New graphics flowed across the displays. The Trans-Siberian Railway stretched across eight time zones. A handful of choke points glowed red.
“The Russians have eight rail lines connecting their Far East oblast to European Russia. But geography’s a beast.” Rooke zoomed in. “They’re funneled through six major tunnels and eight critical bridges. Right now, Chinese engineering teams working with a few thousand of those GR-3R ‘Drevnik’ humanoid robotic workers are helping expand the rail bridge and tunnel capacity. But until those projects are finished, they’re limited to using just three operational tunnels.”
“Ah, those make for some nice bottlenecks,” Batista observed.
“Yeah, massive ones. Seventy percent of their military logistics flow through these choke points.” Rooke pulled up a traffic analysis report. “In peacetime, this is manageable. In a war…”
He let them fill in the blank.
“Yeah, I get it. So what’s the play?” Batista’s tone stayed neutral.
Rooke’s fingers resumed their binary drumming. “Simple physics. Their automated switching system prevents collisions by routing opposing traffic to holding tracks when necessary. As we continue to observe their rail schedules, we’ve mapped when the gates get turned on to divert the trains to the holding tracks.”
The display showed train movements in real-time simulation. Green arrows flowing east and west, diverted smoothly at junction points.
“When authorized, and only when authorized, we flip those gates.” His voice dropped. “An eastbound military transport carrying tanks. A westbound fuel train. Both doing eighty kilometers per hour and neither is diverted.”
The simulation continued to play out, the two arrows converging on each other until they merged into one — impact.
“On one track, we engineer a head-on collision inside a tunnel.” Rooke’s drawl vanished, his tone sharp. “On another track, we time a collision to occur on a bridge span. Either way, you’re looking at weeks of cleanup, and a hell of a mess. If we’re lucky, it could take months to repair and restore traffic. Our bottlenecks become corks.”
Silence fell. Around the table, operators who’d seen death up close processed the implications. Hundreds dead, maybe even thousands. Infrastructure crippled. Supply lines severed.
Cross’s Philly accent cut through. “That’s… Jesus. The crews…”
“Not crews. Military logistics personnel.” Rooke met his gaze. “They’re valid targets under the laws of armed conflict.”
“Still.” The FBI agent’s jaw worked, but he said nothing more.
Dr. Yuryevna leaned forward, her academic detachment intact. “If such an event occurred, controlling the information space would be critical, especially in the immediate moments and hours after it happens.”
All eyes turned to the Russian exile.
“Railroad disasters resonate deeply in Russian psychology. There is a history of this happening, and it is almost always a result of incompetence and corruption. Lives wasted over greed.” Yuryevna’s fingers traced patterns on the table. “We would not claim credit,
“I like it. Turn their people against their own government,” Mara observed.
“Is already happening. We simply amplify.” Yuryevna’s smile could have etched glass. “Perhaps leaked documents showing rail officials’ Swiss bank accounts, videos of Chinese advisors living in luxury while Russian workers die. The narrative writes itself.”
Before she even spoke, Batista saw the gleam in Yuryevna’s eyes as a plan took shape. “Jim… you could let me tinker with CHIMERA. I could generate some deepfakes we could test and make ready to use when the time’s right?”
The room stirred when she mentioned CHIMERA. Cognitive Hyper-Intelligent Media Engine for Realistic Alteration was TF Nightfury’s most potent digital tool. In the wrong hands, it could make anyone say or do anything on video, complete with perfect audio matching — a dangerous capability they wielded carefully, and under the strictest of rules.
Batista sat back as he absorbed the discussion happening within his team. Cyber weapons were clean in theory, code instead of bombs and bullets. But when the time came to launch this attack, it would leave a trail of death and destruction in its wake.
“Colonel, if it comes to it and we need to authorize this attack, what’s your confidence level on a clean execution without a digital trail leading right back to us?”
“If ordered — high. We’ve run simulated attacks over a thousand times without a single trail of evidence that could be traced back to us.” The cyber commander’s certainty was absolute. “Give the word, hoss, and pick the trains. Within a few hours, physics takes over.”
“You’re absolutely certain about the attribution?”
