The Darkfall Switch (4 page)

‘I fear they were,’ Grant nodded sadly. ‘All four units were shut down. We don’t yet know how, but in any case that’s not the end of it.’

‘Aye,’ Forsyth interjected. ‘You see, Dan, something else has happened, and it happened today.’

He paused, leaving Foster to wonder whether his hesitation was for dramatic effect. Then Grant continued, ‘Aye, indeed. You see, another power station has been forced down. It happened this evening.’

Foster leant back in amazement, looking from one man to the other. ‘Another hacker?’ he asked.

‘We think not,’ Grant replied. ‘It was another hacking incident all right, but we think it was most probably perpetrated by the same person. But this time he – or she – broke into the computer control system at another power station: Grandford North.’

‘Bloody hell!’ Foster exploded.

Grandford was one of the country’s newest and biggest power stations. Completed only a few months earlier, it had attracted much praise for its cleanliness and efficiency and because, unusually, it had
been completed on time and under budget.

‘When did it happen?’ Foster asked. ‘The attack, I mean.’

Grant now looked down at the papers on his desk. He thumbed through them, then picked up a sheet and read from it: ‘It happened at precisely 7:39 this evening.’

Foster was startled by the coincidence: that was within a few minutes of the time that he had arrived at the Coopers’ home.

‘But on this occasion we were prepared,’ Grant continued. ‘The original consultants’ report had identified the
modus operandi
of the hacker’s efforts at Queensborough, and a bulletin had been issued to all power stations that used the same type of control system. A team of specialists was set up here in London, to be ready twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, waiting for the perpetrator to try and make a repeat attack.’

Something in his words made Foster frown. ‘You’re saying that the attack was specific to a particular type of system?’

‘Aye. An American system.’

Foster took a deep breath. It had to be Powerplant Dynamics. This was a Denver-based company that had been brilliantly successful with providing control systems for power stations around the world. Just a few years previously they had been an unheard-of upstart, but with the launch of their Generation 300 system they had captured the world market in this highly specialized field. They had set up subsidiaries in the UK and elsewhere, but these were little more than sales agents; the basic systems were designed and manufactured in Denver, high in the American Rockies.

Grant saw the understanding as it dawned in Foster’s face and nodded. ‘Aye, Powerplant Dynamics. And, as I said, everybody using one of those systems had been warned to be on the alert. Luckily, a vigilant engineer at Grandford was on shift duty this evening. When he saw the early indications that they were under attack he alerted our team of specialists. They were able to monitor the situation and trace the source of the attack. Unfortunately they were too late to prevent the power station being shut down.’

‘OK!’ Foster said. ‘But, from what you say, it sounds like the problem’s been solved! They know how it’s happened, so they’ll be able to build in defences.’ But he knew full well that it was a forlorn hope; if the problem had indeed been solved he wouldn’t have been brought all
the way to Westminster in the middle of the night.

Grant confirmed it. ‘Unfortunately not,’ he said. ‘That’s not the end of it. The specialists were able to trace the attack to a small town in Connecticut. We informed the authorities in America, and normally that would have been the end of it.’

‘But it wasn’t?’

Again Forsyth stepped in. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I fear not. You see, we suddenly hit a brick wall. Quite unexpectedly. For some reason, the Americans, who are normally very helpful in these situations seem to be – now, what do they call it? –
stonewalling
us.’

Foster was beginning to see the way these two men worked: Forsyth dealt with the more political issues, Grant with the technical ones. This was confirmed as Grant spoke.

‘While we waited for them to act,’ he said, ‘we began to look into Powerplant Dynamics’ activities. It’s late in the day to muster all the facts, but it seems they have been extraordinarily successful in selling their systems to the power market around the world. It was our bad luck that the hacker chose the Queensborough system; it could easily have been one in a power station in Poland or Romania, or any plant in any of a dozen countries. And the next attack could be anywhere.

‘Meanwhile, as you may expect, the communication channels between London and Washington have been screaming with messages over the past few hours. At first, the Americans claimed that there were problems in localizing the source of the attack. But we knew that was nonsense. Our experts knew exactly which house, on which street the computer was located that had launched it. But when we told them the details of the location, our transatlantic friends suddenly clammed up.’

‘Strange. But how does this involve me?’

‘We need your specialized knowledge again, Foster,’ Forsyth said bleakly.

Grant picked up the thread and said, ‘It’s one matter getting hold of the culprit: but our experts have said that they need specialist knowledge to delve any deeper into his actions. They are computer experts: they know how the system had been infiltrated, but they are not
power-station
specialists. What they don’t know is the detailed mechanics of how the thing operated. It’s like catching a saboteur as he emerges from an industrial complex: we know he’s broken in, but we don’t know exactly what he’s done while he was there. And we do need to know.

‘You see, there’s something else. Somehow, in both attacks, the hacker managed to shut down the power station by disabling the control systems of all four generators. What’s more, once they’d been closed down the hacker went on to completely disable it. It was impossible to restart it – at least not for a long time.’

Foster stared at him in disbelief. When hacking had first been mentioned he had assumed that somebody had disabled the plant’s computers; now it seemed that the machines had carried on working, but doing something they shouldn’t have. ‘Good grief!’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s incredible! Achieving either one of those things takes a lot of knowledge. It’s like landing an aircraft safely and then switching off the engines.’

‘Aye,’ Grant said. ‘Indeed. And it was done so thoroughly that it took the experts a wee while to find out what had happened and to get it all working again. It was the action of a real expert. We realized we’d need an equal expert to find out what happened and stop it happening again.’

Now Forsyth spoke. ‘So, naturally, after their brush with you over the matter in China, the government remembered you.’

Foster allowed himself a bleak grin. At times it helps to have been a thorn in the side.

‘So, what do they want from me?’

‘Ye’ll understand that the government attaches the highest level of priority to this. After the Oxford Circus incident, the PM’s insisted that he is kept closely informed. That’s why we’ve all been brought here – to be close to him and his advisers They want you to go to Connecticut and talk to the hacker.’

Foster considered it for a moment. Finally he nodded. ‘OK. I’ll do it’

Forsyth looked relieved. ‘Good man!’ he said. ‘Now, at this stage I’ll be bowing out of the picture.’ He gesticulated towards Grant. ‘My colleague here will be working with you from now on.’

Grant bowed his head briefly and said, ‘Here’s where we’ve got: we suspect the hacker’s a youngster; we’ve been able to find the name of the people who own the house where the computer is located. It’s owned by a couple, respectable professionals both of them. They have a son who is in his last year at high school. And we’re sure it must be him.’

Foster nodded. ‘Sounds likely. But he’s probably just a kid who doesn’t know anything about the systems he’s attacked. He’s just fooling around, trying out a trick or two. What can you expect me to find out
from someone like that?’

‘We don’t know exactly,’ Grant admitted. ‘But we have to try and discover whatever we can. For a start, it would be useful to know how he gained access to the system.’

‘We can probably work that out from here.’

‘Aye, but when we tried we found several problems. Let me read you something from the preliminary analysis that was carried out by the experts – the government’s consultants.’ He riffled through the papers on his desk and selected one. Peering at it through his glasses he read, ‘
The hacker seems to have invoked a very specific set of commands that in a deliberate and co-ordinated way initiated the complex chain of actions that are used to shut down a functioning power station. It then disabled all the output channels, making it impossible to restart the system. All efforts to identify any software block or blocks that combined all these sequences into one shutdown command failed. We could not find a likely routine, despite extremely thorough and detailed analysis of the system
.’

‘Here, let me read that,’ Foster said, reaching out for the sheet. He furrowed his brow in thought as he read it, then took a sip of his coffee and said, ‘I can imagine the designers of the system including a shutdown command like that, though I must say that I find it hard to believe they’d allow it to be initiated from a remote site. But, ignoring that for a moment, studying the software should easily identify the command, so why can’t the experts find it?’

‘We can’t tell. As you’ve just seen, the software bears no trace of the … the routine. Do they call it that?’

Foster nodded agreement and Forsyth came in again. ‘That’s where you come in, Foster. It’s only a small chance, but we felt that you may be able to find out something by talking to this, er, this hacker.’ Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, ‘I think you’ll be finding that the financial terms are quite attractive.’

Foster smiled. The money would indeed be useful. Then he sighed, leant back in his chair and looked up at the ornate mouldings on the ceiling above. He was deep in thought and it was a while before he returned his attention to Forsyth. ‘It’s possible, I guess,’ he said. Then he squared his shoulders and nodded. ‘OK, I’ll give it a try. So when do I go, and how do I handle it?’

Clear relief showed in Forsyth’s face. ‘Well,’ he replied, ‘we need to
set up the preliminaries, but those shouldn’t take too long. And as for the details of how it is to be handled: once we’ve finished with the formalities your name will be made known to the laddie’s father and you will merely then need to introduce yourself and question the son.’ A thoughtful look crossed his face as he went on, ‘Best not to mention your personal involvement, Foster.’

‘I won’t.’

‘All right,’ Forsyth concluded. ‘Go home now and you can expect to hear from Hamish here some time tomorrow. Once again, I do apologize for calling you here so late, but we have to act quickly; we must stop this before the youngster tries to do it again.’

They all shook hands and Foster felt a small sadness at the possibility that he might not be seeing Forsyth again soon. He had developed a strong liking for the man since the Hong Kong incident.

There was virtually no traffic on the roads at that time of night, and that gave Foster an opportunity to wonder about the implications of the night’s proceedings all the way on his long drive back to Kingston. He decided to make contact with an old friend as soon as possible. It was too late now, but he’d get on to him first thing in the morning. He was an engineer working at Queensborough. Foster hoped he would be able to throw some light on what had happened there that summer. But right now he needed to go to bed and sleep for a few hours.

When he arrived back on
Lake Goddess
, in spite of his tiredness, he decided to check on something before he went to bed. He switched on his computer and, while it started up, he went to the saloon and poured himself a dram of Balvenie. He added a small slug of fresh water and quietly gave the Gaelic toast,
Sláinte Mhath
, raising the glass to nobody in particular as he thoughtfully took a sip. He looked through the saloon window at the dark silhouettes of the trees across the river. It was always beautiful here at this time: mostly, there were only the gentle sounds of the river lapping against the hull and the occasional brief cry of a night bird. Occasionally, there was a bellow from the deer rutting in the adjacent park.

He returned to the computer, sat down and quickly checked his emails. Seeing that there was nothing that couldn’t wait until morning, he then Googled ‘Powerplant Dynamics’. He scanned through the references, then selected one and when it had downloaded read it carefully.

When he had finished reading, he leant back in his chair and stared in amazement at the words on the screen. ‘Well now,’ he breathed, ‘ain’t that interesting? Ain’t that very interesting indeed?’

As his car swept up the imposing drive, past the tall flagpole with the Stars and Stripes hanging limply from its head, Foster had to admire the Colonial-style house that stood ahead of him. Not so much a house – more a gracious mansion surrounded by several large outbuildings. Encircled by smooth, neatly trimmed lawns, their sunlit white boards stood out glaringly bright against the beautiful russet, orange and yellow of the New England autumn. Behind them, the blaze of colours extended as far as the eye could see into the slightly smoky distance. The air was heavy with the many scents of autumn.

In terms of driving hours, his hundred-mile journey from JFK had actually taken just over two hours. The Van Wyck Expressway had been busy, but as soon as he passed over the Whitestone Bridge the traffic had begun to thin out, and after that things had improved considerably: both the New England Thruway and Merritt Parkway had been almost deserted. However, the flight from Heathrow had been long and dreary and, on top of his early departure from Kingston, the trip had been tiring. He had felt the need to take a break, so he had taken a slight diversion to Waterbury where he had stopped for lunch. After that he headed for Watertown.

It was almost three in the afternoon here, but his body clock insisted on telling him it was eight in the evening. He parked the rented Buick and stepped out into the pleasant warmth of the afternoon and, as he walked up the gravelled path to the main house, he wondered about the family he would be meeting. His briefing had told him little more than
the bald facts: Cyrus Proctor was nearing fifty and was a senior partner in a respected firm of architects; his wife, Hilary, had been a realtor but had retired a few years earlier; their son, Luke was in his last year at high school. Foster had been told that the parents would be expecting his arrival; Cyrus Proctor had even taken a half-day’s break from his office to be there.

Foster parked in front of the house and climbed the few steps on to the front porch, walked past a white-painted rocking chair, and pressed at the polished brass button. From somewhere deep inside the house came the muffled sound of a chime and, after a few moments, the front door was opened by a distinguished-looking, well-built man with
irongrey
hair. He was dressed in a smart white Ralph Lauren polo shirt and blue jeans, and he smiled and offered his hand. ‘Dr Foster?’ he asked. ‘We were expecting you.’

Foster shook his hand and smiled.

‘We’re intrigued by your visit,’ Proctor said, stepping back to let his visitor pass. ‘A guy from the State Department called by here yesterday and told us you’d be coming to meet with us. Name of Worzniak, Joe Worzniak. Know him?’

Seeing Foster shake his head, Proctor continued, ‘Fact is, my wife’s quite excited by all this; we’ve never heard of any of our circle getting calls like that. And visitors from England? Not many of those lately.’

Foster was still considering the implications of Proctor’s statement as they entered the cool interior of the house but he broke free of his thoughts and said, ‘You have a beautiful house, Mr Proctor.’

‘Cyrus, please. Glad you like it. This was a farm once.’ He nodded to indicate a barn at the far edge of the property. ‘Some of the original working buildings are still here, like that barn over there. Things keep changing. Once, farming was what everybody did around these parts. Then industry came along: foundries, mills, manufacturers of all sorts, including clocks and watches. The farmers probably complained about the loss of jobs then, and now the wheel’s turned right round and the industries are gone. Or at least, they’re fading away.’

‘It’s the same everywhere,’ Foster agreed.

They entered the reception room where Proctor’s wife was waiting. She was a petite redhead and she offered her hand. ‘Dr Foster, I’m Hilary. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you. But first, what’ll you drink?’

Foster doubted they’d have Balvenie so he said, ‘Can I have a Scotch please?’ Then, quickly, knowing the American habit of chilling everything to the point of extinction, he added, ‘No ice. Just a drop of water. Oh, and by the way, I’m Dan.’

‘OK, Dan,’ she said, smiling, ‘and yes, we have some twelve-year malt: Glenmorangie. Would that be OK?’

His smile showed his real pleasure. He nodded and she went over to a large Shaker-style cabinet to pour the drinks, saying over her shoulder, ‘Your usual Martini, honey?’

Drinks in hands, they settled back on two settees and Proctor asked, ‘Forgive me if I’m too blunt, but I’d appreciate you telling me what’s going on. The guy yesterday said that Luke, our son, had gotten involved with something, and that an expert was coming over from England to talk with him. That’s all he’d tell, but it was enough. Kind of took the shine off the excitement.’

Foster was amazed. He had expected the Proctors to have been told a little more about their son’s activities, if not the devastating consequences, rather than leave it to him to break the news. Still, he had no option but to press on. ‘This man Worzniak, did he talk to Luke?’

The Proctors exchanged worried glances. ‘Well, yes,’ the husband responded. ‘I don’t know what he said, and Luke said it was nothing. Would you believe that? Nothing! Somebody from the State Department appears, out of the blue, to talk to a teenager and it’s nothing. And Luke’s been acting pretty strange since then.’

‘Luke’s … well, he’s kind of quiet,’ Hilary Proctor elaborated. Her voice was soft, her expression concerned. ‘Real nice, but quiet. It’s been difficult of late, him being our only son. We tried not to spoil him, but since he’s started … well, growing up, we’ve had a few problems….’

‘He’s just darned ornery at times,’ her husband growled. ‘Teenager stuff, but at times we’ve just not known how to communicate with him. And now, after Worzniak’s visit, he’s just clammed up completely. We can’t get a thing out of him about what’s been going on.’

‘He closets himself in his bedroom for hours with his computer,’ Mrs Proctor said, ‘and we sometimes wonder if he gets any sleep. But we can’t persuade him to get more fresh air, to meet other young people.’

Her husband said, ‘He’s got a circle of pals – well, acquaintances I’d call them, not friends – but they’re all loners like him.’

His wife looked at Foster earnestly. Her eyes showed her strain and
she seemed to be on the verge of tears. ‘Doctor Foster … Dan,’ she said ‘We’re hoping you can tell us what’s going on. Frankly we’re very worried. Luke’s not gotten into any trouble, has he?’

Foster realized that it was up to him to present the facts now. ‘I’m afraid he’s done something very silly,’ he said, and immediately saw the signs of alarm grow in the Proctors’ faces. ‘I’m really sorry, but there’s no easy way of telling you this, and I’m not going to pull any punches, but I have to have to tell you that Luke’s managed to hack into a computer system in England. A very, very critical system.’

‘Oh God!’ the husband said. His words were barely audible. His wife stayed silent, but her face went ashen.

‘We’re sure he couldn’t have understood the implications of his actions,’ Foster said, ‘but the results were very serious indeed.’

‘Can you tell us how?’ Hilary Proctor asked quietly.

‘Yes, I can tell you, but I don’t want to alarm you too much.’

‘Never mind us,’ the woman asked, staring intently at Foster. ‘What’s he done?’

‘Well, through his actions he managed to shut down a British power station….’

Cyrus Proctor’s jaw dropped. ‘Not the one a few months ago?’ Seeing Foster’s nod, he added, ‘Oh Christ! I read about it in the
Wall Street Journal
. It triggered off a blackout of the whole country, didn’t it?’

‘No. Not quite the whole country, but certainly a large part of it.’

‘Luke couldn’t….’ Hilary Proctor said very quietly, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘He wouldn’t…. How could he do that?’

‘I’m afraid he did do it,’ Foster said. ‘And that’s why I’m here. To find out how.’

There was a long silence while the couple thought about the implications of what Foster had told them. Finally the husband spoke. ‘Are you working for a power company or something?’ he asked.

‘No. The British Government. They’ve launched an inquiry and roped me in as an adviser.’

‘I see,’ Proctor said. ‘But Luke … how much trouble’s he in?’ he asked.

‘Well, if he agrees to help us he’ll get off with just a rap across the knuckles,’ Foster explained, and immediately signs of relief appeared on their faces. The decision to let the boy off lightly was what Forsyth had negotiated with the Americans when they had eventually, and so very
reluctantly, condescended to co-operate with the British. He said, ‘Nobody wants a big fuss about it, because….’

His voice tailed off and Cyrus Proctor shot him a questioning look. ‘Because what?’

Foster took a deep breath and explained. ‘It’s like this: apparently your son stumbled across a design flaw in the control system. And it’s one that’s still present in many similar systems, right round the world.’

They looked aghast, and then the husband said, ‘So if the truth came out, somebody could copycat him?’

‘Exactly. Until the weakness is removed, power systems in several countries are very vulnerable.’

‘So – forgive me for asking – why have you made the trip all the way here from England? Couldn’t somebody here, in this country, have come here? Bawled Luke out? Scared him?’ He thought for a moment before adding, ‘Wasn’t that what Worzniak did?’

‘I don’t know what this man Worzniak did, or what he said,’ Foster responded. ‘But scaring Luke’s certainly not my aim.’

It had been a bitter pill for him to swallow. When he’d found out what had triggered the Queensborough shutdown, every instinct had compelled him to find the boy, grab him by the throat, pin him to the wall and pummel him to the edge of his life, for what he had caused to happen to Fiona. But now he restrained himself and continued, as calmly as possible, ‘Yes, we want him to realize the enormity of what he did; we want him to be so appalled that he never tries it again.

‘But most of all we want to find out the details of what he did, so that we can prevent this happening again.’

‘Surely you know that already?’ Hilary Proctor asked.

‘Not quite all. We know a little, but there are some crucial gaps…. Let me explain.’

He took a long sip of his malt, settled back in the armchair. ‘It’s like this: the control systems were all supplied by an American company, Powerplant Dynamics, based in Denver, Colorado. It’s a very
well-designed
computer-control system, and in many ways it’s like lots of similar ones. They’re all built for safety and reliability. It’s a complex system, but it’s still very user-friendly. But … well, it’s just possible that the designers went a step too far.’

They both raised quizzical eyebrows at him.

‘You see, they included in its design a thing called “remote
diagnostics”,’ Foster explained. ‘It allows engineers at the design headquarters to carry out checks on an operational system. It’s a bit like a doctor asking a patient to stick out his tongue and say “Aaah”, but from a long way away. They can run tests and see that everything’s working OK. In theory, they could even identify a fault before the people working at the plant knew there was anything wrong.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ Cyrus Proctor asked.

‘Nothing. Nothing at all. At least, in principle. In fact it’s a very good idea, and it’s not even the first time it’s been done. The problem is that in this instance it relies on a link into the system from an ordinary telephone line.’

Understanding dawned in Proctor’s face. ‘And that’s the point where a hacker can get into the system.’

‘Exactly. But even then, there should have been no risk. Perhaps a hacker could get information on the operation of the system, but what use would that be to anybody other than to the designers?’

Hilary Proctor was quick off the mark. ‘Competitors?’ she asked.

Foster looked at her with new respect. She had spotted an important possibility. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘In theory, a competitor could get valuable information about the operation of the system. Information that could be exploited. However, the realities of the power market make it doubtful that such an ability could be of any real use, because the market’s too small and specialized. Nevertheless, the designers of the system were determined to take no risks at all, and so they built in a very sophisticated set of checks and safeguards.’

‘And still Luke got past them?’ the husband asked.

From his tone, Foster wondered if the lad’s father might not be in awe, even slightly proud, of his son’s prowess. ‘Yes, he got past them,’ he replied. ‘We reckon we know how he made the initial penetration. There’s no such thing as an unbreakable password system. All that cryptographers can do is to try and make it very time-consuming and difficult to crack the codes. But, well, you know the old tale about monkeys sitting at keyboards….’

‘Eventually they’ll write the Bible?’ Cyrus Procter offered.

‘Yes. Or the complete works of Shakespeare. But really, that’s not the point that interests us. Breaking into the system is one thing; making it malfunction is another. But what your son did was quite extraordinary. Somehow, he got the system to carry out the very complex and
co-ordinated
 
set of actions that’re needed in order to safely shut down an operating power station. That couldn’t happen by accident or coincidence. It had to be a carefully structured attack, and we simply don’t believe that a high-school pupil could possibly have enough knowledge of the intricate operations of a power station, in order to achieve a safe shutdown.’

The Proctors stared at him in stunned disbelief, so he went on, ‘And that’s why I need to talk to Luke. I’m a powerplant specialist and I want to ask him some questions that might just solve the mystery.’

‘OK,’ Cyrus Proctor said. ‘Now I understand.’ Then he nodded to his wife, ‘Will you go get Luke down here, honey?’

‘Mrs Proctor,’ Foster interjected, as she started for the door, and she turned to him. ‘Just say I want to talk to him. Don’t tell him anything.’