The Annihilation Score by Charles Stross Page B

indolent, satisfied smirk of the utterly entitled; then something odd happens. He stiffens, an expression of sudden urgency wiping the grin from his features. “Oh dear. How unfortun—
What?
” (Another pause, during which all of us try to pretend we’re not holding our breath in hope of learning what could set Golden Boy’s face in such a severe rictus of dismay.) “Oh dear, that’s really rather serious, isn’tit? Yes, I can see why you felt it necessary to interrupt—yes, I’ll tell them. Keep me informed of any developments. Yes. Bye.”
    He puts the phone down, then leans forward and plants his hands palm-down on either side of his blotter for a moment. For a moment he struggles visibly for words.
    â€œ
Where
is Officer Friendly when you need him?” he finally bursts out. Then he takes a deep breath and uses the moment to get a grip on himself. “I apologize, ladies and gentlemen. It appears that the incident in Trafalgar Square may have been a diversion.”
    â€œWhat?” (That’s my contribution to the sudden uproar.)
    â€œWhile Dr. O’Brien was defending our friend the Mayor from Strip Jack Spratt in front of the cameras around the Fourth Plinth, somebody broke into the Bank of England.”
    *   *   *
    â€œThey broke into the Bank of England vaults,” I repeat later that evening, “crowbarred their way into one of the secure terminals, and downloaded the private keys to the currency serialization printer.”
    Vikram: “Who are ‘they’?”
    Emma: “What’s a currency serialization printer?”
    We’re in a private room at the Civil Service Club, a couple of blocks away from the Cabinet Office. Our booking on the room in Admiralty House ran out, and the New Annex is still out of service, so the Senior Auditor personally signed us into the club and agreed to a subsistence claim. Which is a good thing, because I am shaky and ravenous with hunger—I haven’t eaten properly since before last night’s reception on the oil rig.
    I push my hair back (isolated strands are making individual bids for freedom from the knot I imposed on them after I showered) and wet my lips before I reply. It’s a really nice Beaujolais: the SA has good taste in wine. “Nobody knows who ‘they’ are, which is in itself highly suspicious,” I explain. “The cameras saw nothing. Literally, nothing. The recording isn’t blank, it just shows what you’d expect to see in a room with nobody there, until suddenly there’s anexplosion and bits of computer and broken glass and ceiling tiles all over the floor.”
    â€œDo go on.” Dr. Armstrong’s spectacles twinkle: reflections from the candles in the middle of the table.
    â€œThey broke into the vault where they keep the secure computer system the bank uses to generate the numbers on banknotes. It’s an anti-forgery measure: the serial numbers aren’t purely sequential, and they aren’t random. They’re actually a sequence number and a cryptographic hash function generated by a
very
private key indeed. Banks can use a copy of the B of E’s public key to verify that high-denomination notes aren’t forgeries. It’s a back-stop: even if an enterprising crook can get hold of a supply of the right paper and ink, beg borrow or steal a secure hologram-capable intaglio printer, and manufacture currency plates, they still have to get the number right.”
    â€œI thought they used RFID chips these days?” says Jez Wilson. “And DNA?”
    â€œThe DNA tagging hasn’t been rolled out yet; when it is, it can be sampled and amplified by PCR to authenticate the new banknotes. RFID chips—not for anything small, they’re too expensive. Euro zone issuers use RFID chips in fifty-euro notes and up, but the Bank of England doesn’t do that yet. The key security measure is