"Dan Brown - Digital Fortress (v2.0)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Dan)

oblivious to the adoring gazes of his star-struck coeds.
Becker was dark--a rugged, youthful thirty-five with sharp green eyes and a wit to match.
His strong jaw and taut features reminded Susan of carved marble. Over six feet tall,
Becker moved across a squash court faster than any of his colleagues could comprehend.
After soundly beating his opponent, he would cool off by dousing his head in a drinking
fountain and soaking his tuft of thick, black hair. Then, still dripping, he'd treat his
opponent to a fruit shake and a bagel.
As with all young professors, David's university salary was modest. From time to time,
when he needed to renew his squash club membership or restring his old Dunlop with
gut, he earned extra money by doing translating work for government agencies in and
around Washington. It was on one of those jobs that he'd met Susan.
It was a crisp morning during fall break when Becker returned from a morning jog to his
three-room faculty apartment to find his answering machine blinking. He downed a quart
of orange juice as he listened to the playback. The message was like many he received--a
government agency requesting his translating services for a few hours later that morning.
The only strange thing was 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 National Security Council?"
Becker checked the message. "No. They said Agency. The NSA."
"Never heard of 'em."
Becker checked the GAO Directory, and it showed no listing either. Puzzled, Becker
called one of his old squash buddies, an ex-political analyst turned research clerk at the
Library of Congress. David was shocked by his friend's explanation.
Apparently, not only did the NSA exist, but it was considered one of the most influential
government organizations in the world. It had been gathering global electronic
intelligence data and protecting 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 Such Agency.' "
With a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, Becker accepted the mysterious agency's
offer. He drove the thirty-seven miles to their eighty-six-acre headquarters hidden
discreetly in the wooded hills of Fort Meade, Maryland. After passing through endless
security checks and being issued a six-hour, holographic guest pass, he was escorted to a
plush research facility where he was told he would spend the afternoon providing "blind
support" to the Cryptography Division--an elite group of mathematical brainiacs known
as the code-breakers.
For the first hour, the cryptographers seemed unaware Becker was even there. They
hovered around an enormous table and spoke a language Becker had never heard. They
spoke of stream ciphers, self-decimated generators, knapsack variants, zero knowledge
protocols, unicity points. Becker observed, lost. They scrawled symbols on graph paper,
pored over computer printouts, and continuously referred to the jumble of text on the
overhead projector.
JHdja3jKHDhmado/ertwtjlw+jgj328
5jhalsfnHKhhhfafOhhdfgaf/fj37we
ohi93450s9djfd2h/HHrtyFHLf89303
95jspjf2j0890Ihj98yhfi080ewrt03
jojr845h0roq+jt0eu4tqefqe//oujw
08UY0IH0934jtpwfiajer09qu4jr9gu
ivjP$duw4h95pe8rtugvjw3p4e/ikkc
mffuerhfgv0q394ikjrmg+unhvs9oer