pretty, but of special interest to Rubens were her eyes; in his experience, every woman in Washington, even the young ones, had thick, puffy eyes from overwork and lack of sleep — or from partying, depending on the woman in question. Sandra Marshall’s eyes were smooth and clear.
“I had breakfast with the President last Thursday,” said Marshall, “and he mentioned how very interested he is in our project, and he specifically endorsed something to apply to all computers at all times. Something radical, and something that will provide the highest level of security to all people. To individuals, not just to the people downstream, the servers and companies.”
“The initiative should end identity theft as we know it,” said Griffin Bolso, who was representing FBI Director Robert Freeman.
“Exactly.”
Rubens had heard various proposals to improve Internet security for individual users over the years. With a few notable exceptions, most were either unworkable or futile. A few were both. His mind drifted; he began thinking of the Kegan operation until the words “portable biometric identification is the future” fluttered across the room.
“There are many applications,” Marshall continued. “And just as many ways of selling it to the public. I hope we can move ahead then with the report. Obviously, we’ll need a full-blown technical study. That’s the next step. Perhaps my staff can pull together a report and present it to the working group next week?”
Until this moment, Rubens had seen his involvement on the committee as necessary — his boss had assigned him to attend — and potentially beneficial, inasmuch as it allowed him to hear what other elements of the government were up to. But this was something else again.
“What you’re suggesting is a scheme that would eliminate on-line privacy completely,” he said.
“Scheme? That’s such a difficult word,” said Marshall.
“I don’t think it would do that,” said Bolso. “Do we even have complete privacy now? Of course not. Server addresses are routinely recorded. E-mails can be identified.”
“That’s not the same thing as knowing a user’s precise identity every time he signs onto the Net,” said Rubens. “The American public won’t go for it.”
Marshall’s eyes met his.
“There will be arguments, yes. But nodes on the Net are tagged now, and it is possible to identify who is doing what at any given moment,” said Marshall. “Your agency does so routinely.”
“Not without proper authorization,” said Rubens.
“A voluntary program to aid in authentication would greatly increase confidence in transactions, and that would be the place to start.”
“There would be many ways around it,” said Rubens.
“Not with the proper devices.”
“Then it would not be voluntary.”
Bolso took up the argument. Rubens — somewhat appalled that an official who ran a secret spying agency had to argue for personal privacy rights — considered pointing out the uproar that had ensued when it was rumored that the FBI asked libraries for lists of books that patrons took out. But then he reconsidered.
Why not let Marshall and the others push the idea further along before squashing it? People were always suspicious of the NSA, calling it Big Brother and whatnot. How better to counter that image by opposing this sort of plan as obtrusive?
A public relations coup.
Not that the NSA was interested in public relations. But if an opportunity like this presented itself, could it be ignored?
Let this dumb idea move along a bit, then start discreetly leaking information about it, along with the all- important tidbit that the NSA had found it necessary to oppose the initiative?
Yes.
Ultimately, such a proposal was unlikely to get beyond the study stage. But that only argued in favor of letting it proceed for now.
“So, we’ll give it to my staff,” said Marshall, with a note of finality. “All agreed?”
A vote. Or a quasi-vote. In any event, it would be a record of his position.
Rubens snapped up straight.
“I have to go on record as recusing myself, and the agency,” he said, leaning over the table as he smiled at the secretary who was presiding over an automated transcription machine at the far end of the room. “Any involvement would be inappropriate, given the executive order governing our formation.”
It was a rather shabby demurral, and Rubens half-expected that the others would point that out — or follow his lead and propose their own excuses. But no one else spoke up.
“Very good then,” said Marshall, as cheerfully as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “We’re unanimous. Until next week.”
Marshall managed to slip up next to him in the hallway.
“I hadn’t expected you to oppose the initiative,” she said. “After all, it’s just a study.”
“I don’t know that we have any opinion, really. We’ve just taken ourselves out of the debate.”
He expected her to argue, but instead she reached out and gently squeezed his arm. “We should discuss it further.”
“I don’t know if that would be useful,” he said.
“Useful?” She tilted her head back ever so slightly. “Pleasurable at least.”
Is she trying to seduce me? wondered Rubens.
“Perhaps over lunch?” she added.
“My lunches are generally not my own.”
“Well, neither are mine,” she said. “But are you going to the benefit for the Kennedy Center Thursday?”
She was trying to seduce him.
Hardly. Her purposes were surely political.
On the other hand…
“As a matter of fact, I am going to the benefit,” said Rubens, knowing he could call on one of his many relatives for a ticket. “Yourself?”
“Yes. Perhaps we can talk then.”
“I’ll see you there.”
“Maybe something to eat afterward?”
“Perhaps.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” she said.
8
Karr had seen bus stations bigger than the airport he landed in at Newburgh, New York. But that made it easier to spot the state Bureau of Criminal Investigation agent waiting to meet him.
“Hey.” Karr pointed at the detective as he approached, his voice booming in the low-ceilinged room. “I know you, right?”
Achilles Gorman stopped a second, temporarily puzzled. The NSA agent threw his arm around him without breaking stride, leading him toward the door.
“I’m Tommy. Whole name’s too long to worry about. Let’s hit the road.”
“You’re here from Washington?”
“That’s what the sign at the airport said.”
“You’re NSA?”
“Say that out loud again and I’ll have to kill you.”
The doors snapped open and the two men headed across the parking lot to a green Impala. The double antennae and grille lights made the unmarked car so obvious Karr wondered why they bothered. The Deep Black op paused next to the car, stretching his arms back as if he were stiff but actually taking the opportunity to make sure
