Cipher

by Robert Stohn

  The anxiety fluttered through his mind like a hummingbird hovering over a flower. It was fleeting. The anxious thoughts passed, and he went back to hurling UNIX code at the screen. The four UNIX browsers were hard at work, each one of them sending through the brute-force ciphers to attack the systems. He knew it was risky attacking all four at once, so he had to roam his IP address. The changing proxies slowed things down but he had to be extra careful. His fingers continued to cruise across the keyboard as if he was playing his most precious concerto. A lifelong pursuit towards an inherent understanding of technology and the power of a single advanced piece of equipment was finally paying off. Those algorithms danced around in his mind as they danced around on the screen.

  He was infiltrating their databases. He was in. One by one, he began searching for the information that he needed. One by one he began generating his lists of data, he would then purge through the infinite abyss and into his hands. One by one, each of those men and women in the field were becoming exposed. The names shot down the screen, each one of them appearing in long collated lists. Thousands of names were being generated. Thousands of poor men and women were having their identities exposed. The world wouldn’t have to lie in wait anymore. That list was priceless.

  As the information was downloaded and stored on his local laptop, he looked around again. Like always, he was expecting a sea of SWAT to show up with guns pointed at his head. But, like always, he was alone. He was secretly stealing treasure troves of data and no one was the wiser. He looked around again as he was wrapping up his heist and almost couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe he had gotten away with it. But, then again, he always got away with it. He was smarter than them, and at that moment, he felt the most maniacal wave of ecstasy that he had had in recent years. He smiled to himself as he shut his laptop screen and walked towards his awaiting car on a nearby street.

  He inconspicuously checked his surroundings as he made his way through the busy streets. And as he slipped into the car, he directed the driver back to the docks where he would review his bounty, and celebrate with his brother. The car meandered its way through the streets as the busy foot traffic increased the closer they got to the docs. But, that’s when Boris heard the sirens. He could hear the siren of a local police car not far behind them. He looked out through the dark tinted windows to see the police car approaching quickly.

  “Step on the gas!” he yelled at the driver.

  The driver looked at him through the rearview mirror and could see that he was visibly upset. He punched the throttle down on the car and it lurched forward on the busy streets, nearly missing a group of pedestrians that were running across to the other side.

  “Go faster! Faster!” Boris yelled. He looked back to see two more police vehicles approaching from the rear, just behind the first one. Three vehicles now made their way towards the bulletproof Mercedes. “How the hell did they find me? How the hell did they know?”

  “I’m sorry sir, I’m going as fast as I can without killing anyone,” the driver said sheepishly.

  “I don’t care who you kill. If you don’t go faster I’m going to kill you,” he said. He pulled out a gun and held it to the driver’s head. “If you don’t think I’m serious, then try me.”

  The driver’s knuckles turned white as he slammed on the gas and threw the car violently forward through the traffic. He weaved in and out of the street, narrowly missing nearly every car along the way. Boris looked back to see the vehicles gaining, and was in a panic. He whipped out his phone and dialed his brother, Dmitry.

  “They’re following me!” he barked into the phone as Dmitry answered.

  “Who? Who?” Dmitry asked.

  “The police! What the hell went wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Did you get the list?”

  “Yes! Of course I got the list, but they’re on me now. I’ve got to lose these people. Secure the yacht.”

  “Da. Okay, brother. Don’t worry. We’ll be ready over here,” Dmitry said.

  “Okay, I’m going now. Get the yacht out of the dock now.”

  “Will do, brother. Be safe. Hurry,” he said.

  Boris clicked the phone off, and looked back again. He was panicking. He was so confident he hadn’t been spotted. But how? How could they have found him? How could they have gotten wind of him? He was completely disguised. He thought he was a ghost. No matter, he thought, he had to lose the tail.

  “Faster!” he yelled again at the driver. “Through here, cut through here,” he yelled pointing to a side street.

  “But I can’t… the sidewalk… the people…”

  Boris pointed the gun at the driver again. “Do it, now!”

  The driver didn’t need any more motivation than the gun in his face again. He dropped down a gear and the luxury sedan lurched forward and onto the sidewalk narrowly missing droves of people in the process. They sped along the sidewalk, doing their best to avoid the various obstacles along the way. In the process, they slammed into food vendors, smashed newspaper stands, and crashed into stopped bikes along the path. It was reckless, but Boris didn’t care. He was only concerned with self-preservation. That was it. He didn’t care about anything else. He had to get out of there with that list.

  “Turn here! Here! Now!” he yelled again at the driver.

  They made a sudden screeching right turn up a partially-crowded side street, and Boris yelled at him again to pop the curve and avoid the congestion. He looked back at the cop cars that had stopped in the busy crowding as they made their getaway. He could see them back up in an attempt to hop the curb up the hill like they had done, but they were blocked by a large truck that had turned into the street behind them. Boris watched as the cops as they backtracked and turned down the street in an attempt to double around and block him in.

  “Here! Here! Now, turn this way!” he yelled again, directing the driver as they continued to evade. All the while, Boris was watching his smartphone’s navigational maps as they made their twists and turns. They meandered through more streets and his nerves grew more and more frayed by the minute. He could still hear the sirens as they whipped around another bend, nearly crashing into a building on the narrow corner, and they shot up the hill and into the city. He was safe for now. He sat back and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Keep driving.” Don’t stop! Let me out at the top of the hill by the taxi stand. Don’t slow down. I want you to keep speeding. I’m going to open the door as you round the bend. Don’t stop!” He was barking the orders at the driver who looked at him with cautious eyes as if to not upset him. He knew that one mistake could cost him his life. As they reached the top of the hill, the car screeched around the bend just as the police cars were finally seen coming up the hill.

  As the car spun around the edge, Boris hopped out of the car, tumbling on the sidewalk. The car door slammed and continued speeding off. Boris held his green backpack containing the spoils of his heist, his trusted laptop, and the cipher drive, and he slowly walked across the street and into a busy crowd of pedestrians. As the group of police cars came up the street, four of them were seen screeching around the corner close on the tail of the Mercedes that he was no longer a passenger in.

  He wiped the perspiration off his forehead as he climbed into an awaiting taxi. He was safe for now. He barely made it by the skin of his teeth. He picked up his phone and dialed Dmitry.

  “Brother?” said the voice on the other end.

  “I’m safe,” said Boris.

  “Thank God,” Dmitry said, exhaling a huge sigh of relief.

  “Have you left the docks?”

  “Yes.”

  “Police?”

  “None.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet you on the other side of the Bosporus at the Grand Bazaar.”

  We’ll steam in that direction,” Dmitry said.

  “Okay. I’ll see you there.”

  Chapter 15

  Jonathan Grace was having sensory overload. Walking through the passageways of
the Grand Bazaar, Istanbul’s largest indoor and outdoor market dating back to the fifteen century, mesmerized him. From the glittering jewels, to the opulently colored carpets, and the aromas of rich kebob meat roasting on opening fires, Jonathan felt like a kid in a candy store. The Grand Bazaar was a rare experience of culture that he had seldom been exposed to in his forty-something years of life.

  “This place. It’s… it’s incredible,” he said.

  They walked slowly through the meandering passageways of the Grand Bazaar, something Jennifer had done on countless occasions. “I know,” she said. “I guess I’ve just gotten somewhat used to it. You know my father used to have a jewelry store here.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “That was decades ago, now he just rents out the space. He’s owned it forever, and buying something in here now is pricey. It’s in very high demand, so he does well from his rentals.”

  “Like a little property tycoon isn’t he?” he asked.

  She laughed a bit to herself and Jonathan got butterflies. He hadn’t remembered feeling that way about a girl in ages. “I guess so,” she said. She smiled at him again. Her arm was no longer in a sling, but she was cautious not to give it too much movement.

  “Hello?” she answered her phone and Jonathan stared at her. No one was supposed to have their numbers.

  “Who is it?” Jonathan asked.

  “Hang on a second, it’s my mother,” she said, and Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief.

  “What did she say? Who’s number did you write down?”

  “That was strange. She told me that someone named Agent Jenkins called looking for me. She said it was urgent and that I needed to get back to her. How do they have my mom’s phone number?”

  “Well, she’s related to you right? Of course they’ve probably somehow tracked down all of your family and friends,” Jonathan added.

  “I should call her shouldn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” she said. She pushed the numbers into the screen of her phone and let it ring. The two of them stood in front of a grand carpet store that had the most richly colored carpets with the most vibrant crimson and purples Jonathan had ever seen on a rug.

  “Hello? Is this Agent Jenkins?” she asked. Jonathan had to standby patiently while she spoke on the phone. He only caught one side of the conversation.

  “This is Dr. Cobalt,” she said. Then there was silence for a few minutes while she listened. “Okay… yeah… okay… yes… I understand… okay… sure… sounds good… bye.”

  “What the hell was that?” he asked.

  She stood and stared at him for a few moments. “It’s… it’s… an NSA Agent. She wants to meet with us.”

  “When? Where?”

  “Well, she’s here… they’re here… in Istanbul. She wants to meet this afternoon. At 3pm. She said she would call me back in an hour to coordinate an address.”

  “Did she say anything else? Did she tell you what it was about?” Jonathan asked.

  “Loosely. She said it was better that we speak in person, but she said I would know what it was about.”

  “What do we do?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Do you think it’s really an Agent from the NSA? What if it’s someone else? What if it’s a cover for the guy who’s been trying to kill us?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I didn’t get that feeling.”

  “You didn’t get that feeling?” Jonathan half-heartedly chuckled to himself. “What do you mean you didn’t get that feeling?”

  “I don’t know. It just sounded… I don’t know… legitimate,” she said softly. They started walking again, this time a bit slower as they spoke about what they had seen.

  “Okay, well I guess I’ll just take your word for it,” he said.

  “Good.” She smiled at him and preened her hair. “Say, are you hungry? I’ve been starving. Do you want to grab a bite to eat?”

  “Sure, what are you in the mood for?”

  “Everything here is good,” she said. “Do you like lamb or chicken kebob? It’s to die for here.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said.

  *****

  Boris Medviek walked along the city streets of Istanbul, casually. He had just evaded capture by the skin of his teeth. Once things had calmed down, he made his way into another taxi. As the cabbie cruised down through the city streets, he could still hear the police sirens off in the distance, but he was safe; maybe he wasn’t completely safe, but safe enough for the time being. He checked the GPS on his phone as the taxi made its way through the streets. And although he spoke near-perfect Turkish, he didn’t look the part that day. His blonde surfer look certainly would raise some eyebrows if he spoke in Turkish.

  “Do you speak English?” he asked the cab driver.

  “Evet. A little bit.”

  “What’s happening? Why are there so many police cars?” Boris asked. He knew exactly why, but he wanted to find out what the cab driver thought.

  “I don’t know. There are always police here,” said the cab driver.

  Boris smiled to himself a little bit. “Oh, okay.”

  “You, mister, where are you from? You not from Turkey.”

  “California. Los Angeles,” Boris said. That was a bold face lie but he looked the part.

  “Oh, I love very much California and Los Angeles. I hope one day to visit,” he said in broken English.

  “It’s a beautiful place,” replied Boris. But all he could think about was getting back on his yacht. All he could think about was how many countries would kill him right there just to gain access to the information he was carrying with him. The most valuable list in the world was in his possession.

  “Yes, I hear very much things that it is beautiful. You are very lucky man. Why you come to Turkey for visit?” he asked in more broken English.

  “For a vacation,” Boris said.

  “Oh, very good place to vacation.”

  “Can we go that way, over the bridge please?” Boris asked.

  “Yes, of course,” he said.

  Jonathan was pointing in the direction towards the ocean, to the other side of the Bosporus where he would catch up with Dmitry and get back on board his yacht. But as they were rounding the corner and cruising swiftly down the ocean side road, he noticed a road block.

  “What are those cars over there? Police cars?” asked Boris.

  “Yes. They block the bridge. They check ID. It okay. Do you have passport with you?” he asked.

  “No, I forgot it at my hotel. Can we go a different direction?” Boris was in a panic. As they neared the police blockade, he tried his best to calmly tell him to take another route. However, the cab driver had his own ideas, and assured him it would be okay.

  “No, no problem. It will not be problem. We explain. I will explain,” he said.

  “No,” Boris said. “Turn around now. I don’t want to go this direction. Take me in the other direction.” But this time he said it with sinister determination, and he looked the cab driver directly in the eyes through the rearview mirror. If his eyes could have spoken, then would have said he was going to tear the cab driver’s head off if he didn’t turn around.

  “But I cannot turn now. There is nowhere to turn. The police will understand.” The car was stuck in the busy thoroughfare heading straight for the Bosporus Bridge. On the other side of that bridge was Boris’s yacht, but between him and the yacht were the police.

  He pulled out his gun and pointed it at the cab drifver. “I didn’t want to do this, but if you don’t turn this taxi around right now, I’m going to kill you,” he said in the most sinister tone.

  “Please… please… no… I have children… please…”

  But before Boris could say anything else, the cab driver put the car in park, opened the door, and started running. Boris was partially shocked by his actions. He got out of the backseat, hopped in the front, and spun the car around. The p
olice cars, seeing the activity, started screaming. The cab driver ran towards them and yelled in Turkish for them to help, that a man with a gun was in his taxi.

  Boris cursed underneath his breath. He never should have done that. He pushed the metal down hard as the sirens started blaring behind him. He weaved in and out of the traffic in the other direction, narrowly missing several head-on collisions. He picked up his phone and called Dmitry again.

  “Brother, where are you?” Dmitry asked.

  “I’m stuck on this side. I need you to come back. The police are blocking the bridge. I can’t cross.”

  “But we just arrived here. Police are all over the docks. We can’t go back. You can’t go there,” Dmitry barked into the phone.

  “Well, what the hell am I supposed to do?” Boris asked.

  “I don’t know brother. There is another route. You don’t have to take the bridge. Check your GPS. We will wait here for you.”

  Boris was sick to his stomach. He was stuck on that side of the bridge and couldn’t make it over. He should have just crossed, but he was certain they would have spotted him.

  “Shit!”

  “I don’t know how you’re going to get here brother. Just get here. We need to leave. There’s too much heat here.”

  “Okay! Shit! I’m coming!”

  Boris punched the directions into his phone and throttled it more as the cop cars creeped up behind him again. This time, he was behind the wheel. His safety was up to him, and only him. He had to evade them. He had to do whatever he could do to escape. His heart was racing and his mind was spinning. He had to get away. He had to.

  He spun down a side street, shifting down a gear and redlining the engine as the tires of the yellow taxi screeched around the right corner. A woman screamed at him in Turkish as she tried to cross the street. He looked behind him to see the cops turning the corner and he screeched back to the left, this time narrowly missing a group of kids kicking a soccer ball across the street. He watched them curse at him through the rearview mirror, but all he could think about was escaping the cops.