Nicholas, could that be a serial number? I think I see a letter R and the number seven.”

Nicholas bent close as well. “Good eyes. It might be.” He clicked on the screen, sent the shot to Adam with a brief note:

Check this out, too, please. Possible serial number.

Mike sat back down, cupped her chin in her hand. “A weaponized drone this size? It boggles the mind. We have a serious problem on our hands, Nicholas.”

“At the very least. I need to work on the malware hack with Adam, then we’ll tackle this. And speak of the devil—” Nicholas pulled up his video chat with Adam, who was grinning.

“I’m a genius, you’re a genius, all is well in the universe.”

“Okay, talk to me.”

“Giles Fourtnoy, your grandfather’s IT head, gave me access to the mainframe at Delphi Cosmetics. I created a shell that allowed me to look at the entire system, from orders to emails, and I found the malware’s entry point. Not exactly a sophisticated ruse, done with a DDoS—distributed denial of service—attached to an email that looked like it was internal, but the email address had been spoofed. When the email was read, and the employee clicked on the attachment, he opened the doors, and the worm swept in. From there, it took little to no effort to hijack the system.”

“So the attack is over?”

“Of course. That code you sent me? It worked perfectly. I piggybacked on the open door, uploaded it to the server, and it went on the attack. I looked through the servers and made sure nothing was left behind. They’re back online as we speak.”

Mike leaned into the screen, kissed Adam’s face. “Well done.”

“I’m not going to kiss your screen face,” Nicholas said. “But Mike’s right, you did very well, Adam, and you were fast. Now, please tell Fourtnoy to make sure he keeps the software updated. MATRIX is designed to prevent these kinds of incursions, but if the patches Radulov releases aren’t in place, the software is vulnerable.”

Nicholas punched off, sat back, and beamed. “One down.”

“Now onto the next,” she said. “Give me the files Penderley sent. I’ll start looking for ties between Hemmler and Donovan, see if anything stands out.” She patted his face. “I wonder how I would have punished you, Mr. Superhero, if you hadn’t managed to arrest the malware attack in what, an hour?”

Nicholas smoothed her eyebrows, kissed the top of her nose. “If I hadn’t, I’d have given you permission to deep-six my keyboards.”

“Hmm. How would I have done it? I know: it’s the middle of the night, you’re sprawled on your back, a silly smile on your face, trying to get your breath back. I’d snatch your keyboards, sneak out to the lake and in they’d go.”

“Really? A silly smile?”

“Be quiet. Now, I’m going to clean myself up, then get to work.” She paused at the doorway. “I must admit, I’m impressed, Nicholas. You’ve saved Delphi Cosmetics and countless other businesses millions of dollars. Hey, while I’m gone, maybe you could figure out who sent those drones, maybe even save the world while you’re at it.”

“I will certainly try to save my small part of it, Agent Caine.”





CHAPTER EIGHT


A hood is a more sophisticated version of a simple blindfold. Hoods . . . make hawks sit quietly, . . . during traveling and whilst being carried, particularly if another hawk is being flown at the time.

—Emma Ford, Falconry: Art and Practice

Radulov Industries Lead Server Facility

North Berwick, Scotland

Raphael Marquez’s hands were sweating. He knew the time of reckoning was close. There, out the window of his office, he saw his boss’s plane drop from the overcast sky and land smoothly on the tarmac with a whispered squeal, the sound only a customized Gulfstream G650ER could make. He was on his feet in an instant, heart pounding with dread and fear, running to the large auditorium in the center of their massive, pentagonal structure to meet Mr. Ardelean. Raphael knew the boss hated the pomp and circumstance of the “arrival” ceremonies so many other CEOs craved, and he admired him for it, but not now, not this time.