Code

CHAPTER 8

“HIMITSU-BAKO.”

Shelton flourished the sheet of paper we’d found inside the geocache.

“Himso Bucko?” Hi’s face scrunched in confusion. “What the what?”

“Himitsu-Bako,” Shelton repeated. “It’s Japanese, means ‘personal secret box.’ That’s what this gadget must be.”

“So there is something inside.” I grabbed the page, embarrassed to have forgotten it. “And the phrase is a clue on how to gain access?”

“Exactly.” Shelton rose and moved back to the workstation. “I’ve been googling. Puzzle boxes like this originated in nineteenth-century Japan. Hakone region. They’re designed as games, and usually contain a good luck charm.”

“Great work, Wikipedia,” Hi deadpanned. “Now how do we open it?”

“It’s not that simple.” Shelton rejoined us at the table. “Himitsu-Bako only open through a specific series of manipulations. Some you just squeeze in the right place, but others require several movements at once. Each box is unique. The trick is figuring out the sequence.”

My eyes fixed on the dancing, sneering clowns. They seemed to leer back at me.

“Are these things typically metal?” I asked.

“Nope,” Shelton said. “Wood, usually. This puppy’s a modern version.”

“Fascinating.” Ben sat back and crossed his arms. “So what next?”

“I’ve got some ideas.” Shelton trained his thick lenses on Ben. “Unless you wanna take lead?”

Ben raised both arms. “Your show, maestro.”

“Damn right.”

As Shelton centered the box before him, the rest of us watched in silence.

“I’ll start with an easy one,” Shelton said. “Four corners.” His fingers pressed the closest two, then the pair across. No effect. He flipped the box and tried again. Nada.

Shelton grunted. “Top and bottom.”

Holding the box between his palms, Shelton squeezed, slid his hands forward and backward. Strike two.

“Side to side.”

Nope.

“Rotating top.”

Nyet.

“Bottom drop.”

Nothing doing.

All attempts were futile. The box remained stubbornly sealed.

Frustrated, Hi rose and wandered to the computer. “I’m gonna check my email.”

“I’m going to kill myself,” Ben muttered.

Shelton ignored them. “Only three sides will move. This rectangle piece—which is either the top or bottom—and both short, vertical ends.”

“Does knowing that help?” Hiding my impatience. “Maybe include that in a search string?”

“On it,” Hi called.

Moments later the printer hummed. Hi snagged the page and handed it to Shelton.

Shelton scanned the instructions, shrugged. “Might work.”

Spinning the box so it faced him longwise, Shelton gently pressed the left side. The metal slipped down a few millimeters, then stopped. Holding that position steady with one hand, Shelton pushed the top of the box toward the right with the other.

“Put your finger here.” Motioning me to hold the cover in place, Shelton switched ends and pushed the right side down as he’d done with the left. Thumbing that in place, he pushed the top of the box back toward the left.

This time, the cover slid all the way off.

The box was open.

“Yes!” I fist-bumped Shelton. “And nice work, Hi.”

“There’s a ton online about these boxes.” Hi was scanning the list of hits. “Man, how did people do anything before the Internet?”

“They actually had to think,” Ben replied. “Cheating wasn’t so easy.”

Ignoring the banter, I reached into the box and withdrew another thick cream envelope. Like the one before, it was adorned with the now-familiar swooping G, dancing clowns, and a wax seal.

“Our host has a unique sense of style,” Hi said. “And spares no expense.”

Suddenly, Coop popped into the room. Drawing close, he froze and growled.

“Coop, no!” I tried to rub his muzzle, but he shied away, barked, then lunged at the envelope.

“Down, boy!” Sharp. His reaction was somewhat unnerving. “Bad dog!”

Coop growled again, then crossed to a corner and sat. Silent as ordered, but eyes glued to the envelope.

“Must hate clowns,” Shelton said.

“Who can blame him?” Hi said.

“I’ve never seen him act like this.” Shaking my head, I cracked the envelope’s seal and withdrew two more sheets of bond paper.

The first contained a black semicircular drawing that looked like a serrated, gap-toothed smile. Centered below the smile at its lowest point was a large black square. Ten rectangles were spaced along the curve of the semicircle, five to each side. Nine of the rectangles faced inward, like teeth on a cartoonish lower jaw. But the last rectangle on the left faced outward, on the exterior side of the arc. A snaggletooth.

Below the strange image, a long string of numbers stretched across the page.

“Wonderful,” Hi said. “Another wacky clue.”

The second page was styled as a letter, but the words were nonsense. The only legible portion was an elaborate signature at the bottom.

The Gamemaster

“Excuse me?” Shelton pulled his earlobe. “Who the hell is the Gamemaster?”

“A dork with way too much time on his hands,” Ben answered.

I tapped my lip in thought. “The body of this letter is gibberish, but we’re clearly supposed to read it.”

“It’s a code,” Shelton said. “The message must be scrambled.”

I flipped both pages over, checked the envelope, and rifled through the box. No other clues. “How are we supposed to decode this without a key?”

“Easy!” Shelton rubbed his palms theatrically. “We break that mug. And I know how to do it.”

“Feeling pretty confident today, eh, tiger?” Hi leaned back in the astronaut chair. “Do tell.”

“Using this.” Shelton tapped a short string of characters just above the signature: Hrmxvivob.

“That’s useful,” Hi said. “Sounds like a sex position.”

“Actually, that’s the key.” Shelton looked smug. “Look at where this word is. It stands alone, just above the sign-off, followed by a comma. Dead giveaway.”

Nine characters, the first capitalized, followed by a comma.

Of course.

I stole Shelton’s thunder. “‘Sincerely.’”

“It’s gotta be, right?” Shelton tapped his temple. “And if we know a keyword, we can plug the whole thing into a cipher program for decoding.”

“Internet, baby.” Hi chuckled. “You make my heart sing.”

“You’re sure that will work?” Ben asked.

“No,” Shelton said, “but I’m guessing it’s a basic substitution cipher. My dad used to leave me coded notes like this when I was younger.”

My mouth opened, closed. Hi grunted. Ben fixed Shelton with a squinty stare.

“Maybe you should explain a little more,” I prodded.

“Look here.” Shelton pointed to the keyword. “We all know how to spell ‘sincerely,’ right? The fifth and seventh letters are both e.” He finger-jabbed the page. “In the scrambled keyword, the fifth and seventh letters are both v. So it looks like v and e are swapped in this cipher.”

Okay. I could see that.

“In fact …” Shelton smiled wide. “I already cracked this sucker.”

“BS.” Ben, always the skeptic. “Prove it.”

“Happy to.” Shelton grabbed a blank sheet of paper and listed the alphabet. “I know e is the fifth letter in the alphabet. Guess where v is?”

“Twenty-second.” My gray cells made the connection. “Fifth from last.”

“Exactly. This is an inversion cipher. A and z flip-flop, so do b and y, c and x, and so on, working toward the middle. Check it out. The last letter in the keyword is b. That replaces y.”

“All right,” Ben said. “I’m officially impressed.”

“Don’t be, this formula’s super easy.” Shelton began scrawling letters, decoding the message. “Just give me a sec.”

I leaned close to observe. Shelton’s eyes rose to meet mine.

“A minute, Tor?” Finger-shoving his glasses back up his nose. “This is more difficult if you micromanage.”

I stepped backed, mildly offended, but not wanting to slow the process. I crossed to Coop and rubbed his head. The wolfdog was still tense and agitated.

“It’s okay, boy. Clowns are dumb, aren’t they?”

Patting him one last time, I joined Hi at the computer for a game of Angry Birds.

Five minutes dragged by. Then five more.

“Done.” Shelton’s voice was tight, tense. “I won’t lie, this message gives me the willies.”

From deep in the corner, Cooper rumbled another low growl.