ugh, curse you WSJ and your incremental paywalls. > The government man in the bedroom helps himself to a seat, leans toward the lad and says: “I’m afraid you’l

ugh, curse you WSJ and your incremental paywalls. > The government man in the bedroom helps himself to a seat, leans toward the lad and says: “I’m afraid you’ll have to write him a letter, Philip. . . . There’s to be no more transmitting out of the United States.” He explains: He is from the Federal Communications Commission’s Radio Intelligence Division; “the R.I.D.,” he says, enunciating each letter. He tells the boy: “Today it’s chiefly by radio that the enemies within a country hope to get their stolen information out of it. That’s why the R.I.D. was born. . . . It is our job to police the ether.”