We talked about the source over dinner. Laura told me that this person wanted a physical address to use in case, as the source put it, “something happens to you or me.” We speculated that perhaps the source wanted to send her a parcel. Hard copy? Data? It was unclear. Needless to say, the material couldn’t go directly to Laura: her mail was surely being scrutinized. Nor could I receive it, because of our connection. She said we needed a third party, someone who wouldn’t be on the NSA’s radar.
“Do you know someone, a journalist, whom you absolutely trust?” she said. “Someone who won’t ask any questions?”
“Sure,” I responded. I immediately thought of the perfect person: my best friend, an author and accomplished journalist who also taught at Columbia. She had just moved, though. While I’d already visited her new place in Brooklyn and knew what the building looked like, I didn’t remember the exact address. I told Laura I would supply the location soon. Later, I mulled my options for getting the street number — what if, on account of my relationship with Laura, my phone or computer had been compromised? I didn’t want to call my friend and ask her, on the off-chance that I’d been tapped, or pull up the address using an online search, in case there was malware on my laptop that could log my keystrokes. Instead, I went to Google Street View and dropped a tiny avatar on a busy road around the corner from where she lived, walked it to her building, and zoomed in on the number posted above her front door.
The next time Laura and I met, I gave her the Brooklyn address. I didn’t confess how I’d gotten it, hoping my workaround hadn’t somehow weakened our security. Since Laura was going back to Berlin and I wasn’t yet using encryption, we spent some time refining our code to use on the phone and in emails. As we stood near my front door — she was on her way to the airport — I scrawled the following notes on a sheet of paper. (For what it’s worth, the published excerpts from Laura’s journal show that she transcribed the code a bit differently. Ours was not a system with exacting precision.)
— Architect = The unnamed source
— Architectural materials = The shipment
— First sink = The primary friend who would receive the architectural materials
— Other sink = A backup friend in California, in case the first couldn’t do it
— Several countertops = Multiple packages
— The carpenter quit the job = Start over with a new plan
— The co-op board = The NSA or FBI (a tribute to the truculent nature of such boards in New York City)
— The co-op board is giving us a hard time = The NSA/FBI is on to us. Trouble!
— Renovation is taking longer than expected = No word from the source
Hours later, Laura emailed from the airport: “Thanks for checking in on the renovation work while I’m away. Hopefully it will be drama free, but that might be wishful thinking.”
Meanwhile, Laura been corresponding with the source, trying to determine why this mysterious figure had reached out to her in particular. In an encrypted message that January, the person wrote:
You asked why I picked you. I didn’t. You did. Your pursuit of a dangerous truth drew the eyes of an apparatus that will never leave you. Your experience as a target of coercive intimidation should have very quickly cowed you into compliance, but that you have continued your work gives hope that your special lesson in authoritarianism did not take; that contacting you is worth the risk.
Laura arrived safely in Berlin, but her worries continued. What if the source was some kind of crackpot — or, worse yet, an undercover agent using her to target Assange? WikiLeaks had already been named an enemy of the state by a 2008 US Army secret report, which also suggested a strategy to damage the organization’s reputation by tricking it into publishing fake documents. (Ironically, that report was later leaked to — and published by — none other than WikiLeaks.)
Laura’s source tried to reassure her he was legit, writing:
[Regarding] entrapment or insanity, I can address the first by making it clear I will ask nothing of you other than to review what I provide …
Were I mad, it would not matter — you will have verification of my bona fides when you … request comment from officials. As soon as it is clear to them that you have detailed knowledge of these topics, the reaction should provide all the proof you require.
Laura had also been wondering: What if the emails from the mysterious person suddenly stopped coming? Was there a backup plan? The source addressed that too, explaining:
The only reasons we will lose contact are my death or confinement, and I am putting contingencies for that in place.
I appreciate your caution and concern, but I already know how this will end for me and I accept the risk. I seek only enough room to operate until I can deliver to you the actual documents … If I have luck and you are careful for the duration of our period of operations, you will have everything you need. I ask only that you ensure this information makes it home to the American public.
Still, Laura felt anxious. On February 9, she wrote in her journal, “I still wonder if they are trying to entrap me … My work might get shut down by the government.”
Soon after making this entry, she gave me the go-ahead to ask my friend about receiving the package. I wrote back on February 12: “That first sink is definitely the cool one. You always want to go with stainless steel. I hate porcelain.”
A week later, Laura emailed: “Thanks for feedback re the sink … The architect will be sending me links to view things as we move forward. I’ll let you know as things progress and timing for doing a site visit. The co-op has been quiet. I hope it stays that way.”
There was occasional confusion as to whether we were discussing her mystery source or the actual renovation, which was still going on. In a few instances, I had to remind myself: sometimes a countertop is just a countertop.
On March 15, Laura emailed, “Things are moving along with the renovation. Still in the preliminary stages. I hope things escalate soon.” She was, in this case, definitely talking about her source.
Before long, the source followed up with Laura, sending her a pep talk of sorts. It read:
By understanding the mechanisms through which our privacy is violated, we can win here. We can guarantee for all people equal protection against unreasonable search through universal laws, but only if the technical community is willing to face the threat and commit to implementing over-engineered solutions. In the end, we must enforce a principle whereby the only way the powerful may enjoy privacy is when it is the same kind shared by the ordinary: one enforced by the laws of nature, rather than the policies of man.
I went back home to California for a few weeks, returning to New York on May 4. Still, nothing had come. Six days later, Laura wrote, “Quick update: My architect is sending some materials. Let me know when you get them.”
I responded: “Will they arrive in the next day or two? My friend who is interested in those plans because of her own remodel is out of town.”
My friend in Brooklyn had decamped to Los Angeles to report a magazine story. A few more email exchanges followed.
“I will know more when that friend gets home and settles in,” I wrote to Laura. “I can’t wait to hear about the design … hope it includes a window for lots of light!”
She replied: “I really hope he figured out a way around the co-op rules to do a window. Keep me posted — I’m really eager to see. If they are ready I’d like to get them so I can start reviewing Thursday. See you soon.”
To which I responded: “Yes, windows are good. We can never have too many in our lives.”
Jessica Bruder
Over the course of a decade and a half of friendship, Dale and I have shared all sorts