Zero Day: A Novel by Mark Russinovich, Howard Schmidt Page B

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    Carlton had begun his career as an FBI desk agent, moving into middle management from there. Then, for reasons never fully explained, he took a position with the CIA as manager of the Cyberterrorism–Computer Forensics Department. The move was unusual, but on paper, at least, it seemed a good fit. At that time computers and their use for terrorism was not a high priority, since there’d been no documented case of a foreign terrorist act within the continental United States, either against the supporting computers of the Internet or by using its resources. With the additions of other functions, including the Computer Science Group and its obscure Cyberterrorism Unit, Carlton’s area of power and presumed expertise steadily grew.
    He was a born bureaucrat, adept at evading responsibility for errors while garnering praise for work he’d not performed. He made few enemies over the years, which served him well. But the lack of attention his department received was the greatest boon to his career. Prior to 2001, little was expected of him in the twilight world of counterterrorism in which he’d found a niche. Though he would have preferred an airy corner office on the second or third floor, he was content with his location, far from any window and deep within the center of the ground floor.
    Shortly after 4:00 that afternoon Jeff was ushered in, carrying with him the proof he hoped his supervisor would find persuasive. Carlton didn’t rise as he gestured for Jeff to take a seat in front of his desk. “What have you got?” A bad boss is typically characterized as hostile, rude, and dim. Carlton was never, or at least rarely, rude; he’d been in government service too many years to be overtly hostile; and he was not stupid. For the next ten minutes Jeff laid out what he believed was going to take place on September 11, less than two weeks away.
    Carlton listened with diminishing enthusiasm, then asked to see the time line. He spent a full minute examining it before commenting, “I’m confused about something. Just where do these supposed targets come from? The Statue of Liberty, the Pentagon, the World Trade Center, the White House, the Capitol, the Sears Tower, the Golden Gate Bridge, the Washington Monument.” He looked up. “Mount Rushmore? I suppose I can see the logic of the Pentagon, the other government buildings even, but Mount Rushmore? I don’t get it.”
    “I admit listing all of them as possible targets is speculative, but it’s speculation based on text,” Jeff said. “Those names came from various communiqués. They’re not only after what could be called hard targets, structures connected to our government and military, but also after our economic infrastructure and landmarks.” Jeff’s mouth was dry and he found the words difficult to form. “They’re very into symbolism. And Al Qaeda’s targeted the World Trade Center previously. Their purpose with those truck explosives was to topple one of the buildings into the other, taking them both down like dominoes.”
    Carlton snickered. “They were wrong, weren’t they? In fact, Al Qaeda isn’t all that effective, if you look at their track record. And they certainly seem to prefer the Horn of Africa. It’s difficult to see them posing a genuine threat to us from … where are they? Afghanistan, of all places.”
    “It’s all there,” Jeff insisted, pointing at the documents he’d assembled. “Most of it, at least. Enough.” Though he was struggling to contain himself his voice rose a bit as he said, “We need to do something.”
    Carlton looked at him sharply. “Have you any idea how many threats a day are processed by the Company? Each one is given a score. If I pass this one higher up, it will receive, I’m telling you categorically, the lowest-priority score that exists.”
    Jeff’s heart sank. “You can’t just sit on it,” he said in near desperation.
    Carlton paused. “I’m not going to sit on it, as you put it. But we