The Darkfall Switch (23 page)

It would be done in an instant; the necessary systems were already in place, awaiting the command.

As the full implications dawned on them, Ballantyne asked, ‘But surely all missile sites have backup generators?’

Worzniak gave a bitter laugh. ‘They do,’ he said, ‘but if our own experience is anything to go by they take a few seconds to start up – that is, if they start up at all. They’re not always reliable and they’re often badly maintained. In the meantime, computers will have crashed everywhere. Anyway, the confusion would all add to the delay in launching.’

From bitter experience Foster knew he was right. He had seen backup systems fail simply because nobody had bothered to check the batteries
that they relied on when blackouts hit. Others had failed as soon as they were called into action, because they quickly overheated – for the simple reason that the air filters in their cooling systems had been allowed to get clogged with dust.

‘Anyways,’ Worzniak continued, ‘think of all the other troubles brought on by a massive blackout: traffic lights failing, trains stopping—’

Foster interrupted with, ‘Like we saw in London this summer. Only worse.’ His tone was acid.

‘Good Lord!’ Ballantyne exclaimed. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really,’ Foster said. ‘Think of it. A nation on the brink of war, and suddenly it loses all power: computers crash, traffic jams erupt, trains come to a standstill. Just when command and communication systems are particularly vital.’

‘And that’s not all,’ Worzniak said.

All attention focused on him. He paused for dramatic effect before asking, ‘Your people use cellphones? Satnav?’

‘Of course,’ Grant and Ballantyne chorused.

Foster stared at the American as a horrible realization began to dawn on him. Suddenly he saw that the Darkfall routine was only one part of a complex and multi-faceted group of disabling systems.

Worzniak saw his expression and grinned. ‘Yup! That’s right, all your systems are controlled by the US.’

‘Surely not!’ Grant exclaimed.

‘Surely yes!’ Worzniak mimicked. ‘Your satnav systems are based on the US Department of Defense’s Global Positioning System. Remember how it was when it started? How the military and law-enforcement agencies were scared of terrorists using it to pinpoint targets? How they introduced measures to make it unreliable?’

Grant nodded. ‘Yes, but that was resolved. We all use satnav now. It’s accurate and reliable.’

Foster shook his head slowly. ‘That’s because the Americans condescended to drop the tricks they used to make it unreliable.’

‘Right on!’ Worzniak said exultantly. ‘You were suckered.’

‘The DoD could revert to making it unreliable any time they wanted,’ Foster elaborated. ‘In an instant.’

‘Correct!’ Worzniak said. ‘Or we could effectively switch it right off.’

They all stared at him as he went on, ‘All those expensive satellites circling up there, all the hardware on the ground; they’re all provided
free for use by anybody in the whole world, courtesy of the DoD! Aren’t we just too generous? Well, remember the old saying, “There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch”? Now here’s proof that it’s right.’

Now Foster understood the implications of Ballantyne’s words at their earlier meeting when he’d said that the Office of Strategic Projects in the Pentagon was being closed down and that vast quantities of electronic equipment were being moved out. At the time he had briefly wondered what this equipment could have been; now he was beginning to understand. The OSP would have required sophisticated links to many other systems, links that would in an instant enable them to issue commands to all of them.

He shook his head as the full understanding began to dawn: it was not only the Global Positioning System, it was far more. ‘It’s the Time Standard, isn’t it?’ he asked.

Worzniak nodded.

‘What do you mean?’ Ballantyne asked.

Foster explained. ‘American agencies such as the National Institute of Standards and Technology and the Naval Observatory provide the information that maintains a single, uniform time system around the world.’

Ballantyne’s eyes widened. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Virtually every electronic system needs careful time synchronization. If the central source of accurate time information is lost, we’d lose satellite communications, mobile phone networks … who knows what else?’

‘Right!’ Foster said. ‘And it’s so important that the time standards are very carefully backed up.’

‘Got it!’ Worzniak said. ‘But by issuing a single command we could effectively shut it all – main and backup systems. At a stroke.’

‘Think of it!’ Foster said. ‘From that one location they could black out an enemy state and disrupt all of its communications systems. You want thirty minutes of chaos? You’d have hours!’

Grant and Ballantyne looked stunned. Finally Ballantyne asked, ‘All this was planned?’

‘Yes!’ Worzniak said. ‘By my previous bosses.’

‘And the present administration went along with it?’ Ballantyne asked.

Worzniak’s voice showed a trace of grudging chagrin as he answered, ‘Not exactly. In fact, when they found out about it they were pretty damn unhappy. On one hand they could see the military advantages, but
on the other they weren’t comfortable with the idea of being seen as the big bad wolf, in absolute control of the world’s entire electronic and communications systems.’

Grant sighed and quietly observed, ‘We do live in a complex world, dominated by electronics.’

‘Right!’ Worzniak said.

Foster broke from his thoughts and shook his head again as he said, ‘And then the London incident happened.’

Worzniak looked at him for a few moments before answering. ‘Right! That clinched it. Suddenly we had massive collateral damage on our hands, a major ally suffering a disaster. One that we’d caused. Forget the kid; he just stumbled across it. We – the DoD, that is – we’d set it up.’

‘But why didn’t they shut down the OSP then?’ Foster asked. ‘Right away, before anybody could find out? The trail would’ve gone cold then.’

‘Panic!’ Worzniak said. ‘Sheer fuckin’ panic. Stalled like scared rabbits in the headlights. As I said, even the doubters could see the military advantages of Darkfall. And while they argued and did nothing, you started digging around, went to Colorado, saw what was going on and got that disk from Matthews. Then the shit really hit the fan; the order to eliminate all traces went out, but it was much too late.’

The stunned silence that followed was finally broken by Grant asking, ‘And now? What’s happened now?’

Worzniak snorted. ‘Some smart-ass’s decided to pin it all on me. Hang me out to dry. Conveniently, I’d have been eliminated, so I couldn’t defend myself, but I’d have been the patsy all right. They’d’ve claimed that it had been a hare-brained scheme dreamt up by someone in the past and they’d shut it down as soon as they found out about it.

‘They’ve already eliminated all traces of the Darkfall Switch, so nobody’ll be able to prove it ever existed. The rest they can deny.’

Foster, Ballantyne and Grant looked at each other. Finally Ballantyne shrugged, opened his hands on the table in front of him in a questioning gesture and said, ‘So there it is.’ He shook his head slowly as he added, ‘So, gentlemen, we have an unholy mess on our hands.’

‘Why’s that?’ Foster asked. ‘Surely all the ends are tied up now?’

‘I just wish it were so simple,’ Ballantyne replied. ‘But look at what we have: first, we now have definite confirmation that this summer’s blackout was not the result of an accident; second, the cause has been
definitely indentified; third, the risk of a repetition on similar lines has been eliminated – at least, as far as we can tell. That’s the good news. The bad news is that we know that the American Department of Defense promoted the system that caused the disaster. In other words, they were directly responsible for it.’ He glanced around the table before adding, ‘We have an informant who is prepared to give evidence. But here’s the problem: what exactly can we do with this information? We can’t just come out in the open and say the American Government was behind a scheme that resulted in people dying in the London Underground. Just think of the implications.’

Grant shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘Agreed! But while you keep quiet and do nothing you’re sitting on dynamite. We can’t guarantee that the information won’t leak out from another source. If it did, the fact that you knew and did nothing would be very dangerous.’

A heavy silence fell on the room, eventually broken by Foster saying, ‘Look, I know this isn’t my field, but can I propose something?’ When Ballantyne nodded assent he said, ‘Couldn’t you go to the American Government and quietly tell them that you now have all the facts, and demand compensation? In return for keeping quiet about what we know, you could get millions, surely; quite enough to compensate the victims.’

Grant and Ballantyne eyed him thoughtfully.

‘Well?’ Foster persisted. ‘Could you?’

Ballantyne took a deep breath before replying. ‘It is a possibility, I suppose.’ He hesitated. ‘But that’s a decision that would have to come from much higher up. I must put it to the Prime Minister.’

‘Just one thing,’ Foster said to Grant, as they prepared to leave. ‘I’ve left my boat tied up to the RNLI pontoon at Waterloo Bridge. I told them I’d be back soon. The Port Authority will be getting interested….’

‘Leave it to me,’ Ballantyne said, reaching for his telephone. ‘I’ll get somebody to sort it out with them.’

While he issued instructions, Worzniak pulled Foster aside so they were out of the others’ hearing. ‘Listen carefully, Foster,’ he whispered. ‘This is important. Remember this word:
Nightjar
. Got it? One word. Repeat it.’

Foster did as asked and soon after that strange little exchange, Ballantyne announced that RNLI were being contacted.

They shook hands and Grant took Foster out to meet Janet and take
her back to
Goddess
.

But somehow he sensed that it was not all over yet.

Foster called Grant the next morning. He had been thinking about the affair and had decided that he should try to unravel the remaining knots in the mystery. ‘Hamish,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a puzzle or two to clear up. Any chance of me talking to Joe, sometime soon? He might be able to help.’

‘Of course, Dan. But he’s not here, you know. I’ll find out where he is and call you back. Are you free at any time?’

‘More or less.’

It was almost five in the evening before Grant called and said, ‘I’ve set it up, Dan. They’re bringing him to my office tomorrow morning; he’ll be here at eleven.’

‘Your office?’ Foster couldn’t contain his surprise. Why there? He had expected Worzniak to be held somewhere else, and that the meeting would be there.

‘Yes. Apparently, his presence in this country is proving to be something of an embarrassment to the government. He hasn’t been arrested, so they can’t put him in prison; on the other hand, they want to keep him away from prying eyes. They’ve put him up in a small hotel, but they don’t want anybody to know where. And they certainly don’t want him back at any of their own offices.’

He was ushered into Grant’s office shortly after 11 the next morning. ‘Hello, Dan,’ Grant said, standing to take his hand. ‘Coffee?’

Foster nodded and they settled down, facing each other across Grant’s desk.

‘Worzniak’s on his way here,’ Grant said. ‘Sir James is on his way over too. He’ll join us later. But for now, so that we can have all our ducks in a row, tell me what these “puzzles” are that you’re supposed to want to clear up?’

Foster picked up his cup and leaned back in his chair. ‘It’s really just the finer details, for my report,’ he lied.

Grant shrugged. ‘It isn’t a problem. Actually, it helps to keep him occupied. Frankly the authorities were getting a bit frustrated; they don’t quite know what to do with him while they try to decide how they resolve the issues with the Americans.’

Foster gave an understanding nod and then took a sip of coffee before explaining his mission. ‘I’ll leave the politics to others,’ he said. ‘But I need to be sure about the mechanisms behind the Darkfall subroutine.’

‘You think Worzniak knows?’ Grant questioned. ‘Surely he’s just the mastermind, someone who knows the general principles, not the details.’

‘That’s one of the things I want to explore,’ Foster replied. ‘I’m not too sure that friend Worzniak isn’t much more clued-up than we think. If he is, it’ll explain a lot about how this idea started off.’

‘I see,’ Grant said, but further conversation was interrupted by a tap at his door. Then his secretary ushered in Joe Worzniak.

‘Foster,’ the American said, as they shook hands. It was a mere formality, with no warmth in his tone at all.

Grant poured out another cup of coffee and, as he handed it to the American, he said, ‘Dr Foster wanted to talk to you, Mr Worzniak.’

‘Never thought I’d say this, Foster, but I’m glad you did,’ the American admitted. ‘I’ve had it up to here with these jokers. They’re swarming around like ants when their nest’s been kicked over. No idea what to do.’

‘OK,’ Foster said. ‘There are a few things I’d like to clear up. Let’s start with you.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. What’s your background? Are you an engineer?’

Worzniak stared at him for a moment before replying. ‘Was, once. Long time ago.’

‘And?’

‘I worked out that there was no real chance of money or power in engineering. So I decided to go into politics. Got a job as a technical adviser to the Pentagon.’

‘Like Sir James,’ Foster observed.

‘I guess so,’ Worzniak said. He looked thoughtful. ‘Anyways, I came in just when the President had launched a top secret think-tank. They pulled me into it. Our brief was to devise strategies to give us a critical advantage in the event of war breaking out.’

‘The Office of Strategic Projects,’ Foster said.

‘Yes. I moved up pretty quickly there.’ He gave an evil grin and added, ‘Seems I have a devious mind.’

Foster smiled inwardly at the understatement. ‘But what made you think of power stations?’ he asked. ‘The Darkfall thing?’

‘Luck, I guess,’ the American said. ‘We were all encouraged to keep an eye on technological issues. I went to a conference in Denver; met Zak there before it started. We were talking in a bar and he was telling me about the problems he was having with his start-up operation. When I asked what his company was involved in, and he told me, suddenly I saw a possibility.

‘You see, we were looking at ways of introducing technologies that our opponents would adopt, that would then give us a hold over them. At that stage there were no definite proposals, just ideas. Some of the ideas were way out, some were just interestin’. Then I went to that conference.

‘Y’know, I’d never thought much about power plants before then, how critical they were to modern societies—’

‘Most people don’t think about it either,’ Foster intervened, ‘until the lights go out.’

‘Right!’ Worzniak enthused. ‘Suddenly I saw a way of grabbing hold of entire nations’ infrastructures. It took a while to convince my bosses that it was viable; but then they realized the potential.’

‘And I suppose that the idea of subsidizing PPD’s sales looked good,’ Foster commented.

‘Too right!’ Worzniak responded, and then, ever careless about mixing his metaphors, he added, ‘It was pennies! A drop in the ocean, and it served another purpose: supporting American industries. Oh yeah, it was a great idea, and it got me a lot of kudos.’

Just then, Sir James Ballantyne came into the room.

‘I know it’s a little early,’ he said, ‘but I think we should go out to lunch; to celebrate closure of this affair.’

Foster wondered about that. To him it seemed that there were still many unanswered questions. But the idea of eating did appeal, and the others nodded their assent so they probably felt the same.

Within a few minutes they had emerged from the offices and were blinking in the bright sunshine. It had been raining earlier and the streets were glistening.

They walked a short distance and entered the cool darkness of an Italian restaurant where they were greeted by the manager who escorted them to a table in the centre. All the while he talked animatedly with Grant, who was clearly a good customer.

Apart from Worzniak, nobody wanted a starter. Foster felt sure the American would be disappointed: salads in England were a far cry from the feeding-troughs of greenery to which he would have been accustomed.

They made their selections and Grant ordered a bottle of Chianti. When it appeared and had been duly sampled and dispensed they raised their glasses and Ballantyne muttered something about reaching a satisfactory conclusion to ‘this messy business’. Once again, Foster felt this was slightly premature, but he joined in the toast and they all clinked glasses.

It happened so quickly that it was hard, afterwards, to recall the sequence of events. As they left the restaurant, the
maitre d
’ held the door open and Grant stepped out, followed by Worzniak and then Ballantyne and Foster. At that instant there was a sharp sound – no more than a sudden pop, like a balloon bursting – and Worzniak gave a loud gasp. The big American suddenly seemed to pirouette on his feet before tumbling sideways and slumping to the ground. Foster looked down at him in disbelief and then looked up and saw a look of alarm on Grant’s face. Then they both leaped towards the fallen man. Ballantyne stepped back towards the restaurant door, pulling a mobile from his pocket.

Worzniak was lying face down on the pavement. There was a hole in his back, pooling with blood, and more blood was spreading out over the pavement.

Foster looked up and down the road. To his left, a silver Lexus was swerving out into the traffic, causing the following driver to take rapid
evasive action. There was a shriek of brakes, an angry blare of horns and then the Lexus sped out of sight. Somewhere nearby, a woman screamed. People were beginning to gather round as he dropped to his knees beside Grant, who looked at him with a stricken expression on his face.

Grant shook his head and looked at the blood staining the pavement. He said, ‘He’s been shot – I think he’s dead.’ Then he looked bleakly at Foster and said, ‘So much for that then.’ His voice was quiet, his tone bitter. Then he added, ‘I think we should go back to my office. Away from here.’

Their small, sombre group met at the Arnold Coward offices two hours later. By then the ambulance had arrived outside the restaurant and, after confirming that Worzniak was dead, the paramedics had taken away the body. The police arrived and had cordoned off the scene of the incident with blue and white plastic tape. Statements had been taken and the victim’s two companions had been allowed to return to Grant’s offices.

‘Christ!’ Ballantyne swore. ‘What went wrong back there?’

‘God knows,’ Grant said, shaking his head bitterly.

Foster scowled in thought. There was only one way that anybody could have known that they would be at that particular restaurant, with Worzniak, at that particular time.

Somebody must have tipped them off, and with only a handful of people in the know, the possibilities were very few. Foster’s mind raced, examining all the possibilities.

But Ballantyne had an agenda to pursue. ‘Where does this leave us?’ he asked.

‘Up the proverbial gum-tree,’ Grant replied. ‘We’ve very little in the way of evidence. The software’s been erased from all the installations. Nothing’s left, apart from a few emails – and the Americans are bound to deny their veracity.’

‘And,’ Ballantyne interjected, ‘we’ve lost the man himself, so all that’s left is on paper. Meanwhile, our American friends are claiming that the killing had nothing to do with them.’ He paused and sighed before addressing Foster. ‘But there is one good thing, at least: we do have their assurance that all their agencies have been instructed to stand down.’

‘You believe that?’ Foster asked drily.

Ballantyne looked at him for a long time before replying. ‘Yes,’ he said
finally. ‘I really do.’

‘Perhaps,’ Foster said, anxious to bring the conversation back to Worzniak’s murder. ‘But in the meantime, it seems that they knew our intentions.’

Ballantyne stared at him and then dropped his eyes. ‘Implying that we have a spy in our own camp?’ he said.

‘What else? And why shouldn’t they? After all, you had yours in the Pentagon.’

Ballantyne raised his eyes again to meet Foster’s, then gave a wry smile and went on, ‘I’m reluctant to admit it, but I’m sure you’re right. Nevertheless, that’s something for us to look at in our own organization. Meanwhile, however, there’s far too much attention focused on this affair now for the Americans to do anything to make matters any worse.’

Foster stared at him as furious thoughts scrambled for order in his mind. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But they deny killing Joe, yet in the same breath they admit that some of their people were involved in tracking me and making an attempt on my life?’

‘More or less,’ Ballantyne replied, clearly anxious to move on, to get away from this controversy. ‘But they have now admitted that the Darkfall thing was a complete misjudgement, an aberration by a rogue element of the previous administration. They are bending over backwards to reassure us that it won’t happen again.’

‘Have they?’ Foster asked.

‘Do you mean, was it really a mistake?

‘Yes, and can we really be sure that they won’t try something like that again?’

‘We have had assurances to that effect,’ Ballantyne said, ‘from the highest levels in the American Administration.’

Foster looked at him in open disbelief. ‘Oh yeah?’

Ballantyne smiled and moved the subject along. ‘Meanwhile, we’re taking steps to protect all the utility plants that are essential to our economic infrastructure. We’ve instructed them to isolate all links to external networks – for the moment at least, the concept of remote diagnostics is on hold. No attack like that will be possible again, not from any direction. In that, at least, this affair has achieved some good: it’s shown us that there are critical vulnerabilities that need to be addressed.’

Foster shook his head slowly. ‘So they’re going to get away with it,’
he growled. ‘Almost fifty accidental deaths, two murders – one just a boy, an attempt on my life and now a third murder, this one on the streets of London. God knows what’s next.’

‘We have little option,’ Ballantyne said, his voice subdued. ‘Making a fuss about it now will do enormous damage to Anglo-American relationships.’

Foster glared at him. How many times had he heard that lately?

‘But there is one other bright light,’ Ballantyne said. ‘While all this has been going on we’ve negotiated a very substantial payment from the Americans, to compensate the victims, their friends and families.’

Foster wondered how much: fifty million dollars? A hundred? To the Americans such a sum would be a pittance, a small price to pay for smoothing over the incidents. ‘What’ll we call that?’ he asked bitterly. ‘Blood money, or hush money?’