Scars of the Past (Dark Web Book 2) Read online

  Scars of the Past

  (Dark Web, Book 2)

  We all love the convenience of connected devices, but what happens when those devices kill? That’s the premise of a new novel, SCARS OF THE PAST, by Angela Hausman that explores how hackers use IoT devices as weapons of destruction, even death. Jacob and his team of FBI cyber sleuths must find a serial killer hiding behind aberrant code in connected devices that’s killing Russian diplomates in the US drumming up support for Russia’s incursion into Ukraine. It seems anyone who oppose Ukrainian reunification is in danger—and the killers aren’t shy about leaving a trail of other bodies as collateral damage.

  While Scars of the Past is a work of fiction, extensive research with cybersecurity experts and law enforcement officers add realism so the novel reads like facts were ripped from the headlines of the near future. Characters and scenes jump off the page, depicting the best and worst of DC and the Federal bureaucracy that stymies efforts to help the FBI prevent more death.

  Scars of the Past is second in the Dark Web series, which was introduced in Buried Ladies: A Novel of Mystery, Murder, and the Dark Web.

  Copyright © Hausman Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  Limitation of Liability. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 154830560X

  ISBN-13: 978-1548305604

  Table of Contents

  DEDICATION

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  DEDICATION

  For my children, Sarah, Samuel, Rebecca, and my 3 little grandbabies, Micah, Caleb, and Ellie. You are my world.

  Chapter 1

  Estella, now using her Hebrew name, Esther, sat in her Intro to Finance class at Georgetown University bored almost to tears. Looking around, she saw some faces with similar bored expressions, although a few scribbled on notebooks or tapped keyboards feverously.

  Finance just wasn't her favorite subject and the endless equations calculating Betas, Net Present Value, and the rest got all jumbled in her head. Plus, she wasn't sleeping well. The nightmares had faded somewhat in the two years since her ordeal in Texas, but she still awoke at least once a night with dreams of being tied and gagged. She could almost feel the ropes as they cut into her wrists and ankles, and, certainly, she felt the terror her kidnapping evoked. Sometimes she could fall back to sleep right away. More often, she'd be up for hours staring as the clock made its slow progression around the dial. The next day, she struggled with blinding headaches brought on by a combination of nightmares and lack of sleep.

  Between sleeplessness and the ever-present tiredness that came with raising a two-year-old perpetual motion machine, her eyes felt like they were filled with sand and her head kept dropping to her chest, making it difficult to concentrate on Dr. Henson's lecture. She looked around the tiered classroom to see other students fighting the same urge to sleep. Maybe it was the overly warm classroom, but, more likely, it was the exciting lecture on banking policy that had them all wishing they were back in their beds rather than sitting in a crowded classroom in the early morning on this crisp fall day.

  As her mind drifted off to other thoughts, like the mountain of laundry she'd have to tackle soon or buy more underwear, she searched the faces of her classmates, pondering the thoughts going on behind their blank stares. Certainly, their young bodies never felt the pain of being drugged and held prisoner, certain that death was only moments away. They never dealt with drug dealers whose roving hands were her first introduction to intimacy. Their hearts never felt the pain of losing someone close, someone they loved, yet she'd lost most of her family—only a single brother remained. These kids, she couldn't help but think of them as kids even though they were only a few years younger, had lived peaceful lives in stable, middle-class neighborhoods before graduating to Georgetown University. Living through that kind of hell aged you fast.

  The class was held in a large classroom with two sets of double doors in the back and no windows to distract students from the business at hand, except the tiny ones in the doors. At the bottom of the pit, like a Christian being fed to hungry lions, stood Dr. Henson, drawing charts that were projected on the screen by a document scanner that probably cost more than the entire audiovisual budget for her high school. The darkened room didn't help the general somnolence of the students.

  She was so focused on people watching, it took a moment to realize many of her classmates were looking down at their phones. Sure, students often glanced surreptitiously at their mobile devices just to pass the time, but this was different. Everyone seemed to have their device out and was checking the messages openly. This couldn't be good.

  She grabbed her own device from her backpack and thumbing it on.

  SHELTER IN PLACE; Campus on lockdown, active shooting in progress

  A collective gasp rose from the students. A few students sat there, staring into space, not knowing what to do first. Others calmly closed books and gathered up possessions while they waited patiently for further instructions. But the majority of students rushed toward the doors marked with large, red EXIT signs like cattle heading toward the barn at feeding time, heedless of others with the same goal in mind.

  "Wait," screamed Dr. Henson as he rushed the doors to stop them. From his position at the bottom of the pit, so to speak, he was farthest from the doors. He faced a task like Moses parting the Red Sea, only in this version, the sea didn't want to part. As soon as he moved one student out of the way, several others barred his progress. His shouts went unheeded by those terrified of what might face them in the classroom and intent on making their way off campus as quickly as possible, despite the potential danger of such a reckless course of action. Thus, the digital warning had the opposite of its intended effect; sending students into the corridors, where danger might await, instead of encouraging them to remain in the relative safety of the classroom.

  In their efforts to gain the doors, several students were knocked to the floor, where their screams did little to slow the crush of students intent on exiting the classroom. Instead, the mass trampled the prone bodies of fallen comrades, leaving them powerless to regain their footing amid the fury of 218 feet. Screams from those being crushed joined the screams of students terrified of what lay ahead and from the professor urging students back to their seats, creating a cacophony of sound and sights that reminded her of a video she'd seen on YouTube of the Running of the Bulls.

  Adding to the chaos, cell phones sounded in a myriad of ringtones. Esther heard everything from popular to classical, to buzzes, to bells, to strums as notifications came in over digital devices. Screams, shouts, cries for help, and the relentless trampling of feet evince
d the panic surrounding Esther, but she remained calm. She knew danger, had lived through it several times, and knew this, too, would pass.

  She looked around to make sure the shooter hadn't entered their classroom, then joined the professor in trying to turn back the tidal wave crashing against the exit doors. Students seemed bent on leaving their room, where strong doors and cement block walls protected them from stray bullets, for the prospect of danger in the hallways. Through the chaos, her shouts to stop joined with the professor's, but were lost in the noise reverberating around the classroom. Being close to the right door, she rose and locked the exit door behind her only to have the force of other students push her up against it, crushing her and trampling her feet.

  Her chest was compressed by the sheer weight of students trying to gain the exit and the immovable force of the steel-reinforced door she'd locked behind her. Even if she'd wanted to open the doors, the mass holding her in place would make that impossible.

  She could no longer get enough air as the crush of students pushing against her refused to provide room for her rib cage to expand. The room began spinning as her field of vision narrowed—blurring on the outside edges as the stream of oxygenated blood reaching her brain diminished. If the crowd rushing the door hadn't held her in place, she would have slumped to the floor and been trampled as they flowed out into the hallways.

  Those in the back of the crowd slowly recognized the futility of their task and rushed to exit through the set of doors on the left, which remained open. After a few minutes, which seemed like an eternity as Esther fought for the tiny volume of oxygen she could get into her lungs, the bellowing herd of students trying to force their way out of the classroom eased, some giving up, others, having moved to the only other option for escape. As remaining students came out of their fugue states, they joined in efforts to calm those still seeking egress. Slowly, ever so slowly, the din diminished to the point where individual shouted instructions were distinct. As students stopped their efforts to exit, the crush on Esther's chest eased and she was able to draw several deeper breaths of sweet air into her screaming lungs.

  Space opened up in front of Esther, allowing her to bend over, which had the dual effect of helping clear her head by forcing more oxygenated blood to her brain and helping her lungs fill more efficiently. As she crouched there, recovering from nearly being crushed to death, she noticed someone step to the left door and slide its deadbolt. Now both doors were locked tightly against an intruder.

  Students found seats and looked sheepishly at one another—embarrassed by their collective response to the warning message. The few students who sustained injuries were helped to their feet and their injuries assessed as best they could as amateurs. No one appeared to be badly hurt; just a few cuts and some bruises that would make their appearance tomorrow. The most serious injury appeared to be a broken or badly sprained elbow; which a small Asian student cradled delicately against his chest. They were lucky. If the crowd hadn't come to its collective senses quickly, more would have been hurt and the injuries been much worse.

  With no sign of immediate danger and in the calm that comes after the storm, students talked among themselves and, after a few hours had passed, boredom became the malaise rather than fear. Most thumbed phones on to get more information about the situation, although the circuits were overloaded with what seemed like the entire campus trying to text or call at the same time. There wasn't much information to be had for the few lucky students able to connect.

  The emergency system further strained bandwidth on the crowded campus, continuing to advise students to shelter in place without providing additional information. Some training was obviously necessary so students knew what was expected from warnings like the one they received today. But, more important, administrators needed to understand that, without information, rumors would continue amping up fear and causing students to disregard more logical actions for brainless flight or fight instincts.

  After several hours of waiting in the classroom, students became restless, complaining loudly about the information blackout and their inability to make contact with those outside the stuffy room. It was now deep into the afternoon and people were hungry or in dire need of a restroom. Both activities were now impossible without opening the classroom doors to potential danger. Conflict arose between students who wanted to leave and those who argued that the best course of action was to stay locked in the relative safety of the classroom. The heavy doors with their substantial deadbolts would stop anything short of a horde of Huns out for blood, they argued.

  Both double doors to the classroom were now securely locked, with students watching for signs of trouble outside through their small windows that were reinforced with metal. Other students busied themselves by staring at their mobile phones hoping to finally see a few bars appear. Dr. Henson was similarly occupied and didn't even try to continue his lecture. Likely, no more classes would take place that day.

  Dr. Henson's computer still displayed the slide he'd put up just before the transmitted warning, but Dr. Henson himself was seated in the front row like another student in the class, although he didn't quite fit in with the rest of the class. He was decades older than any of the students, who still wore the patina of childhood on their pimply faces, in their awkward bodies, and personalities that were trying to grow into their adult selves. He was also dressed better, even though his suit showed definite signs of wear—the knees of his pants showed distinct thinning and the collar of his shirt was frayed from constant chaffing by the stubble on his neck. Esther felt old, even older than Dr. Henson, for the second time today. She was only 29.

  Students grouped themselves into twos and threes to speculate on events or just chat amicably. The semester had just started and she overheard conversations swirling around her as acquaintances were renewed and new connections forged. She heard stories of summer vacation, internships, the horrors of housing on or near campus, the obsessive involvement with minor celebrities like the Kardashians, and family. They were just happy to be safe.

  A few studied or did homework; quietly waiting for someone to tell them what to do next. Others stared at their mobile devices; having nothing better to do, they were on Snapchat or Facebook, after finally finding a connection, sharing the adventure that was now just a good story to engage friends on social networks. They were enjoying their 15 minutes of fame.

  Finally, information emerged through the university's emergency channel. They learned the shooter was down after a brief exchange with Campus Police as well as first responders from the Capital Police and the FBI. His victim, Grigori Mikhalev was also dead. Law enforcement was currently searching the campus to ensure the threat was neutralized before issuing the "ALL CLEAR".

  Esther didn't read the rest of the message to learn why Mikhalev was on campus or who he was, although she seemed to remember the School of Public and International Affairs, a school on campus they all called SPIA, was hosting its annual student conference today. Maybe he was involved in that somehow.

  She had to reach Jaime, who also used his Hebrew name, Jacob, now. He must have heard about the situation at Georgetown and was probably worried sick about her, especially given their history. She'd tried to call or text him numerous times since the situation began without success.

  Before she could punch in his number for the 500th time, the phone rang in her hand. The display showed an incoming call from Jacob.

  "I'm fine Corazon," she said without waiting for him to speak. "I tried to reach you many times, but we're having connection problems—the circuits must be overloaded. I'm glad you were able to get through."

  "I'm on campus. I'm coming to you."

  "Why are you on campus?" she said and looked around as if expecting him to appear in front of her. "I'm fine. Coming to campus was a little extreme, even for you."

  "No time to explain. I'm part of the investigation. I'll see you in a minute," he said as the phone went dead in her hand.

  Everyone was pret
ty calm now as Esther waited for Jacob and wondered at his involvement in the investigation. Of course, he worked with the FBI, where he ran the Cyber Unit that was part of the Counter Terrorism Taskforce, but why would he be involved in a murder on campus?

  Finally, she got a text from Jacob saying he was outside her door. She signaled to Dr. Henson, who knew that her husband did something important for the FBI, that she was leaving. He shot her the OK signal then asked one of the students to let her pass.

  Rushing into his arms, she pecked her husband on the lips. "What's up? Why are you here?"

  "I needed to see you … to make sure you're ok. I was sick with worry," he said, turning her around and inspecting her from all angles. She gave him the quirky smile she normally saved for when he'd done something overprotective. He ignored her and quickly summarized the events that brought him to campus. "I'm here with the Counter Terrorism Taskforce. I don't think they needed Cyber on this one, but I was with Boyd when the call came in and he suggested I come, too. That guy who was shot … he was someone high up in Putin's administration. He was on campus for the International Affairs Conference and was shot just as he began his presentation. The shooter is also dead—shot by campus police before we arrived. I have to head back to headquarters for a meeting in a few minutes. This is gonna be an all hands on deck kind of investigation because of the political nature of the hit, so I'm not sure when I'll get home."

  "I'm glad you stopped by to see me, even though it wasn't necessary. I didn't get a chance to see you this morning. You left pretty early?" she said.

  "Yeah, we're working on something," he said, not totally ignoring the implied question, but not really answering it either. "I guess this afternoon's events pushed that aside, for now. I wanted to see you … to make sure you're safe. And, since I was already on campus and you might be in bed before I get home tonight.