The Blockchain Revolution Page 20

  But he didn’t calm down until he landed and put a call through to Taylor to confirm that yes, of course, First Manhattan had been watching the Dark Web all along. Better yet, they’d never spotted anything to worry about. Mostly reassured, Frank decided some redundancy couldn’t hurt and spent his town car time spinning up a little program of his own. By the time the driver reached the bank, Frank was well into coding a piece of software that every hour would log onto the most popular sites selling zero days and alert him if it found the word “BankCoin.”

  By midafternoon, his bot was up and running and the brief therapeutic bump he’d enjoyed from feeling like he was getting somewhere for a change faded. Now what?

  What indeed? What if BankCoin was already infected with malware, just waiting to go off? Or maybe a black hat had added an as yet undiscovered back door into the code? How should he go about finding something he might have missed ten times already?

  He’d asked himself the same question often, but this time, an approach occurred to him that should make his quest more manageable. He could compare a current copy of BankCoin with the original version supported by the Foundation and focus just on what had been added since then. That would dramatically decrease the amount of code requiring scrutiny. And he could narrow his review still further by ignoring changes too small to be dangerous. He was sure he could think of some other rules that would allow him to limit his search. That all made good sense.

  What else? Yes. He should keep the early version disconnected from the internet – “air-gap” it, in developer lingo – so it would never get compromised. That way, he’d always have an uncorrupted benchmark to compare against. No breakthrough, certainly. But at least he could be more efficient going forward.

  Two hours later, he had a factory-fresh server sitting in his office, linked to nothing other than a monitor, a keyboard, a mouse, and the electricity outlet in the wall. Now to download the earliest BankCoin Foundation version of BankCoin.

  Using his laptop, he logged on to the BankCoin libraries at GitHub and downloaded the BankCoin release he was looking for. Then he ran every anti-malware program he had to ferret out anything nasty that might be lurking there. Or at least everything the programs could spot. As expected, the scanning software found nothing. The final step would involve transferring the software to the air-gapped server in a way that minimized the chance that any malware he’d missed would come along.

  That process began with unplugging the ethernet cable connecting his laptop to the bank’s network. Next, he double-checked to be sure his Wi-Fi card was disabled. Then he did something he hadn’t done in years: he plugged an external DVD burner into his laptop. Malware was a lot more likely to make a jump across a hard-wired connection than it was to hitch a ride on physical media. He transferred the BankCoin code and the compiler Schwert had provided, along with his own favorite code compiler and a bunch of developer tools, onto a series of DVDs.

  Just one step more to go. He connected the DVD burner to the air-gapped server and transferred all the software once again. Done.

  His new system now had as clean a copy of BankCoin as he could provide, and everything else he’d need to work with. Of course, if he’d allowed any malware to reach his air-gapped system, the whole exercise was just a fool’s errand. But that couldn’t be helped. One challenge at a time.

  * * *

  Ryan Clancy looked up from the latest report from his liaison at First Manhattan Bank. So, Frank Adversego had set up an air-gapped system. Why would he do that?

  Clancy wasn’t sure. On the one hand, he could imagine there were experiments that shouldn’t be run on the live version of BankCoin. But on the other, the regular First Manhattan security team wouldn’t be able to monitor what Frank was up to. Hmm.

  And then there was the fact Adversego hadn’t found much yet that was truly worrisome. Did that mean that BankCoin was unusually secure software or that the bank’s star cybersecurity expert wasn’t as good as he was supposed to be? Or what about this: could Adversego have spotted a vulnerability and never told anyone?

  Clancy decided he was creating a suspect out of thin air; he’d seen nothing so far to make him suspect Adversego of anything other than trying to do his job. And his contact at First Manhattan seemed comfortable with Adversego’s role and actions. Just because someone didn’t match Clancy’s buttoned-down view of how an employee should work didn’t mean he was up to something he shouldn’t be.

  Of course, Clancy reminded himself, it also didn’t mean he wasn’t.

  * * *

  A Bee’s voice was shrilling in Crypto’s brain.

  What is he doing?

  Crypto stared at the information scrolling down his computer screen. What was Adversego doing indeed? He’d just downloaded the source code to the first public version of BankCoin and then disconnected from the bank’s system. The Wi-Fi on his laptop was turned off, too. What could he be up to?

  No good! You know he’s up to no good! A Bee hissed.

  Hmm. What would he be up to if he was Frank? This could be a dangerous development.

  Of course, it is! What are you going to do?

  I don’t know yet. This would take some careful thought. He waved his hand in the air, trying to concentrate. Silence followed. Good. But not for long.

  You’ll have to kill him!

  Crypto lurched back from his computer. Kill him? What?!

  Yes! Kill him!

  I can’t do that! That’s absurd.

  Of course, you can! Do it before he figures out anything more.

  No! Crypto stood up and began pacing, both hands fluttering helplessly in the air now.

  Fool! Fool! FOOL! B Bee boomed, his attack echoed and amplified by the roar of the suddenly-returned chorus.

  Crypto collapsed back into his chair. The Bees were spinning up in intensity to a fury he hadn’t experienced in years. This was getting out of hand. If he couldn’t calm them down, he’d need to increase his daily medications right away.

  No! Don’t do that! A Bee screamed.

  Ha! B Bee bellowed. That won’t stop us! You know it will take weeks to take effect.

  B Bee was correct; where were his emergency meds? He sat down and fumbled with a desk drawer. Where were his sedatives?

  Where you can’t find them, so don’t bother!

  He hoped the voices were bluffing. And the howling of the chorus was becoming unbearable. When he finally located the two pill bottles, his hands were trembling.

  Are you listening? Pay attention! B Bee thundered.

  He shook a capsule from each container into his hand and swallowed them dry. He desperately needed some air. He stood up unsteadily from his desk and stumbled outside.

  But he found little relief on the sidewalk as he shambled forward, waiting for the sedatives to take effect.

  Pedestrians walking toward him swerved to the side, quickening their pace to get past the strange mumbling figure waving his hands in the air as he walked.

  * * *

  Two days later, Crypto was struggling to adapt to the newly furious Bees, working his way through the series of exercises he’d painfully developed over the years to train himself to project normalcy during times of severe mental stress. At the moment, he was hunched over, reciting a nursery rhyme into his laptop’s video camera and focusing all his attention on just his lips as he pronounced the words. Doing so made it easier to separate his thoughts from the incessant swirling, yammering of the Bees. With luck, he would soon be able to be around others again without giving himself away.

  After an hour, the Bees were back under some degree of control; their voices were fainter now, and better behaved. Good.

  He progressed to the next exercise. This time, he watched his entire face on the screen instead of just his lips, forcing himself to look normal. Then he sat up straight so he could watch his bodily movements as wel
l. Also, good. He no longer betrayed his inner turmoil. It was time to take the next step: interacting with someone in a store. For this exercise, he would need to not only focus on ignoring the voices but on communicating normally with another person. Difficult. But he’d pulled it off so often before.

  He stood up and allowed his thoughts to turn to the other concern that had been tormenting him. There was still the problem of Adversego. Given the stakes, he had decided, he could not totally reject the use of threats of violence.

  Yes! A Bee cheered.

  But it must absolutely be used only as a last resort. He was as profound a pacifist as he was a committed anarchist. Compromising one value in the service of another was a betrayal of principle he was not ready to commit.

  Suddenly the Bees were upon him again, more ferocious than ever. Fool! You have no sense of the danger. A and B Bee bellowed in unison, backed again by a rising stadium roar.

  Stunned and shaken, he slumped back into his chair. He would have to start all over again, with his simplest exercise of all. Shoving his face into the screen, he started to speak, every muscle taut as he fixated on his lips. But the Bees were unrelenting.

  “Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,” Crypto recited. Steady!

  What if you fail? What if your foolish soft-headedness ruins everything? A Bee screamed.

  “Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,” he continued. Focus! Focus!

  Fool! Idiot! B Bee echoed.

  “All the king’s horses and all the king’s men,

  Couldn’t put Humpty –”

  YOU MUST ACT!

  It was too much. Crypto clutched the edge of the table and threw back his head. “All right!” he cried out to the ceiling. “If it comes to that, yes! But we’re not there yet! There are still alternatives. Give me some peace!”

  There was a brief silence. Then he heard A Bee again. Peace? Her voice was suddenly, jarringly, soft and caressing. Perhaps. But only during good behavior. And you know we will be watching.

  Exhausted, Crypto snapped the laptop shut. He had to rest. When he recovered enough to go outside, he would need to exercise more self-control than ever. And he must convince the Bees he was making progress.

  Chapter 26

  I Just HATE it When that Happens!

  Titus Steele, ranking member of the House Department of Homeland Security Subcommittee on Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Protection, was striding forcefully through the Capitol, pursued by a scrum of reporters. As usual, each was calling out the kind of curveball questions they hoped he’d take a swing at but never did. So far, he’d ignored the reporters, other than to present his leonine visage to best advantage to their cameras.

  With the committee room just down the hall, a BuzzFeed reporter decided to pitch the chairman a slow ball he might take a crack at. “Mr. Steele,” she called out, “what about these NASLA attacks? Shouldn’t we have caught whoever’s behind them by now?”

  And indeed, that one sailed right into Steele’s sweet spot. He stopped short, and the reporters shoved their cell phones forward, microphones on, even as they bumped into each other.

  “Absolutely! With all the resources at our disposal, it’s a travesty this administration has failed to bring these cyber terrorists to justice. Congress has given hundreds of billions of taxpayer dollars to the Department of Homeland Security, the NSA, CYBERCOM, and countless other public and classified agencies to develop the means to keep this country secure. If President Yazzi can’t deploy those resources properly, we need to replace him at the next election with someone who can.”

  Another reporter chimed in. “We’ve heard rumors the Global Petroleum Network will go back into operation later today. Isn’t that a good sign?”

  “Is it? The pharmaceutical blockchain is still down. Now there’s no way for the Food and Drug Administration to know whether products in the supply chain are safe to use. That means, thanks to this president’s incompetence, my constituents are facing life-threatening situations – from the little boy whose inhaler is running out to his grandmother, who can’t pick up the heart medication she needs to stay alive. And now, just an hour ago, we learned the real estate transaction networks in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Atlanta, and Dallas have all been wiped clean. Apparently, those realtors started using a blockchain-based recordation system back in January. NASLA, I say, is making a laughingstock of this president!”

  “But, Congressman,” the same reporter persisted, “isn’t the real problem that blockchains are being rushed into operation before the security issues are fully understood? When the president asked DHS to propose regulations to increase blockchain cybersecurity, you were one of the most vocal opponents. Why was that?”

  “Now just a minute, young lady. I’m pleased and proud that the most active blockchain incubator in the world is in my district, and it’s creating lots of fine, high-paying jobs for my constituents. Safety is one thing, but the role of government is not to cut down on jobs creation …”

  * * *

  President Yazzi’s tie was being straightened. In just a moment, the camera pointed in his direction would go live, and he would update the nation on the ongoing NASLA crisis. The opposition had been beating him black and blue for two weeks now over the impact on the economy and the quality of American life. And the media hadn’t been much kinder to his press secretary during the daily White House briefing.

  But still, he’d held off on addressing the nation personally, waiting until he had at least some evidence of progress before stepping in front of the cameras. With the GPN becoming fully operational again, he finally had some good news to report. Although not much.

  He disliked having video cameras in the Oval Office and tried to ignore the last-minute preparations. As he often did, he ran his hand approvingly across the surface of the desk first used by Lyndon Johnson. Most people assumed he’d pulled it out of storage to underline the transition of power, but that wasn’t it. The real reason had to do with Yazzi’s Native American identity. Johnson had done more than most US presidents to recognize Native American rights. Yazzi would have preferred the Hoover desk though. The thirty-first president was the only chief executive who had ever lived on an Indian reservation. For his time, Hoover had been very progressive in supporting Native American rights. But using his desk would have been too obvious, and the press would have made too much of it.

  “Ready, Mr. President?”

  He looked up. “All set.”

  As the videographer stepped behind the camera, the White House media coordinator held up one hand; in just a moment, he’d fold one finger after another into his palm, counting down the five seconds before they would go live.

  But before he could, an aide hurried into the Oval Office and placed a note on the Johnson desk directly in front of Yazzi. It read:

  NASLA just took the GPN down again.

  * * *

  Frank’s blockchain task force was meeting Saturdays and Sundays now. On the latter, the members continued to craft their plan for destroying the Russ, and on the former, they took part in the all-available-resources, all-out war the administration was waging against NASLA. Today was a Saturday.

  Colonel Dix was running late. As he waited, Frank was fully occupied by two mental exercises, the first, as usual, being fidget suppression. The second was puzzling over how the meeting might unfold. As far as he could tell, the task force’s Saturday efforts had been completely unscripted with no fixed aim other than the stated task of analyzing whatever data had become available during the preceding week. He wondered whether a coherent master plan coordinating the federal agencies even existed. It seemed more like his task force’s efforts were part of a general effort to throw as much expert cybersecurity mud against the wall as possible with the hope that something resembling a solution might stick. If so, it was probably a long shot that anything generated by such an uncoordinated effort would bail
the country – and the president – out.

  Dix arrived and apologized. After he sat down, he still looked apologetic, as if hoping someone would pipe up with a suggestion about where to go next. This did not occur.

  “All right,” he said finally. “As you’ve likely guessed, no real progress has been made since our last meeting. NASLA seems as brazen and successful as ever. They’ve already taken down the oil network – twice – the pharmaceutical supply chain, and six other, less essential blockchains. There are scores of other private blockchains that haven’t been hit yet, and we have to assume they’re all at risk.

  “Neither the FBI, the NSA nor anyone else has any solid leads, so this week we’ve been asked to look for technical clues that might lead somewhere. Further to that objective,” Dix clicked on a projector remote control, “here’s what the Baher AG engineers saw when NASLA hit the GPN the second time.” The video clip opened with a shot of a computer screen displaying a software control dashboard; a cursor dodged back and forth across the screen, highlighting buttons as it clicked on them.

  Then the screen went blank. After a few seconds, a computer company logo displayed, indicating that something had made the system reboot. When the sequence completed, the screen refreshed, only to show the unmistakable image of a plague doctor. For a few moments, the bizarre figure shook its staff in their faces. Then it walked off camera, and the screen went blank again, this time, for good. Along with the GPN system.

  * * *

  Frank’s assigned duties – such as they were – at the bank never changed. Perhaps that was why he was becoming increasingly fixated on triumphing in a war he still thought he could win: outsmarting an eighteen-ounce rodent.

  He was pursuing that quest with single-minded resolve. And there was plenty of information to work with. He had never paid much attention to squirrels before making the acquaintance of Fang. Poring over anatomical diagrams of his nemesis, he saw the beast had very large and muscular rear legs, for leaping, and smaller front ones with clever paws, for getting into mischief. When a squirrel stood up on its hind legs, Frank decided, it resembled a miniature tyrannosaurus with fur. Only more evil.