Klaus Schwamborn: Dreamland

If the software provided by the NSA detected a potential threat, SkyTech’s IBM would automatically send notification, along with reference to the suspicious communication. It was then up to the NSA to decide what to do about it.

Even if the NSA wanted to analyse the information, their computers no longer had the capacity to do so. All available processing power was consumed, gathering data, all of which they stored indefinitely. The three day total outage caused by an overloaded network on January 24th, 2000, resulted in the NSA reaching out to technology companies like SkyTech.

With an entire global population walking around with their heads bent over smartphones and tablets, millions of text messages and emails crossed the internet every second of every day. Apart from phone conversations, which were spiralling into oblivion, all other forms of communication were escalating at an exponential rate. Teenagers and young adults were the biggest culprits. Connected to just about every social media network available, they spent their days exchanging texts and selfies.

And the NSA collected all of it.

Emily and Nathan laughed when Sven concluded his tale of the security drill earlier.

“I can just imagine the expression on Sean’s face when he saw you sitting there spinning your toy pistol,” Nathan said.

“JW asked me yesterday if I was up to this little stunt. That’s why I came in earlier than usual today,” Sven said.

“Did Sean really think that was a real gun?” Emily asked.

“Apparently,” Sven replied. “Either way, the ruse worked quite well.”

“Poor guy,” she said, shaking her head and smiling. “I can just see him crouched in the elevator like a one-man SWAT team rapidly pointing his handgun this way and that.”

“Also explains why Michaels seemed more alert than usual,” Nathan said. “JW already in his meeting with AT&T?” he asked, as another thought occurred to him. “There’s something I wanted to bounce off him.”

“Yes. He went in about fifteen minutes ago,” Sven answered.

Just then, Nathan’s phone vibrated and emitted a unique audible clamour. He reached into his pocket immediately. This was an automated notification from the IBM that there was a problem.

“Sven,” Nathan said, reading the text on his phone. “Can you switch to the IBM’s decryption monitoring process?”

By the time Nathan threaded his way to the other side of the workstation, Sven, after a few swift mouse clicks, had the process active on his screen. It displayed all decoding activity in a scrollable window◦– the unique identifier, data-type and name of the file under scrutiny on the left; processing time and CPU cycles on the right. The list was a static snapshot of the current instance in time. A dynamic representation would have refreshed too fast, making it impossible to see what was actually going on. It would have been like trying to count bullets fired from a machine gun.

The most resource intensive process was at the top. Sven double-clicked it, drilling down into the details. “It’s been active for just over a minute and consuming about ninety percent of system resources,” he said. “That’s unheard of.”

“Has anyone seen my specs?” Nathan asked, looking around.

“In the usual place,” Emily said, with a condescending smile.

“Oh, right,” Nathan said, his mind already somewhere else. Pushing his half-moon glasses further up his nose, he leaned closer towards Sven’s screen.

“Let’s see,” he said almost to himself. “The data file arrived just over a minute ago.” Phone still in hand, Nathan looked at the current time display. “That would make it exactly nine fifteen. Decryption started almost immediately, and based on the size and file type, decoding and analysis should have completed in a few milliseconds.”

“The NSA also provided some additional metadata when they sent the file to us,” Sven said. “Let’s take a look.”

Emily, now intrigued, shuffled in behind Sven’s chair and fixed her eyes on his screen.

Operating systems look at various aspects of a file to determine how its internal data should be presented to the user. The filename suffix, anything from AAC to ZIP, gives the first indication. The metadata, those first few bytes within the file itself, is the next point of reference.

“According to this, it’s a standard audio file,” Sven said. “It could be a digital recording of something, a snooped phone conversation, or just noise. Who knows?”

“Maybe Beyoncé’s greatest hits,” Emily said, trying to make light of the subject.

“This is interesting,” Sven said, leaning closer to his screen and pointing. “According to the additional info provided by the NSA, the broadcast frequency of the original transmission is something that’s not been used in a very long time. At least, I don’t think it has.”

“Pull up the file for internal analysis,” Nathan suggested. “See if you can find any rotating code inside.”

Rotating code was often used as an encryption method to dynamically rearrange the contents of a data file. It caused havoc with decoding processes. Just when the decipher program assumed it had cracked the file, its internal digital pattern changed to something else and decoding had to start again, based on a new set of rules.

Emily, leaving them to it, went to her own workstation, sat down and powered up her computer. As usual, she had to adjust the height of her chair. Emily could never fathom why it was always so high at the start of each day. It wasn’t like anyone else used it.

Nathan walked into his office, reached for the phone on the other side of his desk and called Monica. James needed to be informed as soon as possible.

Monica caught James’s attention as he walked from the conference room towards her anteroom. The reps were already waiting by the elevators. “How was your meeting?” she asked.

“The usual,” he responded, coming closer to her and out of earshot. “They’re trying to convince me of the latest technologies on offer, and instead of having at least one techie, were the usual gang of smiling and agreeable sales reps who couldn’t answer any of my questions.”

“Nate asked to see you as soon as you were free,” she said. “Your next appointment for today is at two p.m.”

“Thanks, Monica. Ask him to come now if he’s not tied up with anything.”

Monica quickly eyed James up and down from behind as he walked into his office. He looked suave in his navy-blue Brooks Brothers suit and black Italian leather shoes. With neat, short-cropped hair, greying temples and perfectly manicured hands, James projected an aura of professionalism and authority.

When she accepted the position of Executive Assistant, she had been warned by Emily about James’s habit of rarely closing his office door when he changed into sports gear for his weekly squash meet. Although out of sight of the general office space, Monica always had an unobstructed view. Six foot of physical perfection, she often thought.

What a pity he was gay.

A few minutes later, Nathan, coffee in hand, walked into James’s office. “Is this a good time for you?” he asked. “There’s something you need to know.”

“Sure,” James replied. “Grab a seat. What’s up?”

“Normally, I wouldn’t bother you with this stuff,” Nathan said, pulling up one of James’s visitor’s chairs. “But I think you need to get in touch with the NSA.”

Intrigued, James looked up from some contracts he was reviewing.

“A small data package, most likely scrambled communications, arrived from the NSA,” Nathan said. “The system started decoding as usual, but after a minute, I received an automated notification. The data hadn’t yet been deciphered.”