Digital Fortress Chapter 3

Susans Volvo sedan rolled to a stop in the shadow of the ten-foot-high, barbed Cyclone fence. A boylike guard placed his paw on the crownwork.ID, please.Susan compel and settled in for the usual half-minute wait. The officer ran her simple machined finished a computerized scanner. Fin totallyy he looked up. Thank you, Ms. Fletcher. He gave an imperceptible sign, and the gate swung open. fractional a mile a drumhead Susan repeated the entire procedure at an equally imposing electrified fence. Come on, guys Ive only been through here a one million million million times.As she approached the final squ be uppoint, a stocky sentry with twain attack dogs and a machine gun glanced vote down at her permit plate and waved her through. She followed Canine Road for a nonher 250 yards and pulled into Employee Lot C. Unbelievable, she thought. Twenty-six jet employees and a twelve-billion-dollar budget youd think they could make it through the calendar weekend with stunned me. Susan gunned the car into her reserved spot and killed the engine.After crossing the landscaped terrace and entering the main(prenominal) building, she cleared cardinal more internal checkpoints and finally arrived at the windowless tunnel that led to the refreshing wing. A voice-scan shitth blocked her entry. issue SECURITY AGENCY (NSA) CRYPTO FACILITY AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLYThe fortify guard looked up. Afternoon, Ms. Fletcher.Susan smiled tiredly. Hi, John.Didnt expect you today.Yeah, me neither. She leaned toward the parabolic micro call off. Susan Fletcher, she stated clearly. The computer instantly substantiate the frequency concentrations in her voice, and the gate clicked open. She stepped through.The guard admired Susan as she began her travel down the cement causeway. He noniced that her crocked hazel eye seemed distant today, merely her cheeks had a flushed freshness, and her shoulder-length, auburn hair looked freshly blown dry. Trailing her was the faint scent of Johnsons Baby Powder. His eyes everyplacelook the length of her slender torso-to her white blouse with the bra barely visible beneath, to her knee-length khaki skirt, and finally to her legs Susan Fletchers legs.Hard to imagine they support a one one hundred seventy IQ, he mused to himself.He stared after her a long time. Finally he shook his head as she disappeared in the distance.As Susan reached the end of the tunnel, a circular, vaultlike door blocked her way. The enormous garner read crypto.Sighing, she placed her hand inside the recessed cipher box and entered her five-digit PIN. Seconds later the twelve-ton slab of steel began to revolve. She tried to focus, scarce her thoughts reeled rump to him.David Becker. The only man shed ever reveld. The youngest beneficial prof at Georgetown University and a brilliant foreign-language specialist, he was practically a famous person in the world of academia. Born with an eidetic memory and a love of languages, hed mastered s ix Asian dialects as well as Spanish, French, and Italian. His university lectures on etymology and linguistics were standing-room only, and he invariably stayed late to answer a stamp battery of questions. He spoke with authority and enthusiasm, apparently oblivious to the adoring gazes of his star-struck coeds.Becker was dark-a rugged, late thirty-five with sharp green eyes and a wit to match. His strong jaw and taut features reminded Susan of carved marble. oer six feet tall, Becker moved crosswise a pressure court faster than any of his colleagues could comprehend. After well beating his opponent, he would cool off by dousing his head in a drinking fountain and soaking his tuft of thick, sour hair. indeed, still dripping, hed treat his opponent to a fruit shake and a bagel.As with all young professors, Davids university salary was modest. From time to time, when he demand to renew his squash club portionship or restring his old Dunlop with gut, he earned extra money by d oing translating work for regime agencies in and more or less Washington. It was on one of those jobs that hed met Susan.It was a crisp morning during clear break when Becker re glum from a morning jog to his three-room faculty apartment to ferret out his answering machine blinking. He downed a quart of orange succus as he listened to the profligacy adventure. The message was like many he stock-a g overnment agency requesting his translating services for a few hours later that morning. The only extraneous thing was that Becker had never detectd of the organization.Theyre called the National Security Agency, Becker said, calling a few of his colleagues for background.The reply was always the same. You mean the National Security Council?Becker checkered the message. No. They said Agency. The NSA.Never heard of em.Becker checked the GAO Directory, and it showed no tilt either. Puzzled, Becker called one of his old squash buddies, an ex-political analyst turned research clerk at the Library of Congress. David was shocked by his friends explanation.Apparently, non only did the NSA exist, further it was considered one of the most influential government organizations in the world. It had been gathering globular electronic intelligence data and protecting U.S. classified information for over half a century. Only 3 percent of Americans were even certain it existed.NSA, his buddy joked, stands for No Such Agency. With a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, Becker judge the mysterious agencys offer. He drove the thirty-seven miles to their eighty-six-acre headquarters hidden discreetly in the wooded hills of Fort Meade, Maryland. After passing through timeless security checks and being issued a six-hour, holographic guest pass, he was escorted to a plush research facility where he was told he would spend the good afternoon providing blind support to the Cryptography Division-an elite group of mathematical brainiacs cognise as the code-breakers.For the first hour, the cryptographers seemed unaware Becker was even in that location. They hovered around an enormous panel and spoke a language Becker had never heard. They spoke of stream ciphers, self-decimated generators, haversack variants, zero sleep togetherledge protocols, unicity points. Becker observed, lost. They scrawled symbols on graph paper, pored over computer printouts, and ceaselessly referred to the jumble of textbook on the overhead projector.JHdja3jKHDhmado/ertwtjlw+jgj3285jhalsfnHKhhhfafOhhdfgaf/fj37weohi93450s9djfd2h/HHrtyFHLf8930395jspjf2j0890Ihj98yhfi080ewrt03jojr845h0roq+jt0eu4tqefqe//oujw08UY0IH0934jtpwfiajer09qu4jr9guivjP$duw4h95pe8rtugvjw3p4e/ikkcmffuerhfgv0q394ikjrmg+unhvs9oerrk/0956y7u0poikIOjp9f8760qwerqiEventually one of them explained what Becker had already surmised. The scrambled text was a code-a cipher text-groups of material bodys and earns representing encrypted words. The cryptographers job was to study the code and extract from it the ori ginal message, or cleartext. The NSA had called Becker because they guess the original message was written in mandarin orange Chinese he was to translate the symbols as the cryptographers decrypted them.For two hours, Becker interpreted an without end stream of Mandarin symbols. But each time he gave them a translation, the cryptographers shook their heads in despair. Apparently the code was not making sense. Eager to help, Becker pointed out that all the characters theyd shown him had a common trait-they were also part of the Kanji language. Instantly the bustle in the room fell silent. The man in charge, a lanky chain-smoker named Morante, turned to Becker in disbelief.You mean these symbols have multiple meanings?Becker nodded. He explained that Kanji was a Japanese writing system based on modified Chinese characters. Hed been broad Mandarin translations because thats what theyd asked for.Jesus Christ. Morante coughed. Lets try the Kanji.Like magic, everything fell into place .The cryptographers were duly impressed, save nonetheless, they still made Becker work on the characters out of sequence. Its for your own safety, Morante said. This way, you wont know what youre translating.Becker laughed. Then he noticed nobody else was laughing.When the code finally broke, Becker had no idea what dark enigmas hed helped reveal, but one thing was for certain-the NSA took code-breaking seriously the check in Beckers pocket was more than an entire months university salary.On his way back out through the series of security check points in the main corridor, Beckers exit was blocked by a guard hanging up a phone. Mr. Becker, wait here, please.Whats the caper? Becker had not expected the meeting to record so long, and he was running late for his standing Saturday afternoon squash match.The guard shrugged. Head of Crypto wants a word. Shes on her way out now.She? Becker laughed. He had yet to see a female inside the NSA.Is that a problem for you? a womans voice asked from behind him.Becker turned and immediately entangle himself flush. He eye the ID card on the womans blouse. The head of the NSAs Cryptography Division was not only a woman, but an attractive woman at that.No, Becker fumbled. I justSusan Fletcher. The woman smiled, holding out her slender hand.Becker took it. David Becker.Congratulations, Mr. Becker. I hear you did a fine job today. Might I chat with you just near it?Becker hesitated. Actually, Im in a bit of a rush at the moment. He hoped spurning the worlds most powerful intelligence agency wasnt a foolish act, but his squash match started in forty-five minutes, and he had a disposition to uphold David Becker was never late for squash class maybe, but never squash. Ill be brief. Susan Fletcher smiled. Right this way, please.Ten minutes later, Becker was in the NSAs commissary enjoying a popover and cranberry juice with the NSAs lovely head cryptographer, Susan Fletcher. It quickly became evident to David that the thirty-ei ght-year-olds high-ranking position at the NSA was no fluke-she was one of the brightest women he had ever met. As they discussed codes and code-breaking, Becker ensnare himself assay to keep up-a new and exciting experience for him.An hour later, after Becker had obviously missed his squash match and Susan had blatantly ignored three pages on the intercom, both of them had to laugh. There they were, two highly analytical minds, presumably immune to irrational infatuations-but somehow, while they sit down there discussing linguistic morphology and pseudo- ergodic number generators, they felt like a couple of teenagers-everything was fireworks.Susan never did get around to the real reason shed wanted to speak to David Becker-to offer him a audition post in their Asiatic Cryptography Division. It was clear from the passion with which the young professor spoke active teaching that he would never recant the university. Susan resolved not to ruin the mood by talking business. Sh e felt like a schoolgirl all over again nothing was red ink to spoil it. And nothing did.Their courtship was slow and romantic-stolen escapes whenever their schedules permitted, long walks through the Georgetown campus, late-night cappuccinos at Merluttis, occasional lectures and concerts. Susan found herself laughing more than shed ever thought possible. It seemed there was nothing David couldnt twist into a joke. It was a welcome release from the lastingness of her post at the NSA. one and only(a) crisp, autumn afternoon they sat in the bleachers watching Georgetown soccer get pummeled by Rutgers.What sport did you say you play? Susan teased. Zucchini?Becker groaned. Its called squash.She gave him a dumb look.Its like zucchini, he explained, but the courts smaller.Susan pushed him.Georgetowns left(p) wing sent a corner-kick sailing out of bounds, and a boo went up from the crowd. The defensemen hurried back downfield.How about you? Becker asked. Play any sports?Im a black belt in Stairmaster.Becker cringed. I prefer sports you can win.Susan smiled. Overachiever, are we?Georgetowns star defenseman blocked a pass, and there was a communal repair in the stands. Susan leaned over and whispered in Davids ear. Doctor.He turned and eyed her, lost.Doctor, she repeated. Say the first thing that comes to mind.Becker looked doubtful. Word associations?Standard NSA procedure. I essential to know who Im with. She eyed him sternly. Doctor.Becker shrugged. Seuss.Susan gave him a frown. Okay, try this one kitchen. He didnt hesitate. Bedroom.Susan arch her eyebrows coyly. Okay, how about this cat. Gut, Becker fired back.Gut?Yeah. Catgut. Squash racquet string of champions.Thats pleasant. She groaned.Your diagnosis? Becker inquired.Susan thought a minute. Youre a childish, sexually frustrated squash fiend.Becker shrugged. Sounds about right.It went on like that for weeks. Over dessert at all-night diners Becker would ask undated questions.Where had she in condition(p ) mathematics?How did she end up at the NSA?How did she get so captivating?Susan blushed and admitted shed been a late bloomer. Lanky and maladroit with braces through her late teens, Susan said her Aunt Clara had once told her Gods apology for Susans plainness was to award her brains. A premature apology, Becker thought.Susan explained that her interest in cryptanalytics had started in immature high school. The president of the computer club, a towering eighth grader named domestic dog Gutmann, typed her a love poem and encrypted it with a number-substitution scheme. Susan begged to know what it said. Frank coquettishly refused. Susan took the code home and stayed up all night with a woolly mullein under her covers until she figured out the secret-every number represented a letter. She carefully deciphered the code and watched in wonder as the plain random digits turned wizard(prenominal)ly into beautiful poetry. In that instant, she knew shed fallen in love-codes and cryp tography would commence her life.Almost twenty years later, after getting her masters in mathematics from Johns Hopkins and poring over number theory on a full scholarship from MIT, she submitted her doctoral thesis, Cryptographic Methods, Protocols, and Algorithms for Manual Applications. Apparently her professor was not the only one who read it shortly afterward, Susan received a phone call and a plane ticket from the NSA.Everyone in cryptography knew about the NSA it was home to the best cryptographic minds on the planet. Each spring, as the private-sector firms descended on the brightest new minds in the workforce and offered obscene salaries and stock options, the NSA watched carefully, selected their targets, and then simply stepped in and doubled the best standing offer. What the NSA wanted, the NSA bought. Trembling with anticipation, Susan flew to Washingtons Dulles internationalist Airport where she was met by an NSA driver, who whisked her off to Fort Meade.There were forty-one others who had received the same phone call that year. At twenty-eight, Susan was the youngest. She was also the only female. The prate turned out to be more of a public traffic bonanza and a barrage of intelligence testing than an informational session. In the week that followed, Susan and six others where invited back. Although hesitant, Susan returned. The group was immediately separated. They underwent individual polygraph tests, background searches, handwriting analyses, and endless hours of interviews, including taped inquiries into their sexual orientations and practices. When the interviewer asked Susan if shed ever engaged in sex with animals, she approximately walked out, but somehow the mystery carried her through-the prospect of working on the slip edge of code theory, entering The Puzzle Palace, and becoming a member of the most secretive club in the world-the National Security Agency.Becker sat riveted by her stories. They actually asked you if youd had s ex with animals?Susan shrugged. Part of the routine background check. hygienic Becker fought off a grin. What did you say?She kicked him under the table. I told them no Then she added, And until last night, it was true.In Susans eyes, David was as close to perfect as she could imagine. He only had one unfortunate quality every time they went out, he insisted on picking up the check. Susan hated seeing him lay down a full days salary on dinner for two, but Becker was immovable. Susan learned not to protest, but it still bothered her. I make more money than I know what to do with, she thought. I should be paying.Nonetheless, Susan decided that aside from Davids outdated sense of chivalry, he was ideal. He was compassionate, smart, funny, and best of all, he had a sincere interest in her work. Whether it was during trips to the Smithsonian, bike rides, or impetuous spaghetti in Susans kitchen, David was perpetually curious. Susan answered what questions she could and gave David the ge neral, unclassified overview of the National Security Agency. What David heard enthralled him.Founded by President Truman at 1201 a.m. on November 4, 1952, the NSA had been the most clandestine intelligence agency in the world for almost fifty years. The NSAs seven-page start doctrine laid out a very concise agenda to protect U.S. government communications and to intercept the communications of foreign powers.The roof of the NSAs main operations building was littered with over five hundred antennas, including two large radomes that looked like enormous golf balls. The building itself was mammoth-over two million square feet, twice the size of CIA headquarters. Inside were eight million feet of telephone wire and eighty thousand square feet of permanently cockeyed windows.Susan told David about COMINT, the agencys global reconnaissance division-a mind-boggling collection of listening posts, satellites, spies, and wiretaps around the globe. Thousands of communiques and conversation s were intercepted every day, and they were all sent to the NSAs analysts for decryption. The FBI, CIA, and U.S. foreign policy advisors all depended on the NSAs intelligence to make their decisions.Becker was mesmerized. And code-breaking? Where do you fit in?Susan explained how the intercepted transmissions ofttimes originated from dangerous governments, hostile factions, and terrorist groups, many of whom were inside U.S. borders. Their communications were unremarkably encoded for secrecy in case they ended up in the wrong hands-which, thanks to COMINT, they usually did. Susan told David her job was to study the codes, break them by hand, and furnish the NSA with the deciphered messages. This was not entirely true.Susan felt a pang of guilt over deception to her new love, but she had no choice. A few years past it would have been accurate, but things had changed at the NSA. The whole world of cryptography had changed. Susans new duties were classified, even to many in the hig hest echelons of power.Codes, Becker said, fascinated. How do you know where to start? I mean how do you break them?Susan smiled. You of all people should know. Its like studying a foreign language. At first the text looks like gibberish, but as you learn the rules defining its structure, you can start to extract meaning.Becker nodded, impressed. He wanted to know more.With Merluttis napkins and concert programs as her chalkboard, Susan set out to retain her charming new pedagogue a mini course in cryptography. She began with Julius Caesars perfect square cipher box.Caesar, she explained, was the first code-writer in history. When his foot-messengers started getting ambushed and his secret communiques stolen, he devised a rudimentary way to encrypt this directives. He rearranged the text of his messages such that the correspondence looked senseless. Of course, it was not. Each message always had a letter-count that was a perfect square-sixteen, twenty-five, one hundred-depending on how much Caesar needed to say. He on the QT informed his officers that when a random message arrived, they should transcribe the text into a square grid. If they did, and read top-to-bottom, a secret message would magically appear.Over time Caesars concept of rearranging text was adopted by others and modified to become more difficult to break. The pinnacle of non computer-based encryption came during World War II. The Nazis reinforced a baffling encryption machine named Enigma. The device resembled an old-fashioned typewriter with aspect interlocking rotors that revolved in intricate ways and shuffled cleartext into confounding arrays of seemingly senseless character groupings. Only by having another Enigma machine, gradational the exact same way, could the recipient break the code.Becker listened, spellbound. The teacher had become the student.One night, at a university performance of The Nutcracker, Susan gave David his first basic code to break. He sat through the entire inte rmission, pen in hand, puzzling over the eleven-letter messageHL FKZC VD LDSFinally, just as the lights dimmed for the plunk for half, he got it. To encode, Susan had simply replaced each letter of her message with the letter prior it in the alphabet. To decrypt the code, all Becker had to do was shift each letter one space forward in the alphabet-A became B, B became C, and so on. He quickly shifted the remaining letters. He never imagined four piffling syllables could make him so happyIM GLAD WE METHe quickly scrawled his reaction and handed it to herLD SNNSusan read it and beamed.Becker had to laugh he was thirty-five years-old, and his heart was doing back flips. Hed never been so attracted to a woman in his life. Her delicate European features and soft brown eyes reminded him of an ad for Estee Lauder. If Susans body had been lanky and awkward as a teenager, it sure wasnt now. Somewhere along the way, she had developed a willowy grace-slender and tall with full, firm breasts and a perfectly flat abdomen. David often joked that she was the first swimsuit model hed ever met with a doctorate in applied mathematics and number theory. As the months passed, they both started to suspect theyd found something that could last a lifetime.Theyd been together almost two years when, out of the blue, David proposed to her. It was on a weekend trip to the Smoky Mountains. They were lying on a big canopy bed at Stone Manor. He had no ring-he just blurted it out. Thats what she loved about him-he was so spontaneous. She kissed him long and hard. He took her in his arms and slipped off her nightgown.Ill take that as a yes, he said, and they made love all night by the warmth of the fire.That magical evening had been six months ago-before Davids unexpected promotion to chairman of the Modern run-in Department. Their relationship had been in a downhill slide ever since.