Takes place between 1.6 "Mr. Culpeper" and 1.7 "Mercy, Moment, Murder, Measure."
The storm was lashing outside, and while Ben was grateful to be in the warmth and security of the mansion-turned-headquarters, the relentless rain slamming into the windows and the clapping thunder continued to aggravate his headache.
Mr. Sackett picked up a nut and began to crack it. "Have you memorized the system yet?" he asked.
Ben sighed. This was still a point of contention between them. "Yes, but I just don't like it."
The master of spycraft peered over his glasses at him. "An expert cryptologist devises a stream cipher with a randomized key," Sackett began, his voice slow and dripping in derision, "one that can withstand a Black Chamber codebreaker, and you don't like it?"
"Mr. Sackett, I agree, Dumas came up with a brilliant cipher, but I don't believe we should use it for - Culpeper," Ben stumbled a little on Abe's new name.
Sackett popped the kernel into his mouth. "Well, perhaps we should continue with your original system. I admit, the British's shock at everything being written all out in the open should give our agents a few minutes head start."
On the other side of the table, Ben barely stifled the urge to roll his eyes. "I just think we need a less complicated method."
"Which system do you wish to use then?"
"Our own."
"Precisely."
Ben's head snapped up. Sackett was staring at him with that piercing gaze he'd only seen twice before. "What?"
"You're right; for our agents we need to create our own system."
"So," Ben struggled to get his thoughts together, "you made me memorize this Dumas cipher…for what purpose? Entertainment?"
"For practice," Sackett replied easily. A shrug. "And to see if you could." He held up a hand to silence Ben's next words. "I need you to be familiar with ciphering in order for us to come up with our own. Now," Sackett stood up, "I want you to create a rough draft of your own system by tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? I have to go on patrol in an hour."
Sackett frowned at that and glanced at the window. "In this weather?"
Civilians. "Yes, in this weather."
Mr. Sackett cracked another nut. "Tomorrow afternoon, then."
...
And so Ben found himself hours later wearily pulling himself from the saddle and tramping back across the camp to continue Sackett's homework. He stayed there for the rest of the evening, then the whole night, but by mid-morning, Ben was almost done. Once he'd figured out what he wanted, everything had fallen into place. He had to admit, the endless studying of ciphers and codes had paid off.
Finished, Ben put his quill down. Honest with himself, he knew it was completely amateurish compared to the professionals over in Europe, but he would still argue for its use over their ciphers. There was too much room for error in the other systems, and worse still, the more complicated the cipher, the longer it took to encrypt a message, and Washington needed timely intelligence.
He just needed to get Sackett to agree. Which was bound to mean more bickering and pleading. He was a little tired of the older man's smug superiority.
Ben's mouth twitched as a thought came to him. He glanced at the clock; he still had several hours left. He shouldn't, he knew that. It was childish, he knew that as well. It was bound to annoy Sackett – that was the point, after all – and that wouldn't help the man trust him more. And, despite all that General Scott might say to the contrary, Ben had always acted professionally since the day he'd joined up.
He knew all that. But ever since he'd received the news about Samuel and subsequently missed his chance to kill Rogers, a part of him had been itching to do something a little…rebellious. Well, something more than simply taking up arms against his mother country.
Mind made up, he picked up his quill again. After all, Caleb said insubordination was his best quality.
…
When Sackett came in later that afternoon, Ben was ready for him. Not giving the older man time to ask a question or even sit down, Ben walked around his desk and reached Sackett's side. Eagerly he placed the letter in the older man's hands.
"Here it is, sir. I think it surpasses Dumas, if I do say so myself."
Sackett smiled rather indulgently at Ben's enthusiasm. His smile disappeared, though, as he began to read the paper.
Ben broke the silence. "This is an example letter, so I'll help you decipher it. See, Culpeper will pretend to write to his uncle, and the encryption of the message is so good that no one will even think he's sending any secret information, unlike Dumas's system where it's obvious.
"Let me walk you through it." Ben leaned forward and pointed. "See here? 'How are you?' Whenever he writes that, he'll be referring to General Howe. So the, 'how are you? I'm fine, but the sea air is making my cold 4,000 times worse.' Well, that means that General Howe is transporting 4,000 men by sea."
Sackett didn't respond. Ben reached out and grabbed a nut from the basket.
"And here," Ben gestured to a line in the middle, "'All the women are beautiful, I'd like to be engaged to 2,000 of them, but alas, they are all heading south for the winter.'" Ben looked up. "That means that General Gage is moving 2,000 men south."
Cracking the nut, he popped it into his mouth. "And here's the best part. 'I caught a glint in my father's eye, and I know he wants to sell 30 shipments of hogs from Nova Scotia this coming spring.' The 'glint in' will refer to General Clinton. Now the 'shipments' refers to –"
Sackett crumpled the paper.
Ben's dark eyes followed the older gentleman as he strode across the room. "Is something wrong?"
Sackett whirled around at the question, his expression a mixture of incredulity, bewilderment, and a little bit of anger. His fist clenched even tighter around the paper. Taking his glasses off, he stared at Ben, his eyes narrowed.
Ben kept his face completely open and innocent. "Do you like it?"
Mr. Sackett opened his mouth to answer him, but then his eyes focused on a point above Ben's right shoulder. He paused. "I believe I'll leave you to answer that. What did you think, General?" he asked.
Ben stiffened, the blood draining from his face. General Washington. He was not supposed to hear this. Ben was supposed to make Washington proud of his appointment; now, he'd just shown why he didn't deserve it. Ben closed his eyes for a moment, summoning the courage to face this nightmare.
When he opened them, though, he found Sackett staring at him, a quiet smirk on his face. Ben jerked his head around. No one, let alone the General, was behind him.
"If you're going to attempt to deceive, don't have such an obvious weakness," Sackett advised. "However, that rather pitiful face, Captain, gives me some hope that you also know that this," he shook the offending letter, "is complete drivel."
Ben conceded with a sigh. "Yes, sir, Mr. Sackett." He hurriedly stepped forward and held out the small journal. "Here is the actual code."
Mr. Sackett hmmphed and almost peevishly snatched the journal out of his hands. He thumbed though the pages, stopping occasionally, a few, more thoughtful hmms escaping.
Finally he looked up. "Not appalling. Still very simple."
Ben had attended Yale; stuffy professors did not intimidate him. He lifted his chin. "Yes, but I want it that way."
Sackett pursed his lips. "I think I understand General Scott a little better," he murmured as he perused the journal again. A few moments later he snapped the book shut. "We can work with this," he announced.
Ben smiled, relieved. They both returned to their respective seats at the table, Ben grabbing his other journal and the pencil stub that he used for note taking. He had a feeling he was about to be taking a lot.
"Oh, and Captain."
Ben glanced up.
"Do try to remember you're a major, now."
Red tinged Ben's cheeks, but he saw the twinkle in Sackett's eye and took the ribbing in stride. With his pencil he scratched the reminder into his journal. "Duly noted, thank you."
...
A/N: Inspired by a Tumblr post about Ben's ability to sass in four languages.