The End Game

Sam couldn’t remember if Moldavia was a real country or if it had something to do with the Ice Princess from General Hospital back in the day, a brief addiction he’d unabashedly had while recovering from a bullet wound. Anyway, it didn’t seem like Walt knew, either, since he took Sam’s laptop and started typing absently on the keyboard with one hand, the other still busy with breakfast. After about ten minutes of this one-handed show, which also involved Walt making a weird clicking noise with his tongue against the roof of his dentures, he set the laptop aside.

“A decent IT guy will see someone breaking into this site in fifteen seconds.”

Sam was afraid of that. Technology has a way of passing you by if you’re busy getting dentures and playing golf. He really had to ask him about the denture thing. It was quite curious, since the NSA had a helluva health plan. “I understand,” Sam said. “You know someone else I could talk to?”

“No need,” Walt said. He pushed the laptop across the table. “I already got you the information.”

Cagey bastard.

Sam clicked through the files. It was a pretty extensive array, considering Walt managed to literally get it all with one hand.

“Impressive,” Sam said. There were almost fifteen pages of information stored now, but Sam couldn’t figure out what he was looking at, as most of it consisted of lines of letters and numbers that reminded him of launch codes.

“You don’t just lose it,” Walt said.

“What do we have here?”

“Everything. Lots of stuff for you to chew on.”

Sam considered that for a moment in light of all the information he’d gleaned just by looking at Walt. “What happened with your teeth?”

“Got tired of ’em,” he said. “One less thing to worry about. That’s the great thing about being retired. You get to make your own decisions about what you want to spend your time obsessing about. Mark my words. Day you retire, you’ll start thinking about getting rid of your chompers, too.”

Sam found that hard to believe. If he was going to get some kind of body modification, he might go for a robotic arm that fired missiles, or see about what a hollow leg would actually cost, or just go straight toward the Superman route and get X-ray vision, which would be pretty useful living in Miami. But his teeth were staying put. In the spirit of being fraternal, however, Sam thought he’d ask Walt for the name of his dentist at some point so Walt wouldn’t feel like Sam was just using him for his technological expertise.

“Tell me something, Walt,” Sam said. “This system you just cracked. How much would someone spend to set something like this up?”

Walt ran his tongue over the front of his “teeth” and thought about it for a moment. “Whoever did the work on this was pretty sharp,” he said. “And getting through the Italian was a challenge. Don’t Moldavians speak Moldavees?”

“Usually.” Sam was beginning to sense that Walt was slightly more versed in world history than previously assumed. “But they are a crafty people. Heavy on the linguistics.”

“Whoever set this up had decent training,” Walt said. “Even had a good idea of how an attack might come. Very interesting in terms of the flanking they did, but it’s about six months out of date. Lots of holes, if you know what to look for. But then, I’m former NSA.” Walt’s voice rose when he said former NSA, which Sam thought was probably a good way to get comped desserts and such. He made a mental note to play up his SEAL experience next time he was a little short on cash at a restaurant, see if he couldn’t get some sugar for his troubles.

“My guess?” Walt continued. “Whoever did this had some serious coin behind them. I cross-site scripted the mother without much problem, but I’ve got full faith and credit behind me.”

If you’re not interested in a long-term campaign of technoterrorism, or aren’t interested in finally learning if the truth is out there concerning the aliens, JFK and the existence of Bigfoot, and merely want to track the movements of those behind the screen and anyone who might be visiting the Web site you’ve staked out, the best way is via cross-site scripting.

If you’re trying to break into the CIA, it’s unlikely cross-site scripting will help you, because they already have it on their site to track you, but if you’re attempting to sneak inside open-source platforms like blogging shells or social networking sites, or a Web site set up by kidnappers to show a single video, you have a better chance of getting in and out without detection at least once.

All you have to do is inject a line of malicious code into a part of the Web site that you know is being viewed. Once the object is viewed-in this case, the video-the code leaches information from the viewer. A porn site might just want to know your e-mail address so it can bombard you with messages for penis-enlargement surgery, but a gambling site might start rooting through your computer for banking information; an identity thief might want to inhabit your life entirely.