Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [15]
Favor flashed back to a key meeting held during the overhaul. The systems analyst who’d installed the computers and multiple backups had just explained to the company’s operations director and his deputy that nothing could go wrong. “This system is utterly foolproof.”
The deputy had learned forward and said, “Nothing’s foolproof. We’re dealing with a nuclear power plant. What if all your fancy systems go wrong?”
“That can’t happen, sir. Not if you follow directions and update the software.”
“Of course it can happen. Where’s the fail-safe?”
“I don’t understand.” The systems analyst had looked genuinely perplexed.
“If it all goes to hell and we’re facing a meltdown and don’t want those boys to be stuck telling some computer what to do, how do we pull the plug ourselves?”
“I assure you—”
“There isn’t one, in other words,” the deputy said to his boss. “They want us to trust the computers to do it.” He fixed his gaze on the analyst. “We need a mechanical switch to crash this plant, if it comes to that.”
The director had agreed, and at a cost in excess of $1 million, a fail-safe had been installed. Both the director and his deputy had been forced out the following year for spending too much money on the overhaul, but the safety system had remained in place.
“Josh, Orin, come with me,” Barney said now, before running to the far wall and two large red handles, much like those of a fire alarm. Above them was written MECHANICAL SHUTDOWN. USE ONLY IN AN EMERGENCY.
“Josh, yank that one.” Barney grabbed the first and pulled. The handle refused to budge. Josh tried his, with the same result. “Orin, give me a hand,” Barney shouted. The Klaxon and the pulsating red lights resumed. Some of the workers who’d been watching bolted from the room, making their way to exits.
“We’re in overload, Barney,” Orin shouted as he wrapped his hand around half of the lever while Favor took the other. “On three. One, two, three!” The men pulled. Slowly, the handle moved. It stopped some five inches out. Applying leverage to it, they forced the red handle fully down.
Favor turned to the other. Josh had managed to move the switch an inch from the wall. All three men grabbed a piece of it and pulled. Slowly the handle moved until it too was in the down position. The men stood silently, panting, waiting.
The fail-safe was a direct cable to the control rods. The levers severed the cable holding them aloft. In theory, the control rods would drop into the core by gravity, shutting down the reactors.
“Do you think it worked?” Orin asked in a near whisper.
“I hope to God it did, Orin. I sure hope it did.”
Josh glanced nervously toward the door. “Maybe we should get out of here, just in case.” Nodding their agreement, the others followed.
At the door, Favor turned back and looked at the elaborate control panel one more time. How could this happen? He wiped his bare hand across his face, which was drenched with sweat. A thought chilled him to the bone. What if the thing isn’t dead? What if it is just playing possum?
Favor turned and walked away. Within a few feet, he was running.
7
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
MERCY HOSPITAL
MONDAY, AUGUST 14
5:09 P.M.
At Brooklyn’s Mercy Hospital, the fourth hospital Daryl Haugen had visited in the city since arriving early that afternoon, she presented her US-CERT credential to the IT manager. “How many now?” she asked once he’d closed the door to his office.
Willy Winfield was perhaps thirty-five years old, balding, with thick glasses. He understood the question at once. “Still four, so far. We’ve taken all the patients off the computers and are handling medication manually, as we used to.”
“Have you figured out yet what happened?”
“Our medication software was scrambled.” Winfield’s tone was matter-of-fact, but Daryl could hear the heartache behind it. “Patients were given medicines and dosages unrelated to their needs. It’s been a disaster and put us at considerable risk from lawsuits. My people are working on it, but we can use all the help we can get. Would you care to see?”
“Yes, I would. That