Cryptonomicon

There is a whole lot of tinny shouting from the telephone. The gentle man who has the bad luck to be holding it translates into what is probably more polite English: "What if Mr. Shales's performance is not convincing to the radio operators at Charlottenburg? What if they do not succeed in decrypting Mr. Elmer's false messages?"

Chattan fields that one. He steps over to a map that has been set up on an easel at the end of the room. The map depicts a swath of the Central Atlantic bordered on the east by France and Spain. "U-691's last reported position was here," he says, pointing to a pin stuck in the lower left corner of the map. "She has been ordered back to Wllhelmshaven with her prisoners. She will go this way," he says, indicating a length of red yarn stretched in a north-northeasterly direction, "assuming she avoids the Straits of Dover." (17)

"There happens to be another milchcow here," Chattan continues, indicating another pin. "One of our own submarines should be able to reach it within twenty-four hours, at which point it will approach at periscope depth and engage it with torpedoes. Chances are excellent that the milchcow will be destroyed immediately. If she has time to send out any transmissions, she will merely state that she is being attacked by a submarine. Once we have destroyed this milchcow, we will call once again upon the skills of Mr. Shales, who will transmit a fake distress call that will appear to originate from the milchcow, stating that they have come under attack from none other than U-691."

"Splendid!" someone proclaims.

"By the time the sun rises tomorrow," Chattan concludes, "we will have one of our very best submarine-hunting task forces on the scene. A light carrier with several antisubmarine planes will comb the ocean night and day, using radar, visual reconnaissance, huffduff, and Leigh lights to hunt for U-691. The chances are excellent that she will be found and sunk long before she can approach the Continent. But should she find her way past this formidable barrier she will find the German Kriegsmarine no less eager to hunt her down and destroy her. Any information she may transmit to Admiral Dönitz in the meantime will be regarded with the most profound suspicion."

"So," Waterhouse says, "the plan, in a nutshell, is to render all information from U-691 unbelievable, and subsequently to destroy her, and everyone on her, before she can reach Germany."

"Yes," Chattan says, "and the former task will be greatly simplified by the fact that U-691's skipper is already known to be mentally unstable."

"So it seems likely that our guys, Shaftoe and Root, will not survive," Waterhouse says slowly.

There is a long, frozen silence, as if Waterhouse had interrupted high tea by making farting sounds with his armpit.

Chattan responds in a precise, arch tone that indicates he's really pissed off. "There is the possibility that when U-691 is engaged by our forces, she will be forced to the surface and will surrender."

Waterhouse studies the grain of the tabletop. His face is hot and his chest is burning.

Miss Lord rises to her feet and speaks. Several important heads turn toward Mr. Shales, who excuses himself and goes to a table in the corner of the room. He fiddles with the controls on a radio transmitter for a few moments, spreads the encrypted message out in front of himself, and takes a deep breath, as though preparing for a big solo. Finally he reaches out, rests one hand lightly on the radio key, and begins to tap out the message, rocking from side to side and cocking his head this way and that. Mrs. Lord listens with her eyes closed, concentrating intensely.

Mr. Shales stops. "Finished," he announces in a quiet voice, and looks nervously at Mrs. Lord, who smiles. Then there is polite applause around the library, as if they had just finished listening to a harpsichord concerto. Lawrence Pritchard Waterhouse keeps his hands folded in his lap. He has just heard the death warrant of Enoch Root and Bobby Shaftoe.

Chapter 46 HEAP

To: root@eruditorum.org

From: dwarf@siblings.net

Subject: Re(8) Why?

Let me just take stock of what I know so far: you say that asking "why?" is part of what you do for a living; you're not an academic; and you are in the surveillance business. I am having trouble forming a clear picture.

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To: dwarf@siblings.net

From: root@eruditorum.org

Subject: Re(9) Why?

Randy, I never said that I, myself, am in the surveillance business. But I know people who are. Formerly public– and now private-sector. We stay in touch. The grapevine and all that. Nowadays, my involvement in such things is limited to noodling around with novel cryptosystems, as a sort of hobby.

Now, to get back to what I would consider to be the main thread of our conversation. You guessed that I was an academic. Were you being sincere, or was this purely an attempt to "gotcha" me?