Read Online Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell: Blacklist Aftermath by Peter Telep - Free Book Online
Authors: Peter Telep
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SVR’s pumping tons of cash into R&D with a focus on social media networks like
VK and Facebook. They’ve got a three-tiered program for the future of the Internet.
They call these tiers Monitor-3, Dispute, and Storm-13. That last one, Storm, involves
an army of spambots that’ll flood social networks with propaganda to influence public
opinion.”
“So how does that get you inside?” asked Fisher.
“Well, there’s a double connection here. Kasperov’s boy genius, the guy named Kannonball?
He was tagged as the lead programmer on this project.”
“So he was working for the SVR and Kasperov?” asked Briggs.
“Yeah, sure, it’s like the SVR is a client. What’s more interesting, though, is that
after he created their spambot army, he was tagged by the SVR as being a member of
a hacktivist group known as Redtalk. They’ve been leaking secrets about corruption
within the Russian government and military.”
“Like another WikiLeaks,” Fisher concluded.
“Yeah, but smaller and more specific. They probably didn’t touch Kannonball because
he was so close to Kasperov.”
“I guess this is the long explanation of how you intend to get into their computers,”
said Briggs through a yawn.
Charlie grew more animated, waving his peanut butter fork at Briggs. “Kannonball’s
already hacked in, and he’s left his signature on some of the code for the social
media spambots. In fact, I have to study it some more, but he may have left more clues
there.”
“You mean like passwords to get in?” Fisher asked.
“Exactly. That’s Redtalk’s MO. That’s our front door into the SVR.”
“Or we could just call Kestrel,” Fisher said with a smile. “Old-school wins again.
Grim? Find me Kestrel.”
“Will do.”
Charlie snickered. “You’re a real thread killer, Sam. I was on a roll!”
“I know. And still, there’s no guarantee the SVR or Voron are doing any better than
we are right now, but we need to keep tabs on them.”
Grim raised her voice. “Charlie, I want to see everything you’re doing to get in there.
Don’t make a move until we’re both sure they can’t track us.”
Charlie nodded, then lowered his voice and turned to Fisher. “Can I talk to you for
a minute?”
Fisher nodded and Charlie rose, leading him out of the command center, down a narrow
hall, and toward the living quarters. He opened a small hatch and invited Fisher into
his tiny room, replete with narrow bed, notebook computers, and a few posters for
alternative rock bands that Fisher had never heard of. Charlie shut the hatch and
quickly said, “If you want to find this guy, you gotta cut me loose. I can’t work
with her breathing down my neck.”
“She’s not breathing down your neck.”
“Are you deaf?”
“Look, you know where she’s coming from.”
He rolled his eyes. “It was hard enough taking the job in the first place, knowing
she’d be here.”
“I thought you guys were getting along.”
“It’s nothing that interferes with the job, but—”
“But you have a problem with authority figures. I get that. So do I.”
At twenty-five, young Charlie Cole was still grappling with remaining calm under fire—especially
when the incoming came from Grim. During the time he and Fisher worked together at
Vic’s old agency, Fisher had learned a lot about the kid, learned why he had the attitude
and why he’d become a hacker. Charlie had lost his father when he was just eleven,
and his mother remarried a man who ruled with an iron fist and had ridiculous expectations
for him. He buried himself in his room and retreated into computers. While his mother
supported his interest, by the time he was fourteen, his stepfather had shipped him
off to Choate Rosemary Hall, the prestigious boarding school in Connecticut, where
he’d terrorized administrators with his hacking exploits. They forced him through
the program because it was easier than
VK and Facebook. They’ve got a three-tiered program for the future of the Internet.
They call these tiers Monitor-3, Dispute, and Storm-13. That last one, Storm, involves
an army of spambots that’ll flood social networks with propaganda to influence public
opinion.”
“So how does that get you inside?” asked Fisher.
“Well, there’s a double connection here. Kasperov’s boy genius, the guy named Kannonball?
He was tagged as the lead programmer on this project.”
“So he was working for the SVR and Kasperov?” asked Briggs.
“Yeah, sure, it’s like the SVR is a client. What’s more interesting, though, is that
after he created their spambot army, he was tagged by the SVR as being a member of
a hacktivist group known as Redtalk. They’ve been leaking secrets about corruption
within the Russian government and military.”
“Like another WikiLeaks,” Fisher concluded.
“Yeah, but smaller and more specific. They probably didn’t touch Kannonball because
he was so close to Kasperov.”
“I guess this is the long explanation of how you intend to get into their computers,”
said Briggs through a yawn.
Charlie grew more animated, waving his peanut butter fork at Briggs. “Kannonball’s
already hacked in, and he’s left his signature on some of the code for the social
media spambots. In fact, I have to study it some more, but he may have left more clues
there.”
“You mean like passwords to get in?” Fisher asked.
“Exactly. That’s Redtalk’s MO. That’s our front door into the SVR.”
“Or we could just call Kestrel,” Fisher said with a smile. “Old-school wins again.
Grim? Find me Kestrel.”
“Will do.”
Charlie snickered. “You’re a real thread killer, Sam. I was on a roll!”
“I know. And still, there’s no guarantee the SVR or Voron are doing any better than
we are right now, but we need to keep tabs on them.”
Grim raised her voice. “Charlie, I want to see everything you’re doing to get in there.
Don’t make a move until we’re both sure they can’t track us.”
Charlie nodded, then lowered his voice and turned to Fisher. “Can I talk to you for
a minute?”
Fisher nodded and Charlie rose, leading him out of the command center, down a narrow
hall, and toward the living quarters. He opened a small hatch and invited Fisher into
his tiny room, replete with narrow bed, notebook computers, and a few posters for
alternative rock bands that Fisher had never heard of. Charlie shut the hatch and
quickly said, “If you want to find this guy, you gotta cut me loose. I can’t work
with her breathing down my neck.”
“She’s not breathing down your neck.”
“Are you deaf?”
“Look, you know where she’s coming from.”
He rolled his eyes. “It was hard enough taking the job in the first place, knowing
she’d be here.”
“I thought you guys were getting along.”
“It’s nothing that interferes with the job, but—”
“But you have a problem with authority figures. I get that. So do I.”
At twenty-five, young Charlie Cole was still grappling with remaining calm under fire—especially
when the incoming came from Grim. During the time he and Fisher worked together at
Vic’s old agency, Fisher had learned a lot about the kid, learned why he had the attitude
and why he’d become a hacker. Charlie had lost his father when he was just eleven,
and his mother remarried a man who ruled with an iron fist and had ridiculous expectations
for him. He buried himself in his room and retreated into computers. While his mother
supported his interest, by the time he was fourteen, his stepfather had shipped him
off to Choate Rosemary Hall, the prestigious boarding school in Connecticut, where
he’d terrorized administrators with his hacking exploits. They forced him through
the program because it was easier than
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