[Phone rings]
[Man in cubicle, late 20s, wearing headset, playing FarmVille on computer under heavy florescent lighting]
Служба Внешней Разведки! Меня зовут Иван! Thank you for calling Directorate OT customer support. Your call is very important to us. How may I assist you today? This call definitely will be monitored for satisfaction.
[Female voice, exasperated]: You have to help me, no one at Directorate S has a clue about iPhones and Macs.
[Ivan]: Oh, uh, wow Directorate S! You know, procedure? You aren’t even supposed to be calling here? You’re an illegal.
[Female voice, sharp]: Well, I’m calling, aren’t I?
[Ivan] OK, OK. It’s just S . . . they’re touchy. You’re breaking cover and all. Is it true? I mean, the good life, yeah? All those Red Bull and vodka
parties. Pay per view? I guess I can do some tech support, but if I help you out, how about you do the same? Put in a word for me? I look Belgian. Everyone says so.
[Female voice, heavy sigh]:
[Ivan]: First off, to open your account, may I ask your legend’s name and date of birth, please? (muttering under breath, ‘I am soo getting fired for this’).
[Female voice]: Anna. Anna Chapman, 1982, OK? Look, I can’t get my Mac to synchronize for my scheduled meetings. Something stopped working. We use an ad hoc encrypted drive-by wireless data transfer with the contact’s van. And I have all this huge, huge news on Facebook’s privacy policies . . .
[Ivan]: May I call you Anna? Your problem involves your van’s broken wireless network. OK, now I just need to verify your your account status. “I think we may have met before in Kharkov last June.”
[Anna]: What? I would never go to Kharkov in a million years. Help with this Mac now. Or do I need to ask for a supervisor?
[Ivan]: Thank you, Anna, that was the correct response. I can enter your general account now. One moment, please. I don’t have access to all your Directorate S accounts – their security is good. But I know some work arounds . . . [keys clacking].