“We changed our minds,” Jasper Brokaw said. “You’ve seen what we’ve just done. The federal attack will be later. This one . . . it was just there, and we couldn’t say no to it. With all that you’d been saying on the news, about us, about the threatened attack—you’re all so smug, but not anymore, right? What better way to get the population onside than to air all of their dirty little secrets, right?”
The camera closed in slightly to Jasper. His bruised cheek was angry now, his eye above the bruise swelling and weeping.
“Failure to act will have significant ramifications,” Jasper read from a piece of paper. It seemed as though his hands had trembled, briefly. “Starting small. Every person’s Internet search history is now available to be read online. Their social-media accounts are all open, readable to all.”
Jasper gave a URL address.
“Moreover,” he said, “all Dark Web addresses, and all intercepted and stored correspondence stored at the Bluffdale complex in Utah are also available for all and sundry to read online.”
He looked at the camera. “That’s it. Our third cyber attack is . . . think of it as a warning shot. Your time is running out, Mr. President, to shut down the Net. Failure will result in action being taken. You’ve seen what we can do to breach security and publicly release data. By the next attack, you will know that no network is safe, no matter what you try to do. Turning off individual servers will only force our hand to something else.”
The screen went black.