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“We’re listening.”
“NSO traces its roots to an agricultural co-op outside Tel Aviv. A place called Bnai Zion.”
My gaze met Monck’s.
“Sonofabitch,” he muttered, barely audible.
“A chicken coop repurposed for rental back in the day. Space for technology start-ups,” I said.
“Yes,” said Rossiter, eyeing me strangely.
Monck and I exchanged a “holy shit” glance. Rossiter’s “tale” was tracking with Uncle Shlomo’s account.
“Among the tenants were two former school friends, Shalev Hulio and Omri Lavie. Long story short, after several flops, Hulio and Lavie launched a company called CommuniTake, offering software that allowed tech-support workers to take control of their customers’ devices.” Rossiter raised an index finger. “But only with permission.”
Rossiter was speaking so quickly I had to concentrate to follow.
“As with their prior efforts, CommuniTake also fell flat. Ever the entrepreneurs, Hulio and Lavie pivoted away from phone maintenance to a different potential market: law enforcement and intelligence agencies. They knew that cops and spies had long been able to intercept transmissions. They also knew that newly developed encryption techniques were rendering those captured messages unreadable.
“If one could control the device itself, they reasoned, data could be collectedpriorto encryption. CommuniTake was already able to grab control of iPhones and Androids. All they needed was a modification to allow that to happen”—the finger came back up—“without permission.”
“What does this have to do with Joe Benjamin?” Monck demanded. I could tell his patience was close to depleted.
“You asked for this.”
We had.
After checking his watch once more, Rossiter resumed. “Lacking contacts in the intelligence community, Hulio and Lavie recruited a third partner, Niv Karmi. Karmi had served in both the military and the Mossad.”
“Niv, Shalev, and Omri.” Monck toggled the initials with lightning speed. “NSO.”
I couldn’t help playing the A student: “Didn’t NSO catch its first break when Pegasus managed to bust into encrypted BlackBerrys used by Guzmán’s Sinaloa cartel in Mexico?”
“Again, ma’am,” Rossiter chastised in his best let’s-move-this-along voice. “The success or morality of Pegasus isn’t the point.”
The reprimand sent my molars reaching for each other. But I said nothing.
“Seeing expansion as essential to their business plan, Hulio, Lavie, and Karmi began hiring like mad,” Rossiter resumed.
“Joe Benjamin was one of those hires?” I ventured.
“He was. For several years, Benjamin worked closely with the three partners, expanding and honing his already impressive arsenal of cyber skills. In late 2012, he returned stateside to care for his aging father.”
I heard thethuckof titanium knuckles slamming flesh. Felt my own hands begin to sweat.
“We believe Benjamin took the knowledge he acquired at NSO and went on to develop a zero click program with a unique twist. This new program was designed to hack into and take control of navigational systems.”
Rossiter again checked the time. I fought the impulse to reach out and throttle the guy.
“What kind of navigational systems?” Monck asked.
“Pretty much any kind. And the implications go far beyond cars and trucks. We’re talking boats, choppers, planes.”
“How do you know this isn’t all bullshit?” Monck’s voice held enough rancor for me to know he’d run out of patience. Rossiter was smart enough to read the room.
“At two-thirty-four this afternoon the pilot of a United Airlines flight en route from Chicago to Punta Cana radioed that he was experiencing a potentially catastrophic system failure. The plane was diverting off course and his manual-override attempts were ineffective. In his words: it was as if someone had taken control of the plane.”
Rossiter’s look was long and meaningful. “Keep your eyes on the friendly skies of Chicago.”
