Page 18 of The 24th Hour

Thordarson exhaled and said, “It’s signed ‘Apocalypto.’ This is an active start-up group and has some of the hallmarks of the older 123 Boom. Possibly it was seeded by Boom.Pete and I have been in touch with Apocalypto, identified ourselves. We let them know that the hospital cannot raise twenty million in any form within the time allowed and if they don’t play this straight, we will hand off our investigation to the FBI.”

Joe asked, “How much time did you buy?”

“We deposited seven million in exchange for two days’ extension,” said the head of the premier incident response company west of the Rockies.

“The deposit went to a virtual account on the dark web that is effectively a ghost bank. They can see it but they can’t access it until we have proof they’re out of our system.”

LaBreche wasn’t listening. He cut into the conversation, saying, “We’ve called for any external backup drives that may exist outside the hospital. We’re in the process now of transferring as many patients out as we can find beds for, but other hospitals are packed. We have surgery patients on vents—my PA Christine’s mother is one of them—and on heart-lung machines. Pete says that Apocalypto has been inside our systems for months. Is that right?”

Bao said, “Very likely.”

LaBreche spit curses, paced, and shoved chairs as he circled the conference table.

“So, for sure they’ve burrowed into everything we have and do. We’re not safe until Apocalypto is out of business and the people who ruined this hospital are in prison. Or worse.”

Joe said, “That’s why your cybersecurity team called us. Sveinn, Pete, tell us where we can help. We’re ready.”

CHAPTER 17

JOE WATCHED PETER WOOTEN square the papers and pens in front of him. Then he squared them again. Joe thought,Precise, maybe OCD. Perfect mental tic for a man in Pete’s field. Check it. Check it again. And again.

Pete said, “We’ve tracked Apocalypto to a server in Bruges …”

“No longer there?” Bao said.

“Correct.”

“Lucky guess,” she said.

Christine came into the room and whispered to LaBreche, who said to her, “Might as well.” Christine wheeled in a coffee cart and several people rose from their places for coffee, but Bao and Joe, the professional hack prevention team, and four top hospital executives who were sweating and making notes on their phones remained seated. They were fighting an enemy they didn’t know and couldn’t see, while trying to save lives and a very good hospital on an extremely tight deadline.

Pete Wooten said, “So, this morning at 9:03, after extendingthe deadline and funneling crypto into their blind Bitcoin wallet, we began to drill down on the malware. As I said, Apocalypto was pinging a server in Belgium. Then the signal hopped to another location.

“The program began seeking its point man on the West Coast from somewhere within a hundred miles of the Anglo-Scottish border, then the signal bounced around here in San Francisco.”

“Sounds like an airplane was involved,” said Joe.

LaBreche, who’d been pacing since accepting an offered cup of coffee, asked, “This hopping is some kind of ‘Catch me if you can’ kind of thing?”

“Exactly,” said Thordarson. “By disguising their location and the program itself, we don’t know who and where they are. Makes it hard to erect a defense. But we will locate the source and the target, Mr. LaBreche. That’s what we do.”

LaBreche looked hopeful, then a blink later, entirely depressed. He stopped his pacing near Joe’s chair and said, “I might as well tell you, I had to be talked into working with the FBI. We don’t want this to, you know, get out, but Pete convinced me to call in the Feds. Can you actually keep this quiet?”

Joe said, “Honestly? The fact of the attack may leak, Mr. LaBreche, but we won’t be advertising our involvement. We understand what’s at stake and we’ll do everything possible to contain the situation. Maybe we’ll come up with something that hasn’t been done before. Anything else?”

LaBreche shrugged and Joe took that to be a no.

He said, “We’ll check in when we have something to tell you. Pete? Sveinn? Your place or ours?”

CHAPTER 18

RILEY BOONE WAS the bailiff, the law enforcement officer in charge of maintaining court procedure. He was short but stood tall, and Yuki was always surprised by the volume and resonance of his voice as his announcement “Allll rise” caromed off the oak-paneled walls of Courtroom 8G.

A hundred and twenty people noisily stood as one—the counselors and their clients and deputies, the jurors, and the audience in the gallery—as the Honorable Henry William St. John entered through the door from his chambers into the courtroom.

A handsome man in his forties, Yuki thought Hank St. John had classic good looks, like an adman from the sixties—tall, fit, with a pencil mustache, always carrying a book. He stepped up to his enviable desk chair behind the bench, adjusted his robes, and took his seat.

Judge St. John motioned for all but the jurors to be seated. After Boone had sworn in the jury, they filled the jury box and Boone called the court to order. Two court officers tooktheir places with their backs to the double doors of the entrance.

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