Escaping the “black hole”: how to measure cybercrime

How big a threat is cybercrime to UK industry, and how do we deal with it?

The vast majority of parliamentary committee reports do not prompt headlines containing phrases like “losing the war”, “falling into a black hole”, and “a bigger threat than nuclear attack”. Last week’s Home Affairs Select Committee report on e-crime was a notable exception. For those who make a living fighting cyber-crime, however, the report held very little that would shock. Indeed, my colleague Art Coviello spoke at length to the Committee, and whilst he agreed with their assessment that we weren't winning the battle, he had considerable praise for the way both British business and government were coming together around the challenge.

Now the dust has settled somewhat, it’s worth separating reality from hyperbole, and perhaps considering what might actually be done about the problem. To do so, we should begin on a positive note. The headlines came about because the UK features so high on the list of targets for cyber criminals but, in some ways, this is as reassuring as it is a point of concern. The reason we're such a persistent target of attack is because we have so much worth stealing – financial assets, intellectual property and the type of vibrant dynamic business that generates both. We shouldn’t worry if criminals wish to steal from us, but we must work to limit their chances of success. So, what can we do to thwart the criminals? And how well are we doing currently?

The second question is easy to answer, and the answer is: not too badly. We may not be winning the war, but we’re not losing either – the "black hole" of the report is really a sort of jurisdictive black hole, and it’s unlikely to swallow the nation’s finances any time soon. That’s not, however, to deny the scale of the problem, and the question of how we solve it is undeniably complicated. The issue is a truly global one, and criminals have more weapons at their disposal than ever before.

Cyber-security professionals refer to the "attack surface" to describe how cyber-criminals access their victims and, in the space of the last ten years, this has changed beyond all recognition. When the internet was primarily a means of accessing information, the avenues through which cyber criminals could reach their victims were limited, and so was the extent of their potential gains. Now, with almost any product or service available online, with a plethora of different social networks, and with smartphones and many different devices connected to the internet, there are few limits to the means criminals can employ to steal from organisations and individuals.

No individual or organisation can hope to stand alone against this threat. Companies that wish to defend themselves have little alternative but to collaborate on their response to cyber-crime. The criminals themselves see the value of such a strategy, and their information-sharing networks are extraordinarily effective. At our subsidiary RSA, we maintain cyber-security watch posts around the world, and from these we see criminals exchanging data on the vulnerabilities that allow them to steal money and intellectual property from organisations and individuals.

This is a sophisticated and agile underground economy which feeds parasitically on legitimate commerce, and which lawful businesses cannot hope to curb without concerted action. However, even recent discourse on the issue has not sufficiently stressed the importance of collaboration. For example, the CBI’s otherwise very sensible response to the Committee’s report struck a false note in its suggestion we should be "fighting crime in private". That would be a lonely and unsuccessful fight, and it’s crucial that British businesses are aware of how numerous, how skilled, and how efficiently collaborative cyber-criminals are. No organisation could hope to combat them alone.

However, with a coherent framework for businesses to share information on cyber threats, businesses are well-placed to beat the cyber threat. Many business leaders may shy away from the idea of engaging with their competitors and peers in industry, but strong precedents have already been set in sectors at high risk of cybercrime. Financial services is one of these and, while companies in the industry are more protective of proprietary information than those in almost any other, the scale of the threat is such that a formal means of sharing intelligence is a necessity. In financial services, the eFraudNetwork cybercrime watch service allows companies worldwide to securely share information about cyber-crime, so that once one attempted theft is thwarted, the perpetrators cannot simply move on to try the same methods at another organisation.

Such a network is very effective in curbing fraud and theft, and the good news is that this kind of information sharing is not complex or expensive, and need not negatively impact on the competitive advantages or information privacy of the organisations involved. It is a model that could easily be replicated in other industries. Much work is already being done to achieve this; indeed, RSA will shortly release a cyber-threat intelligence model, which will propose a global industry standard framework for business-to-business information sharing. Last week’s Committee report implied that a political intervention is possible so, however it chooses to do so, the business community should act while it is still able to shape a response according to its own priorities. After all, if there’s one thing that we know about cyber criminals, it’s that they never stop working to improve the methods they use. As the lawless learn to attack more effectively, so the lawful must learn to defend better – and no one organisation can succeed in doing this alone.

James Petter is vice president and managing director of EMC UK&I

Photograph: Getty Images

James Petter is vice president and managing director of  internet services company EMC UK&I.

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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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