The Silence of Six

by E. C. Myers

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry . . . ”

  The background noise in the video blocked out Evan’s voice until the muzzle of the gun flashed and a loud bang reverberated through the auditorium.

  Penny looked away. This moment had been playing on repeat in Max’s dreams, but he forced himself to watch it again. This was the truth.

  Blood and bits sprayed from the back of Evan’s head as it snapped back. His body convulsed once and slumped backward then fell off-screen as blood speckled the camera and splashed onto the bulb of his LED lamp, painting the scene red.

  Watching this play out again on Risse’s computer almost made it all seem like a special effect in a low-budget film. The gunshot sounded hollow. Unreal.

  Lovett tucked her head down and plucked out her earpiece. Two agents ushered her quickly off the stage.

  Risse let out a long breath. “God,” she said.

  The screen on the stage went black and the lights came up. The video went in and out of focus for a second. Risse paused it.

  Max cleared his throat. “Well. That still sucks.” He glanced at Penny. “Are you all right, Penny?”

  “I’ll be right back.” Penny’s voice was strangled. She jumped up and ran across the sand, toward the water. Max heard her sobbing over the sound of the crashing waves. His eyes stung with tears as he heard her ragged gasps, as if air was being torn from her chest and she was drowning while standing ten feet from the shoreline.

  Risse watched her sister with concern.

  “Should I talk to her?” Max asked.

  “She needs some time alone. She’ll be okay,” Risse said. “Penny’s the strongest person I know.”

  Risse opened a video editing program and fiddled with it for a few minutes, looking up often to check on her sister. Finally, she tilted her computer so Max could see the screen better. It displayed both the public clip of the broadcast and the high-definition security camera footage of the auditorium side by side.

  Penny returned drenched in seawater, cheeks flushed. She sat down next to Max as though nothing had happened. “What’s up?”

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” She avoided his eyes.

  “I synced up the two videos. Watch what happens when Evan says ‘Listen,’” Risse said.

  “Please listen.”

  Max heard those same piercing tones from before. “Ow.”

  Risse paused the video and pointed to the footage of the auditorium. “Did you see what happened?”

  “When those three tones played?” Max said.

  “You only heard three tones?” Risse asked.

  “Yeah. How many did you hear?” he said.

  “Five. What about you, Penny?”

  “Three.” She swept her damp hair away from her face and stared out at the ocean.

  “Hmm,” Risse said. “I’ll play it again. Look carefully at the audience.”

  She played through the tones again, pausing on the second note.

  “What am I looking at?” Max asked.

  “Focus on the students,” she said.

  “They’re wincing. Some of them are starting to cover their ears.”

  “What a discovery!” Penny said. “Maybe they’re doing that because it’s annoying.”

  “But check out Tooms and Lovett. Look at Avery.”

  “They look fine,” Max said. “Like they don’t even hear the tones.”

  “Yes,” Risse said.

  “Why do they look fine?” Max asked. “They had earpieces piping in audio, so they must have heard them clearly. The tones were bad enough in the noisy auditorium. If I heard that screeching right in my ear, I’d pull the earpiece out. They didn’t even blink. You sure the video is synced up?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Max saw Risse had included the time code onscreen, which matched the clock in the lower third of the CNN video clip.

  “They probably have an audio limiter on their earpieces,” Penny said.

  “Look. A couple of the teachers heard something, though.” Max pointed at Mrs. Tanner and Mr. Lundberg.

  “How old are they?” Risse asked.

  “Mmm. Mrs. Tanner is twenty-four, I think. Mr. Lundberg is thirty-one.”

  “Thirty-one? What does he teach?”

  “Band.”

  Risse smiled. “And you really only hear three tones? Max, pause the video when you hear the first one.”

  “Is this a hearing test?”

  “Kind of.”

  Max jumped the video back a few seconds and hit Play.

  “Listen,” Evan said. A beat later, Max heard the first tone start and he paused it.

  “There,” Max said.

  “I hear two tones before that,” Risse said. “Hit F5 and play it again.”

  Max did, and an audiometer popped up in the upper right corner of the video window. He saw it spike when Evan spoke, then twice more when he couldn’t hear anything, and three more times for each of the tones.

  “If you don’t stop doing that, I’m going to throw your computer into the ocean,” Penny said.

  Risse looked aghast.

  “What is it, Risse?” Max asked.

  “Mosquito tones. Sounds pitched so high, usually only kids can hear them.”

  “Of course,” Max said.

  He hadn’t messed with mosquito tones since junior high. They followed the same principal as dog whistles: When people are young, most can detect sounds up to twenty kilohertz or so. The older you are, the lower the range you can hear. Most teenagers can probably hear anything from seventeen to twenty kilohertz. Most adults: sixteen kilohertz or less.

  “Some of our classmates used that as a ringtone. The teachers couldn’t tell when they were getting text messages.” Max smacked the table. “It was Evan’s idea. He distributed the ringtones.”

  “Was he a musician?” Risse asked.

  “No, but he loved music. He messed around with sound sometimes. Did some remixes, liked sampling noises from the environment and uploading them to sound libraries. He just liked doing stuff with technology, it didn’t matter what it was.”

  “So he might have had better hearing than your average teen. And because I’m a little younger than you two, I can still hear the higher ranges. I need some time to work with this.”

  Risse plugged in her oversized headphones and started working.

  Max looked at Penny.

  “Did you have any luck with that file we got back at the mall?” Max asked.

  “I couldn’t open it.” She stared down at the sand between her toes for a moment before getting up and bringing her laptop over. She sat close to Max and balanced the computer on her knees.

  “Okay . . . .” A terminal opened on her screen and she plugged in her USB flash drive. She typed some commands and a graphical interface appeared that showed one file in the directory, named mxyzptlk.txt. That was definitely from Evan.

  “It’s encrypted. At least Evan was consistent and meticulous in his paranoia.” Penny tucked her damp hair behind her ear.

  Max reached for the keyboard. “May I?”

  Penny hesitated then nodded. He slid the computer onto his knees. Risse glanced over, splitting her attention between her screen and Penny’s as she manipulated audio samples from Evan’s video.

  Max opened a plain text document and started typing the elaborate password Evan had sent him days ago. The wrong characters appeared. He looked at the keyboard and hit the D key then checked it on the screen: E.

  “I forgot. You use Dvorak,” he said.

  “You can switch it back to QWERTY mode—”

  Max shook his head. He highlighted the text he’d already typed, deleted it, and started over with the new keyboard mapping in mind.

  He typed a little more slowly th
an usual at first, but he was equally fluent in both layouts. He and Evan had used Dvorak as a very simple cipher back in the day; it was a convenient substitution code that wouldn’t occur to most people who had the old typewriter layout drilled into their heads.

  “Like!” Penny said. “You’re full of surprises. But I tried that password, and the one from the CD. Unless he left us another clue somewhere, we’re out of luck. I might be able to crack it, but it could take months. We don’t even know how many characters the password is.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Max said. “Evan wanted us to have this file, and fast. The clue is right in front of us. Does this word mean anything to you?” He pointed at the file name.

  “Mix . . . izip . . . . Mix-el-plik . . . ?”

  “Mxyzptlk.” Max pronounced it mix-yez-pit-a-lick. “It’s from Superman. He’s a magical imp from the fourth dimension.”

  “So?” she asked.

  “He’s Evan’s favorite comic book character. Like, ever. He felt like he was a kindred spirit. He wanted it for his handle but someone else was already using it.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Penny said.

  Max opened mxyzptlk.txt in NewCrypt. A password screen popped up. He waggled his fingers over the keyboard then started typing three letters at a time, referencing the password he had typed in the adjoining window.

  “I told you, I already tried that,” Penny said.

  Max missed a letter, and paused. He had completely lost his place. He pressed his finger on the Backspace key and glared at Penny while the line of asterisks diminished.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  He started over from the beginning, meticulously copying the characters into the password field. He hit Enter and a dialog box appeared showing a decryption progress meter.

  Risse pulled the right cup of her headphones off her ear.

  “How’d you do that?” she asked.

  “That password definitely didn’t work before. I tried it, like, three times.” Penny leaned over to glare at the screen.

  “The only way Superman can defeat Mr. Mxyzptlk and send him back to his dimension is to trick him into saying his name backwards. Kel-tip-yix-em,” Max said. “K-L-T-P-Z-Y-X-M.”

  “That’s awesome,” Risse said, at the same time that Penny said, “That’s dumb.”

  “You reversed the password he’d already given you,” Penny said.

  “We used to trade messages back and forth all the time, and we realized we could use the same password twice if we just switched it around,” Max said. “So on the way out to Evan, he would use one password, and when he sent his reply, I would enter it backwards.”

  “You’re Evan’s ultimate encryption key, Max,” Risse said.

  “Which is why the FBI wants him so much,” Penny said.

  The progress meter showed only five percent of the file had been decrypted. Six percent.

  “A watched progress meter never completes,” Risse said. She covered her ear again and went back to work on her own computer.

  Eight percent.

  “Jeez,” Max said.

  “Come on, Jarvis,” Penny said.

  “Jarvis?” Max asked.

  She patted her computer affectionately. “Jarvis is my laptop.”

  “I know it’s a thing to name your electronics, but I’ve never done it. Not that it’s weird or anything,” he said.

  “It’s weird not to,” Penny said.

  Evan had gone through a succession of computers with geeky names he’d selected in alphabetical order. When he and Max first met years ago, he was using one called Eddard. As of a few months ago, his primary laptop was Rorschach.

  Now all those computers were in the hands of the FBI, or whoever had broken into Evan’s house the day he died. Max wondered what Evan would have named his next laptop.

  “Technically, this one’s Jarvis Mark VII. I have way too many machines to give them all individual names,” Penny said.

  Max cleared his throat. “Computers are just tools. I try not to get too attached.”

  “I think that attachment helps us work together better,” Penny said.

  “Attachment can also be a liability.”

  “You may have a point.” Penny’s voice was low.

  The progress meter was only at eleven percent. Max banged his fist against the rock in frustration.

  “Ow.” His hands were still sore from his fall during their escape from the mall.

  “Are you okay, Max?” Penny asked.

  “I’m fine.” Max watched Risse click through some dialog boxes on her audio editing software.

  “I’m glad one of us is. I’m not doing so well myself,” Penny said.

  “I’m sorry. I should have known . . . I mean, I didn’t think . . . .” Max faltered.

  She scooped sand with the top of her feet and let it fall through her toes. “It’s okay. You didn’t even know I existed until a couple of days ago.”

  “It’s weird that we were both such important parts of his life, but we didn’t even know about each other until after he was gone.” Penny lowered her voice so Max had to lean closer to hear her over the surf.

  “That was Evan. He compartmentalized everything in his life. You must miss him a lot,” Max said.

  “I do. We used to chat every day. But you knew him in real life a lot longer.”

  “Yeah. We used to hang out every day.” Max covered his eyes with his hand and rubbed his face. “I still see him though. Whenever I try to sleep.”

  “Nightmares?”

  “Just one. You just saw it on that video.”

  “That’s awful, Max. I’m sorry.”

  His dreams played out as if he was there in front of Evan while he died. Not only would Max fail to stop Evan from pulling the trigger, but he handed him the gun. Over and over again.

  “You have to stop blaming yourself,” Penny said.

  “Maybe I didn’t kill him personally, but it’ll be my fault if I can’t figure out what he’s trying to tell us.” Max glanced at the computer again. Thirty-three percent.

  Evan always used to say that good hacking required you to take your time and be patient while you researched, prepared, and waited for an opportunity. It was about positioning yourself to be where you needed to be, with the right tools, to act when the moment came.

  Some of that philosophy applied to playing soccer too, but at least on the field Max was always in motion. At least he got to kick something. And he always knew where the goal was and how to get there.

  “No, it’ll be our fault.” Penny locked eyes with him.

  Max smiled.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’m just glad you’re helping me. I know trust doesn’t come easily for you.”

  “Or at all. It’s only been me and Risse for so long.” She glanced past him to her little sister.

  “You two are lucky to have each other. When I was little, I wanted a brother. Maybe that’s why Evan and I were such good friends,” Max said.

  Penny tilted her head to the right. He wondered if Risse had gotten the gesture from her, or vice versa. “Would you believe Risse and I hated each other when we were little? I didn’t like having to share my stuff with her. After our dad left, I used to hope he would come back just to take her with him.” Penny glanced at Risse and lowered her voice. “I think she wanted that too. She was his favorite.”

  “So what changed?”

  “We found something we had in common: computers. We must have gotten it from Dad, because Mama can’t even send a text message. After the divorce, she kind of checked out, giving us plenty of time to mess around online. Dad’s old computer taught us more than he ever did.”

  “I’m sorry,” Max said. “Did you have any luck tracking him down?”

  Penny blinked. �
��What makes you think we tried?”

  “Because I’ve been trying to find my mother. I thought she might have gone back to France, but she has no internet trail,” Max said.

  “Right? How is that even possible? It’s like Dad doesn’t exist. It’s pathetic how easy it is to get into the DMV and IRS systems.”

  “They may as well make them public databases,” Max said. “What will you do when you track him down?”

  “Not sure yet. Either get in touch or ruin his life. Maybe those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  “Fair,” Max said.

  Seventy-three percent.

  They watched the progress meter silently for a while, and then they both spoke at the same time. “You remind me a bit of Evan.”

  They stared at each other.

  “Weird . . .” Penny said.

  Max looked away and focused on the computer screen. Still seventy-three percent.

  It wasn’t that Penny was anything like Evan, except that she was brilliant at computers and committed to finding the truth. But spending time with the only other person who had been close to Evan made him feel a little like his friend was still around.

  She was also a constant reminder that he wasn’t.

  He knew what Evan had seen in her. She was intelligent and snarky and pretty and . . . and she had been his best friend’s girl until a few days ago, so that was as far as he was going to take that line of thought. Especially now, when they were both grieving and had so many other things to worry about.

  The decryption meter jumped to eighty-nine percent complete. Ninety-three . . . ninety-seven . . .

  “And . . . we’re in. Risse!” Penny waved to get her sister's attention.

  18

  Penny opened a folder and a long list of file names filled the screen. “No wonder it took so long. This is, like, a gig of e-mails.” She tilted the screen back and leaned toward it as she tapped on the first file, nails clacking on the plastic keys.

  Risse draped her headphones around her neck. “What are we looking at?” she asked.

  “There are hundreds of e-mails in here. Most of them are from defense-dot-gov addresses. So that’s U.S. government.” Penny paged through them quickly. Each message came up for only a split second but she seemed to be reading them all.