Are you scared about our on-line and real-life security in this digital era? I am.
Every day, I witness the power and influence of electronics in our children’s lives and fear for their future. What has happened to person-to-person communication? Where has truth gone? You can be liked and unliked with a click. The internet is freedom but anarchy reigns. Who can our children trust?
As a previous programmer at IBM, I know all too well the vulnerability of the computer systems that we rely on every minute of every day. How well can our industries and governments protect us against digital saboteurs?
Lethal Keystrokes highlights America’s vulnerability to its hidden fanatics – angry individuals with a driving desire for revenge. While blending in with neighbours and friends, they plot against us, not only through traditional methods but even more frighting ones.
America’s vulnerability is its hidden fanatics, those individuals who harbor fury, grief and a driving desire for revenge. While blending in with their neighbours, co-workers and customers, they plot the demise of their country. They have a network. They have resources. And they have the courage to make it happen.
Lethal Keystrokes is the gripping story of a small group of revenge seekers and those who try to keep America safe.
Samir massaged the base of his neck. He must have fallen asleep briefly but was relieved to discover everything remained on track: the reading lamp on his desk was still without power, the grid status light on his computer was blinking red and the reactor core temperature was climbing, albeit more slowly than he wished.
Perusing Wizner’s emails, he saw that repair operations had been suspended until the glitch in the dispatch system was resolved. That was good news and bad. The distraction of the grid problems had been quite useful. Without them, would the plant operators notice his real objective? Another crucial email sat in Wizner’s box just below the first, like a cherry ready to be picked from the tree. He opened it and committed the daily security code to memory.
On holidays, Lakeridge ran with only a skeleton staff, so the parking lot was mostly bare and the building appeared deserted. When he swiped through the lobby doors the security guard, seemly caught unawares, jumped up from his chair and waved him through, not bothering with the usual formalities.
“Working the Fourth of July, Mr. Wizner. There really must be a big problem.”
“That would be an understatement, Henry.”
With the plant on emergency power, he didn’t bother going to the ad- ministrative area. The control room had priority for electricity; his office and computer would be dark. Waving his badge in front of the reader, he punched in the day’s code and entered the operations area. The man at the console remained engrossed in his work, studying several readouts and tapping on his keyboard as Wizner approached.
“What you got, Derek?”
The day-shift operator, in his late thirties with long, perennially dirty- looking hair, looked up.
“Hey, glad to see you, boss. Man . . . you look like shit.” “Yeah, I’ve been better.”
“Like Brian told you on the phone, I’m beginning to think the entire system has gone wacky. The reported location of the fault keeps jumping around every few hours. Unless we can figure out the software problem, we’ll need to put eyes in the sky and locate the issue by chopper.”
“That is a very costly option. What else you got?”
“Every request to reroute power to resupply the city is being rejected.”
Johnny May’s Biology degree, his years at IBM as a programmer analyst, and his three decades as a practicing Medical Doctor uniquely qualify him to write this book. He knows people, he knows science and he knows computer systems. He also has a boundless imagination.
As a singer songwriter, under the name Johnny May, he has written songs for well-known Canadian artists and has released two CDs with songs popular on Spotify and YouTube.
His time is divided between his rural farm property near Toronto and the south of France.
Johnny May Words and Music — https://johnnymay.ca/