TheCodeBreakers
The code room stood at
the southeast corner of the embassy, with windows overlooking the
embassy parking lot and another legation next door. Half a dozen desks
clustered in the middle of the room. Two cipher machines waited on
desks against the west wall and a third, broken, rested in the walk-in
safe. In utter disregard of the regulations promulgated for the security of
communications, the embassy had hired an elderly Negro janitor named
Robert to dust and clean the code room and its supersecret furnishings
each day. The code clerks did make some obeisance to the security
regulations by not allowing him in the room unless some Japanese were
in it. But the situation was, to say the least, ironical. While the Japanese
Foreign Office was exercising almost superhuman security precautions
and American cryptanalysts were suffering nervous breakdowns to solve
the PURPLE machine, an American citizen was running his duster over
annaabi.ee 
