“That’s a big number,” Chan said.
“Of course, sir. With conventional computers, a brute force decryption would be impossible. But the computers you bought me have parallel field-programmable gate array cluster hardware. They are made for running decryption algorithms. It reduces the brute force hacking time significantly.”
“How significantly?” Chan asked.
“For the encryption I expect to see from the fleet, a matter of decades.”
Chan frowned.
“I’m not following. You said you had a good chance of decrypting all message traffic.”
“Oh yes, sir. The biggest time savings is obviating the need for a brute force attack by identifying flaws in the supposed randomness of the encrypting computer.”
“Go on.”
“Perfect encryption assumes the generation of a perfect random number behind each encryption key, but I know that the fleet’s cryptology computers are generating imperfect random numbers.”
“That sounds like a flaw in fleet security.”
“It is only for someone like me who already has access to decrypted message traffic. Since I know how the cryptology computers attempt to create randomness for the once-encrypted general fleet updates plus the second-encrypted specific orders to our own ship, I can predict how they create randomness for other messages to other ships within the fleet. This reduces the complexity from impossible to just a modest challenge.”
Park angled his nose to the monitor as if his conversation with Chan were an inconvenience.
“So, it’s possible for a ship within the fleet to break the codes of another ship within the fleet?”
“It’s quite possible,” Park said. “The rationale is that it’s not a threat. What does it matter if you know where another ship is steaming or what it’s shooting at when we all take our orders from the same place? But for outsiders that have to break each general message once and then break it again for each ship’s orders, it is statistically impossible.”
Chan envisioned a bit stream of ones and zeroes in his mind to convince himself the report obeyed logic.
“Well done, Park,” he said.
“This was easy. I expect a challenge for fighting or attack aircraft.”
“And for surface vessels and submarines?” Chan asked.
“Yes, sir. That will be the biggest challenge, depending on the nature of the message traffic. I have something I can show you, for example.”
Park’s eyes remained on his laptop monitor as he tapped the keyboard. Chan commended himself for showing patience facing the geek’s quirkiness.
“What do you have?” he asked.
“Our last message telling us about our navigation area also included messages for other East Sea Fleet submarines that are probably nearby us.”
“Let me see.”
Park swiveled the computer on his lap, revealing a text file showing the Romeo’s last navigational orders surrounded by data Chan had not seen when the message was printed for him. There were twelve character codes followed by bodies of text that appeared as gibberish.
“Why is this different than from my printouts in the control room?” he asked.
“The control room printer recognizes these header codes as information for other vessels and ignores them,” Park said. “Otherwise the printer would just waste paper and ink.”
“Do you know what the other vessels are?”
“No, sir. Not until I break their specific encryptions. I expect that each vessel has its own specific encryption code, as we do.”
Although the fleet withheld his mission from him, Chan had been promised a safe return home after scuttling the submarine and escaping on a surface vessel dispatched to rescue his crew. But something in the way his mission materialized, piecemeal, in broken segments issued by various admirals, fed to him in suspicious scraps, roused his suspicions. He had recruited Park and equipped him with an army of computers to verify the orders to his rescuing vessel would be forthcoming.
“You’ll report immediately if you break a code for any vessel,” Chan said.
“Of course, sir,” Park said.
“Keep it up, Park. Do you need anything from me? Something to drink? Food?”
Park had already lowered his nose to his monitor, tapping keys. His apprentice nudged him, and he responded without looking up.
“No, thank you, sir. We have plenty of tea.”
He nodded toward plastic cups holding damp leaves on the deck plate beside a thermos of hot water.
Chan stood, turned, and walked away.
The image of an exhausted and caffeine-fueled geek drifted from his mind as he ambled forward to recheck the distance between his submarine and the Japanese Ryukyu Island chain.
Assuming quiet waters surrounding him, he would seek rest and await news from Park about orders to a rescue ship that would lend comforting hope to his still-veiled fate.
CHAPTER 15
After slinking behind swing shift naval staff seated at monitors, Pierre Renard prowled to the central plotting table, rapped his claws against its plastic edge, and sniffed the regional waters.
The luminous dots and lines portrayed a quiet evening, and he stood and turned toward a vacant control station.
The junior admiral supervising the evening watch passed and forced a greeting so mundane that Renard realized he had become a fixture in the Keelung naval command center. He nodded and slipped into a seat.
His finger caressed a mouse wheel, bringing the screen to life. Having memorized the meaning of the icons beside Chinese characters, he clicked the one that directed an encrypted hailing signal to the western edge of the Philippine Sea.
Awaiting a response, he fumbled at his shirt pocket and crinkled cellophane. He twisted and looked over his shoulder, noticing a solitary smoker across the room. Free from others’ fumes, he invoked willpower and released the Marlboros.
He clicked the icon again, and his nerves unraveled as he awaited confirmation of his hailing.
A voice speaking English startled him.
“Excuse me, Mister Renard,” a staff translator said. “Admiral Ye asked me to check for you in the command center and offer my assistance.”
“He suspected I’d be here, did he? Very well, I could use your help.”
Renard pointed toward the screen, and the man crouched beside him.
“I suspect that one of these icons sets my hailing request onto an automated interval, every five minutes or longer, depending which icon I click. Does that agree with the writing?”
The man pointed.
“Yes, I think so. This icon mentions a one-minute interval. This one five. The next one fifteen. I assume this is what you mean.”
Renard clicked the five-minute interval icon and saw a system response in Chinese characters.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Confirmation that you have indeed set the system up to send your hailing message every five minutes.”
“Yes, thank you,” Renard said.
The translator stood.
“Shall I stay and assist you?”
Renard groped for the Marlboros at his breast, thought better of it, and lowered his hand.
“No,” he said. “Yes, wait. Can you find out who among tonight’s staff is in communication with the fishing vessel?”
A blank look of confusion overtook the man.
“Of course,” he said. “I will find out.”
Renard silently cursed the East Asian inability to admit confusion, and he attempted to extract the truth without invoking shame.
“Before you depart, may I specify the fishing vessel with which I wish to communicate?”
“Yes, of course. Please.”
“I will show you then,” Renard said.
He stood, walked to the navigation chart, and pointed.
“Here,” he said. “Two miles outside the twelve-mile national water boundary. This is the submarine with which I ultimately wish to communicate.”