He could sense the unspoken question in the short delay that followed before Grant replied, ‘OK. But are you saying that Worzniak’s at risk?’
‘I am. So we mustn’t talk for too long now.’
He cut the call and handed the mobile back to Worzniak. ‘It’s over to them now,’ he said quietly. Worzniak returned Foster’s mobile.
‘Let’s hope they aren’t hand-in-glove with my old buddies,’ he muttered. ‘One enemy’s bad enough.’
FOURTEEN
All Fall Down
The tender slowed and circled until it was moving upstream and approaching the bright orange lifeboat tied up at the pier just below Waterloo Bridge. It was quiet here, the distant hum of the traffic on the road almost drowned by the gurgle of the water as it eddied past the pier supports. Nobody was in sight as they neared, but when Foster pulled in, a woman emerged, shaded her eyes with her hand and gave them a curious stare. Then she recognized Foster, and visibly relaxed. She was the RNLI Station Manager and she waved a greeting before coming forward to take the mooring lines from Janet.
After they had tied up, the woman helped them alight and Foster explained his need to stay there for a few hours, saying they had to attend an urgent meeting with a member of the government. The station manager stared levelly at him for a few seconds before nodding guarded consent. ‘But only for an hour,’ she said, ‘two at the most. The PLA’s pretty tight on casual mooring along here.’
They went up the steps leading to the Embankment, crossed over to the red and white Institution building on Savoy Place, and waited in front of Michael Faraday’s statue for whoever was coming. Although Foster was reasonably confident that he could trust Grant implicitly he could still turn out to be a foe. But even if his trust in Grant were to be misplaced, he felt sure nobody would risk carrying out murder or abduction in broad daylight in the middle of London.
They didn’t have to wait very long. Within a few minutes a black Mercedes drew up in front of them. The car bore the Stoof insignia, and Foster was intrigued; he’d heard of these subtly but heavily armoured vehicles, but had never actually seen one. The driver emerged and walked slowly to the front of the vehicle, looking warily around before he opened the front passenger door to let Grant out.
Foster introduced his little group to Grant. He had not mentioned Janet before, and now he saw a puzzled frown cross Grant’s face. ‘A friend of mine,’ he explained. ‘Janet Coleman. She knows about all of this.’
Grant scowled briefly, but then he extended his hand to her. ‘Oh!’ he said and as he shook her hand he gave an appreciative smile. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Coleman.’
They entered the car and set off, Janet flanked by Foster and Worzniak, while Grant took the front passenger seat. While the car waited at the lights to join the traffic on the busy Embankment, Grant leaned over the back of his seat and asked, ‘I’ve heard a lot about you from Dan, Mr Worzniak. But tell me, what exactly is it that you’re wanting from us?’
‘I need to disappear. I can’t go back to the States now, and even here I’ll need protection.’
The lights turned green and the car pulled away. Foster could see the driver’s eyes in the mirror. They remained impassive, seemingly absorbed with carefully watching the surrounding vehicles as the driver threaded the car through the dense traffic. Foster was sure that what he was hearing now was only one of very many intriguing conversations that had passed his ears.
‘We’ll discuss that when we get to Westminster,’ Grant continued, ‘but first I’ll need to know what you’ll be bringing to the table in return.’
Worzniak glanced briefly at the back of the driver’s head before looking back at Grant. ‘Plenty: names, technical details, computer files, printouts of emails, in fact everything you’ll need. And, believe me, it’s a big packet. A lot of dirt. Plenty of surprises for you guys.’
Grant returned his stare steadily before replying. ‘Are you saying that you would be willing to swear an affidavit on this, and possibly stand up and repeat all of it – perhaps in a court of inquiry?’
Worzniak drew in a deep breath and looked out of the window before answering. ‘With proper protection, and with the right incentives, sure. I’ll spill all of it.’
Foster felt sure that those ‘incentives’ would have to be enough to keep the American in clover for the rest of his life.
Grant eyed him for a long while before speaking. ‘Aye,’ he said afterwards. ‘All right. I’m taking you to meet Sir James Ballantyne.’
‘I met him once,’ Worzniak said brightly, ‘in Denver.’
By now they had reached Westminster Bridge and Foster could see Big Ben ahead. They would be at their destination very soon. Would that be the end of it?
As they arrived at Ballantyne’s office Grant went in alone, leaving the other three to wait with Sir James’s secretary in the corridor. After a few minutes he emerged and, as he appeared, the secretary stepped discreetly out of earshot, a few paces along the corridor. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Coleman,’ Grant said, giving Janet an apologetic smile, ‘there are matters here that are of some importance to the State. I’m sure that you will understand that I must ask you to wait. Sir James’s secretary will show you around and see that you are comfortable.’
As his voice tailed off Foster said, ‘Janet knows everything about this affair already, Grant.’
A scowl flitted briefly across Grant’s face. ‘Perhaps so,’ he admitted finally, ‘but I’m afraid I must insist.’
‘No. She stays.’ Foster saw surprise on Grant’s face as he added, ‘She was with me in Denver.’
There was a short silence while Grant worked out the implications of Foster’s words. Then Janet intervened, ‘Don’t worry about me, Dan. I don’t mind. Honestly.’ She sounded cheerfully resigned and her words eased the tension in the corridor.
Foster looked at her in amazement. Such meek compliance was entirely out of character with her usual feisty self-assertiveness. But she smiled at him reassuringly and said, ‘I’ve never been inside this place before. A chance to see inside the corridors of power? With a personal guide? That’ll be fine. Honestly, it will.’
‘Thank you,’ said Grant, clearly relieved that confrontation had been avoided. He beckoned to the secretary. She came over and, after a few quiet words with Grant, she led Janet away and as their voices receded in the distance Foster could tell that Janet was indeed looking forward to enjoying this personal tour of Parliament.
Grant stopped at the door with his hand on the knob. ‘Sir James is conferring with the relevant people at the moment,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve outlined what you’ve told me.’
At their entry Ballantyne hung up the telephone and rose to greet them.
After the necessary introductions were complete they sat down around a long meeting table across the room from Sir James’s desk. Ballantyne cleared his throat. ‘This will be very difficult for us,’ he said, addressing Worzniak. ‘I understand that you have some important information for us and that you are looking to us to provide you with some protection.’
‘Yup,’ Worzniak said. ‘There’s some strong stuff goin’ on. They’ve tried to kill me twice now and they won’t give up easily, not even here.’
‘They?’
‘My old bosses.’
Ballantyne stared at him in open disbelief. ‘Mmm,’ he mused. ‘If what you say is true, I’m sure you will appreciate that we will come under extreme pressure from our transatlantic colleagues, Mr Worzniak, your old masters; the very people you say are trying to kill you.’
‘I know,’ Worzniak said. ‘But let’s cut the crap: will you or won’t you give me asylum over here?’
Ballantyne sniffed. ‘It’s not quite so easy, I’m afraid. You see, you could become subject to an extradition request from the US Government. In fact, I am perfectly sure that you will – we’ve seen some preliminary moves being made in that direction already.’
‘But your government wouldn’t allow that, would it
?’ Worzniak said. ‘Not after I’ve told you exactly how your so-called allies were responsible for killing all those folks in London.’ But his bullish self-confidence had been shaken. There was a slight doubt in his tone. His voice was muted.
Ballantyne stared at him and said, ‘Mr Worzniak, you must understand that we have to abide by agreed procedures between our two governments. Procedures that have been in place for some time now.’ He clenched his jaw before continuing, ‘Specifically, there’s an extradition treaty in place between the British and American Governments. It removes the requirement on the US to provide prima facie evidence when requesting the extradition of people from the UK.’
Worzniak blanched as he considered the implications of those words. ‘You mean, the Feds can just ask for me and your government’ll … well, you’ll just hand me over?’
‘In principle, yes.’
Worzniak gave a bitter laugh. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘the deal’s off. I’ll take my chances somewhere else. Believe me, there are other countries that’d love to know about this. They’re much less palsy-walsie with the States. They’d have nothing to lose.’
But Foster could see the worried look that had come into his eyes and he wondered if any viable alternative would, in fact, be open to the American. Somehow he doubted it, and it was clear that Worzniak doubted it as well. Foster guessed that the American had worked out that if he was going to become a refugee for the rest of his days, he’d rather do that in a country where the native language bore a passing resemblance to his own.
‘But there may still be a way out,’ Ballantyne continued. ‘In fact, there are two definite possibilities we can think of so far.’
‘Which are?’
‘First: we make your presence here very public. You go on television and explain what has been happening. In that case your old masters would be exposed to the full glare of publicity, very unwelcome publicity.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Worzniak said, visibly relaxing.
‘It’s not quite so simple,’ Ballantyne continued. ‘For a start, if we followed that procedure it would impose severe strains on the special relationship that presently exists between our two countries.’
‘Well, the special relationship can go fuck itself then!’
Ballantyne pursed his lips. ‘The implications are enormous,’ he continued, ‘and very wide-ranging. I doubt that those commanding the ship of State would be prepared to steer her into such dangerous waters. What is more, such action might not even achieve its ends.’
‘Whattya mean?’
‘Your country could decide to brazen it out. Deny everything. Claim that you’re a deluded renegade – a madman. They could shrug off the risk of bad publicity and simply press ahead with demanding your extradition.’
‘Seriously?’ Foster interrupted.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Ballantyne replied. ‘Our American cousins can be quite cavalier about these things when it suits them.’ He looked down at his desk before saying, ‘And in any case I’m not at all sure that we would get that far. Involving the media, I mean.’
‘Why not?’ Foster asked.
‘Because nobody would be keen on rocking the boat that much.’
Foster stared at him and understood. It would be too damaging to expose the fact that the US Government had initiated and supported a scheme that had resulted in a major incident in the UK, and – albeit indirectly – killed Londoners. ‘Collateral damage’ was an unpopular concept with the public at large, and this news would be manna to the media and left-wing activists.
‘You mentioned that there were two alternatives,’ Foster said.
‘Yes. The second is that Mr Worzniak should simply disappear.’
Amazed at the idea, Foster stared at him and frowned. ‘Would that be possible?’ he asked.
‘It would indeed,’ Ballantyne answered. ‘As yet, nobody other than ourselves know that Mr Worzniak is here. Oh, the Americans will, of course, know by now, and they might even have followed him when you met him. But thanks to your brilliant strategy of using a boat, they’ll have lost his track.’
‘Surely that wouldn’t stop them from demanding his repatriation,’ Grant said.
‘Perhaps not. But as long as they are met with denials that he is here, how could they possibly make a fuss? After all, they’d scarcely want any information on his past activities to become public knowledge.’
Worzniak’s expression indicated that he liked this idea far better. ‘I’d need a new identity, a safe house,’ he said.
‘Indeed,’ Ballantyne reassured him. ‘That too would be entirely possible.’
As the American relaxed, working out the full implications, Ballantyne turned to Foster. ‘That lady, Ms Coleman – it’s very unfortunate that she knows about this. Some might say that you were not as discreet as you should have been.’
‘She was with me in Denver when Worzniak’s goons tried to kill me.’ He saw Worzniak bridle but pressed on, ‘She was going to be another victim.’
Ballantyne studied his face before saying, ‘I see.’ Then he seemed to reach a decision. ‘Very well,’ he said finally. ‘But we need to be assured that she will be discreet.’
‘You needn’t worry about her,’ Foster answered.
‘Perhaps. But we are in tricky waters here. News of the Darkfall Switch affair would be highly explosive if it were to leak out. The press would be prepared to pay handsomely for inside information on it, very handsomely.’
Foster glared at him and said acidly, ‘If you’re implying that Janet would sell out for a pile of cash, I’d suggest you look closer to home first. Your own people are scarcely past masters at keeping secrets from the press.’
Grant and Ballantyne exchanged bleak smiles.
Ballantyne took a deep breath. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘What’s done is done. We must now move on.’ He turned to Worzniak and asked, ‘Now Mr Worzniak, what can you tell me about this … this affair?’
Worzniak leant back in his chair and began to unravel the story.
The plan had been simple and devilish. As the technology of warfare advanced, with the possibility of weapons of mass destruction being used, it had become clear that speed of response would be critical in the event of nuclear war breaking out. In simple terms, it takes approximately thirty minutes from launch for a ballistic missile to reach its target, so a half-hour delay in launching an enemy’s weapons would allow the US to annihilate the launch sites before the button could be pressed.
One simple command, sent electronically to the enemy’s power stations would initiate the Darkfall routine. Chaos would follow as the entire country blacked out. Traffic flows would be disrupted, communications blocked. The missile launch mechanisms themselves could be jeopardized.
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. ‘R
eally?’
‘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.’
The Darkfall Switch Page 23
