directive
.
This had been orchestrated to go after a more narrow objective.
Why?
“For the benefit of Secretary Blaine, we will start with a brief overview. Harold?”
The ten desk screens lit up and a grainy black-and-white image appeared in the center of each: a man wearing a dark overcoat, walking along what seemed to be an empty train or subway platform. DeVries, who was seated to the right of the Vice President, began: “Janus is Xiao-Ping Chen,” he said. “He’s forty-one years old. ‘Janus’ was a code name created in Beijing about ten years ago.”
A second photo of Janus came on the screens. Then a third. In the first, he looked boyish and slender. In the next, his face had filled out and he wore rectangular, wire-rim glasses. In the third, his hairlinehad receded considerably.
They almost seem like photos of three different men
, Blaine thought.
“He was born in Shandong province in Eastern China,” DeVries continued, speaking in his clear, steady tone. “His father was a diplomat. The family moved to India and Russia during his childhood. The father was apparently something of a taskmaster. And, a heavy drinker. He ended up a suicide when the boy was twelve.”
DeVries pressed a button on his desktop and the screens went dark.
“Chen joined the Chinese military at age seventeen. He studied computer science and eventually earned an elite post. At a young age, he became an accomplished hacker. Computer hacking is, of course, a different game there than it is here. The Chinese government employs about fifty thousand hackers as part of its military operations.”
DeVries glanced at his notes as if he’d momentarily lost his place.
“Chen apparently had some issues with authority within the Chinese military. He moved to Germany in 2004 or 2005 and began to work independently, we believe. He became a private contractor, in effect, but still sold his services to Beijing.”
“Please. Explain what that means,” Robert Thompkins, the director of Central Intelligence, said from the other end of the table, holding up his reading glasses. Thompkins and DeVries had several times crossed swords in recent months over jurisdictional boundaries.
“In other words,” DeVries said, not looking at the CIA director, “he would initiate an operation on his own, but the operation would yield information that was of value to a third party. Say Beijing, or Pyangpong. He would then approach a representative of the third party with this information and broker a deal. Creating a buffer, in effect.”
“To avoid the appearance that the government was directly involved.”
“That’s right. What’s known as the problem of attribution.”
“Chicken or the egg,” said Stanton, incongruously.
DeVries typed several numbers on his desktop keypad. “It’s convenient, of course, for governments or corporations to learn secrets about other governments, or other corporations, while avoiding the appearance of initiating those inquiries.”
The screens glowed and another photo came up: a blurry image of two men walking along a path in a park.
“The intelligence on Janus indicates that he’s not a man of great national loyalty. Or any other sort of loyalty,” DeVries went on. “We have reports that he did some high-level hacking for Moscow. We also believe that he may have played a role in setting up the GhostNet operation. At least as a consultant.” He paused, looking around the table. “GhostNet, as most of you know, infiltrated political, economic and media targets in more than a hundred countries, including the inner workings of the Dalai Lama’s organization. Before we shut it down in 2009.”
Blaine was beginning to remember something else she had heard about Janus: a portion of which had gone public. But she sensed that it was out of bounds at this meeting, so she said nothing.
“Nevertheless, this is the most recent photo we have,” DeVries said. “It was taken in Munich over the summer. Chen,
.
This had been orchestrated to go after a more narrow objective.
Why?
“For the benefit of Secretary Blaine, we will start with a brief overview. Harold?”
The ten desk screens lit up and a grainy black-and-white image appeared in the center of each: a man wearing a dark overcoat, walking along what seemed to be an empty train or subway platform. DeVries, who was seated to the right of the Vice President, began: “Janus is Xiao-Ping Chen,” he said. “He’s forty-one years old. ‘Janus’ was a code name created in Beijing about ten years ago.”
A second photo of Janus came on the screens. Then a third. In the first, he looked boyish and slender. In the next, his face had filled out and he wore rectangular, wire-rim glasses. In the third, his hairlinehad receded considerably.
They almost seem like photos of three different men
, Blaine thought.
“He was born in Shandong province in Eastern China,” DeVries continued, speaking in his clear, steady tone. “His father was a diplomat. The family moved to India and Russia during his childhood. The father was apparently something of a taskmaster. And, a heavy drinker. He ended up a suicide when the boy was twelve.”
DeVries pressed a button on his desktop and the screens went dark.
“Chen joined the Chinese military at age seventeen. He studied computer science and eventually earned an elite post. At a young age, he became an accomplished hacker. Computer hacking is, of course, a different game there than it is here. The Chinese government employs about fifty thousand hackers as part of its military operations.”
DeVries glanced at his notes as if he’d momentarily lost his place.
“Chen apparently had some issues with authority within the Chinese military. He moved to Germany in 2004 or 2005 and began to work independently, we believe. He became a private contractor, in effect, but still sold his services to Beijing.”
“Please. Explain what that means,” Robert Thompkins, the director of Central Intelligence, said from the other end of the table, holding up his reading glasses. Thompkins and DeVries had several times crossed swords in recent months over jurisdictional boundaries.
“In other words,” DeVries said, not looking at the CIA director, “he would initiate an operation on his own, but the operation would yield information that was of value to a third party. Say Beijing, or Pyangpong. He would then approach a representative of the third party with this information and broker a deal. Creating a buffer, in effect.”
“To avoid the appearance that the government was directly involved.”
“That’s right. What’s known as the problem of attribution.”
“Chicken or the egg,” said Stanton, incongruously.
DeVries typed several numbers on his desktop keypad. “It’s convenient, of course, for governments or corporations to learn secrets about other governments, or other corporations, while avoiding the appearance of initiating those inquiries.”
The screens glowed and another photo came up: a blurry image of two men walking along a path in a park.
“The intelligence on Janus indicates that he’s not a man of great national loyalty. Or any other sort of loyalty,” DeVries went on. “We have reports that he did some high-level hacking for Moscow. We also believe that he may have played a role in setting up the GhostNet operation. At least as a consultant.” He paused, looking around the table. “GhostNet, as most of you know, infiltrated political, economic and media targets in more than a hundred countries, including the inner workings of the Dalai Lama’s organization. Before we shut it down in 2009.”
Blaine was beginning to remember something else she had heard about Janus: a portion of which had gone public. But she sensed that it was out of bounds at this meeting, so she said nothing.
“Nevertheless, this is the most recent photo we have,” DeVries said. “It was taken in Munich over the summer. Chen,
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