The Stepping Maze

by Kevin Tumlinson

  Could it be?

  He grasped two sections, divided by the seam, and gave them a twist.

  They each turned, separately from the other, and a new pattern of projections emerged.

  He tried it again, with two more sections, and got the same result.

  The platen was itself encoded.

  He went to the machine, examining it.

  In most respects, it did resemble a typewriter, with a metal base and a set of alphanumeric keys. It wasn’t a QWERTY keyboard, however. The top line was a complete series of numerals, starting at zero and going to nine. The next few rows were alphabetic, beginning with A and ending with J on the top row, then K to S on the second row, and finally T through Z on the last row. There was another key that Kotler assumed was spacebar. No Enter key, however. An L-shaped, chrome-plated bar protruded from a module inside the machine, and Kotler recognized that as the carriage return.

  He did a dry fit of the platen, snapping it into place where it should go. The gears were able to line up, with some coaxing.

  He struck a key.

  To his surprise, nothing moved, but there was a sound, almost like a camera flash. A pop followed by a whine that faded slowly.

  “Tick tock, Dan,” the voice said.

  Just over twenty minutes. This exploration was costing him, but he needed it. He was starting to see how the machine worked, and that was putting him closer to solving this.

  He took the platen out, examining it again.

  “You have a second machine?” Kotler asked.

  “I do,” the voice said.

  “And you know how they should work,” Kotler said.

  “I do,” the voice repeated.

  Kotler thought for a moment.

  From what he could tell, the Heisenberg machine differed from a typewriter in one key aspect: It wasn’t meant to convey whatever was typed on the keyboard to a piece of paper run through the platen. At least, not locally.

  The voice on the phone had referred to it as a “spy telegraph.” That implied that it could send messages to a remote location.

  Kotler believed the machine used quantum entanglement to convey a message across a vast distance—maybe even infinite distance.

  It was incredible, if true. But Kotler had read his great grandfather’s work. This was one of the applications he had proposed, using quantum entanglement to build an encryption technology that could never be cracked. The safest, most secure method of communicating sensitive intelligence that had ever been conceived.

  In simplest terms, two quantum particles could be entangled, or made sympathetic with each other. Essentially, they’d be locked into sync, sharing each other’s fate, as it were. Whatever happened to one—a change in its direction, a shift in speed, an alteration of any kind—instantly happened to the other.

  This was remarkable enough on its own, but things got even spookier.

  Because the effect of the entanglement wasn’t limited by space or time. No matter how far apart the two sympathetic particles were, whether across the room, across the planet, or across the galaxy, they would both behave in perfect unison. The state of one would be perfectly reflected in the state of the other.

  This was mostly theoretical, of course. Some experiments had been conducted, with incredible and often repeatable results, but these tests were done on a scale so small they were hardly useful, or conclusive.

  The implications of this, however—if it were perfected, if it were expanded, if it were immeasurable.

  It would change everything.

  At a minimum it would open the door for technological marvels such as instant communication and data transfer, possibly even teleportation, down the way. The world would change in a profound way, virtually overnight.

  Endless possibilities. Endless power, for whoever controlled it.

  Kotler wasn’t sure how this technology could exist, but here it was. It would be the most potent encryption tool ever invented, that much was assured. But the technology itself would disrupt everything. Entire industries would collapse overnight. The balance of power would shift.

  Was Jeffrey’s life more important than the threat this represented, in the wrong hands?

  Was anyone’s?

  Kotler had paused, time had passed, and finally he shook himself. He couldn’t let Jeffrey die. Whatever threat this posed was hypothetical, at the moment. The threat of those explosives, the threat to his brother’s life, was real.

  Kotler focused.

  The platen could be adjusted in six segments. It was clear there was a pattern to it. Something Kotler had to align just right.

  The shapes on the platen were complete nonsense, though. He couldn’t make out a single character. Nothing readable. Just a profusion of gnarls, peaks, and valleys. A circuit of gibberish.

  He stopped.

  Could apply to the stepping maze.

  Those words had been written on the cover of Daniel Kotler’s manuscript. What did they mean?

  Kotler had assumed it was a reference to the step rotors in the device that unlocked the Black Chamber, but what if it was something else? What if it was a reference to this device?

  The sound he’d heard—the camera flash—hadn’t produced any light or other effect that Kotler could detect. But maybe it wasn’t meant to. Perhaps it was the sound of electric switches attempting to trigger but failing. As if something had tried to power up, but that power had nowhere to go.

  What if this wasn’t a code?

  What if it was a circuit?

  He stooped to look at the Heisenberg machine and noticed that the modules at either end, with the recesses that could accept the gears of the platen, each had a set of metal contacts inside of them.

  Looking at the platen, he saw that there were identical contacts on either end of the cylinder. These would match up with the machine—like inserting batteries into a remote control.

  The machine was supplying power, and the platen would complete a circuit. If the circuit was aligned properly.

  The protrusions on the platen’s surface formed a chaotic pattern. Kotler envisioned what must be under the surface—a series of resistors and transistors, perhaps? Something conductive, for sure.

  And like the lines of solder on a computer’s motherboard, the protrusions on the platen were meant to form a cohesive pattern. One that would conduct electricity, guiding it through a series of components within the platen, connecting it to the larger circuit of the Heisenberg machine itself.

  He started to turn the cylinders, frequently checking, rushing. Time really was counting down. But he had it. He knew he had it.

  This wasn’t a code. It was simpler than that.

  It was a puzzle.

  Align the pattern in the right way and …

  He held it up, examining it closely.

  He had only a few minutes left. This had to be it.

  He turned to the machine, aligned the platen, and snapped it into place.

  “So, is that it?” the voice asked. “You got it?”

  “I got it,” Kotler said.

  “Alright then,” the voice said. “Let’s prove it. Type the word ‘Shiva.’”

  “Shiva? The Hindu god of transformation?”

  “Dan, again with the history lessons. Tick tock, remember? And Shiva was also known as the god of destruction. You can be very optimistic.”

  Kotler shook his head, but quickly typed the letters into the machine:

  S-H-I-V-A

  He stepped back. Nothing happened. Then he realized his mistake. He hadn’t done anything to initiate the sequence. In essence, he hadn’t hit “Return.”

  He leaned forward and hit the carriage return bar, which made a satisfying ding.

  There was the sound of a camera flash again, but this time it cascaded, like a symphony of hums and whines.

  “Oh, that’s good,” the voice said from the phone. “That’s very good.”

  “What happened?” Kotler asked. “What have I done?”

&nb
sp; “Unlocked a hundred-year-old code,” the voice said. “Good work, Dan.”

  At that, the phone disconnected, and Kotler was left standing in the silence.

  29

  TARGET LOCATION

  Denzel raced up the stairs, weapon drawn. When he encountered some of the other agents, he was quickly led up to the breached floor. They took him straight to Jeffrey Kotler, standing against the wall of a storage room, his hands chained at shoulder level.

  Denzel had never met Kotler’s brother, but he would have recognized him anywhere.

  For a start, he and Kotler favored each other in that way that only brothers can. They had common features, making Jeffrey seem vaguely familiar. There was no mistaking that they were related.

  An explosives expert was examining the device strapped to Jeffrey’s chest, using an endoscopic camera to probe and analyze it from all angles, as carefully as possible.

  There were two other agents, mulling just outside the storage room, all wearing protective vests and helmets and taking cover as best they could. They weren’t bomb squad. Denzel recognized them as FBI field agents.

  Denzel stepped closer to the explosives expert, moving deliberately. “What can you tell me?” he asked.

  The expert shook his head. “There’s no way to get this off of him without triggering it,” he said. “Our best hope is to block the signal somehow, prevent it from triggering this thing remotely.”

  “Can you do that? Do you have what you need?”

  The expert nodded. “The rest of my team should be here any minute. They have what we need. I happened to be in the area, and I didn’t have much in my truck. Just this gear. And that mobile detonation chamber,” he nodded to a large, metal box in the corner. Denzel had overlooked it but saw now that it was made from thick steel, possibly layers of it, and was covered in soot and grime. Residue from detonations past.

  The whole thing was on a set of wheels so it could be rolled in and out of a scenario like this one.

  “How’d you get that up here?” Denzel asked.

  “Elevator,” the guy responded. “I’ll take it down the same way. But we’ll need the building completely cleared by then, just in case it detonates in transit. I don’t think there’s enough C-4 in this thing to take the building down, but it could create problems.”

  Denzel nodded. “Understood. What can I do?”

  “You can tell me whether my team is close or not,” the man said grimly.

  “Sorry, I have no idea,” Denzel said.

  The expert nodded and continued examining the device, looking for a way to disarm it, if possible.

  Denzel looked up to Jeffrey, who appeared to be both angry and afraid.

  “It’s going to be ok,” Denzel said.

  “I’ll believe it when I’m back home with my wife and my son,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, his jaw clenched.

  Some of Kotler’s bite and fight came through in that one statement. That sort of fierceness that Denzel had seen in Kotler when he wasn’t cracking jokes and things had gotten bad enough that even Kotler had to take them seriously.

  Denzel was about to say something about this, as a way to break some of the tension, when suddenly there was a beep from the device.

  Everyone in the room froze, holding their breath as one.

  There was no explosion. No flash of light, no ball of fire. Instead, the little light on the device stopped blinking and went dark.

  Denzel turned to the explosives expert. “Did you do it? Disarm it?”

  The man shook his head. “Wasn’t me. It just shut off on its own.”

  Denzel turned to the others, just outside the room. One of the agents had a set of bolt cutters. “Get these chains off of him.” He turned back to the expert. “What about cutting that bomb loose?”

  In answer, the man reached up used a pair of surgical scissors to cut one of the straps. The whole thing sagged, and the man had it pulled away. Walking slowly, he carried it to a large metal box in one corner of the storage room, and placed the device inside, closing the lid over it and locking it down.

  “Get him and everyone else out of here,” the expert said.

  “You heard him,” Denzel replied, nodding to the others. The agents helped Jeffrey to move away, surrounding and shielding him while leading him to the stairwell.

  Before they were clear, Denzel grabbed one of the men by the arm. “Where is Dr. Kotler?”

  “Radio chatter has him in some kind of sealed room, on the top floor. There’s a team up there, trying to figure a way in or out.”

  Denzel left them and started up the stairwell, in the opposite direction. He went up a few flights before entering a set of offices under construction. Here, several more agents were gathered around a large, metal box, the size of a small room.

  “What’s the situation?” Denzel asked, flashing his ID as he approached.

  “This thing is about six inches thick, solid steel,” one agent replied. Denzel recognized her. Agent Schumer. Not one of his team, but he’d worked with her prior to taking over Historic Crimes. “It continues on into the ceiling and down through the floor. There’s no way in, other than the window Dr. Kotler went through. We have people lowering down to that now, but we were waiting on the all clear for the bomb before making entry.”

  “You’re clear,” Denzel said. “Jeffrey Kotler is safe. Bomb squad has the device, and they’re taking it down now.”

  Schumer nodded and relayed this to the team on the roof. She listened for a moment, then said, “Dr. Kotler took out his earpiece. The voice on the phone ordered him to go down through some staircase in the room.”

  “Kotler’s on the floor below us?” Denzel asked.

  “I was,” a familiar voice said from behind him.

  Denzel turned to see Kotler standing in the doorway of the stairwell. He looked a little rough but seemed unharmed.

  “Kotler!”

  “There was a door out,” Kotler said, his voice flat. “It opened as soon as the call ended.”

  “Call?” Denzel asked. He went to Kotler, putting a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. “The voice on the phone?”

  Kotler nodded, staring at the floor, then looked at him. “Jeffrey?”

  Denzel nodded. “He’s safe.”

  Kotler seemed to accept that, but there was something off about him. He seemed distracted. Or was he shaken? What had he experienced, in that steel-encased room?

  “Kotler, are you ok?”

  He looked up at Denzel, his expression hard, concerned. “I am, yes. But I think I just did something horrible, Roland. I think I just gave someone the keys to something. I don’t even know for sure what it is.”

  “You did what you had to do,” Denzel said quietly. “To keep your brother safe.”

  Kotler shook his head. “I don’t even know that for sure.”

  Denzel nodded to a couple of agents, and they escorted Kotler out of the room, down the stairs and to the warehouse. Now that the bomb was secured and removed from the building, they commandeered the space. The bomb squad was moving the device to an empty parking lot nearby, where it could be safely detonated within the mobile chamber. It would be loud, but no one would be hurt.

  Denzel took over the scene, ordering agents to get into the steel chamber and start marking any evidence they could find. He wanted to know who was renting these floors, who had authorized construction, where the steel had been purchased—any details he could get, and he wanted them now.

  He’d have to debrief Kotler, but for the moment he was letting him have some peace.

  Denzel made no move toward them. This was a private moment. A family moment. He couldn’t turn away, though. He watched as Kotler made his way across the room.

  Orders given, Denzel moved quickly down the stairs, emerging on the warehouse floor. He saw Kotler with a couple of paramedics, waving them off as he looked around the room. He was searching for his brother, Denzel knew. He finally spotted him with another paramedic, on the far
side of the room.

  Kotler approached Jeffrey, who was sitting on a collapsible gurney as the paramedic tended to some minor wounds.

  Denzel watched as Kotler stood to the side. He tried to talk to Jeffrey, placed a hand on his arm. A comforting gesture.

  Jeffrey shook it off, angry. He stood, shoving the EMT aside, and marched for the door of the warehouse while several agents and medics tried to get him to calm down and go back.

  Denzel watched and made no move. He wasn’t sure what he could do. He wanted to help, wanted to be there for his friend. But this was family. He didn’t want to intrude.

  Kotler stood there for a moment, watching his brother leave, and then turned and walked away himself.

  He approached Denzel.

  “Kotler,” Denzel started.

  “I need to be debriefed,” Kotler said.

  Denzel nodded, and took out his notepad.

  30

  NSA WAR ROOM

  Ludlum eventually found the command center, after asking dozens of agents, flashing her FBI credentials to everyone she met. She entered to chaos as FBI and NSA agents scrambled. Orders flew through the air, transmitted to operatives in the field, and reports came in a cacophony of radio chatter and video feeds.

  Ludlum grabbed one man by the arm, halting him as he passed. “Coben?”

  “In the back,” the agent replied.

  Ludlum went through a door in the back of the room and emerged in a dark and dingy space that was absolutely crammed with computer equipment. Large screens were arrayed along an entire wall of the space, and several men and women worked frantically at laptops, consulting each other in quick bursts of conversation. The scene was bedlam.

  “I’m looking for Agent Coben,” she shouted, as she entered. She had no idea who to address, so she addressed the room.

  “Tell me when you find him,” one agent replied, holding aside the microphone on his headset. “I’ve been waiting for confirmation from him for half an hour.”

  “He stepped out,” another agent replied. “Didn’t say where he was going.”