“Our security team is second to none,” said Kang. “We’ve worked very closely with DARPA since the beginning, and, after all, DARPA invented the Internet.”
“Not Al Gore?” said Mr. Priest, smiling.
They shared a laugh.
“Hardly. My predecessors here at the AEL, along with their colleagues at MIT’s Lincoln Lab and in our main offices in Virginia, developed the prototype military networks — ARPANET, MILNET, and then the Defense Data Network — before—”
Mr. Priest held up a hand to stop him. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Dr. Kang, but that was decades ago. I don’t need a history lesson. My concern is how your research is being protected right now.”
Kang took a breath and nodded. “With the Russians, Iranians, Chinese, and North Koreans working so hard to hack our systems, as well as the power grids and everything else, it’s—” He paused and twirled a finger as he fished for the right word. “It’s encouraged us to make some radical jumps forward in cybersecurity to protect our vulnerabilities. We have whole teams dedicated to protecting us against malware, worms, viruses, and targeted attacks, as well as soft-probe and no-footprint intrusions. We’ve built firewalls, counterintrusion software packages, alert systems, and more. We’re impregnable.”
“‘Impregnable’ is a risky word choice, Doctor,” said Mr. Priest. “It smacks of hubris.”
Kang felt himself stiffen. Mr. Priest had been smiling when he said it but now there was no trace of evident humor. Certainly no affability.
When Mr. Priest’s visit had been arranged, Kang had made sure his people did a thorough background and authority check, and the pingbacks had come from deep inside the intelligence community. Everything had been triple verified and memos had been sent by all the right people to grant Mr. Priest an unusually high level of clearance. That meant he was allowed to ask these kinds of questions and make these kinds of statements. Even the uncomfortable ones.
Kang felt his face redden and swallowed nervously. “I can assure you, Mr. Priest, that I’m not overstating things. Our system is ultrasecure. It’s updated all the time. Even our own design and cybersecurity staff have to go through special procedures in order to log on. Codes are changed randomly, we have filtering systems, self-monitoring security subroutines, and—”
Mr. Priest held up his hand again. “What’s to stop a terrorist from breaking in here, putting a gun to your head, and forcing you to log on and download one of your research projects?”
“Can’t happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because the master control programs require typed and verbal codes, and a retina scan and thumbprint.”
“All of which could be coerced from you.”
“No, sir,” said Kang, shaking his head. “If any of our team were under coercion we would input a false command that would appear to access the system, but which would really only access a self-limiting clone. At the same time it would send out a system-wide alert that would result in all other users being asked to verify their status. They also have fail-safe codes. If two or more users indicate that they’re under duress, the fail-safes crash the network.”
“Wouldn’t that take crucial services offline from the defense community? If you’ve seen the news you know that we are in a time of national crisis.”
“Under those circumstances, key individuals would have to input today’s command codes. Very similar to the way missile codes are handled. The codes are sealed in snap-cases that send an alert when opened, and the codes must be input only after thumbprint, personal code, and retina scan verification.”
“Cumbersome,” observed Mr. Priest.
“Necessary,” countered Kang. “Otherwise a coordinated terrorist attack could overwhelm the system by physical force.”
Mr. Priest nodded and picked up the teacup that had remained untouched on his side of the desk. He sipped, nodded again, and set the cup down. “And you don’t see any holes or soft spots in this process?”
“No. If I did they’d be fixed immediately. We have our own team of cyber-hackers whose only job is to try and crack our security. Every time they do, we use that as a guide to upgrade.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Priest.
“Excuse me, sir, but what does that mean?”
Mr. Priest sighed. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I can see at least two major holes in this system. I’m rather troubled that you don’t.”
Kang leaned forward and rested his forearms on his desk. His nervousness was quickly being trumped by irritation and anger. “I wasn’t aware that you are an expert in cybersecurity.”
“I know my way around. However, I’m surprised someone with your limited skill set has been given control over so many sensitive projects.”
“What is that supposed to mean? What do you know about what I do?”
Mr. Priest spread his hands. “You’re an electrical engineer and a mathematician. Essentially a glorified code-breaker who also writes security system code under contract to the Department of Defense. You work on operational systems including firing controls for missile systems, nuclear plant security regulation codes, and so on. How am I doing?”
Kang stared at him, lips parting in surprise, shocked that Mr. Priest knew all of this. And he did a very fast reevaluation of this man and his potential status in the intelligence network. He cleared his throat. “The security of this office and my teams is, naturally, of the highest concern.”
“Naturally,” agreed Mr. Priest. “However, I’m sure you’ll agree that ‘concern’ is a quality of intention rather than action.”
“I—” Kang stopped himself and tried again. “I would value any input you have, Mr. Priest. If it’s your opinion that there are problems with our system, then please explain. Maintaining the strictest security is absolutely crucial.”
“I’m delighted to hear it.”
Kang nearly winced. He said, “If you wouldn’t mind explaining our faults, as you see them. Perhaps walk me through them?”
“It would be my pleasure,” said Mr. Priest. He raised his hand and pointed his index finger like a gun. “You say that under direct coercion you would input a false entry code, correct?”
Kang looked at the pointed finger. The gesture was borderline rude, but he dared not say anything. “That is correct,” he said.
Mr. Priest nodded and then moved his hand slowly over to the row of framed photographs on the right side of Kang’s desk. There were five pictures in unmatched frames. His wife, Mary; their wedding picture; three school photos of fifteen-year-old Ashleigh, nine-year-old Kimmie, and three-year-old Jason.
“And what if someone pointed a gun at someone you loved?” asked Mr. Priest.
Kang did not answer. Such a question, such an action, even in a discussion of hypotheticals, was appalling. It was incredibly rude and violative.
“Sorry, Doctor,” said Mr. Priest, “I didn’t hear your answer.”
“This is hardly a proper—”
“Doctor, I want you to answer my question. I know the lengths I would go to to protect my brother, and he is something of a disappointment to me. By all accounts you genuinely love your family. So, my question stands. If there were guns pointed right this minute at the heads of your wife and each of your three very lovely children, are you going to sit there and tell me that you would still input a false code? Would you actually risk such appalling harm coming to your entire family? Could you stick to your protocols and let them die?”