Читать книгу System Corruption - Don Pendleton - Страница 7

The background hum of electronics faded to silence as Frank Carella read through the columns of figures on the wide monitor screen. He reread sections, confirming in his mind what he had just seen, because as reality hit home he found it almost impossible to digest and accept what he was seeing. He leaned an elbow on the console desk and rested his head in his hand, aware that he was trembling—not with excitement, but from sheer disbelief. Studying the scrolling tables, the lines of test results and the conclusions reached, he spent the next ten minutes going over the data, until he finally admitted to himself that his initial reaction had been correct.

The Ordstrom Tactical Group, the company he worked for, had taken negative test results for high-impact armored steel plates used in combat vehicles being supplied to the United States military and had passed those false results into the production system. Carella saw, too, that the specifications had been signed off by one of the company’s heads of quality control, and had been countersigned by Jacob Ordstrom, the CEO. The man not only owned OTG but also ran it like his personal fiefdom.

Carella had stumbled over the specifications by pure accident. He had been inputting fresh data into the company’s massive mainframe computer, working on information drawn from other computers around the manufacturing complex. A momentary power spike had caused a blip, forcing the backup system to shunt Carella’s current work into a safety file. It was standard operating procedure, a decision made by the online computer itself. Carella waited until he received the go-ahead to resume work, keying in the commands that would restore his data. When the file was restored to his monitor he saw a huge amount of extra data that had attached to the end of his string. Carella isolated his own data and saved it to a separate file, then returned to check out the mystery information.

The first thing he noticed was that he had been presented with data from a deletion cache. Someone had dumped a massive file, expecting it to be erased completely, but had neglected to key in the final code that would ensure no trace would be retained. Carella found himself intrigued by the large amount of data. His curiosity made him look further and that was where he found something that pinned him in his seat, staring at the document header. The file names rang a bell at the back of his mind. He tapped in more commands and began to scroll through the data. A sudden chill of unease enveloped him. He cross-referenced the data, moving back and forth, checking and rechecking. The more he dug the colder the chill became.

He brought up the current specs for the armor plating—the one being used in production. He applied a split screen, laying both sets of specifications side by side, and scrolled through the text. It only took him a dozen pages to confirm that the test failure spec was identical to the one being used to make the plating. Headings and dates had been altered, so the failed equations and tables were online as a successful development.

Carella froze, staring at the twin images on the large monitor.

What the hell was going on?

It was deception on a huge scale. Someone had made a conscious decision to push through the below-standard specifications as the genuine article, and the inferior armor plating was being manufactured and fitted to combat vehicles.

Why would OTG let itself be compromised? Carella wondered.

He knew the company had been struggling to meet contract deadlines. They were in tough competition with rival companies within the armaments business. There had been serious complaints from stockholders who were dissatisfied with results and had put Jacob Ordstrom under pressure.

That knowledge pushed its way to the forefront of Carella’s thoughts. He found he was having difficulty believing Ordstrom would allow himself to risk his integrity by doing such things. Yet he realized he couldn’t conjure up any other logical explanation.

His next thoughts were tinged with anger. Anger at the thought of American soldiers being put at risk. Wasn’t it enough that they were already at risk every day in the combat zones of Iraq and Afghanistan. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be accepted.

He had to do something.

But what?

Carella slid open a drawer and took out a pair of flash drives. He slid the first into the USB port, then set the computer to make a copy of the files he had on-screen. He retained the split-screen function. It took the computer a few minutes to download all the data. Carella then made a second copy. He capped the drives and dropped them into his jacket pocket. He reconfigured the two data sets and logged back on to his original task, completing the operation. He saved the data to the appropriate file, logged out, gathered his paperwork and pushed back from the desk.

He made his way out of the computer vault, using his security card in the reader to open the steel door. Stepping into the brightly illuminated outer walkway Carella realized he was sweating uncomfortably as he made his down to the security gate. He recognized the guard on duty and nodded to him.

“Late shift, Mr. Carella?” the man asked.

“Seems they’re becoming the norm, Lyall,” Carella said with a forced smile.

Carella placed his hand flat on the palm reader, feeling the soft vibration as the machine scanned his fingerprints. A subdued buzz gave him the all clear and he stepped through into the main corridor.

“You feeling okay?” Lyall asked, noticing the sheen of sweat on Carella’s flushed face.

Carella loosened his tie and opened the top button on his shirt. “Temperature’s up a little. Feel a little feverish.”

“You need to take something for that before it kicks in. Shot of whiskey and a good night’s sleep.”

Carella grinned, nodding. “Now that’s good advice, Lyall. Just what I need.”

Carella made his way through the Product Development Division, passing through two more checkpoints before he stepped outside. He made his way to the employee parking lot and into his car, where he sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel and waiting for the tremors to pass. He passed a hand over his dry mouth. He really was ready for that shot of liquor right now.

He started the car and reversed out of his slot, swinging around and driving along the plant perimeter to the main gate, where he had yet another security check to endure. Clear of that he finally drove away from the sprawling site. OTG was like a small city, covering a massive acreage. It had, apart from development and the huge production facility, its own small hospital, restaurants and sports facilities. There was even a small bank on-site and a few stores. And of course the security division headed by Arnold Hoekken. The South African had a reputation as a hard man. He ran SecForce like his own private army. His dedication to the job came second only to his loyalty to Jacob Ordstrom.

Carella had heard the rumors about Hoekken. That he had left South Africa under a cloud after working for the state police. His work for Ordstrom was similar. Again, there were rumors about the way he zealously guarded his employer’s privacy and had no time for anyone who went against company regulations.

That made Carella remember the flash drives nestled in his pocket. If his actions were discovered Hoekken would come after him like a heat-seeking missile.

Carella didn’t allow himself to become complacent just because he was clear of the facility. He knew OTG’s reach went far beyond the outer perimeter. What he had done was with the best intentions—to expose what he saw as a betrayal of the American military. He did not regret that action for one second, but he did accept he had probably placed himself in danger.

Carella picked up the road home, the drive easy because it was late and he had missed rush hour. The farther he got from OTG the stronger his unease became. He found he was checking his mirrors more than normal, expecting to see…

“Come on, Frank, what the hell do you expect to see? A big black four-by-four tailing you?”

He felt a wry smile curl his lips as he attempted to brush off the paranoia. He didn’t succeed. He did become aware of his sweating palms. A sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

He forced himself to think rationally. He glanced at his watch. It was just over an hour since he had logged off the computer and left the facility. How would anyone know what he had discovered? That thought only raised his concerns. He had never thought about it before, but what if OTG security had a way of registering individuals using the mainframe computer?

“Frank, you have to use your code to log on,” he reminded himself.

The mainframe held the company’s most sensitive material, so there had to be a way they could monitor who accessed it. It was common sense. OTG’s complex manufacturing base covered a wide range of military product. So they had to protect it.

“Idiot. You dumb-ass idiot.” His shout of frustration was contained inside the car, but Carella felt sure it could have been heard across the highway.

With the realization he had probably left what amounted to an identifying signature on the OTG computer records, Carella fell into a deep mood swing. He was screwed. No doubt about it. Once the record of his session was scanned and the material he had been viewing exposed, he would really be in trouble. The digital readout would more than likely show that he had also downloaded the data onto removable flash drives. The assumption would be that he had walked off-site with those drives. Once that fact was exposed Carella would become a hunted man.

He thought about turning around and returning to OTG. Handing over the data and admitting what he had done. All he had to do was come clean to Ordstrom. After all it had been nothing more than a mistake. He hadn’t gone looking for the data. It had been revealed to him because of a genuine computer glitch. A brief spike had put the information on his monitor without Carella even having to look for it. Surely even Ordstrom would see the innocence there.

“The hell he would,” Carella said out loud. “Come on, Frank, how do you talk away the fact you downloaded the damned information and walked off-site with it in your pocket?”

That was the thing. He had viewed the altered specifications and had then copied the data. Ordstrom wasn’t going to accept that had been a mistake, because it couldn’t be. Copying the files had been a deliberate act. Not a good thing.

And whatever else he had done, the fact remained that Frank Carella had read those files. He knew what had been hidden. Changing the specifications was a criminal act. There was no getting away from that. OTG would be in deep trouble if the facts were released. And Jacob Ordstrom, being the head man, would catch the fallout. As big as he was, Ordstrom would have a hell of a job explaining away such a deliberate fraud.

So Frank Carella had dealt himself into a game that was about to have its stakes hit the roof. He needed to stay calm—to assess the situation and the possible repercussions. Because there were certainly going to be repercussions.

He spotted the lights of a diner ahead and, without thinking, pulled in to the parking lot. He switched off the motor and sat in the shadows, staring out of the windshield at the garish illuminations over the door of the diner. He looked at the lights but saw nothing after a while. When he moved he felt the flash drives in his pocket. For a moment he wanted to take them out and crush them underfoot. Destroy them. Get rid of the evidence.

The roar of a passing diesel rig snapped him out of his immobility. Carella climbed out of the car and crossed to the diner. He went inside and chose an empty booth. He ordered coffee. Through the dusty window he could see his own car, beyond it the highway. He was expecting that big, black 4x4 to show up. He would watch it cruise alongside his car before the occupants stepped out and headed for the diner…

“You want a top-up…oh, you haven’t even drunk that yet.”

Carella glanced up at the waitress, who was standing by his table with the steaming coffeepot in her hand. She was attractive, and the smile on her face was genuine.

“I’m okay,” he said.

“Honey, you look like you got a load of trouble on your shoulders. Bad day at the office?”

Carella managed a grin.

“You could put it that way,” he said. “But I got it figured now. Hey, how about a piece of pie to go with the coffee.”

The woman nodded and left.

Perspective had returned. Carella knew what he was going to do. True, he was in deep. OTG was not going to walk away and forget him. And he was not about to let them get away with their deception. If he had put himself on the spot, he was damned if he was going to give up without a fight.