Breakpoint Read Free Page A

internet connectivity to the U.S.”
    Harvey Tilden from the White House seemed surprised. “Is that right, General? Is that really the meaning of your report?”
    â€œHell, yes,” General Richards replied. “That’s exactly what I just finished saying.”
    Trying to regain control of the meeting, Fred Calder called upon the industry representatives from Sytho and SpruceNetworks to report on how quickly they could get replacement routers to the beachhead locations. The Sytho man grabbed his mike. “Well, of course, we do on-demand assembly and just-in-time delivery. It’s not like we have inventory. If we got a valid purchase order now, we could have routers on location by the time the buildings to house them and the electrical and fiber were restored. Or a little while after that, at the latest.”
    Tilden, the White House man, looked upset. “Mr. Chairman, if I may, it seems to me the real issue is…Well, does the FBI have any claims of responsibility…I mean, who the hell did this?”
    Without speaking, with a wave of his wrist, Fred Calder invited the FBI representative to speak. The man in the double-breasted suit adjusted his tie. “Special Agent Willard Mulvaine, sitting in for Deputy Assistant Director Murrow. We will be reporting through appropriate channels, but I must be frank—it will be on a need-to-know basis only, of course, in order to protect any potential prosecution and to preserve sources and methods. But, since I have the floor, I need to stress again, Mr. Chairman, that all agencies and the private-sector partners here must provide the Bureau with all information they acquire relevant to this criminal investigation and should not share that information with the media or other agencies of government, be that state and local, or federal. We are the lead agency on this, ah, incident. Sharing information with others could constitute obstruction of justice and make individuals involved liable themselves for prosecution under relevant federal statutes.”
    Fetherwill, from Commerce, leaned over to the CIA man who had been so helpful earlier and whispered, “What the hell did he just say? Is he going to arrest us?”
    Gordon Baxter answered in a loud voice. “He said that if you give him the dots, he may connect some of them—but he won’t tell anybody if the dots paint a picture. Probably because he wouldn’t know.”
    â€œMr. Chairman, I object to that lack of interagency comity…” the FBI special agent sputtered.
    â€œSome comedy,” CIA’s Gordon Baxter muttered. “I thought CIA was screwed up. The Bureau is FUBAR.” He spoke up louder. “Here’s what our analysts conclude with high certainty: This attack was carried out by a nation-state, perhaps subcontracted to a witting or unwitting criminal enterprise. Now all we have to figure out is who.”
    Through the large plate-glass window in the Board Room wall, Fred Calder looked at the National Communications System’s own Big Board, an integrated feed from all of the U.S. internet backbone providers. Washington, Philadelphia, New York, and Boston were now blinking red. And as he watched, thinking of the Wizards tickets he had finally managed to get for that afternoon, and how he would never get to use them, Chicago switched to red and it began blinking, too.
    He leaned forward in the chair and let a moment of quiet pass in the room. Then he summarized: “So let me see if I got this right: Some group has crippled the international financial system and degraded our military command control by blowing up obscure, unprotected, little buildings on beaches? We don’t really know who did it or why they did it? And it will take us weeks at best to repair the damage? And we don’t know if the attacks are over yet? Is that about it?”
    There were nods of agreement around the table. Harvey Tilden, the man from the White