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“Specializes in machine-control software,” Baxter said.
“So... you really got him. He’s got to be the connection,” Letty said.
“I’d be willing to bet on it,” Johnson said.
“Willing to bet on it. So now we’re rolling the dice,” Greet said from the back of the room.
When Johnson pulled Greetout of the room for a private come-to-Jesus chat, Baxter grumbled to Taylor, “Volunteered for the job, my fat white ass. If I hadn’t, I’d be working in the back of the NSA furnace room for the next thirty years.”
Taylor smiled at him and said, “Yes. I believe that is correct. On the other hand, since you did volunteer, promotion is a distinct possibility. We never do this kind of thing. You’re sort of the canary in the coal mine.”
Baxter to Letty: “These guys could kill us.”
“You, maybe,” Letty said. “Not me.”
Baxter: “I’m putting in for a lot of overtime.”
Letty: “You go, girl.”
Baxter: “Fuck you.”
“No chance of that.”
Taylor smiled again in his dry, pencil-thin, rimless-glasses way.
The briefing continuedwhen Johnson and Greet came back to the room. Most of it involved possible places they might look for politically involved hackers: bars and diners and hipster hangouts in Pasadena, where Caltech was located. They were given thumb drives containing lists of computer academics who might know members of Ordinary People, even if they didn’t know what the OPs were up to.
Letty took notes, Greet mostly kept her mouth shut.
Johnson said, “When you find them, we need names and emails and physical locations, phone numbers if you can get them, the kinds of equipment being used, where they hook into the Net. We need to isolate the leadership, if there is a leadership. From what we’ve been able to gather, the group’s organization may be communal rather than hierarchical. There may be no single leader...”
The NSA also had what Johnson called a “valuable resource” should it be necessary to follow someone in the LA area and a few other cities. Johnson explained that the Los Angeles Police Department and the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department had an Automatic License Plate Reading (ALPR) system and could track license plates through the city, in real time, from cameras on patrol cars, traffic signals, and light poles throughout the LA basin.
“The original idea was to pick up on stolen vehicles and to trackfleeing vehicles. That was years ago and things have come a long way since,” Johnson said. “We, mmm, mmm, haveaccessto the system.”
“How long does it take to get hooked up to it, if we need it?” Letty asked.
“It’s real time,” Johnson said. “We’ll give you a number to call and an identification code and you can track anyone you want, any time you want, night or day.”
Halfway through the briefing, a busy-looking man showed up, carrying a battered leather briefcase stuffed with manuals. He had too-long hair for the government and glasses with steel frames.
When Johnson called on him, he said, “Okay... Rod. I’ve got some stuff for you. The software used by most gas companies. Most of it is standard PLC stuff, from Schneider and OMRON and LySergicAD Labs, if you know those guys. We’ve got some malware code that goes after Codesys that underlies the software... We dug this out of an APT actor, and tell you what, it’s now a level above Stuxnet or Industroyer...”
Baxter understood it all, but Letty didn’t. One minute into the tech talk, she was lost. As Baxter and the new man went back and forth, Johnson waved Letty toward the door.
Greet joined themin the hallway and Johnson said, “As you can see, Rod’s a little reluctant, Letty, so you’ll have to push him. We need him out there. He’ll understand what Ordinary People are up to, if we can get him in place. I can’t emphasize enough how fast you’ve got to make your connections.”
“Nobody’s said anything about backup,” Greet said.
“We’re talking with the Los Angeles office of the FBI. They’vebeen read into the problem and we have a contact for Letty,” Johnson said. “If she gets in trouble, she can call up anything from a single undercover agent to a SWAT team with automatic weapons.”
She put her briefcase on an upraised knee, fished around, and produced a foot-square Ziploc bag that appeared to be full of trash and a cell phone.
“A cheap-looking burner phone, which wasn’t cheap, believe me. It has a secret cache with phone numbers and IDs and other information you might need. Instructions are in the bag. There are two credit cards for you, a Visa from a Wells Fargo Bank in Gainesville, and a Target, also from Gainesville, as well as a perfectly good Florida driver’s license and some other wallet trash. All well-used. And some grade reports from the university... photos of your ‘mother.’ You were a single-parent family. You’re Charlotte Snow. Charlie.”
“She needs to take her federal carry permit and senate ID,” Greet said. “If she’s carrying a gun and gets tangled up with a California cop...”
“Yes. Talk to Baxter. I understand he has some hiding places in the truck. He says they’re secure against anything but a complete disassembly.”
