System Corruption. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ