The Darkfall Switch (20 page)

‘Lucky!’ Foster exploded. ‘Hardly lucky for him.’

‘Probably not,’ Worzniak continued, ‘but I don’t want you to think it was anything but an accident, or that it had anything to do with me or my people.’

Then he stared hard at Foster and added, ‘Believe me, my Limey friend, this is something far bigger than you can understand. You’ve put a lot of our time and money at risk, and that’s something we can’t allow.’

‘But you intercepted the disk he gave me,’ Foster said. ‘If my government complains to yours and the police get involved they’ll be able to get statements from the hotel staff that prove it.’

Worzniak shrugged. ‘So what? We stopped you giving some important commercial information to your bosses, information that had been stolen from an American company. We have every right to stop industrial espionage.’

Foster stared at him. ‘But we have the disk with the software. It shows that the diagnostics and shut-down were connected.’

‘OK. So what?’

‘It proves that the Darkfall Switch did indeed shut down the plants.’

‘So? A screw-up, is all.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Foster said. ‘I think there’s more to it than that.’

‘Never mind what you think,’ Worzniak growled. ‘Just be a good engineer and report on what you actually know.’

‘I’m not backing down, Joe.’

Worzniak glared at him and said, ‘You still don’t understand, do you?’

‘Understand what?’

‘What this’s all about.’

‘There’s more?’ Foster questioned.

‘Believe me, Doctor Dan Foster, there’s a hell of a lot more.’

Foster shook his head slowly. ‘All this,’ he said, ‘just to conceal a dubious government subsidy? A subsidy of a flawed product?’

Worzniak stared at him intently. Then he frowned briefly and gave a harsh laugh. ‘You think that was it?’ he asked. ‘Just a cover-up of a commercial deal?’

‘Well, what else?’

Worzniak gave an evil grin as he leaned back in his chair and put his hands together, the fingertips at his lips. ‘You’ll never know, Foster,’ he said, almost under his breath, ‘you’ll never know.’

‘What’s to stop me telling Sir James that I think it’s a pack of lies?’ Foster said. ‘That you were involved. That the Switch was deliberate.’

‘Nothing,’ Worzniak said, a smirk on his face. ‘But you know we’ll deny it all. You haven’t got any proof. So what will you achieve? Nothin’; nix. No, if I was in your shoes I’d just get on with your technical investigation. Nice and simple. And anyway, it’s finished, just your final report.’

Angry silence descended on the room. Apart from the reference to the investigation being complete, Foster knew the American was right: he had no actual proof of anything.

Within a few minutes the ice was broken by Beckermann returning with his guest.

Ballantyne’s face showed that he had been impressed by his tour. ‘Amazing!’ he said. ‘Truly amazing. It’s quite an operation they’ve got here, Dan. I presume you’ve seen it?’

Foster nodded. Beckermann glowed with pride at the praise. ‘Let’s all sit down,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you what my people have found out about the problem, and what they’ve done.’

They sat round the table and Beckermann explained the nature of the
Darkfall ‘It’s a PRBS cross-correlator,’ he said.

Ballantyne looked at Foster for guidance.

‘As you know,’ Foster explained for Ballantyne’s benefit. ‘A
powerplant
’s a very complex system. A large multi-variable system. Everything’s fluctuating all the time – pressures, temperatures, flows.’

Ballantyne nodded to indicate that he understood thus far, so Foster went on, ‘It’s an interactive system too. So anything you do to one bit of it has some sort of effect on the rest.’

Ballantyne nodded again.

‘If you’re going to run any kind of diagnostics program, the problem is trying to sort out all the different interactions.’

‘Yes. And that’s where PRBS comes in,’ Beckermann elaborated.

‘It stands for Pseudo-Random Binary Sequence,’ Foster explained.

Ballantyne lifted his chin. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m aware of it.’

‘As the name says,’ Foster continued, ‘it’s a random signal. You inject it at a certain point, and then look for it to appear somewhere else. Because you generated it, you recognize it. It’s like a company logo, easily recognized.’

‘I see!’ Ballantyne said. ‘Or, at least, I think I see.’

Foster turned to Beckermann and asked, ‘So the Darkfall Switch is just a PRBS generator?’

‘Well, a bit more than that. There are a few more bits to it – like
cross-correlators
– but that’s essentially right.’

‘Cross-correlators?’ Ballantyne asked.

Beckermann explained: ‘The parts that look for corresponding reactions in the plant multi-variables when the PRBS signal is injected.’

Foster looked at him hard. ‘OK, I accept that,’ he said. ‘But why does it shut down the plant? If it’s what you say, surely it just tests it.’

Beckermann gave an innocent smile and spread his hands open. ‘You’re right. Of course it should never do that. But it seems the target systems were too sensitive. In the process of checking the system responses the Switch accidentally shut down the plant.’

‘How come?’

‘Some of the responses tripped alarms. Made the control system think that something’s gone wrong. The protection cuts in and shuts down the plant. For safety.’

It shifted the blame away from the company. It was by no means an admission of liability: that would have initiated massive insurance claims
which – even if they were settled – would damage the company’s credibility.

‘Let’s go over it,’ Foster said. ‘The Darkfall Switch was a diagnostic test which could be invoked from here.’

‘Right!’

‘And somehow the boy initiated it from his home computer.’

‘Correct!’

‘How come? Wasn’t it protected from an attack like that?’

‘It was,’ Beckermann said. ‘But the kid got past it. We’re fixing that. In fact, we’ve already sent out a software patch that deals with it.’

Again, it was a denial of liability: it was the criminal act of a hacker that had caused the problem.

Foster was still unhappy about the damage to the output cards. Beckermann’s explanation had been too glib, but it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that a power surge could have been the cause.

‘Then what about the self-erasing?’ Foster asked, looking at him hard for a reaction, but the American’s face maintained a bland innocence.

‘A glitch,’ Beckermann said. ‘We’ve fixed that too.’

‘A glitch!’ Foster exclaimed. ‘Come off it! Someone had to create the message “Self-erasing”. It had to be a definite intention.’

For a moment, he thought he could detect a flicker of concern on the American’s face. But then the innocent smile returned.

‘Who knows?’ Beckermann said with a shrug. ‘Some housekeeping thing. A clear-out routine to save memory. Anyhow, we’ve sorted that out too. It’s all in the patch.’

Foster shook his head slowly. But he realized Beckermann wasn’t going to budge. ‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘This patch, where’ve you sent it?’

‘To a couple of places where our engineers are still on site – commissioning. They’ve been asked to check it out. They’ve tried it and it works. We’re about to issue it to everybody in the next few days.’

Foster sighed. It sounded convincing. Beckermann’s claim was that the shut-downs at Queensborough and Grandford were no more than accidents. Then he turned to the American. ‘But why call it a switch?’

The CEO’s reply was evasive. ‘Don’t really know. Somebody dreamt it up, and somehow it stuck.’

It was hard to quarrel with that.

Ballantyne looked at Foster. ‘Are you happy with that, Dan?’

Foster took a deep breath. He was in fact far from satisfied. Yes,
superficially it made technical sense, and if that was all there was to it he’d have been entirely prepared to accept the proposition. The existence of a PRBS cross-correlator was hardly revolutionary and it was no surprise that the technology had been incorporated in PPD’s systems. The fact that it could accidentally trip the power stations’ protection system explained why they shut down. But it went nowhere near explaining why it self-erased when it had done its work, or why it destroyed the output cards. He was still convinced that there was something else involved; something that was so important that people had been murdered to protect the secret.

He felt defeated. They had come to Denver in an attempt to obtain a confession, but all he’d found was a plausible explanation which still left many unanswered questions.

‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m satisfied.’

He hoped Ballantyne didn’t notice that his shoulders had involuntarily slipped in defeat. He saw Worzniak let out a pent-up breath.

It was all over – for the moment at least.

The long flight back to London had been uneventful. Throughout the journey Foster had been in a sombre mood, and Ballantyne had not failed to notice the engineer’s distraction. He asked if anything was wrong and Foster had tried, with limited success, to reassure him that all was well. He blamed his quietness on his mind being distracted in planning his final report. Ballantyne seemed to suspect that there was more to it than that, because he tried asking a few questions. But when it became clear that Foster wasn’t going to unburden himself he gave up.

Foster’s mind was indeed elsewhere. They were still in the dark about the matter of the US Government’s commercial subsidy. But that was really none of his business: his mission had been to determine the technical issues, not to become involved in arguments about a possible subsidy, legal or not.

No, it was the Darkfall Switch that worried him. Had it been a fault in the Generation 300 system that had triggered the shutdown of two power stations, or had they tripped because they had over-reacted to the diagnostics? And if the system had been the cause, was it a simple design error, or was there something more sinister to it?

He had a deep, nagging suspicion that something else lay behind it, and the extraordinary lengths to which Worzniak had gone had provided even more evidence to support that view. He still couldn’t believe that people were prepared to resort to murder to cover an illegal subsidy: his adversaries, whoever they were, were acting more like gangsters than government officials.

But, gangsters or not, they were hiding something.

After they’d landed and cleared Customs and Immigration, they went their separate ways. Foster picked up his Morgan from the car-park and drove back to
Lake Goddess
from where he rang Queensborough power station.

‘Hi, Dan,’ Kirkland responded to his call. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I wanted to talk something over with you. Is now convenient?’

‘Now’s fine,’ Kirkland said. ‘What’s up?’

Foster took a deep breath. ‘Remember the reference to a Darkfall Switch that came up on the simulator?’ he asked. ‘Well, Powerplant Dynamics say that it’s a PRBS cross-correlator.’

After a short silence, Kirkland said. ‘That makes sense, Dan. You’d need something like that with remote diagnostics.’

‘I know, Bill,’ Foster said quietly. ‘But somehow it managed to shut down the simulated plant when I ran it.’

‘You’re right!’ Kirkland exclaimed. ‘Now why would a
cross-correlator
do that?’

‘That’s the big question. When I put that question to them, PPD said it was an error, and that they’re issuing a software patch that’ll fix it. They implied that the plant over-reacted. i.e. it wasn’t their fault.’

‘They would say that, wouldn’t they?’ Kirkland responded. ‘But the fact is, they haven’t issued anything to us over the last couple of weeks.’

‘It’s early days yet,’ Foster said. ‘They’ve only just worked it out and they’ve issued it to a couple of places where their engineers are still on site – for them to check it out thoroughly. They wouldn’t want to rush out a fix that was buggy.’

‘Too right.’

‘The patch’s passed muster apparently,’ Foster said, ‘so you should be getting it soon. But, Bill, look: when they do issue it to you, will you let me know? Before you do anything with it? I might come up and take a look, if that’s OK with you.’

And with that they ended the call.

Foster sat back in his chair and contemplated the scene outside. From somewhere behind the nearby trees a pale column of smoke was rising in the stillness, and a scent of burning leaves pervaded the air.

He decided that he had to bring Grant up to date. Ballantyne knew the essence of it, but Grant would be interested in the housekeeping
issues. Arnold Coward and Partners would need every loose end tied up and a full report submitted.

‘Well done,’ Grant said, when he’d finished outlining the past few days’ events. ‘I’ve heard from Sir James. He’s satisfied too.’ There was a moment’s hesitation before he said, ‘But he says he felt you had some remaining doubts. Is that right?’

‘No,’ Foster lied, trying to dismiss the thought with a laugh. ‘I was just very tired.’

‘I’m not surprised. You’ve been to America and back, what, three times in as many weeks?’

‘I guess so.’

At the end of the call he sighed and closed his eyes. The thoughts swirled round and round: was the fault in the Darkfall Switch really an accident, or was it a deliberate act. His mind favoured the latter, but why should anybody want to do that? His suspicions were just unproven conjecture.

He needed to discover the secret, but couldn’t see how to do it.

It was late in the afternoon when his mobile rang. He looked at the display but couldn’t recognize the caller’s number.

‘Dr Foster? Dan?’ the voice said, and when he responded, it said, ‘It’s Cyrus. Cyrus Proctor.’

‘Yes, hello, Cyrus. How are things?’ It seemed trite to say that to a man whose only son had been murdered, but what else could he say?

‘OK, Dan. But something strange has happened here. I thought you should know about it.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. You know I’m an architect?’

‘Yes. Partner in a big New York outfit, I believe.’

‘Yup. Well, we’ve got a project running with the Pentagon – the Department of Defense. It’s a big refurbishment job. It was being handled by one of the other partners in our outfit but he’s gone down sick, so I’ve taken it on.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘Thanks. But the point is this: I went down to Washington yesterday to go over some of the details with the people there, and when I went to the washroom I saw your friend going into an office just down the corridor.’

Foster was momentarily puzzled. ‘Joe Worzniak?’ he asked finally.

‘Yes.’

Foster froze.

‘You there still, Dan?’ he heard from the phone.

‘Er, yes. Sorry. Are you sure it was him?’

‘Absolutely,’ Proctor confirmed. ‘But that’s not all. I took a look at the office he went into. There was a board outside with his name on it. And that was what was odd.’

‘Why?’

‘Remember we were told that he was with the State Department?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, he isn’t. At first I thought he might just have been visiting, but the sign by the door said Office of Strategic Projects and his name was definitely there, in the list underneath. It was under the DoD banner.’

Foster’s mind reeled. So the OSP wasn’t within the State Department after all!

Foster’s amazement was complete. Why on earth should the Defense Department have any interest or involvement in the promotion of civilian power-station control systems?

But even as he framed the question, a dreadful thought began to form in his mind.

With an effort, he wrenched his thoughts back to Proctor and his message. ‘Thanks, Cyrus,’ he said. ‘Thanks very much. That’s very interesting indeed. Leave it with me.’

‘OK Dan, but … you’ll let me know what’s going on, won’t you?’ Proctor said. ‘Seems crazy, doesn’t it? What’s the DoD got to do with this?’

‘What indeed,’ Foster replied. It would have seemed even more strange to Proctor if he’d known more about the things that had been happening since his son’s death. Then another thought struck him and he asked, ‘This office – the one Joe went into – I don’t suppose you went in, by any chance?’

‘No,’ Proctor answered, giving a chuckle. ‘It’s like Fort Knox there, Dan. Need a pass-key to visit the john! But I did do something else: I took a walk along the corridor and you don’t have to be an architect to work it out. It’s a big office, Dan. Massive.’

After the call had ended Foster tried to make some sense of it. He needed to tell Grant what had happened.

‘It’s unbelievable,’ Grant said, slumping back in his chair. ‘The Department of Defense?’ Foster had travelled up to Coward’s offices to divulge the latest news about Worzniak. He nodded. ‘Apparently so. And that puts a totally different spin on things.’

‘I’m sure it does. But what do you think—?’

‘I think it begins to explain a thing or two,’ Foster interrupted. ‘And it explains why the Americans are desperate to conceal the truth.’

‘Oh?’

‘Well, I’ve come to a pretty alarming conclusion,’ Foster said, his voice grim. ‘Let’s just imagine a scenario.’

‘A scenario?’

‘Yes.’ He paused, gazing at Grant, wondering how he’d react to the bombshell he was about to drop. ‘Say,’ he said, ‘that somebody built a shutdown trigger into the control system of a power station. One that would allow them to more or less switch it off at will.’

Grant goggled. ‘Good Lord! So it wasnae a mistake?’

‘No. But it gets worse.’

‘Worse?’

‘Yes. Look. By somebody’s clever undercutting of the competition, Generation 300 systems are now in control of power stations right round the world. Dozens of them, possibly hundreds even. Whoever’s set this up has their hands around the throats of every one of those power companies – and therefore the countries they’re in. They can hold virtually any country to ransom.’

‘You mean extortion?’

‘At first I considered that,’ Foster said. ‘In this weird fantasy land that I’ve found myself in, it sounded like it could be a real possibility.’

‘But surely all this wouldn’t be within the compass of a criminal gang?’ Grant asked weakly.

‘No, I think not,’ Foster said, with a shake of his head. ‘That’s the first thought I had, but when I thought about how it could work I decided it just wasn’t credible. If whoever runs this operation were to issue a threat to the user, it would be very easily blocked. It’s a simple matter of unhooking the communication link from the outside world and carrying on working. No, it’s strictly a one-off thing.’

‘So not criminals,’ Grant said, sounding relieved. ‘Not an attempt at extortion.’

‘No,’ Foster replied. Grant gave a premature sigh of relief.

‘But the alternative is even more scary,’ Foster continued. ‘Worzniak works for the DoD; he’s been able to channel funding to the subsidies – massive funding that made this all possible. The villain is the Department of Defense itself.’

‘Lord!’ Suddenly a bleak look came to Grant’s face. He had clearly come to the same conclusion Foster had reached some hours earlier, and had been equally appalled.

‘Yes indeed,’ Foster voiced the Scotsman’s thoughts. ‘Can’t you just see the headlines: “US Government threat to the world”?’

Grant shook his head in disbelief. Then he looked at Foster and said, ‘I have to make a call.’

Foster nodded. He had been expecting it. This affair had passed well beyond the original limits.

Grant called Sir James Ballantyne and briefly summarized the ideas that Foster had expounded to him. During the conversation he kept his eyes on the ceiling, only dropping his gaze from time to time to look briefly at Foster. Then he waited, listening and nodding from time to time. Finally he hung up the phone and cleared his throat.

‘This escapade has just moved up a gear,’ he said.

Some days later, Foster was called to a meeting in Ballantyne’s office. Sir James was there, with Mrs Andrews, whom Foster had met at the start of this affair. Grant was there as was – Foster saw with some pleasure – his original contact, Ian Forsyth. Clearly, this affair had shifted its emphasis from the technical back to the political.

Ballantyne looked tired. He sat opposite Foster and absentmindedly fingered a thick file on his desk as he spoke. ‘This is an unholy mess, Dan.’

‘Certainly. But there it is. Unpalatable as the facts may be, I can only tell you what I’ve found.’

‘Quite. Quite.’ Ballantyne nodded. ‘But what started out as a simple matter of tracing a computer hacker and finding what he’d done, has led to this: an allegation that the American Government, or at least somebody in their Department of Defence, has launched a deliberate attempt to gain a stranglehold on power stations right round the world.’

‘Have you asked the Americans about it?’ Foster asked.

‘We have,’ Ballantyne replied. ‘They’ve become very defensive, which
only confirms what we suspect. But anyway, we now know that the whole matter is controlled by the US Department of Defense. We’ve managed to confirm that this department Joe Worzniak works for, the Office of Strategic Projects, is indeed part of the DoD. Again, the Americans are quite coy about it – wouldn’t admit to it, in fact – but we’ve been able to confirm it to our own satisfaction.’ He smiled at Foster and added, ‘But there’s something else. Since we started making enquiries, the sign outside their office in the Pentagon has disappeared. The people are all still there – just about – but now they’re anonymous. Also, there are indications that some major work’s afoot. It seems they may have started to relocate, and it’s apparently quite a complex operation. Our people have seen signs of vast quantities of electronic equipment being moved out of there.’

‘You’ve got spies in the Pentagon?’ Foster questioned, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

Ballantyne laughed and said, ‘Not spies exactly. But we have many day-to-day dealings with the Pentagon on defence matters, and we’ve asked our people to keep an eye on that area.

‘But that’s another issue. The main point is that the US Administration denies any conspiracy.’

‘That’s a good one,’ Foster said. ‘Surely we’ve got enough evidence by now to convince them that we know the truth?’

‘You’d have thought so,’ Ballantyne said, ‘but they stoutly deny it. However, we’ve had a tipoff that it was a way-out idea that was initiated a year or two ago by the previous administration – they were rather hawkish you know – and that when the new people discovered its existence they didn’t like it at all, started to shut it down and tried to cover up any hint that it had ever existed.’

‘But Worzniak’s office is still there!’ Foster said. ‘Even though your people have reported that they’re dismantling it now.’

‘Ah yes,’ Ballantyne said. ‘There does seem to be some frantic work in progress. But to admit that we are aware of it would tell the Americans of our people informing on the activities. All in all, it’s better that doesn’t happen.’ He looked at Foster before going on, ‘And, anyway, we think that the cover-up has now taken a new turn.’