The principal difference, even recognized by Eschelon’s critics, is that the American system is not inherently “coercive.” It does not force private industry to cooperate. In other words, the U.S. telecommunications companies are not required to hook into Eschelon.
However, in Russia, the spy technology reaches into citizens’ homes through the telecoms. And virtually every agency with a reason to spy has access to who’s on the Internet, what they look at, and to whom they talk.
If this weren’t enough, a new SORM application was established five years after the initial declaration. SORM-2 now affords security agencies the means to sidestep legal procedures. Prior to the change, warrants were necessary in order to tap private communications.
Once more, Russia was becoming a fully functional, though smaller, human rights-violating police state.
How did the others communicate their secrets to the West?
Dubroff was baffled. Having logged onto foreign websites on the subject, he knew a little about SORM, so took special care with his searches. He also avoided e-mail.
It wasn’t paranoia, it was experience, born in his belief that this is just how things are done. The people can’t be trusted, so the government must monitor what they do, where they travel, and whether they are a risk to the state.
Dubroff was more than a mere mushroom digger who couldn’t see the forest for the trees. He could see the danger that lay ahead. He had information to share with the West. Getting it to them was the challenge.
How? he asked himself. What’s the best way? Dubroff started thinking like a traitor. But the question really was: a traitor to what?
“On the phone is a man you are going to want to listen to tonight, my friends. Why? Because he has a message for you. A message you may not want to hear, but you better, if you care about America.”
Elliott Strong delivered the last words slowly and with unmistakable conviction. “Let me tell you about General Robert Woodley Bridgeman.” Elliott Strong rarely had guests on the air. His show almost exclusively catered to the callers. But it had been decided. The former decorated general asked for airtime. And Strong would give it to him. Over the next few months, he was going to become a very familiar voice on the airwaves. First radio, then television.
“General Bridgeman is one of the most decorated American heroes of the war in Iraq. A Purple Heart, a Navy Cross, numerous commendations for bravery. His men faithfully followed him into war. Cities like Baghdad, Fallujah, and Mosul. Dangerous places. He did the kind of work that’s not for the faint of heart. You want to know about his heroism, just go to the Internet. I stopped counting after finding 426 individual websites that chronicled the exploits of this great man. Log onto my website. We’ve linked up a few you’ll want to check out,” Strong added.
“Before Iraq, General Bridgeman served in the infantry in Desert Storm. My sources tell me he also participated in a number of classified missions into North Korea. I don’t suppose he’ll talk about it, but rest assured, it’s because of brave hearts like General Robert Bridgeman that America remains secure today. He fought for you, my friends. He put his life on the line for your freedom, for the United States of America. Now he joins us tonight.
“Welcome to Strong Nation, General Bridgeman. It is an honor to have you with us.”
“Good evening, Mr. Strong. The honor is mine. You do a great service yourself for your country,” the general said with a warm, trained, and modulated deep voice.
“Thank you. Let me get to your record,” Strong said, wanting to establish firm ground for his guest to stand on. “You were directly in the line of fire.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Time after time you not only issued the orders, you led attacks on enemy strongholds risking your own life.”
“I suppose I’m from the old school. Lead by example.”
“I don’t suppose your command was always happy with that.”
“I brought more men home because of my decisions in the field, Mr. Strong. I was there. They weren’t,” he responded. Bridgeman sounded decisive: the hallmark of a leader. With just a few words so far, he exuded authority and warmth. His voice had a timber and quality that inspired. Listeners had no trouble making the leap of faith that troops under him would follow the general to the gates of hell. Thousands of Strong’s listeners were already logging onto the Strong Nation homepage to read about Bridgeman. The first thing they saw was a photo of a handsome 6′2″ warrior in full battle regalia, with a crooked, Harrison Ford smile. He had jet-black hair, cut to military length, and long, dark eyebrows that connected in the middle. The photo wasn’t a posed studio shot. It worked better for that reason. The general’s face was bathed in the afternoon sun. Behind him, a dynamic, bright-red glow of a burning building in the center of Baghdad. It could be presumed that Bridgeman and his men were responsible for the explosion.
“As a career officer in the United States Marine Corps,” Strong continued to recite, “you always chose the front lines over a Pentagon desk. I take it you had opportunity to return to Washington.”
“I did. Through the years I faithfully served in the United States Marine Corps, I believed that the command was solid. The right decisions were being made by the right people. I could do no better there. But perhaps I could do better than others in the field.”
“And so you stayed, declining offers to come in.”
Listeners heard a laugh. “I suppose my beautiful wife Lily would have preferred me home, but she would have gotten tired of me in no time. That’s why we still have the magic after thirty-five years.” A second picture on the website showed the general and his wife together at a Marine function. He was in his dress uniform and she was in a conservative, navy blue suit and a bright red silk blouse, set off by a string of fine white pearls. Lily, the daughter of a Texas representative, had Southern grace and poise. She looked positively perfect on the arm of the general. She was nine years his junior, which made her 48.
A smart listener would have realized that the conversation was completely structured. Each comment led to another scripted layer. Each layer was reinforced with a graphic, a paragraph, or a link on StrongNationRadio.com. The only thing missing online was the payoff to the conversation. That would come midway through the second half-hour of the interview. And when it did, Strong’s webmaster would click a key that would immediately load the news at the top of the homepage and simultaneously send it out to the major news organizations in America along with Reuters in London.
“Now you’re a civilian. What, only three months?”
“Almost,” Bridgeman said. “Just shy of three, though it feels like ten years already. Lily’s got me redoing the house. Let me tell you, when it comes to giving orders, my wife is at the top of the chain of command.”
Strong gave a hearty laugh. “I suppose that does take some time to get used to.”
“Well, I’m doing my level best. And I’ll tell you, it’s not so bad. I’ve got my home, my loving bride, great neighbors, and a wonderful community.”
“Where have you settled, General?”
“The same house Lily and I moved into when we first married. We’re in Tyler, Texas. You can find us easily enough. Follow the smoke down Elm Tree Circle, like our friends have. We’ve got the barbeque going in the backyard almost every night.”
The next picture on the web: Bridgeman behind his barbeque, serving up ribs to very familiar Texans who have gone onto prominence. The effect of the photo immediately notched up Bridgeman’s political cache.