“What the…?”
The circuit card port should have shut after completing the task, but Kaufmann’s computer was telling him it was still open. From a security standpoint, it was like leaving the front door of your house wide open.
Agent Lyman noticed the same issue. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “We got a problem.”
Kaufmann rubbed his head. “It’s one of the chips on the card, then. But which one?”
“Decapsulate them,” Lyman said, “and compare them to the engineering samples.”
Kaufmann scrunched his eyes together. Hardware wasn’t his expertise, but he knew enough to follow her. Before going into production, Curtain Labs and other defense contractors would put each microprocessor selected for a circuit card through extensive testing, and once it was certified, they’d slice off the top layer of each chip and examine the circuitry with a scanning electron microscope, taking a master photo. You had to trust that the source company provided identical chips during the manufacturing process, but one way to check was to slice off the tops and compare what was actually installed to the engineering sample.
It was an excellent recommendation by Lyman. It hadn’t taken Kaufmann long to realize she knew her stuff, and not much longer to realize she wasn’t by his side every minute of the day just to offer pointers. She was watching him, ensuring he ran the proper tests and didn’t disguise the results. She was there to make sure he wasn’t the guy responsible.
“Where did you get your degree?” Kaufmann asked.
“Bachelor’s from Cornell and master’s from MIT.”
Yeah, she knew her stuff. Then he wondered why she wasn’t curious about him. “Don’t you want to know where I got my degrees from?”
She smiled. “Carnegie Mellon and MIT.”
Kaufmann refrained from smacking himself in the head. Of course she’d know. She probably knew everything about him: his friends — whom NCIS was probably interviewing — what car he drove, his favorite foods, and every woman he’d dated. He tried not to let his eyes wander when he talked with her. Despite her expertise, she didn’t look like the bookworm type. She was pretty hot as far as he was concerned.
The discovery of the open port invigorated Kaufmann. He was wide awake now and he focused on the next step. Decapsulating the chips was important, as it would identify which microprocessor had been modified and the company who did it. There were more pressing questions, however. How were the Russians triggering the missile flight alteration and B-2 bomber power problem, and how could the meddling be prevented or corrected?
After talking things through with Lyman, Kaufmann settled on an obvious answer for the missile issue. Part of the navigation upgrade included the ability to communicate with GPS satellites. With the port still open, a command could be transmitted back to the circuit card, activating a routine inside one of the chips that would either modify where the missile thought it was starting from or provide replacement aim points. Given that the output from the circuit card was an updated, more precise position — the aim points were stored elsewhere — Kaufmann figured the Russians were simply telling the missile it was starting from a different spot. The flight algorithms would then calculate a new path to the target, taking the missile in an incorrect direction.
The challenge was — what command was triggering the chip? Kaufmann knew the software language inside and out. Although the number of commands was extensive, it was finite, plus it would have to be one not used by Kaufmann’s software. He’d have to go through each unused command, one by one.
Kaufmann busied himself creating a software routine carrying the same data transmitted by the GPS satellites, then prefaced the routine with one of the commands most likely to activate the chip. When he finished, he held his finger over the keyboard, then looked at Lyman. She nodded and he hit Enter.
Nothing happened.
It wasn’t unexpected, as there were hundreds of commands, and the odds of selecting the correct one on the first try were minuscule. Kaufmann updated the routine with another command and tried again. Then again, and again. Still no result. Then something happened.
After executing the latest routine, the circuit card fried itself and Kaufmann’s computer, the display flashing bright white before going dark. The odor of burnt electronics wafted up from the circuit card and computer. An examination of the card revealed a melted power supply. The latest command had triggered a power surge, which the card sent through the port, destroying his computer. He now knew how the circuit card was frying the B-2 electronics.
Kaufmann called Director Mascarenhas, relaying what he’d learned, while Lyman updated agent Gililland. Kaufmann also requested another circuit card and computer, which arrived ten minutes later, along with an entourage. Mascarenhas and agent Gililland were now looking over his shoulder. Kaufmann rebuilt the software routine and picked up where he left off with new commands, watching the data on his computer. One of the algorithms eventually triggered the circuit card, which sent the new navigation position back out the port.
“Bingo,” Kaufmann said. “Now we know what the Russians are doing and how to combat it.”
“How’s that?” Lyman asked.
“Easy,” Kaufmann said. “If the Russians mess with a missile, we transmit the original navigation coordinates.”
“The Russians are one step ahead of you,” Lyman said, pointing to the circuit card. One of the microprocessors had melted. “It looks like the position update is a one-use routine, destroying the chip at the end.”
Kaufmann tested Lyman’s supposition, which proved correct. The circuit card ignored subsequent commands. Once the Russians altered the missile flight, there was no way to override it.
“Crap,” Kaufmann said. “We’re toast.”
“Wrong answer,” Lyman said. “Find a way.”
37
THE BLACK SEA
The faint beat of a helicopter’s four-bladed rotor reflected off the dark water as an MH-60M Black Hawk skimmed fast and low across the Black Sea. There were only four soldiers aboard the helicopter piloted by two Night Stalkers, members of the U.S. Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. Unseen but not far behind, a second Black Hawk — empty aside from the pilots — serving as backup transport in case something happened to the primary MH-60M, followed an identical flight path northeast toward the Russian coast.
In the lead helicopter, strapped into their seats, were Army Captain Joe Martin and three other members of the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, commonly referred to as Delta Force, an elite U.S. Army unit trained for hostage rescue, counterterrorism, and missions against high-value targets. Although tonight’s mission didn’t involve hostages, it was certainly a rescue mission involving a high-value target: Russian President Yuri Kalinin.
Under the illumination of a full moon, the Russian coast appeared in the distance. The two helicopters skimmed low across the beach, then angled upward as the terrain rose toward the Caucasus Mountains. A Night Stalker’s voice came across Martin’s headset, announcing they were approaching their destination. Martin and the other three men pulled their night vision goggles on and retrieved their weapons. As the Black Hawk began its descent, Martin peered out the window toward their destination: a small clearing in the forest.
38
KRASNODAR KRAI, RUSSIA