The Prince of Risk A Novel(109)

Astor remembered the annual reports he’d found at Penelope Evans’s house. One by one he named the companies, and one by one Nossey confirmed that all used the Empire Platform. Astor began to see Britium and the Empire Platform in a different light. “I hope this isn’t rude,” he said, “but how secure is Empire? It seems that a lot of critical industries use it to control their operations in one way or another. Have there ever been any instances of hacking or cyberattacks against Empire?”

“Not a single one. The Empire Platform is equipped with its own firewall to stop unwanted incursions dead.”

“So no one has ever hacked one of your clients and messed with their controls? Not once?”

The question made Nossey nervous. “I’m not at liberty to discuss security issues. I can direct you to Mr. Hong. He handles queries dealing with product integrity and litigation.”

Astor raised his hands and smiled. “No need to use the L word. I’m just trying to learn as much as I can about your company.”

“You can’t be too careful.”

“I do have one question. Can the Empire Platform be used to control an automobile?”

Nossey laughed, before realizing the intent of the question. “No, it can’t. Only a driver can control a car.” He rose suddenly. “I’m sorry to kick you out, but my master awaits.”

Astor stood. “You mentioned that my father was interested in your new owner.”

“Watersmark? Yes, he was curious about management practices. He wanted to know just how involved they were in our day-to-day operations.”

“And?”

“Of course they spent lots of time with us during the due diligence process and for the first six months after completing the acquisition. They studied all our internal systems—accounting, payroll, reporting, things like that. After that, they let us run things our way.”

“So you’d say things are pretty much the same as before?”



“Sure, Mr. Hong doesn’t bother us at all.”

That was the second time Nossey had mentioned the name. “Who is Mr. Hong?”

“Watersmark put him in and pays his salary. He gathers all the data they want. Looks after the bigger issues. Smart guy. MIT. Stanford. And he’s an engineer. He totally gets what we do.”

The secretary announced the conference call over the loudspeaker.

“It’s been fun,” said Nossey. “Hope I helped.”

“Tremendously,” said Astor, though he wasn’t entirely sure. “I appreciate your time.”

Nossey walked him to the door. “Mr. Astor,” he said, his face a mask of concern, “you don’t really think Britium had anything to do with your father’s death?”

“You mean my question about the car? I was just curious after you talked about Empire being like a universal remote control.”

“Empire can’t control a car. You’d have to hack the GPS, and of course you would have had to install a remote steering system.” Nossey’s demeanor brightened. The nuclear engineer turned software entrepreneur had scented a challenge. “Just maybe…”





70




They arrived in two cars, quietly and without pretense. Alex rode in the first with her colleague from MI5, Colonel Charles Graves. Three officers followed in the car behind. A second team had assembled in London outside the offices of GRAIL. It would be a synchronized entry.

“All right then,” said Graves. “Shall we?” He was blond, blue-eyed, and sandy-haired, handsome except for his permanent frown.

“Let’s go earn our beer,” said Alex.

“Guinness, I hope?”

“Bud.”

“Crikey.” Graves called his counterpart in London. “We’re a go.” He turned into the drive and accelerated up a long driveway. Trees shaded the path. There was a pasture with horses and a pond with a dock and rowboat. They rounded the bend and Major James Salt’s home came into view. It was a modest Georgian country house, a fat square slab of pale sandstone. The Bennett sisters would call it a big step up. Mr. Darcy would consider it a bigger step down. The road widened as it entered a crushed-gravel forecourt. Graves stopped the car next to a wheezing fountain and climbed out. Alex beat him to the door by a step.

“By all means,” said Graves, motioning to the doorbell.

“You’re too kind.” A call to the house ten minutes earlier had established that Salt’s wife was at home. Five’s dossier on Salt said the wife was not involved in his activities. Alex punched it with her index finger.

Inside, footsteps approached. A stout, matronly woman with messy ginger hair and a cleaning dress opened the door. “Yes?”