See Spot
Kass, Serbia. May 4, 1999.
The
F-117 Stealth Fighter silently moved over the town of Kass. It was a class
7 fighter, which meant that radar could not detect it. To avoid the radar,
it hugged the ground at an altitude of 2000ft. U.S. Captain Ronald Stapson
flew the plane alone. His mission was to penetrate enemy radar and get
accurate pictures of the town of Zap, which was the center of Serbian military
operations. He was totally focused. Although he knew that his F-117 could
avoid all radar, its low cruising height made it vulnerable. "Bravo-7 to
Control," he radioed. "All systems nominal. Moving on to Zap."
High
above in an AWACS plane, U.S. Captain Scows nodded. "Roger that," he said.
"The skies are clear."
Below, on the ground, Serbian Captain Vladimar Soni had his binoculars
trained on the sky. When he saw the black V-shape of the F-117 pass over,
he yelled to his comrades. "It's there! The American V!" Before they could
ready the anti-aircraft missiles, the F-117 was gone. But they had been
waiting for the F-117 and they had a plan. In a little hut nearby, Krani
Booz typed on his computer. "F-117 spotted. Trajectory due North. Speed
300 knots. Headed due North."
In an underground room in Zap, Serbian Sergant Pustin stared at the screen.
He looked up at Serbian Specialist Boris Koblin. "Well, Boris, the American
plane has finally come."
Kablin was busy typing at his terminal. "Yes," he said. "This is the first
test of my computer program. As you know, Captain Pustin, our radar cannot
detect the American plane. However, it has to fly low to stay invisible
to the radar. Our men on the ground can spot it...but it moves too quickly
for them to get a shot off. This program I wrote will compile all the sightings
of this V-Plane. The program takes all the visual sightings, puts them
together to calculate a projected trajectory."
Pustin
and Kablin watched as words and numbers scrolled across the screen. They
could hear the whirr of the computer accessing the hard disk drive. Finally,
after what seemed like an hour, but was only a few minutes, large red text
appeared on the monitor. They were the expected coordinates of the plane,
and an arrival time. Pustin picked up the phone and spoke rapidly.
A
few hundred miles away, Serbian Sergeant Otin moved his antiaircraft team
into position at the specified coordinates. He checked his watch. Five
minutes later, he radioed back to Sergeant Pustin. "No, the plane has not
flown over yet- wait! wait we have visual sighting!" Otin yelled to his
crew. As they had trained, one of them picked up the shoulder mounted missile.
They heard the roar of the missile, and then seconds later, they saw the
V-plane fall from the sky.
"Mayday!"
shouted Captain Stapson. "Mayday! I've been hit!" Desperately he wrestled
the controls of the plane, trying to hold it aloft.
"Roger,
Bravo-7," came the reply from Captain Scows. "Can you hold it in the air?"
"I'm
trying," said Captain Stapson. "I think I'm going to have to eject soon...I
can'r hold it much longer...losing altitude!" He punched the eject button.
He flew through the canopy, and his parachute popped open. The F-117 spun
and exploded in a fireball of flame.
"We
got it!" yelled Otin into his radio. "We got it!"
Cheers rang though the command center in Zap. Sergeant Pustin turned to
Specialist Kablin. "Your program worked!" He slapped Pustin on the back.
"The Americans may have more money...but we have Specialist Kablin!"
Thousands
of miles away, in an aircraft carrier in the Pacific, U.S. Admiral Johns
was apoplectic. He smashed the control panel with his fist. "Fuck!" he
roared. "Could someone explain to me how a bunch of fools....managed to
shoot down our most advanced aircraft. Hah!"
Commander Davies approached him. "Sir..."
Admiral Johns nodded. "Yes, Commander Davies. Please dispatch the Delta
Force on a rescue mission immediately."
Commander Davis nodded. "Yes, sir."
Admiral Johns simmered. "Damn Russians," he mumbled. "They are lending
their computer specialists to the Serbs. Somehow they managed to target
the fighter. Well", he said, "we have our own computer specialists."
Bloomington, Alabama. March 15, 1999.
Spot and Chuck walked down the street
together. They were returning from high school in their Alabama town, not
far from the U of A. Spot was 17, a senior in high school. He was tall
and angular. He had long black hair that caused some people to think he
was a rebel or a rocker, but really he wasn't either of those.
His real name was Tim, but everyone
called him Spot. Spot and Chuck were engaged in an animated argument over
computer software. They didnt notice the dark blue car pulling up ahead
of them, nor did they notice the black car behind them. Spot only looked
up when the two serious looking men blocked his path.
"Timothy Henderson. We have a warrant
for your arrest."
Spot jumped and looked behind him,
but it was too late. The other two agents behind him grabbed his arms and
put the handcuffs on. The agent in front of him continued to speak. "Anything
you say can and will be used..."
Spot closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Hey!" Chuck yelled. "You can't do this! Hey!"
Spot opened his eyes and looked over at
Chuck. "It's ok, man. They got nothing, just harrassing me." He grinned
cockily as the agents put him into the car. "I'll give you a call tonight,
man."
Montgomery, Alabama. FBI Headquarters. March 16, 1999.
The FBI agent sat at his desk. Spot sat
at the other side of the room. The room was a interrogation room with a
one-way mirror.
"Mr. Richardson. I'm Agent Robert Blair,
with the Division of Computer Investigations."
"Don't I have a right to a lawyer," said
Spot.
"Certainly," said Agent Blair. "But first
we would like to talk to you for a few minutes."
"I'm not saying anything until I have a
lawyer," Spot said.
"Fine," said Agent Blair. "You can just
listen then."
He opened a binder on his desk. "Mr. Richardson,
this binder contains our preliminary understanding of computer crimes that
you have committed. We have confiscated your computer from your home, and
examined it carefully."
Spot leaned back in his chair and rubbed
his eyes. "Dad's gonna kill me..."
Agent Blair studied the first section.
"On January 20, 1999, hackers conducted a DNS attack on several major internet
sites. They routed their attack through large university computers located
in California."
Spot grinned. "Nice tie," he commented.
"We believe that you were one of the primary
instigants of this attack," continued Agent Blair. He flipped some pages
in his binder. "March 15, 1999. A virus propagates through the website
of a major internet company. This virus causes damage estimated at $500
million dollars in lost working hours. Mr. Richardson, we believe that
you were in fact the author of this virus."
"Call me Spot, please. Everyone does."
Agent Blair ignored Spot. "These are serious
crimes, Mr. Richardson. I believe that with the evidence that we have,
we can send you to federal prison for over ten years. Later, I'll be showing
you some pictures of the federal prison system."
"Thanks," said Spot. "I hate going anwhere
without seeing pictures first."
Agent Blair looked up from his binder.
"The next set of crimes that we are investigating are far more serious.
They involve military websites and espionage activity."
"Ooh," said Spot. "That doesn't sound good."
"On November 12, 1999, the CIA website
was hacked into. Visitors to the CIA website saw the message 'Little Aliens
are taking over the U.S.' instead of the CIA welcome page."
"Well," said Spot, "how serious is that?"
Agent Blair shook his head. "That doesn't
sound like much, does it? But under the Computer Security Act of 1999,
this action has fairly serious penalties."
"Oh," said Spot.
"In addition," continued Agent Blair, "we
have information that I cannot discuss at this time. This information indicates
that you have accessed classified files, which is a crime under the Military
Secrets Law."
"Look," said Spot. "Whats the point here.
Why are you making, um, baseless allegations against me." He smiled weakly.
"Baseless allegations. Pretty good phrase, huh?"
Agent Blair adjusted his tie. "Mr. Richardson.
We have a guest that wishes to talk with you. His name is Admiral John
McElroy." The door to the interrogation room opened, and Admiral McElroy
stepped in, followed by two other Navy men.
McElroy was tall and slim. He was
dressed in a white uniform with ribbons on his chest. Although his hair
was white, he had a youthful appearance.
"Nice to meet you, Admiral," said
Spot.
The Admiral extended his hand. "Nice
to meet you too, Spot." He sat down next to Agent Blair. "Agent Blair,
if you will excuse us."
"Certainly," Blair replied, leaving
the room.
The Admiral looked at the binder
in front of hime. "Quite a list of activities you have here, Spot."
"I try my best."
The Admiral motioned to one of the
lieutenants beside him. "Pen, please."
"Yes, sir" replied the lieutenant,
handing the Admiral a pen.
The Admiral took out a piece of paper
from his briefcase and wrote carefully for a minute. Then he handed the
paper to Spot.
Spot looked at it suspiciously. "This
paper says that I am to be pardoned for all crimes committed before this
date."
The Admiral nodded. "Yes, Agent Blair
and some other people have granted me the authority to do this."
Spot grinned. "Thanks, man. That
guy had me pretty nervous, talking about the federal prisons and all that.
I guess he was just trying to freak me out. Heh, heh. He stood up. "Well
I'd better be going. Folks will be expecting me for dinner!"
The Admiral motioned Spot to sit
down. "Please. A moment of your time."
"Sure, no problem," said Spot.
"My name is Admiral McElroy, I'm
the Admiral in charge of EW. That's Electronic Warfare. We are looking
for the best...the best hackers in the world. Today in our Armed Services,
we need these computer experts."
"You're looking for hackers?"
Spot said.
"That's right," said the Admiral.
"Right now, for example, we are in a war against Serbia. In a modern war,
we need the best computer people we can get. We can expect that they will
attempt to infiltrate our computer systems. And, we will attempt to infiltrate
theirs."
"Well," said Spot. "Don't you
have some expert computer people working for you?"
"Certainly we do," replied
the Admiral. "We have the best computer people in the world. But we need
someone of your talents. Someone who may not have the best formal training...but
knows how to get into any system. And knows how to protect any system."
Spot thought for a minute.
"What would the conditions of employment be?"
The Admiral removed a typewritten
sheet from his briefcase. We hire you as a civilian. Time is 1 year, although
you can quit whenever you want. We can pay you $200,000 for 1 year."
"That's a lot of money," said
Spot.
"Well," said the Admiral. "If
you knew how much we spent on computer systems...it's really not that much."
"Let me think about this,"
said Spot.
"Certainly," said the Admiral.
"Think about it for a week and get back to me. Here's my card. One other
thing."
"What?" said Spot.
"If you do choose to work for
us, you'll be doing a service to the U.S. government, that we certainly
appreciate. But if we find that you act in a manner against the interests
of the U.S., there will be serious penalties."
"Oh," said Spot.
"And this time, there won't
be anyone to give you a pardon. O.K.?"
"All right," Spot said. "All
right."
"Good," said the Admiral. "Thanks
for listening to our ideas. Agent Novil will show you out now."
Agent Novil showed Spot out.
Agent Blair entered the room.
"Well," said the Admiral. He
sat at the table, packing his documents into his briefcase.
Agent Blair sighed. "The kid's
only 18. You think this is fair, to pressure him like this?"
The Admiral looked up at Agent
Blair. "First of all, 18 is old enough to fight and die for our country.
Second, I swear that anyone who tries to harm the kid will have the full
power of the U.S. to deal with..."
Aboard the U.S.S. Seattle. March 30, 1999.
"Welcome aboard," said the Admiral.
"This is the EW ship of our fleet...the Electronic Warfare ship. It's in
Carrier Fleet 9 which is led by the carrier U.S.S. California."
"Amazing," said Spot. "Never been on a
ship before, actually."
"Well," said the Admiral. "This is Specialist
Adam Brieze. He'll help you settle into your quarters. My cabin is on deck
3, come visit me whenever you are ready."
"Hi," said Specialist Brieze. "Nice to
meet you. I guess we'll be working together." Brieze was about 5'7'', 23,
light blond hair, and a ready smile. "You can call me Breeze."
"Were you recruited by the FBI too?" asked
Spot.
"No," said Breeze. "I'm already working
for the NSA. Let me show you around the ship." He pointed to the antennas
on the deck. "This ship is bristling with communications equipment. Got
satellite communications with the Internet, as well as classified communications
with the military, NSA, CIA..." Breeze walked to the bow. "You can see
that the weaponry on this ship is nothing spectacular. A few heavy guns."
"What happens if we get attacked?" Spot
asked.
"Well," said Breeze. "We're in the carrier
convoy, so we should have plenty of protection." Breeze pointed to the
soldiers dressed in camo walking around the ship. "Those soldiers are unusual
for a Navy ship. Usually security on board isn't a problem."
"But they are protecting the classified
material."
"Right," said Breeze. "Everyone on
board has to wear an access badge at all times. As you will find out, some
of the material that can be accessed on this ship is very...sensitive."
Spot followed Breeze below decks.
"This is the engine room," he said. "Totally computerized. It's the first
ship of its kind."
"Wow," said Spot. "What's the
point?"
"Well," said Breeze. "They
have all this computer technology, so I guess they figured the ship should
be computerized too. No particular reason, I think. I'll introduce you
to the rest of the team and show you where we work." Breeze walked through
a complex set of gangways into a large room packed with computer technology.
"This is it," said Breeze. "Central Computer Facities." He showed his badge
to a soldier in camo who nodded and let them pass.
"Over on the left side, these
computers are completely isolated from communications. Total firewall.
On the right side, these computers are hooked to the CIA, NSA, DOD...and
the Internet. The Captain in the middle of the room continually monitors
our network security. If you want to pass information from a secure computer
to an online computer you have to discuss it with him first."
"I see," said Spot.
"See that room over there...guarded
by the soldiers?" asked Breeze.
"Yeah," said Spot.
"That's where the spooks work.
The ultraclassified stuff. Those guys never come out of there...and we
aren't allowed to go in."
"Oh," said Spot.
"These are the team members
here. Dr. Hideo Yukasawa is the team leader, he's a computer scientist
from the NSA."
"Hello," said Spot.
"Nice to meet you," said Hideo.
Hideo was a trim Japanese in his early 30's. "We will talk later."
"Over here is Dr. Eric Stony.
He's an electrical engineer." Stony waved. He was tall and lean, and had
a serious demeanor. "There's Rebecca Goldstone, a mechanical engineer.
And Chuck Smith, he's our sociologist. You'll have more time to meet them
later."
"All right," said Spot.
Kass, Serbia. May 4, 1999.
Captain
Ronald Stapson flew through the air on his power ejector seat. His parachute
popped open automatically, and he landed in a mountainous, wooded area.
He was unhurt. Stapson unpacked his emergency equipment bag, and took a
small drink of water. He sat for a few minutes, just to catch his breath
and look around.
The
next item he took out was his tape-recorder. He hit the RECORD button.
"Captain Stapson, reporting. I've been hit by anti-aircraft missile. I
don't know how they tracked me. My indicators showed no radar lock."
He scratched his head. "I'm unhurt. I have the S-12 recovery pack, including
water, food, medical supplies. No sign of Serbian armed forces yet...but
I'll have to move soon. And...And I'm wondering whether to radio our NATO
forces. What if the Serbs have managed to tap into our communications.
Maybe that's how they shot down my plane. I can't take the risk of sending
my location out."
"And so," he concluded, "this is Captain Stapson, the first F-117 pilot
to be shot down, ending my report." He grinned. Not the distinction that
he had been looking for. He put his tape-recorder back in the bag, and
headed down the hill.
His radio crackled. "NATO forces to Captain Stapson. Are you there? Can
you read me." The Captain gazed wistfully at the radio, but he suspected
that the Serbians had cracked the American communications system. He did
not dare reply.
The
sky was turning dark, and the air was fresh on his face. He mused as he
walked through the wooded forest that he would have to make another visit
to this country, in a more peaceful time. But for now, he was stuck with
the dilemna of surviving, without communicating with his country, for an
unknown period of time in a decidedly hostile enviroment.
The group huddled around the computer heard the NATO
message. "NATO forces to Captain Stapson. Are you there? Can you read me?"
Rebecca ran her fingers through her hair.
"They must be scrambling a Delta Force rescue team right now. And-"
"And we should be on the team," Eric finished.
"This plane is packed with sensitive communications and computer technology.
And who knows how the Serbians shot it down. We could be very useful."
Spot nodded. "But some of us have to stay
here, to keep in contact."
Hideo Yukasawa studied the team members. "All
right," said Yukasawa. "I'm going to contact the rescue team leaders. I'll
form a plan of action. Please report to my offices at 1300 hours."
That afternoon the group gathered at Hideo's
offices. The group was serious, yet excited. They wore their dark blue
jumpsuits. "This is Plan Alpha-1," said Hideo. "The Delta Force team is
scrambling at 1800 hours. We've been asked to supply three team members.
I've chosen...Rebecca, Eric, and Spot to go on this mission.