It is the Second World War. A British mathematician, Alan Turing, has designed a machine capable of decoding encrypted German radio transmissions. This creates a moral quandary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The intelligence from the decoded messages could be used to prevent future German attacks from succeeding, but to do so would risk exposing the machine, and jeopardise its use as a tactical capability that might shorten the war. Its existence is so sensitive that even allies aren’t made aware of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We imagine the meeting of Turing with Lieutenant Commander Fleming from Naval Intelligence who pitches a cover story. An alternate explanation for the source of the intelligence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The intelligence would instead have been provided by a spy-master. Fleming constructs a figure of sophisticated spy operating behind enemy lines, recruiting agents. Seductive, handsome, sophisticated, accomplished. Drinking in the finest establishments, in the finest of suits.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“And this super-spy has a name?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Oh it’d be something dull and unromantic. His cover would probably be be Swiss, but neither name will be spoken. We would only ever use his codename. I thought ‘Boniface’ would be apt. It’s the name Pope Gregory gave to the english monk sent to establish the Christian church in Germania.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Beyond the insult that the daily work of many hundreds might plausibly be that of one man, do you honestly believe your tales of a man in a suit are going to seduce German High Command.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Oh, personally I believe Berlin is primed to believe any explanation that doesn’t call into question their technical competence. But in this specific case, it’s the Americans we have to seduce.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n