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Not at all.
This was the message.
A coded message.
I grinned up at my invention, the machine my Soviet jailers coveted so greatly.
It broke codes. It was better than code keys, smarter than Enigma, more powerful than any group of human minds ever assembled.
I recognized the code sequence immediately, a common syntax used by many intelligence agencies. Without a key, few men could read it. With my machine, no secrets could hide.
A quick peek over my shoulder revealed my bored sentry half asleep in an uncomfortable wooden chair by the door some thirty yards away. The other was out of sight.
I stepped around the table I used for a desk and flipped on the power to my machine, then toggled the encryption mode from “Encrypt” to “Decrypt.” A few more turns of rotor dials had the date and time correctly set. Finally, I inserted a blank strip of punch tape and returned to my desk.
The guard was now staring but remained rooted in his chair.
I smiled at him and said, “This might get a little loud. I am testing some codes your people gave me.”
He blinked as though I’d spoken in ancient Aramaic rather than Hungarian. Clearly, his role was not to care about my work, only to ensure I kept working at it.
I allowed myself a deep breath.
Snatching up the page with all the circled letters, I returned to the machine and began typing, one finger at a time, one letter at a time, until the entire sequence had fed my beast. Each keystroke spun a small reel around which the paper had wound itself. A mechanical counter ticked with each turn. Once the string had been entered, I sucked in another breath, blew it out, and pressed the “Execute” button.
Rotorswhirredinto motion.
Hidden gears ticked and groaned.
At last, tiny pins began pecking, embedding their ink on the unblemished strip. Had there been no code, no hidden missive, my machine would have stopped at this step and left the strip bare. I would have received a blinking red light indicating a failure to find any meaning.
Instead, it pecked . . . and pecked . . . and pecked.
Enigma spit out one letter at a time. My improved model would deliver the entire message on one page. So, I waited.
And tried not to pace before the altar of my own imagination.
The tape reel spun, and I watched as the paper vanished, leaving only shiny metal. Another whirr from another wheel was followed by a sound that reminded me of someone spitting.
The strip fell into the tiny metal output cup.
I stared, blinking, my hands trembling.
The guard shifted. His chair scraped against the cold cement floor.
My hand shot out and snatched up the tape, cupping it as though cradling a baby bird.
Turning back toward my desk, I watched as the guard shifted in the chair again and leaned his head back against the wall. He hadn’t been coming to check my work. He’d been in search of a more comfortable position.
I almost chuckled aloud at my own paranoid silliness. The guard was muscle, nothing more.
Sitting, I unfurled the tape and held it beneath my desk lamp.
To find your lost one, we need your help. Ask your friends to see her. We are watching and will help you both. Do not lose hope.
35
Will