So far, no one had taken the latter option and COMPSTOMP was largely made up of people who had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Oddly, there seemed to be little resentment about being spirited out of their old life and given a new one. The pay was extremely good and the work immensely satisfying, not least because of the enormous resources at the NSA’s disposal. COMPSTOMP was even encouraged to set up a dummy company, Fido Security, and lease the Watchdog database technology to other countries and large corporations. The income stream from this activity was now very healthy, which pleased the oversight committees on Capitol Hill no end. And, more importantly, it allowed the NSA to spread its information-gathering capabilities into unwitting rich new areas previously denied it.

Watchdogs were now patrolling the systems of companies as diverse as General Motors, IBM, Starbucks and Virgin. Quite a few countries had signed up — the Netherlands, Argentina, Indonesia and others. Not all these clients took the same level of protection. Watchdog could operate merely as an alarm system or a complete ‘back-to-base’ tracking system, although this latter option was extremely expensive because it made the NSA a de facto full-time employee. Of course, none of these customers had the slightest notion that, through Fido, the NSA was patrolling their hard-drives. Fido Security presented itself as a stand-alone high-end service company staffed by the best and brightest, one of the few Internet start-ups to survive the burst e-bubble because it had something unique and worthy to offer: total security.

Mostly the COMPSTOMP/Fido group discussed interesting ways to attack and defend systems, and the effects of any new technology coming on line. Gioco found these discussions exhilarating. Much of the talk was pure speculation but the air seemed to crackle when they were onto something new. Often, the consequences of their brainstorming brought real benefits to the NSA and its ability to meet its charter. They also discussed the fingerprints of the newcomers to cyberterrorism, most of whom had aggressive or obscure call signs like Howitzer and Pukeboy.

Today’s COMPSTOMP gathering, though, was low key. The world’s computers were enjoying a period of relative safety and security. There’d been a bit of a discussion about whether information should be contained by fire-walls or set free to benefit mankind. Bob had heard it all before. There were good reasons to keep information free but, in his view, better reasons against it.

‘In conclusion, then, over the last week all we’ve had is a bit of activity from one “Cee Squared”,’ said the brilliant young mathematician sitting in the lotus position on the carpeted floor. ‘The system notified the client of the penetration — they have the full package — and action, if any, was theirs to take or not. It was a low-grade intrusion, a small server off the main system and hardly worth worrying about. Cee Squared hasn’t been active for a long time. Thought he’d given the game away.

‘Anyway, the details have gone to the South-East Asia section head — that’s you, isn’t it, Bob?’ Bob held his finger up and gave a casual salute from the darkness at the back of the theatre. ‘And that’s it, really,’ she said, snapping the folder closed.

The group broke up and the room cleared quickly, leaving Gioco alone with his thoughts. There was something troubling him, but he couldn’t nail it.

Jakarta, 1210 Zulu, Wednesday, 29 April

General Suluang found himself exercising considerably more care. He was just being prudent. Listening devices guaranteed there were not many places, if any, that one’s conversation could be kept confidential. The places he listed as unsecured now included his home, his office, his car. Indeed, thinking about it, the general wondered whether he could speak with anyone anywhere and be assured of keeping the exchange private.

Suluang speculated whether his caution was an indication that he was losing control of the situation, but he dismissed the thought instantly. The feeling of disquiet, however, once imbedded, was difficult to shake.

Lanti Rajasa, the head of the security police, was in the driver’s seat of the battered old teal-coloured Toyota Kijang, one of many that rattled slowly up into the hills behind Jakarta. Motorcycles overtook them in a steady stream, blowing oily smoke that swirled in their headlights. The Kijang passed a poor village quietly announcing its existence to the world with a small soft-drinks stand and a pathetic stall that sold carved junk to tourists.

The location of the meeting place was Rajasa’s choice but the general agreed to it. They drove in silence. The vehicle was unsafe. Rajasa had ordered it ‘cleansed’ beforehand and no bug had been found, but neither man was confident that Indonesia possessed technology equal to identifying the latest in listening devices.