Brown, Dan - Digital Fortress

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Digital Fortress
DIGITAL
FORTRESS
Dan Brown
St. Martin’s Press - New York
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.
Digital Fortress. Copyright © 1998 by Dan Brown. All rightsreserved. Printed in the United States of
America. No part of thisbook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever withoutwritten
permission except in the case of brief quotations embodiedin critical articles or reviews. For
information, address St.Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Design by Bryanna Millis
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Brown, Daniel.
Digital fortress / by DanBrown. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
“A Thomas Dunne Book.”
ISBN 0-312-20715-8
I. Title.
PS3552.R685434D54 1998
813’.54—dc21 97-33118
CIP
For my parents . . .
my mentors and heroes
A debt of gratitude: to my editors at St. Martin’s Press,Thomas Dunne and the exceptionally talented
Melissa Jacobs. To myagents in New York, George Wieser, Olga Wieser, and Jake Elwell. Toall
those who read and contributed to the manuscript along the way.And especially to my wife, Blythe,
for her enthusiasm andpatience.
Also . . . a quiet thank you to the two faceless ex-NSAcryptographers who made invaluable
contributions via anonymousremailers. Without them this book would not have been written.
PROLOGUE
PLAZA DE ESPAÑA
SEVILLE, SPAIN
11:00 A.M.
It is said that in death, all things become clear; Ensei Tankadonow knew it was true. As he clutched
his chest and fell to theground in pain, he realized the horror of his mistake.
People appeared, hovering over him, trying to help. But Tankadodid not want help—it was too late
for that.
Trembling, he raised his left hand and held his fingers outward.Look at my hand! The faces around
him stared, but he couldtell they did not understand.
On his finger was an engraved golden ring. For an instant, themarkings glimmered in the Andalusian
sun. Ensei Tankado knew it wasthe last light he would ever see.
CHAPTER 1
They were in the smoky mountains at their favoritebed-and-breakfast. David was smiling down at
her. “What do yousay, gorgeous? Marry me?”
Looking up from their canopy bed, she knew he was the one.Forever. As she stared into his deep-
green eyes, somewhere in thedistance a deafening bell began to ring. It was pulling him away.She
reached for him, but her arms clutched empty air.
It was the sound of the phone that fully awoke Susan Fletcherfrom her dream. She gasped, sat up in
bed, and fumbled for thereceiver. “Hello?”
“Susan, it’s David. Did I wake you?”
She smiled, rolling over in bed. “I was just dreaming ofyou. Come over and play.”
He laughed. “It’s still dark out.”
“Mmm.” She moaned sensuously. “Then definitely come over and play. We can sleep in before we
headnorth.”
David let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s why I’mcalling. It’s about our trip. I’ve got topostpone.”
Susan was suddenly wide awake. “What!”
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to leave town. I’ll beback by tomorrow. We can head up first thing in the
morning.We’ll still have two days.”
“But I made reservations,” Susan said, hurt. “Igot our old room at Stone Manor.”
“I know, but—”
“Tonight was supposed to be special—tocelebrate six months. You do remember we’re
engaged,don’t you?”
“Susan.” He sighed. “I really can’t go intoit now, they’ve got a car waiting. I’ll call you from
theplane and explain everything.”
“Plane?” she repeated. “What’s goingon? Why would the university . . . ?”
“It’s not the university. I’ll phone and explainlater. I’ve really got to go; they’re calling for me.I’ll be
in touch. I promise.”
“David!” she cried. “What’s—”
But it was too late. David had hung up.
Susan Fletcher lay awake for hours waiting for him to call back.The phone never rang.
* * *
Later that afternoon Susan sat dejected in the tub. Shesubmerged herself in the soapy water and tried
to forget StoneManor and the Smoky Mountains. Where could he be? shewondered. Why hasn’t he
called?
Gradually the water around her went from hot to lukewarm andfinally to cold. She was about to get
out when her cordless phonebuzzed to life. Susan bolted upright, sloshing water on the flooras she
grappled for the receiver she’d left on the sink.
“David?”
“It’s Strathmore,” the voice replied.
Susan slumped. “Oh.” She was unable to hide herdisappointment. “Good afternoon, Commander.”
“Hoping for a younger man?” The voice chuckled.
“No, sir,” Susan said, embarrassed. “It’snot how it—”
“Sure it is.” He laughed. “David Becker’s agood man. Don’t ever lose him.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The commander’s voice turned suddenly stern. “Susan,I’m calling because I need you in here.
Pronto.”
She tried to focus. “It’s Saturday, sir. we don’tusually—”
“I know,” he said calmly. “It’s anemergency.”
Susan sat up. Emergency? She had never heard the wordcross Commander Strathmore’s lips. An
emergency? InCrypto? She couldn’t imagine. “Y-yes, sir.” Shepaused. “I’ll be there as soon as I
can.”
“Make it sooner.” Strathmore hung up.
* * *
Susan Fletcher stood wrapped in a towel and dripped on theneatly folded clothes she’d set out the
nightbefore—hiking shorts, a sweater for the cool mountainevenings, and the new lingerie she’d
bought for the nights.Depressed, she went to her closet for a clean blouse and skirt. An emergency?
In Crypto?
As she went downstairs, Susan wondered how the day could getmuch worse.
She was about to find out.
CHAPTER 2
Thirty thousand feet above a dead-calm ocean, David Beckerstared miserably from the Learjet 60’s
small, oval window.He’d been told the phone on board was out of order, andhe’d never had a chance
to call Susan.
“What am I doing here?” he grumbled to himself. Butthe answer was simple—there were men to
whom you justdidn’t say no.
“Mr. Becker,” the loudspeaker crackled.“We’ll be arriving in half an hour.”
Becker nodded gloomily to the invisible voice. Wonderful.He pulled the shade and tried to sleep. But
he could only think ofher.
CHAPTER 3
Susan’s volvo sedan rolled to a stop in the shadow of theten-foot-high, barbed Cyclone fence. A
young guard placed his handon the roof.
“ID, please.”
Susan obliged and settled in for the usual half-minute wait. Theofficer ran her card through a
computerized scanner. Finally helooked up. “Thank you, Ms. Fletcher.” He gave animperceptible
sign, and the gate swung open.
Half a mile ahead Susan repeated the entire procedure at anequally imposing electrified fence. Come
on, guys . . .I’ve only been through here a million times.
As she approached the final checkpoint, a stocky sentry with twoattack dogs and a machine gun
glanced down at her license plate andwaved her through. She followed Canine Road for another 250
yardsand pulled into Employee Lot C. Unbelievable, she thought.Twenty-six thousand employees and
a twelve-billion-dollarbudget; you’d think they could make it through the weekendwithout me. Susan
gunned the car into her reserved spot andkilled the engine.
After crossing the landscaped terrace and entering the mainbuilding, she cleared two more internal
checkpoints and finallyarrived at the windowless tunnel that led to the new wing. Avoice-scan booth
blocked her entry.
NATIONAL SECURITY AGENCY (NSA)
CRYPTO FACILITY
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
The armed guard looked up. “Afternoon, Ms.Fletcher.”
Susan smiled tiredly. “Hi, John.”
“Didn’t expect you today.”
“Yeah, me neither.” She leaned toward the parabolicmicrophone. “Susan Fletcher,” she stated
clearly. Thecomputer instantly confirmed the frequency concentrations in hervoice, and the gate
clicked open. She stepped through.
* * *
The guard admired Susan as she began her walk down the cementcauseway. He noticed that her
strong hazel eyes seemed distanttoday, but her cheeks had a flushed freshness, and hershoulder-
length, auburn hair looked newly blown dry. Trailing herwas the faint scent of Johnson’s Baby
Powder. His eyes fellthe length of her slender torso—to her white blouse with thebra barely visible
beneath, to her knee-length khaki skirt, andfinally to her legs . . . Susan Fletcher’s legs.
Hard to imagine they support a 170 IQ, he mused tohimself.
He stared after her a long time. Finally he shook his head asshe disappeared in the distance.
* * *
As Susan reached the end of the tunnel, a circular, vaultlikedoor blocked her way. The enormous
letters read: crypto.
Sighing, she placed her hand inside the recessed cipher box andentered her five-digit PIN. Seconds
later the twelve-ton slab ofsteel began to revolve. She tried to focus, but her thoughts reeledback to
him.
David Becker. The only man she’d ever loved. The youngestfull professor at Georgetown University
and a brilliantforeign-language specialist, he was practically a celebrity in theworld of academia.
Born with an eidetic memory and a love oflanguages, he’d mastered six Asian dialects as well
asSpanish, French, and Italian. His university lectures on etymologyand linguistics were standing-
room only, and he invariably stayedlate to answer a barrage of questions. He spoke with authority
andenthusiasm, apparently oblivious to the adoring gazes of hisstar-struck coeds.
Becker was dark—a rugged, youthful thirty-five with sharpgreen eyes and a wit to match. His strong
jaw and taut featuresreminded Susan of carved marble. Over six feet tall, Becker movedacross a
squash court faster than any of his colleagues couldcomprehend. After soundly beating his opponent,
he would cool offby dousing his head in a drinking fountain and soaking his tuft ofthick, black hair.
Then, still dripping, he’d treat hisopponent to a fruit shake and a bagel.
As with all young professors, David’s university salary wasmodest. From time to time, when he
needed to renew his squash clubmembership or restring his old Dunlop with gut, he earned
extramoney by doing translating work for government agencies in andaround Washington. It was on
one of those jobs that he’d metSusan.
It was a crisp morning during fall break when Becker returnedfrom a morning jog to his three-room
faculty apartment to find hisanswering machine blinking. He downed a quart of orange juice as
helistened to the playback. The message was like many hereceived—a government agency requesting
his translatingservices for a few hours later that morning. The only strange thingwas that Becker had
never heard of the organization.
“They’re called the National Security Agency,”Becker said, calling a few of his colleagues for
background.
The reply was always the same. “You mean the NationalSecurity Council?”
Becker checked the message. “No. They said Agency.The NSA.”
“Never heard of ’em.”
Becker checked the GAO Directory, and it showed no listingeither. Puzzled, Becker called one of his
old squash buddies, anex-political analyst turned research clerk at the Library ofCongress. David was
shocked by his friend’s explanation.
Apparently, not only did the NSA exist, but it was consideredone of the most influential government
organizations in the world.It had been gathering global electronic intelligence data andprotecting
U.S. classified information for over half a century.Only 3 percent of Americans were even aware it
existed.
“NSA,” his buddy joked, “stands for ‘No SuchAgency.’ ”
With a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, Becker acceptedthe mysterious agency’s offer. He
drove the thirty-seven milesto their eighty-six-acre headquarters hidden discreetly in thewooded hills
of Fort Meade, Maryland. After passing through endlesssecurity checks and being issued a six-hour,
holographic guestpass, he was escorted to a plush research facility where he wastold he would spend
the afternoon providing “blindsupport” to the Cryptography Division—an elite group ofmathematical
brainiacs known as the code-breakers.
For the first hour, the cryptographers seemed unaware Becker waseven there. They hovered around
an enormous table and spoke alanguage Becker had never heard. They spoke of stream ciphers,self-
decimated generators, knapsack variants, zero knowledgeprotocols, unicity points. Becker observed,
lost. They scrawledsymbols on graph paper, pored over computer printouts, andcontinuously referred
to the jumble of text on the overheadprojector.
JHdja3jKHDhmado/ertwtjlw+jgj328
5jhalsfnHKhhhfafOhhdfgaf/fj37we
ohi93450s9djfd2h/HHrtyFHLf89303
95jspjf2j0890Ihj98yhfi080ewrt03
jojr845h0roq+jt0eu4tqefqe//oujw
08UY0IH0934jtpwfiajer09qu4jr9gu
ivjP$duw4h95pe8rtugvjw3p4e/ikkc
mffuerhfgv0q394ikjrmg+unhvs9oer
irk/0956y7u0poikIOjp9f8760qwerqi
Eventually one of them explained what Becker had alreadysurmised. The scrambled text was a
code—a“ciphertext”—groups of numbers and lettersrepresenting encrypted words. The
cryptographers’ job was tostudy the code and extract from it the original message, or“cleartext.” The
NSA had called Becker because theysuspected the original message was written in Mandarin
Chinese; hewas to translate the symbols as the cryptographers decryptedthem.
For two hours, Becker interpreted an endless stream of Mandarinsymbols. But each time he gave
them a translation, thecryptographers shook their heads in despair. Apparently the codewas not
making sense. Eager to help, Becker pointed out that allthe characters they’d shown him had a
common trait—theywere also part of the Kanji language. Instantly the bustle in theroom fell silent.
The man in charge, a lanky chain-smoker namedMorante, turned to Becker in disbelief.
“You mean these symbols have multiple meanings?”
Becker nodded. He explained that Kanji was a Japanese writingsystem based on modified Chinese
characters. He’d been givingMandarin translations because that’s what they’d askedfor.
“Jesus Christ.” Morante coughed. “Let’s trythe Kanji.”
Like magic, everything fell into place.
The cryptographers were duly impressed, but nonetheless, theystill made Becker work on the
characters out of sequence.“It’s for your own safety,” Morante said. “Thisway, you won’t know what
you’re translating.”
Becker laughed. Then he noticed nobody else was laughing.
When the code finally broke, Becker had no idea what darksecrets he’d helped reveal, but one thing
was forcertain—the NSA took code-breaking seriously; the check inBecker’s pocket was more than
an entire month’suniversity salary.
On his way back out through the series of security checkpointsin the main corridor, Becker’s exit was
blocked by a guardhanging up a phone. “Mr. Becker, wait here, please.”
“What’s the problem?” Becker had not expected themeeting to take so long, and he was running late
for his standingSaturday afternoon squash match.
The guard shrugged. “Head of Crypto wants a word.She’s on her way out now.”
“She?” Becker laughed. He had yet to see afemale inside the NSA.
“Is that a problem for you?” a woman’s voiceasked from behind him.
Becker turned and immediately felt himself flush. He eyed the IDcard on the woman’s blouse. The
head of the NSA’sCryptography Division was not only a woman, but an attractive womanat that.
“No,” Becker fumbled. “I just . . .”
“Susan Fletcher.” The woman smiled, holding out herslender hand.
Becker took it. “David Becker.”
“Congratulations, Mr. Becker. I hear you did a fine jobtoday. Might I chat with you about it?”
Becker hesitated. “Actually, I’m in a bit of a rush atthe moment.” He hoped spurning the world’s
most powerfulintelligence agency wasn’t a foolish act, but his squash matchstarted in forty-five
minutes, and he had a reputation to uphold:David Becker was never late for squash . . . class maybe,
but never squash.
“I’ll be brief.” Susan Fletcher smiled.“Right this way, please.”
Ten minutes later, Becker was in the NSA’s commissaryenjoying a popover and cranberry juice with
the NSA’s lovelyhead cryptographer, Susan Fletcher. It quickly became evident toDavid that the
thirty-eight-year-old’s high-ranking positionat the NSA was no fluke—she was one of the brightest
摘要：

DigitalFortressDIGITALFORTRESSDanBrownSt.Martin’sPress-NewYorkATHOMASDUNNEBOOK.AnimprintofSt.Martin’sPress.DigitalFortress.Copyright©1998byDanBrown.Allrightsreserved.PrintedintheUnitedStatesofAmerica.Nopartofthisbookmaybeusedorreproducedinanymannerwha soeverwithoutwrittenpermissionexceptinthecaseo...

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