He had told the contractors he wanted a bomb-shelter. They had said nothing but the looks they gave each other said it all: this dude is crazy, but he didn’t argue about the price, so get to work. They had given the room a strong post-apocalyptic, end of the world motif: all concrete walls, a utilitarian built-in metal desk and just enough room for a cot and some supplies. It was fitting given his situation.
His next move was crucial. He had deliberated about what to do for most of the morning. His first instinct was to contact Clocktower Central. The director, Howard Keegan, was his mentor and friend. David trusted him. Howard would be doing everything he could to secure Clocktower, and he would definitely need David’s help.
The issue was getting in touch. Clocktower didn’t have any back-door communication channels — just the official VPN and protocols. They would no doubt be monitored — connecting would paint a target on your location.
David drummed his fingers on the metal desk, leaned back in the chair, and stared at light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
He opened a web browser and scoured all the local and national news. He was procrastinating. There was nothing here that could help him. He did see a wire release about a woman and man sought in connection with a terrorist plot and possible child-trafficking ring. That would slow him down, but thankfully there were no sketches attached to the article. But they would follow shortly, and every border security agency in Southeast Asia would be on the lookout for both of them.
He had several IDs in the safe house, but not much cash.
He opened his bank account. The balance was almost zero. Josh — he had executed the transfers. Was he alive? David had assumed Jakarta Station HQ was attacked when he had been in the streets. There was something else, several deposits, all small, less than $1,000. All even numbers. It was a code, but what kind? GPS?
9.11
50.00
31.00
14.00
76.00
9.11
9.11 — that would be the start and end of the code. The rest: 50.31.14.76. An IP address. Josh had sent him a message.
David opened a web browser and typed in the IP. The page was a letter from Josh.
—————————
David,
They’re outside the door. It won’t hold much longer.
I decoded the messages. Click here to read them. I couldn’t figure out what they meant. I’m sorry.
I did find the contact, online at least. He’s using the Roswell Craigslist board to pass messages. Click here to go there. I hope he sends another message and that you stop the attack.
I’m really sorry I couldn’t help more.
Josh
PS: I read your letter and executed the transactions (obviously). I thought you were dead — the sensor on your suit showed no vitals. I hope that doesn’t mess you up.
—————————
David exhaled and looked away from the screen for a long moment. He opened the file with the decoded messages — obituaries from the New York Times. In 1947. Josh had done some great work. And he had died thinking he failed.
David opened the Roswell Craigslist site, and he saw it immediately — a new message from the contact.
Subject> “Running down the clock on a tower of lies”
Message: To my anonymous admirer:
I’m afraid my current relationship has become complicated. I can’t meet you or have any contact. I’m sorry. It’s not me. It’s you. You’re too dangerous for me.
There are 30 reasons and 88 excuses I’ve come up with not to meet you. I’ve run through 81 lies and 86 stories.
I told myself I would meet you.
I even set a date. 03-12-2013
And a time 10:45:00
But the truth is you’re #44 on my list of priorities at this point. And that’s just not enough to pay attention to. Maybe if you were 33. Or 23. Or even 15. It’s just not enough.
I have to cut the power on this and save my kids.
It’s the only responsible thing to do.
David scratched his head. What the hell did it mean? It was clearly a code of some kind. He could really use Josh’s help right now.
David took out a pad and tried to focus. His brain wasn’t built for this sort of thing. Where to start? The first part was pretty straight-forward: the contact was under duress now. He couldn’t meet or send any more messages. Terrific news. The rest was a series of numbers, and the words around them were non-sense. They made sense in this missed connection board, but they had nothing to say and added nothing new to the message. The numbers. They had to mean something.
David began scribbling on the pad, extracting the numbers from the message. In order, they were:
30,88. 81,86.
03-12-2013
10:45:00
#44
33-23-15
The first part: 30,88. 81,86. GPS coordinates. David checked. Western China, right at the border of Nepal and India. Satellite images revealed nothing there… except, what was it? An abandoned building. An old train station.