The NSA's Shadow
The day after Android 95, morning.
“Jae-won, is the company all right?” Yoo Bong-man, Yoo Jae-won’s father, approached cautiously and asked. The KBS morning news had been filled with reports of the previous night’s Nasdaq crash and the role Android had played in triggering it.
The morning broadcast wasn’t exaggerating. Android’s stock had dropped ten percent from the previous day—$3.75 per share. In market-cap terms, $375 million had vanished overnight.
“Of course it is. People are overreacting to a single piece of negative news. If it were up to me, I’d be buying our shares right now. The sell-off is only accelerating because everyone’s afraid the price will fall further.”
Yoo Jae-won had already spoken with Kevin Johnson and reviewed the official federal document that had arrived. He had spent some time thinking the matter through. After reaching out to his contacts, he concluded that the move had not come from the upper echelons of the U.S. government. Of course, that assumption rested on President Clinton, Vice President Al Gore, and the secretaries of Homeland Security and Defense telling the truth—but they had no reason to lie.
Yoo Jae-won had called the president and vice president directly. Remington, Kevin Johnson, and other ID Group executives had made inquiries at the Department of Homeland Security and the Department of Defense. Though the secretaries themselves had no personal ties to Yoo Jae-won, some of his executives did through school or regional connections. That network had been enough to trace the source.
Based on the information, he had also identified the likely author of the federal document. As expected, it was the NSA. A director-level official named Samuel Arthur had pushed the measure through the chain of command, and the resulting order had landed on Android’s desk.
Yoo Jae-won had twice embarrassed the NSA with his security challenges—first with ID Office’s encryption system, then with Android OS’s network architecture. Both times the agency had thrown its full weight behind the effort, including its supercomputers, lured by the $100 million prize. The challenges had been open to anyone, after all. Yet the NSA had failed both times, and the diverted computing resources had even drawn internal reprimands for work left undone.
Now the beta announcement that Android’s next version would include a Secure Area had reached the NSA. For an agency whose mission was to intercept every computer system connected to the internet, the prospect of an encrypted vault holding users’ personal data was both tantalizing and terrifying. When they learned the vault would be protected by AES-256—the same standard the NSA itself considered unbreakable—they panicked. Their solution was to force Android to use the older, more vulnerable DES instead.
“Is that so?”
The document incident carried a complicated backstory, but Yoo Jae-won’s light explanation was enough for his father. Yoo Bong-man accepted it without further questions. It was not in Yoo Jae-won’s nature to burden his parents with his worries, and in any case the solution here was straightforward. No fundamental changes were required, so his expression remained calm.
“You’re heading back to Seoul today, aren’t you? Be careful—it’s hot.”
Yoo Bong-man set the stock-crash news aside and worried instead about his son’s schedule. Yoo Jae-won had never given family members even a single share of Android stock, and there was no easy way for Koreans to buy Nasdaq-listed shares anyway. The crash had not touched them.
“It’s an indoor event, so the heat won’t be a problem.”
At the mention of heat, another thought occurred to him.
“Father, are the schools keeping the air conditioners running properly these days?”
“Of course! We’ve got one or two students with unusual constitutions who complain it’s too cold, but not a single one has said it’s too hot.”
The private-school foundation chaired by Yoo Bong-man operated both a middle school and a high school. Following Yoo Jae-won’s 1994 directive, every classroom in both schools had been equipped with air conditioning. The cost of installing large central systems across twelve classes per grade had been substantial, yet every summer since, Yoo Bong-man had silently thanked his son’s foresight. This year the early-July heat already hinted at an especially brutal August, and the schools would remain open for students preparing for university entrance exams.
Yoo Jae-won’s mention of the schools reminded Yoo Bong-man of something else he had been considering.
“Jae-won.”
“Yes? You have something to say?”
“The university. If our foundation added a university, the lineup would feel complete. What do you think?”
A university? Many Korean chaebols maintained close ties with particular universities, both for scholarship programs and to secure talent. Yoo Jae-won saw no harm in extending the vertical integration from middle and high school all the way to university. The annual donations ID Group made to the ID Foundation were growing rapidly; the sums were already large enough to acquire a Seoul university outright. The difficulty lay in instantly creating tradition and prestige. Offering employment advantages at ID Group would attract applicants and talent, but the new institution would still fall short of Seoul’s top-tier universities with centuries of history.
“A comprehensive university would be too much. A specialized engineering university focused on the sciences would be better.”
After a moment’s thought, Yoo Jae-won settled on a technical university. Concentrating on electrical engineering, new materials, and semiconductors could yield strong results. Such an institution would also align with his long-term plans. His greatest challenge was finding natural ways to release the future technologies stored in his Memory Palace. The high-tech research institute he had already established was handling drones, security systems, and even nuclear research, but it had no connection to medicine, pharmacology, biology, or biotechnology. A university could serve as one vehicle for introducing those fields naturally.
“An engineering school? Something like the Korea Advanced Institute of Science and Technology?”
“Exactly. We couldn’t start at that scale, of course, but we could build it step by step.”
Yoo Bong-man’s face brightened at his son’s positive response. He had raised the idea without expecting much; acquiring a university was an expensive proposition. He had only meant to suggest they begin preparing gradually, yet Yoo Jae-won had already offered a concrete direction. Even a specialized engineering school had seemed ambitious, so the elder man’s expression lit up.
“Ah, and while we’re at it, why not establish a kindergarten as well?”
“A kindergarten?”
From cradle to grave might be excessive, but a seamless system from kindergarten through university would strengthen the ID Group’s influence. Kindergartens were not only educational facilities for children but also practical support for working parents. With dual-income households rising, reliable childcare would become increasingly valuable. The ID Foundation could provide trustworthy kindergartens across major cities. Unlike universities, they required no complicated approvals and could be opened relatively quickly.
“We can call it the ID Foundation’s community-welfare service and open several in each major city.”
“Understood.”
Yoo Bong-man’s responsibilities had increased, yet he was pleased. His only son was busy in America and had grown up so quickly; the sense of loss was constant. Though he enjoyed the benefits that came with ID Group, he sometimes felt the company had taken his son away. Running the schools and watching children grow had given him a measure of vicarious satisfaction. Now he would be able to follow students from kindergarten all the way to university, deepening that satisfaction further.
“Oh, and Father.”
“Hmm? What is it?”
“There may be a trip to Switzerland this summer. Make sure your passport is ready.”
“Switzerland? Haha, all right.”
Yoo Jae-won rose from his seat. If he wanted to grow the ID Foundation further, he had work to do today.
“We will now present a carefully prepared gift to our first TG Mobile trial-service subscriber, Mr. Jang Myung-gyun! The prize is none other than a full year of TG Mobile’s unlimited plan—plus the latest New Egg 2 PC, fully equipped with cutting-edge components!”
The emcee’s voice, pitched for the occasion, echoed through TG Mobile’s Gangnam flagship store. The claim that it was an indoor event and therefore untroubled by heat was, of course, nonsense. The company-owned outlet had been designed with the ID Flagship Store in mind—clean, modern, and stocked with every TG Mobile product and after-sales service. Yet the event hall was packed like a marketplace. The operations team, worried the launch might draw only empty seats, had deliberately arranged for winners living in Seoul to come to the Gangnam store for activation on the fifteenth. Other company stores existed, and more dealerships were being recruited for the official launch, but the Gangnam location had been chosen because both TG Mobile’s president, Lee Yong-kwon, and Yoo Jae-won himself would attend.
The result was exactly what they saw now: a crowd. Korea’s “hurry-hurry” spirit, forged during decades of rapid growth, was deeply ingrained. Even though activation could have been done the next day at a nearer store, everyone had come to Gangnam. Some had even taken trains or express buses from the provinces. The press of bodies was so great that even the air conditioners running at full blast could not dispel the heat.
The scene made for excellent footage. Yoo Jae-won and Lee Yong-kwon presenting the gifts to the first customer was captured perfectly. Yoo Jae-won himself felt satisfied. He regretted making people travel so far, but feeling the raw enthusiasm firsthand only strengthened his conviction that TG Mobile would succeed.
Watching the activations from the side, Yoo Jae-won felt a surge of pride as customers opened the small sky-mint boxes—Tiffany’s signature color—and marveled at the phones inside. The joy of the buyers cradling their new Tiffany Phones was the same joy he felt watching them. He had orchestrated countless efforts since last year to bring the Tiffany Phone to life, and the moment felt fresh and meaningful. He resolved to create even more impressive products so that anyone choosing an ID-branded device would experience that same delight.
To do that, he first had to overcome the obstacle the NSA had placed in Android’s path.
After the TG Mobile trial-service event, Yoo Jae-won shared lunch with Lee Yong-kwon—though they had originally planned dinner—and considered his Seoul business concluded. He returned home at once and began preparing for his return to the United States. In the past he might have handled matters remotely with Alpha Team, but with the NSA watching so closely, that was no longer an option. A phone call would have to suffice. Once back in America, he intended to kick aside whatever trouble the agency tried to throw his way.