Blackout: Tomorrow Will Be Too Late

by Marc Elsberg

  ‘At this stage, we can’t rule it out.’

  Milan, Italy

  The two men didn’t look like police officers. One introduced himself as Dr Ugo Livasco, the other as Emilio Dani, an engineer.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ asked Curazzo. He had slept for precisely one of the past thirty-six hours.

  ‘We have orders from Europol to conduct an investigation,’ said the engineer. ‘They’ve received information indicating that Italian electric meters were tampered with and that this could be the cause for the power outage.’

  Blood rushed to Curazzo’s head as he remembered the guy from that morning.

  The staff at Enel headquarters had been sallow-faced with lack of sleep when the police IT specialists showed up, demanding to examine the logs of the company’s routers.

  ‘Why those, exactly?’ they grumbled.

  ‘We received a tip-off.’

  Within minutes, the search had uncovered something that turned their faces as white as sheets.

  The Smart Meters in Italian homes were connected to one another through routers, much like any other computer network. The log data from these routers documented all the signals sent to the meters.

  ‘It’s actually in here – the command to interrupt the connection to the power grid!’

  Four dozen people had gathered in front of the large screen on which the head of crisis management, Solarenti, pointed out the relevant data sets and graphics.

  ‘These commands aren’t coming from us, though,’ Solarenti continued. ‘Someone smuggled them into a meter, and once in the system they spread to every meter in the country.’

  ‘How? Was it a virus?’ someone asked.

  ‘They didn’t need a virus – the command was probably forwarded by radio.’

  He let his words sink in. Curazzo couldn’t hear a single person breathing, only the soft hum of the machines. ‘But how could that happen?’ someone cried. ‘What about our security systems?’

  ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’

  ‘So whoever did this literally turned the lights out on us,’ another commented. ‘On the whole country.’

  ‘It’s not just the lights they turned out,’ said Solarenti. ‘When they took all those homes and businesses off the power grid, it caused the grids to fall apart. And then, when we eventually managed to patch together a few relatively stable grids in a couple of regions, another outside command turned the meters back on so that there was a flood of homes and businesses coming back on the grid in an instant. This led to further frequency fluctuations, which overloaded the grid and brought it crashing down again.’

  ‘So somebody’s playing cat and mouse with us!’

  ‘That’s the bad news. We have good news as well, though. Now that we know the cause, we can block this command. The IT guys are already working on it – they reckon in two hours they’ll have it fixed.’

  In the movies, cheers and applause would erupt at this point, but the crisis centre remained subdued. Colleagues formed huddles, whispering among themselves. Slowly their minds began to grasp the implications. The Italian power grid had fallen victim to an attack.

  ‘This is a disaster,’ groaned Tedesci, the head of technology. ‘Gentlemen,’ he turned to the two policemen who stood next to him, ‘let’s not go doing anything rash here.’

  The two looked at him, puzzled.

  ‘Under no circumstances can the public find out about this,’ Tedesci continued. ‘And I see no real need to report the matter to Europol either. You heard it yourselves: in two hours it’ll all be over!’

  Emilio Dani shook his head in disbelief. Dr Livasco looked at the executive, stony-faced.

  It was Livasco who spoke. ‘I understand your concerns. But could it not be the case that whoever has carried out these manipulations has done the same in other countries? It’s our duty to warn—’

  ‘But these paper pushers in Brussels—’

  ‘Europol sits in The Hague,’ Livasco corrected him.

  ‘Whatever! They have nothing better to do than tell the world about all this to make themselves look good!’ Tedesci talked himself into a rage. ‘I’m going to call my friend the president right now. Let him decide what needs to be done. This is a matter of national security!’

  Livasco’s features hardened. A thin smile formed on his lips. ‘I’m afraid this lies outside of the president’s jurisdiction. But go ahead and call your friend. Meanwhile, I’ll be contacting Europol.’

  ‘Don’t you answer to the interior minister?’ asked Tedesci.

  ‘Indeed. And he will duly be informed. I’m sure he will then report our findings to your friend the president.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand,’ hissed Tedesci. ‘Do you want to continue your career as a policeman?’

  Livasco’s smile tilted sarcastically. He fixed the executive with a look. ‘Oh, we’ll see soon enough whose career continues.’

  Curazzo looked on as a colleague hurried into the room and whispered something to Solarenti, who then approached Tedesci.

  ‘I have news,’ Solarenti announced, with a look towards the investigators. He gestured towards a computer graphic of the power grid. ‘As we now know, the codes entered the system through a handful of meters and then spread throughout the entire country.’ The graphic changed to show red lines spreading across the grid until every single line had changed colour.

  ‘Based on the time stamps recorded in the logs, we were able to trace this spread and follow it back to identify the three meters that started it.’

  The red lines on the screen receded until only three red points remained.

  ‘Are you saying,’ asked Dr Livasco, ‘that we know the exact locations where the attackers planted these signals?’

  Solarenti nodded. ‘All three of them. My colleague will give you the addresses.’

  Day 2 – Sunday

  Turin, Italy

  ‘This is it,’ said Valerio Binardi, taking up position in front of an apartment door with oak veneer. Next to it a doorbell with no nameplate. Behind him, six men from the Nucleo Operativo Centrale di Sicurezza, the anti-terrorism unit of the Polizia di Stato, moved into place. Like Binardi, they wore bulletproof vests and carried machine pistols; one had a battering ram at the ready.

  Six more members of the squad were positioned at the open windows of the apartment directly above, waiting for the order to abseil down and force their way in through the front windows. On the roof of the building across the street were snipers, their infrared scopes trained on the apartment windows. Troops had been stationed at every entrance to the building and the entire block was cordoned off. So far, they were all keeping out of sight; the tech van and troop transporters were parked around the corner where they could not be seen by anyone inside the apartment.

  Over the radio came the signal to move in.

  The battering ram smashed the door off its hinges. Seconds later a flashbang exploded in the entryway. They stormed inside. It was dark in the apartment. Binardi ran to the first door, pulled it open. Toilet: empty. Second door. Shower: empty. The door to the living room stood open. The abseilers came crashing in through a shower of broken glass. No one there. Nothing but an old couch and a few bookcases. Two closed doors remaining. The second team took the one across the way, Binardi and his team the other. A room with bunk beds. On the top bunk a child stared at Binardi, eyes wide open in panic. Before he could stop himself, Binardi raised his gun. The kid started screaming. Then a second one in the bottom bunk. Binardi stood to one side and covered his men while they checked underneath the beds, tore off the covers. No one else in the room. They held their guns raised. The children cowered in the furthest corner of their beds, shrieking.

  Twenty seconds later the speaker in Binardi’s helmet relayed the other team’s situation report: ‘One man, one woman, in bed. Apparently we woke them up. Other than that, nobody.’

  ‘Secure,’ Binardi confirmed. He felt the wave of adrenaline subside.
/>   The Hague, Netherlands

  Bollard switched off the projector. Judging by last night’s revelations, they would need to save every last precious drop of diesel in their backup generators.

  After briefing his colleagues in Italy and Sweden, he had driven home and gone to bed in his freezing-cold room, hoping he would wake up to the news that those responsible had been apprehended. At four in the morning the ringing of the telephone woke him from a dreamless sleep. The Swedes had reported in first, the Italians twenty minutes later. Manipulation of signals via the electric meters had been confirmed in both countries. Within half an hour, Bollard was sitting at his desk, sounding the alarm to everyone he could reach and assessing the initial findings from Italy and Sweden. By 7 a.m. the majority of the team had gathered in the meeting room; in fact the only one missing was Europol director Carlos Ruiz. The Spaniard was attending an Interpol conference in Washington, so they’d had to arrange for him to take part in the meeting via a secure audio-visual link.

  Bollard summarized the results of his early morning fact-finding on the subject. Critics of modern electric grids had highlighted the dangers from the outset, but most experts had been of the opinion that the systems were too complex and too secure to be taken out for long, or over a large area. European power grids adhered to the n-1 criterion, which allowed for a system component – be it a transformer, a power line or a power plant – to go offline without the system becoming overburdened as a result. The safeguards had been proven to work – in the event of an isolated incident. But when malfunctions or inclement weather led to several such incidents occurring simultaneously, or when human error led to breaches in safety protocol, power outages were inevitable. Until now, there had been very few targeted attacks on the power supply; the worst of these had been the so-called ‘Night of Fire’ back in 1961, when nationalist extremists in South Tyrol blew up a number of pylons.

  ‘We have to assume what we’re dealing with now is a coordinated action,’ Bollard stated. ‘Our colleagues in Italy and Sweden have each identified three infiltration points. The special units on site were able to inspect the apartments in question within hours of our initial call. Investigations into the residents or former residents are in progress.’

  On the video screen, Director Ruiz nodded his approval before announcing, ‘Effective immediately, all leave is cancelled. All personnel are to report back to their posts as quickly as possible. Is it true,’ he asked, ‘that the tip-off came from an Italian programmer?’

  ‘Piero Manzano. He’s in our files,’ Bollard answered.

  ‘In what connection?’

  ‘A hacker – and a rather good one.’

  ‘White hat or black hat?’ asked Ruiz.

  ‘Hard to say,’ Bollard answered. So far as he was concerned, all hackers were criminals. The white hats might claim they only broke into networks in order to expose security gaps, but they were still intruders. Black hats stole and vandalized into the bargain.

  ‘Could he have something to do with this?’

  ‘Can’t be ruled out.’

  ‘If he’s clean and as good as you say, it’s possible he can help us. He’s done it once already. We need every good man we can get right now – independent contractors included. And if it does turn out he’s involved in the sabotage, we’ll have him close by and can monitor his every move.’

  ‘But we might be inviting the devil into our midst,’ Bollard countered.

  ‘True. Which is why I’m leaving him in your capable hands,’ said Ruiz.

  Command Headquarters

  The Europol director’s response had taken him by surprise. Who’d have thought it: Europol, that bastion of bureaucracy, opening their doors to a hacker! He scanned back through the video, savouring the expressions on the faces around the conference table when the director ordered them to enlist the Italian’s help. The Frenchman wasn’t the only one who seemed appalled at the prospect. Quite right too – it was nothing more than clutching at straws, a sign of their desperation in the face of forces they could not understand.

  Well, let them bring in the Italian. He might have managed to disrupt their schedule with his irritating intrusion, but he wouldn’t be able to help Europol. Not when the next phase of the operation got under way.

  Ischgl, Austria

  Sophia closed her eyes and let the rays of sunshine play upon her face. She clutched the warm cup between her hands.

  ‘I’m never drinking glühwein again,’ said a voice from somewhere above her.

  She opened her eyes. Before her stood Manzano, careful not to block her light. She laughed. ‘I swore the same thing when I woke up.’

  He took a deep breath and turned, gesturing towards the mountains. ‘Isn’t it magnificent? Hard to believe all is not right with the world when you look at that view.’

  ‘Too true,’ she said. ‘Would you like some coffee or tea?’

  ‘I don’t want to use up your supplies.’

  ‘I’m sure we can order more.’

  ‘In that case, I’d love a coffee.’

  Sophia grabbed a cup and the Thermos from the kitchen. Someone upstairs was stirring, the cabin was slowly coming to life. She filled the cup and went back outside. Manzano sat down on the bench next to her and wrapped both hands around the steaming cup. Leaning his head against the cabin wall, he closed his eyes.

  ‘Last night was nice,’ he said. ‘Despite it all.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, and did the same.

  Everyone had lingered around the fire in the reception cabin, drinking glühwein and chatting until three in the morning. Manzano had shown an interest in her work at MIC, then as the evening wore on their conversation flowed, taking in heaven and earth and everything in between. Sophia suspected that Fleur fancied the Italian; she had certainly laughed the loudest at his jokes, but then again she had been knocking back the glühwein. Sophia did not want to be inside her head this morning.

  ‘Hey there, you two turtledoves.’ Chloé stood in the door, holding a cup. ‘Is there room for me?’

  Sophia found Chloé’s appearance at that moment irksome. She had been feeling so contented when it was just the two of them out here on the bench.

  ‘Here,’ said Manzano, without opening his eyes, and patted the space beside him on the bench.

  The moment of calm was past. Chloé started chattering away; every now and then Manzano would respond. Sophia was about to get up when she heard footsteps crunching in the snow.

  One of the young women from reception was coming up the path between the cabins.

  ‘Mr Manzano, a Mr Bollard called for you. He’ll call back again in ten minutes. He said it was urgent.’

  Sophia had followed Manzano’s phone call with mounting anxiety, drawing her conclusions from his answers. Afterwards he confirmed her fears.

  As they wound their way back to the cabin, Sophia asked, ‘How come you don’t want to go?’

  Manzano shrugged. ‘Where the police are concerned, my experiences haven’t been good. Besides, I don’t see how I can help.’

  ‘You already helped once. So why not again?’

  ‘I’m not an expert in this area. These are highly specialized systems.’

  ‘But it’s IT.’

  ‘That’s like saying you should switch from coordinating disaster relief to organizing a world ski jump championship. With one day’s notice.’

  ‘Well, it would be a nice change of pace. But I see your point.’

  In the cabin, the others had already set the table for breakfast. Even old Bondoni had crawled out from under the covers. Manzano told everyone of the latest development.

  ‘Of course you’re going!’ Bondoni spoke up, outraged. ‘Or do you want to leave it up to those dopes to save us? No, my boy, you can’t duck your responsibility so easily. Have you forgotten what made you go storming the police barricades, back in the day? Because you wanted to save the world. Now you’ve got the chance to do it.’

  ‘Oh, let him be,’ Lara s
aid to her father. ‘It’s Piero’s decision.’

  ‘If I’ve understood correctly what it is you do there in Brussels,’ Manzano said to Sophia, ‘your colleagues are going to be very busy over the next few days.’

  Sophia gave a rueful nod. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. If you do end up deciding to go to The Hague, ask Bollard whether he can arrange two seats on the plane.’

  Manzano looked at her, puzzled.

  ‘From The Hague it’s only two hours to Brussels by car,’ she said. ‘One way or another, I have to get back. They’ll need everyone there now.’

  Berlin, Germany

  To those who knew its history, the Bundeskriminalamt complex at Treptower Park called to mind a litany of conflict: it was from here that the Kaiser’s battalions had once marched off to war; here that the Wehrmacht had designed munitions for the coming war of extermination; and from 1949 it had been home to the cynically named Volkspolizei – the people’s police. In the aftermath of 9/11, the building had become the epicentre of Germany’s fight against international terrorism, housing not only the Berlin branch of the federal criminal police force but the Joint Counter-Terrorism Centre (GTAZ).

  Jürgen Hartlandt, a detective in Division ST35, was one of a number of officers making their way to the emergency briefing that had been called that Sunday morning. As they took their seats, it became apparent that no one could do more than hazard a guess as to why they were there. After fifteen minutes, by which time the room was completely packed, the head of GTAZ stepped up to address the gathering.

  ‘This morning we received confirmation from the Italian and Swedish authorities that the outages were caused by deliberate manipulations of their electric grids.’

  He paused a moment to allow the agitated murmuring that greeted this announcement to subside, then continued, ‘The extent and nature of the crisis leads us to fear that we must expect more reports of this kind.’