The Darkfall Switch (13 page)

But Beckermann quickly interrupted him with a wave of his hand before he could blurt out anything more. ‘All right,’ the company chief admitted, ‘I don’t know how you found out about it, but the Darkfall Switch is a very closely guarded secret. It’s a brand new concept. It’s a subroutine, part of the remote diagnostics system. It allows our engineers working from our headquarters to check the health of any system, even one on the other side of the world.’

‘But that’s not new. Lots of systems have remote diagnostics.’

‘Not like this,’ Beckermann snapped. ‘The existing systems monitor only the hardware and software of the control computers; Darkfall is a totally new concept. It monitors the plant as well. When it’s fully deployed, our clients will be able to tell if a motor bearing is running hot, if a pump is about to fail. It will give them the ability to fix things even before the plant begins to suffer in any way. It’s a very powerful tool, and it’s the ace up our sleeve.’

‘And it’s nothing to do with a shutdown system?’ Foster asked, watching Beckermann’s face.

But there were no visual telltales as he gave the stark answer. ‘No. Absolutely not.’

‘And there’s nothing in Darkfall that could have been triggered by the hacker, which would have caused a shutdown.’

‘No. Darkfall monitors the plant and all its systems. It doesn’t carry out any executive commands.’

There was a long silence, during which Foster stared at the CEO. Did he really mean what he said, or was he lying? If he was he must have been a good poker player, because there had been nothing in his expression to provide any clue.

Then he turned his attention to Worzniak. He had recovered his composure. The rage had been replaced now; his expression was implacably stoic.

Once again, it was Foster who broke the silence. ‘OK, if it’s nothing to do with any type of ESD system,’ he asked, ‘if it’s part of the remote diagnostics system, then why call it a switch? That’s an odd title for a diagnostics package, isn’t it?’

‘These computer people,’ Worzniak interrupted dismissively, shrugging as he spoke. ‘They dream up all sorts of crazy names, like “Windows” and “Google”. Don’t amount to a hill of beans.’

‘But why Darkfall?’ Foster repeated. ‘It’s surely unfortunate to use a word with blackout connotations, particularly in a power-station control system.’

‘There’s nothing sinister in it,’ Beckermann said. ‘Not at all. Darkfall was the name we gave to the diagnostic routine. The reasons are long gone now. Forgotten. That’s the end of it.’

Foster stared at them, one after another. He addressed his next question to Matthews, ‘OK, but tell me, this Darkfall Switch that you were working on, if it was going to be sold generally, it would take a lot of engineering work for each new contract, wouldn’t it?’

No two power stations are the same: some burn gas, some oil, some coal. And some are nuclear. Although controlling each type of plant involves using broadly similar concepts, in fact the fine details are all very different. And then, even if you divide them into groups, such as those that burn the same type of fuel, you still can’t have one solution for every plant in each group: each plant is different from the rest.

‘Sure!’ Matthews answered. ‘Although the basic principles are the same, you’re right, there wouldn’t be a “one size fits all” solution. We’d have to deploy dedicated engineering teams to customize each system.’

Foster grunted. Then he changed tack and asked, ‘You know that when the two British plants tripped they both experienced hardware failures?’

‘What hardware failures?’ Beckermann asked innocently, as though this was news to him.

‘The output drivers failed. They all had to be replaced.’

‘Oh yes,’ Beckermann said, furrowing his brow as if a faint memory had returned. ‘Yeah. I remember now.’

I bet you remember!
Foster thought. They were all under guarantee, so PPD had been obliged to replace them free of charge. The financial loss should have burned into his mind.

‘It was triggered by the outage,’ Beckermann continued. ‘When the units tripped there was a power surge. Those cards were vulnerable. That’s why they failed. We’ve upgraded them now, though. Won’t happen again.’

It was a possible explanation: in fact, Foster had considered it himself when he first heard of the failures. When a generator that’s been pumping out millions of kilowatts is suddenly cut off from its connected load, the carefully balanced power system surrounding it is suddenly thrown into chaos. Voltages swing wildly, and any weak design becomes vulnerable. Under such circumstances, it is quite feasible that some components may be stressed to the point of failure. It was always a matter of balance: the stronger the design, the greater the cost. Somewhere, a compromise would always have been made, and in this case it could have been that the wrong decision was taken.

And that was about as far as anyone would go. In spite of coming at them from a variety of angles, Foster could wring nothing further from them that day.

But there was one more interesting development: when he asked for a disk with examples of the diagnostics routine, Beckermann curtly refused. Surprisingly he looked for support from Worzniak, and received it. Foster was told in no uncertain terms that this was commercially secret information, and could not be handed over. ‘Not without a court order,’ Worzniak said and then added with a sneer, ‘And you’ll never get that.’

As he left, Foster wondered even more about Worzniak. Initially he had thought that he had been no more than a civil servant assigned by the US Government to liaise with the British, to smooth paths and open doors. But Worzniak seemed to be much more than that: it was quite clear that he had deep and extensive involvement with PPD and with its chief executive officer.

Janet moved restlessly in his arms. It was dark, but she was still on
London time. Foster, on the other hand, having had a little more time there, had already adapted somewhat to the time difference and her movement woke him from a deep sleep. Sensing that she was awake, he kissed her neck and whispered, ‘It’s three o’clock.’

‘God!’ she complained. ‘Is it really? I’m wide awake.’

‘I know. I’ve been here a day longer than you and I’m still feeling the jet-lag.’

When he had picked up his key at the front desk at the Brown Palace after returning from his inconclusive meeting, the clerk had told him that Janet had arrived and gone up to their room. He had found her asleep and it had been only after some difficulty that he had managed to get her to rise and eat. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘you’re not hungry. But if you don’t eat something now you’ll be starving in a few hours.’

She had finally seen the sense of this argument, got out of bed and thrown on one of the hotel’s white fluffy gowns. Foster ordered from the room-service menu: he had no desire to go down to the hotel restaurant, excellent as it was, because he knew Worzniak would be there.

Having eaten their meals they went to bed. Now, still concerned that she should get more sleep, he released her from his embrace and turned his back to her.

‘Where are you going?’ she whispered.

‘Nowhere. I just felt you needed to sleep.’

‘Silly!’

‘Well, perhaps
I
need to sleep.’

He could feel the warmth of her body against him as she snuggled up to him and then her hand reached over and stroked his chest. Then it moved down over his belly.

She snorted. ‘Asleep indeed!’

‘Yes, really.’

‘What’s this then?’

‘OK. But the rest of me’s asleep.’

‘Fine!’ she said as she threw the blankets off him and reached down. ‘I’ll engage with this old fellow. The rest of you can stay asleep: I won’t be able to talk to the rest of you for a bit anyway.’

She paused, switched on the bedside lamp and dimmed it until their naked bodes were lit by a dull orange glow. He kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep. He heard her chuckle and then she returned to her pleasant task.

He smiled as he felt her long hair brush against his belly.

She was very, very good. His head pressed back against the pillows and he arched his back in ecstasy as her head moved up and down. He opened his eyes and looked down: when she moved her head up he could see that her saliva had made his skin glisten in the pale light.

He laid his head back on the pillow and shut his eyes.

After a while he touched her shoulder and whispered, ‘I’m very near.’

She stopped, smiled at him and said, ‘Well, don’t stop me now.’ Then she returned to her occupation.

Realizing her intention, he closed his eyes and reached down to thread his fingers through her hair, pressing her down on him. In response, the movement of her head became more violent and suddenly his world exploded.

After the blaze of lights in his head had died down he let out the breath that had been pent-up inside him, seemingly for hours. In the dim light she slid up against him so that she was looking into his now open eyes. ‘Nice?’

He sighed. ‘Fabulous!’

She gazed at him for a long while and then traced the outline of his lips with her finger. ‘Mr Dan Foster,’ she whispered, ‘you’re really something. I didn’t thank you for bringing me here in First Class. That was by way of saying it.’

Then she bent her head and they kissed. His tongue explored hers, tasting the saltiness in her mouth.

When she eventually lay back he said, ‘Well, Ms Coleman, that does it. All of me’s thoroughly awake now.’

She looked at the digital clock beside the bed. ‘What’s on American TV at nearly four in the morning?’ she asked.

‘Loads of rubbish. Not that it’s much better in the day anyway.’

She reached for the remote and eventually found a news channel.

While they watched he told her about his meeting in Broomfield.

‘This Joe Worzniak,’ she said, ‘he sounds quite a piece of work.’

‘Perhaps I’m too suspicious, but I feel I need to be very wary of him.’

He pressed the remote and skipped through the endless variety of chat shows and product demos before finally returning to the news channel.

‘Well,’ he said eventually. ‘After that, we should be well up on world events.’

She laughed. ‘Oh yeah? All I’ve learned about is a bit of American scandals, politics and sport.’

He managed to get a few minutes of fitful sleep before dawn lit the room and he rose. ‘Time we got ready for breakfast.’

Partly to avoid meeting Worzniak, and partly because he preferred it anyway, he had ordered breakfast from the room-service menu and when it was delivered they lay with their trays on their laps, enjoying fruit juice, bacon and eggs, toast and coffee.

‘I’m glad you asked for the “Full American”,’ he said, grinning at her, ‘instead of your usual fruit-juice-and-toast nonsense.’

‘So am I,’ she agreed. ‘I’m starving.’

When they’d finished she asked about the day’s agenda.

‘Nothing much,’ he answered. ‘I’ve got to do my duty and say goodbye to my friend Joe Worzniak. You know, he seemed really disappointed that I didn’t want to have breakfast with him!’

She ignored the irony in his tone. ‘You don’t have to go back to Broomfield?’

‘No. I’ve got as much as I’m going to get from them now. At least I know that they have some kind of subroutine being developed for their system, and it’s called the Darkfall Switch. They deny it was installed in the UK, or that it could cause a shutdown, They say that it’s still under development, but I’m pretty sure it was included in the system they shipped to England and that, somehow, young Luke Proctor managed to initiate it from his home computer.’ He looked thoughtfully out of the window at the tall towers glistening in the clear, golden early-morning light of the mountains. ‘What still puzzles me though, is why, if they are lying and they do have a shutdown routine, they made such a huge mistake.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Well, PPD are extremely competent. Yes, it seems quite legitimate to develop something new and to keep it under wraps until you’ve tested it fully. Then you announce it to the world and start selling it. And then, because it’s already included in the system, making it operational is very simple. The customer hands over a fat cheque; they hand over the key that makes the shutdown subroutine active, and away you go.’

‘What’s their mistake, then?’

‘Making the shutdown routine so easily accessible to the outside world. For a start, there’s absolutely no reason why it should be
accessible to anybody other than the engineers at the plant. Then, even if there was some reason I can’t fathom, they’d have to be very careful to protect it from hackers. But there’s always a risk that someone could break in. It’s like having a sophisticated burglar-alarm system installed in your house and then leaving the keycode to turn it on or off written down on a slip of paper that you put under a stone near the front door. OK, it’s hidden, but anybody who does find it can simply walk in and clean out your valuables.’

‘A mistake?’ she offered. ‘Or just simple carelessness?’

‘It’s possible that it was carelessness,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘But as I said, PPD’s an extremely competent company, with years of experience on power stations and computers. It seems incredible that they’d make such a big mistake.’ He thought for a minute or so before concluding, ‘And I’m still worried about that subroutine, Darkfall. They say it’s a powerful diagnostics tool and that it has nothing to do with the shutdown system, but I’d love to know more about what it does and how it works.’

She sipped at her coffee in silence and then asked, ‘That name, “Darkfall”? It feels creepy to me.’

He laughed. But he had an uneasy feeling about it too.

Their thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the bedside telephone. When Foster heard the caller’s voice, his eyebrows arched in surprise. It was Joel Matthews.

‘Doctor Foster,’ he said. His voice sounded nervous. He stammered, ‘Th … there’s something I need … S-something I’d like to talk with you about. It’s important.’

‘That’s fine, Joel,’ Foster said, trying to keep his voice calm and reassuring. ‘Go ahead.’