Decoding Coincidences
Because somewhere along the line, she herself has decided that she has to have her own contingency plan. And a high school boy, one that she once tried to save, was that one.
Friday, on free period, Caleb Phipps is alone in the computer lab. Hair tussled, eyes red, and fingers sweaty, the young man reread his code carefully. Mr. Beckner had excused himself earlier, answering a phone call.
The chatter of the voices outside was white noise to his ears as he eyed the screen. To him, this is silence, the perfect environment for him to do his work.
Yesterday, right in this very seat, his code looked more refined than now.
It should have been perfect, his code. The one that a certain substitute teacher once told him to keep close. But after seating on his seat and opening his encrypted files on 'his' computer, he found out that someone had tampered on it.
Briefly, he had thought that Caleb's teacher was the one who did it, but the man (aside from being someone who's earned his trust) was an average at best in their craft. While it wasn't modest, how the young man hides his work in a school computer was pretty darn good, if he'd say so himself.
He fumed of course, could someone have bested him in some way? Does someone know what he was working on? Or is it that certain substitute teacher's work again? The last one... he didn't believe because Mr. Swift was his ally here, and Caleb knew it would so out-of-character of him.
He was just about to edit his work when he noticed something.
His code. There was a code in his code.
A puzzle. Is what his mind thought when he read it again.
Grabbing his notebook, his eyes never left the screen as he dunked his hand into his bag and searched for a pen.
A puzzle, this is what it is. Essentially, his code is still there, but new additions were added on it. And when you remove all it, write it down, you'll be left with a string of... jumbled nonsense.
Nonsense to someone who didn't have the intellectual capacity of someone who could immensely improve the internet in a decade's time. Granted, he didn't know how to decode the code. Yet.
His musings were broken when the bell rang.
"-keep your code close to your vest." Caleb recalled as he frantically folded the paper he was writing on and placed it in his jacket's inner pocket.
For the rest of the weekend, like a pious man who believed in his scriptures, Caleb obsessively read the puzzle over and over again. The paper had lost it's firmness, the edges looked like a rat ate it, and frankly, it felt like cloth to him now. The young man, however, didn't have the courage to rewrite it on another piece of paper, fearing that some meaning would be lost should he do it.
Sunday, 9PM, Caleb had finished his assignments - doing every item correctly then replacing half of it with wrong ones to ensure that he'd get average scores in each of them. Though Mr. Beckner had been urging him to forgo the farce because the school year is ending, and Mr. Beckner wants Caleb to go to college on a scholarship program. One that would be easy for someone like Caleb to maintain because he's smart - so Mr. Beckner says. However, in order to first get that scholarship, high school junior Caleb had to up his ante to get noticed (because Mr. Beckner knew a few people who help push Caleb in the right direction provided that Caleb do his part) and mediocre grades just won't do these days if Caleb wants a future.
Thoughts about college had been a pretty good distraction as of late. But Caleb's attention was more focused on the limp piece of paper that was inside his wallet.
Just to see if his mind would produce the needed knowledge to decode the puzzle now, Caleb brought out the paper again. His rough fingers careful because he might tear the tattered piece of paper.
He had thrown out the rationalization that this was a mistake, or a bug that's on 'his' computer in school, but how this jumbled mess was written. How it's present, how it's written. It's gotta be a code.
I wonder if it's Mr. Swift again.
The solution to the answer didn't come to him until he sat through Ms. Bentham's math class. It had been six weeks since her return from Maui, and exams were just around the corner. She reminded the class about the things she'd be adding to her test, and while most of the students ignored her (Caleb included) there was something she said that caught the young man's attention.
"...and remember to read on Carl Fredrich Gauss." she said. Caleb was jamming his pad of paper into his bag when he stopped at the mention of the deceased mathematician.
5050.
That's it.
Caleb felt his knees go numb. "Oh crap." It came below his breath but those who heard it turned to him curiously - because Caleb rarely, almost never, cussed.
Slinging his bag, he quickly walked out of the room and into his safe haven: the computer lab.
No one was there, Mr. Beckner was probably out on an errand, but the young man didn't think of it too much because the solution to solving the code was found.
Bringing out his pen and the same pad of paper he had jammed in his bag five minutes ago, Caleb quickly worked on assembling the puzzle.
However, just when he's just about finished, he had landed on a stump. The solution was incomplete because what he only managed to decode was this phrase:
call this number
Granted this was only part of the message, but any thoughts about his code having errors, or how the computer he used at school had bugs in it were dispelled. It's too much of a coincidence.
And with the solution coming from something Mr. Swift once talked about. It just can't be a coincidence.
Coincidence. Mr. Swift. Circles. Pi. 3000.
He brought out the piece of paper, the one his substitute teacher gave to him before he left, and scanned through the 3000 numbers. His mind was working on overtime; his racing heart, helping him think better as his hands shook at the thought of decoding the message.
If I use these numbers... maybe I can...
And he did, thirty minutes later, after seven tries. In his hand was a comprehensive phrase:
call this number on a pay phone
XXX-XXX-XXXX
He had to wipe sweat from his brow when he finished reading it. A chill went down his spine.
On his way home, Caleb walked with two legs that felt like unfrozen sausages. The piece of paper that contained the message was safely tucked in the breast pocket of his jacket. He's been doing that lately, putting important things in his breast pocket. There was just something about how Mr. Swift told it that made Caleb listen to it.
Inserting the change needed to make a phone call, Caleb dialed the number and waited.
It rang two times before a man answered, with a voice so different from a deceptively bland man like Mr. Swift; who hid an intelligence that was so alluring it was like looking at the sun. This man's voice was low, quiet, but like a wolf lurking in the shadows, it was also predatory and fear-inducing.
"Yes?" this man asked, but delivered in such a way that Caleb almost spilled everything right then and there.
"Is this..." he started, but he didn't have the courage to finish. Mr. Swift was gone, essentially a ghost when he tried digging about his current whereabouts. All these mysteries keep piling up, and for someone like Caleb, he settled with an answer so different from his personality, "I don't know why I am calling."
The young man was quiet for a second. Perhaps too quiet because Caleb actually thought he had hang up, but then he spoke up. His voice still low and quiet and predatory and fear-inducing when he said, "You're the one the Machine sent to help me?"
Caleb didn't know what he meant, and it didn't look like the man was addressing to him.
Alas, the man on the other side of the line continued, "You're gonna help me find my business partner. See you in fifteen minutes" Hair tussled, face sweaty, and fingers numb, Caleb knew this was just the beginning.