PREVIEW

MORNING IN BOISE dawned clear and crisp, cooled by a brisk north wind.  Don Plummer, Deputy Director of the Idaho State Police, had arrived at his office at six o’clock. Wearing khaki pants and a long-sleeve camo shirt, instead of his customary uniform, everyone knew he would be in for only a few minutes before leaving to go fishing at his ranch near Mackay. He made the rounds, checking with John Tilden, the Watch Commander, reviewing overnight activity, and talking to the squad leader whose team had busted a meth lab at 0340 hours. His last stop was his own desk where he found a post-it note. His friend and fishing partner, Mike Paxton, was on an international call, and didn’t expect they could leave before ten. 

Don spent this unexpected time focused on his illicit drug money interception task force. Pocatello had been identified as the primary port of entry for drugs into the state. Eighteen months later, he now had three undercover agents paying cash for larger and larger quantities of cocaine. They had tracked the money to Salt Lake and Denver but no further. 

* * *

Concluding his call with the French Minister of Defense, Mike’s cell phone pinged with a text from his cousin, Jack:

Can’t believe you bailed. Largest terrorist attack since 9/11. French government vs. Agnew’s state playoff game. Worried about your priorities. Bought the 60 heifers. Brought in 45 yesterday. Unloaded the rest on the back quarter of your home place. Dropped the trailer behind the house. Running late. On my way to the pep rally.
 

Smiling to himself, he responded:

Killin’ me. Didn’t think we’d close this French power grid thing this fast. Let ’em know I’m thinking of ’em. Better win. See you next week.  
 

Hitting send, Mike closed his office door and hurried out, his phone showing ten minutes after ten. He felt proud of what they’d accomplished. The French Minister was effusive with platitudes. In two and a half days, Mike, creator and owner of Zia Cybersecurity, and his team had identified and repaired an electrical power grid software glitch, which instigated a power outage for all of Paris and the surrounding region. In the process, they’d identified those responsible.

Don had been waiting a few minutes in Mike’s downtown building’s parking garage when he walked up. “Sorry for the delay. Finishing Paris’s national power grid hack and blackout from Tuesday.”

“The City of Lights, suddenly dark,” Don responded with a laugh. “Interesting tactic. I mean, targeting a city’s infrastructure puts the public at risk. International flights, traffic lights, public transportation, elevators, hospitals, supply chains, industrial production units of all shapes and sizes. Lose power or water, and you’re in big trouble. Serves as a warning to a lot of countries whose electrical grids are at risk. This is a new level of terrorism. An entire city, a nation, impacted. Your teams finding them in less than forty-eight hours indicates they’re not professional criminals. Was it sanctioned by a known terrorist group?” 

“No one’s taken credit,” Mike replied as he and Don transferred his gear into his new Cadillac Escalade. “Takes me back to 9/11. Bin Laden targeted our military, form of government, and economy. Not sure what these guys are trying to say. But enough business,” he said with a laugh. “Good morning! Weatherman says snow should hold off till late Sunday. When it comes, supposed to bring a foot or more. I’ve caught lots of fish as the pressure falls ahead of a cold front. Not true for everyone.”  He slid into the driver’s seat, pressing his key fob to lower the tailgate behind their packs. “Pack your long johns? Snow or not, it’s gonna be cold.”

 
“What’s the deal? You’ve had this beauty for two weeks, and you’re ready to take it on a fishing trip in bad weather? Still got that new car smell,” Don mused, taking a gratuitous sniff as he buckled his seat belt.

 
“Bought it to hunt and fish, not to see and be seen. If the weatherman’s right, we’ll discover how it does in a good snow.”

“Won’t quibble. Looks good, bet it rides even better. Packed my wool socks and rain gear, so I’m ready. Even for a Paris do-over. We’ve got redundant power sources on the ranch,” he explained as he glanced around. “Man, this is nice. Heated and cooled seats, voice command radio. Looks like it can do everything but drive itself and cook your breakfast.” Don smiled in approval. 

“Thanks. Got the radio, if you wanna listen to some country music when we’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

“You’ve got Wi-Fi – all the bells and whistles. Should’ve called. I’d have driven while you took your morning call, and we’d have our hooks wet by now.” Don laughed. “What time did you go in last night?”  

“A little before three to refine our presentation. Worked with the Pentagon and State Department to ensure the security of data transfer lines and started the call at six.” 

“What are they, seven hours ahead of us?”

“Eight.”

“So, it was two o’clock, Friday afternoon in Paris when you started? Glad they didn’t put themselves out while you solved their problems.” 

“One of the joys of international clients. Been workin’ this case nonstop since Tuesday.” Mike checked the road before pulling out of the parking garage and into the morning traffic.

“What are you, a full-service bank? Thought you were cyber specialists.”

Maneuvering through light traffic, Mike turned north onto Orchard. “Taking care of business. They provided a Persons Of Interest list. Once we discovered and repaired the infraction, we used their cell phones to track their locations. Turns out none of their suspected bad guys were involved. We’ve helped governments around the world with hundreds of terrorist encounters in the last eighteen-plus years. They always leave an electronic trail. In this case, they made no attempt to hide their tracks. Focused on achieving their goal and didn’t seem to care if they got caught.”

Staying in the left lane, Mike made the light, passed under US184, turned onto the feeder ramp and entered northbound Idaho highway 20/26. “I enjoy raging at you about being a prepper, but this attack could prove you right. You’ve been at it a while and, from what I’ve seen, you’re as prepared as anyone for an infrastructure attack. How’d you start that, anyway?”  Mike asked. 

“It starts with a list. Do you have water, food, power, gear, a clear path to safety, and transportation? A pocketknife leads to a survival machete, a flashlight to a lantern and on to survival candles. Before long, you’ve got food for six months, a way to stay warm, water plus access to more, and the ability to make do in any circumstance.”
“You’re in pretty deep. How’d you get Nancy to buy into all that?”

“She’s from Pocatello; her grandparents owned a hundred-acre place near Preston. She loved going there as a girl. We both have Mormon roots and believe in the storage of foodstuffs, basics. Our place is a working ranch, and I used to kid her that she married me to spend time there. When the kids finish college, if we’re not too old and decrepit, we’ll retire there.”

Don laid out why he’d invested most of his inheritance, savings, and a large portion of his disposable income in his retreat. The house, made of reinforced concrete, slept ten with a pantry stocked to feed them for a hundred-eighty days. Additional storage in the basement provided foodstuffs for another two years. With solar panels, gasoline and diesel-powered generators, a wind-powered operation enough to keep his surveillance and communications systems operational indefinitely, he was power independent.

“Each year, chains of interdependence lengthen,” he continued as the city began to disappear behind them. “Most kids today think milk comes in plastic bottles. They’ve no idea what it takes to put it on their table. They don’t grasp that most of what they eat, wear, or own comes from supply chains thousands of miles long, creating an alarming vulnerability to disruption. No one cares except at Christmas. Lynchpin is the grid. Without functioning power grids, modern industrial societies will collapse within weeks.”
Nodding his agreement, Mike added, “Look at France. International travel, their airports, train stations, their stock market, food, and hospitals. Every part of their lives was impacted. It’ll take months for them to return to last week’s functionality,”

 
Don held court. “Global economies, and interdependence, we lose electricity, access to clean water, loss of communications, transportation, any of our infrastructure, and it would impact our lives for years. It’s planning, study, and practice. For Nancy and me, our Achilles heel is the distance between where we live and where we need to be if disaster strikes. Having multiple roads to access our rescue house helps. Preparedness isn’t just accumulating a pile of stuff. You better know how to use it.” 

 “One caveat might throw a wrench into your plan,” Mike warned. “As Deputy Director, you hold a lot of responsibility within the state government. I can’t think of a scenario involving an act of terrorism or a natural disaster where you and Nancy, with her obligations at the hospital, wouldn’t play essential roles in dealing firsthand with the disaster. You two are poster children for ‘stay the course, fight the good fight.’ What would you do if Boise were in imminent danger?”

“You’re right. We’ve thought it through and know we’d stay to the bitter end. Still, when we’d done all we could do, this is where we’d come,” Don added.

Thirty minutes into their trip, they fell silent. Don worked on his laptop and his money laundering task force. Mike thought about that morning’s text exchange with his cousin and his conversation with the French Defense Minister. He’d been packed and on his way to the airport when the call came in from Paris. He would call his cousin and reschedule his trip for this coming week. 

‘Thank you, Dr. Paxton. You and your Zia Cybersecurity company have gone above and beyond this time,’ the Defense Minister had said. ‘We’re grateful to you for the quality and speed of your help. We’ll be telling many others of your good work.’

He was pleased all had gone well, and he’d shared the Minister’s comments with the project team. He’d also received a personal email from the Minister soon after the formal conclusion of their meeting, saying France would donate a million dollars to the Jessica Duncan Paxton Foundation and that similar contributions would be forthcoming from several French corporations and private industrialists. 

He remembered a conversation with Sally three months before their wedding, which reinforced how far they had come. 

“If we stay in New York, Daddy can provide all the legal help we need. He’s the managing partner and knows a lot of influential people. He can help us start,” she’d said.

 
“I don’t doubt it for a second,” he’d responded. “New York’s your home, and a happy wife makes a happy life and all. I’m going to marry my best friend, a beautiful girl who’s way smarter than me. What I love most about you is you think things through, trust your own ability and work hard to achieve your goals. Zia’s our dream. I’m asking you to jump into the deep end of the pool. The one thing your Dad can’t provide is talent. Silicon Valley’s home to the best and the brightest. I can recruit them, but they won’t move to New York. Zia’s built on a solid concept, so if we work hard, it’ll grow beyond our wildest dreams.”

Zia, started in San Francisco in a rent-free space provided by his uncle, began to install cybersecurity systems for industry, education, and local government agencies. Mike’s world swung from development to production to sales, back to production and then back to development. It was a wild ride, but in three years they’d had clients in the private sector, government, and international marketplace. Everyone was getting hacked, and nobody wanted to be next. IBM, GM, Ford, ConAgra, everyone afraid their competitor, or the French, Chinese or Russians could break through their electronic firewalls and steal their trade secrets, client lists, or their next, best idea. 

As Mike drove, the sheer vastness of the mountains and the glacier-created valley, so different from his native Texas, prompted his recollection of his decade-old arrival in Boise. He’d met Don, a then 48-year-old, tall, easy-going lawyer turned policeman, while he shopped for proper gray wolf ammunition. New to town and a novice wolf hunter, he’d appreciated Don’s willingness to share his insight into the hunt. 

Over coffee, Don had immediately recognized the name Zia Cybersecurity. “We use you and have recommended you to the governor and every agency and local police department in the state,” Don had volunteered before asking how he’d come to Boise.

Mike had shared how a senseless traffic accident cost him his wife and parents on the same day their infant daughter hadn’t survived a heart transplant. “I’ll admit,” Mike had said, “I was pretty undone after the funerals. My in-laws were very gracious and encouraged me to bury my wife and baby in our family plot in Texas. Sally was their only child, and it was hard for them. I’ll forever be grateful. San Francisco’s many benefits, including its proximity to a major talent pool, meant moving Zia wasn’t an option, but I was surrounded by memories.”

His need for a respite inspired his search for a place with a strong work history, progressive city leadership, and a diverse economy. He found it in Boise and relocated the administration, sales, and service of Zia there. He’d also been impressed with Don’s insight and his kind words about his newly formed foundation in his daughter’s name.  
“Boise’s open and inviting, and a complete change from the dense, compact city by the bay,” Don had advocated. “It offers a new environment, new people, and an option for your employees. You also have easy access to the outdoors.”

“You work part time for The Chamber of Commerce?”
Don chuckled. “No, raised here and enjoy the challenge of hunting and fishing, time alone in nature.”

“Hunted coyotes as a kid, appreciate the wolf tips. Caught a lot of bass, but I’m struggling to learn to fly fish.”

Thus began a great friendship.