105: Chapter 105 Cracking the Encrypted Communicator

“Gentlemen, I give tonight's business trip report a perfect score.”

The perfect score report had been laid out on the workbench for three days, and no one had come to claim the prize.

November 2nd, 4:17 PM, Antique Shop Underground Room.

Yan Zheng sat in front of the terminal, with the encrypted communicator he had stripped from the Project Purity lead Agent placed before him.

The palm-sized flat metal box had its casing pried open two-thirds of the way by him using a scalpel, revealing three stacked layers of circuit boards.

The top layer was a conventional RF module, with neat solder joints and a standard layout.

The second layer was an encryption chipset, with two master control chips in parallel and a thick layer of thermal grease.

The third layer had a thumbnail-sized black integrated circuit soldered onto it, its surface serial number laser-ablated away, leaving only a few indistinguishable indentations.

The system panel popped up the analysis progress in the corner of his vision.

[Encrypted Communicator Analysis: First-layer RF protocol completed. Frequency range: Military S-band, frequency hopping interval 0.3 seconds.]

[Second-layer encryption algorithm analysis in progress. Current progress: 11%. Estimated complete decryption time: Exceeds the system's current computing capacity.]

Yan Zheng set his fountain pen down beside the progress bar and used the tip of his scalpel to poke at the solder joints of the third-layer circuit board.

“It's been three days.”

Yan Zheng: (ꐦ≖‸≖)

“The first-layer RF protocol isn't difficult; Military S-band frequency hopping. Mr. System finished running it in half an hour.”

“The second layer is the real problem.”

“Military-grade end-to-end encryption, with a key length of at least 256 bits. Given Mr. System's current computing capacity, running a brute-force search might not even finish by the end of next year.”

He put down the scalpel and leaned back against the chair.

The temples of his gold-rimmed glasses pressed against his temples, which had been sore for two days. He used his middle finger to push up the frames, shifting the weight toward the bridge of his nose.

“What's even more troublesome is that chip with the burned-off serial number on the third layer.”

“Nine times out of ten, it's a customized hardware encryption module. Even if I break the software-layer algorithm, without a paired physical decoder, the communication logs will still be a bunch of gibberish.”

There was still a little less than half a cup of black tea left in the enamel mug, the temperature just right to drink.

He picked it up and took a sip, the slight bitterness of the theine traveling from the back of his tongue down to his throat.

“I am no cryptographer.”

“If I spend three months wrestling with numbers on this communicator, by the time I crack it, Project Purity will have already changed their frequency bands for the third time.”

“A classic sunk cost trap.”

The enamel mug was placed back on the desk, the sound of the porcelain bottom hitting the wood echoing once through the Underground Room.

His gaze fell on the waterproof paper map next to the communicator. He had stared at the three red-circled ink marks hundreds of times, and all the intelligence that could be squeezed out had already been drained.

“The map has been fully digested, the inhibitor component analysis is seventy percent complete, and the coil structure of the warhead has been disassembled and archived.”

“Except for this communicator.”

Yan Zheng tapped his index finger twice on the metal casing, the clinking sound very soft.

“Its value doesn't lie in what's stored inside.”

“It lies in who can read it.”

Yan Zheng: (˵ꐦ≖⌓≖˵)

He stood up, walked over to the strategic map on the wall, and swept his gaze across the various marked points in New York.

“Mr. Fury.”

“He has the world's top cryptanalysis team in his hands. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s technical department could strip this communicator inside out within twenty-four hours.”

His finger lightly rubbed the location of the Red Hook District on the map.

“But giving it directly to Fury is equivalent to telling him that I attacked Project Purity's field team in The Bronx.”

“He'll ask how I got it.”

“And then, in his mind, he'll draw a line connecting the Skeleton Soldier sighting reports in The Bronx to this communicator.”

Yan Zheng: (ꐦ˘͈꒳˘͈)

“He already knows I'm not simple. If he is further confirmed of my capability to take action against Military Agents, his alert level will jump from orange to red.”

“Red means more intensive surveillance.”

“More intensive surveillance means my Underground Room won't be safe.”

He turned around, walked back to the workbench, sat down, and rested his interlaced fingers on the table.

“So it cannot be me who gives it to him.”

“There has to be a veil in between.”

Yan Zheng took out the old cell phone from under the counter and scrolled to Burns's encrypted number in the contacts.

He hesitated for five seconds, then pressed the dial key.

It rang four times.

“Good evening, Mr. Burns.”

The sound of keyboard typing came from the other end of the line, pausing for a beat.

“Mr. Yan, contacting me at this hour is rather unusual.”

“There is something I would like you to help pass along.”

“What is it?”

“A communicator. Military encrypted frequency band, S-band frequency hopping. There is a hexagonal eye logo on the casing.”

The phone went quiet for three seconds.

“How did you get it?”

“I picked it up.”

Yan Zheng took another sip of tea from his enamel mug.

“Lately, all sorts of things are being dropped on the streets of The Bronx. Flyers, broken glass, communicators.”

Burns did not press for details.

“You want me to hand it over to Mr. Fury.”

“Yes.”

“The condition?”

“A location.”

Yan Zheng traced his index finger around the rim of the enamel mug.

“The location of the main experimental facility currently used by Colonel Stryker.”

The other end of the line was silent for a long time, more than five seconds.

Burns's voice dropped half a tone.

“Mr. Yan, you are playing with fire. Stryker is not some gang leader; standing behind him is the United States Army Special Operations Command.”

“I know.”

Yan Zheng placed the enamel mug back on the desk.

“Which is why I need Mr. Fury's help, isn't it?”

Burns was silent for a long time. From the other end of the line, the sound of someone passing through a hallway in the distance, their heels clicking on the hard floor, came through.

“Mr. Burns?”

“I'm here.”

“I will convey your words to Mr. Fury. The final decision is not mine to make.”

“I understand. Let's arrange the drop-off this way: tomorrow at 2:00 PM, at the Starbucks on the corner of Sixth Avenue and 50th Street in Midtown, under the third table by the window on the second floor. A manila envelope, unmarked.”

“Alright.”

“The communicator might contain Project Purity's recent operation logs and contact nodes in New York. The value of these things to Mr. Fury should not be less than a location.”

“I will convey that as well.”

“Thank you. Good night, Mr. Burns.”

“Good night.”

The call disconnected, and the encrypted frequency band returned to silence.

Yan Zheng put the communicator into a manila envelope, folded the seal twice, and stuffed it into his coat's inner pocket.

“Barter. Each getting what they need.”

“The rest depends on how badly Mr. Fury wants to know what Stryker has been doing behind his back.”

Yan Zheng: (˵ꐦ≖ mark≖˵)

He waited for two days.

November 4th, 11:00 AM.

The old cell phone buzzed once in the counter drawer.

Yan Zheng was currently applying a faux-corrosion treatment to a late Qing Dynasty gilt-bronze censer. The smell of dilute hydrochloric acid was mostly sucked away by the exhaust fan, and the fingertips of his rubber gloves were stained with green copper rust powder.

He set down the cotton swab, took off one glove, and opened the drawer.

It was Burns's number.

“Good morning, Mr. Burns.”

“Mr. Yan. Mr. Fury asked me to pass along a message.”

“Go ahead.”

“Alkali Lake.”

Yan Zheng's half-removed rubber glove stopped at his fingertips; he did not continue pulling it down.

“Just those words?”

“Mr. Fury's exact words: Alkali Lake, Alberta, Canada. Look it up yourself.”

“Understood.”

“Also, after Mr. Fury received the communicator, he sat in his office for fifteen minutes without moving. After he came out, he asked me to pass a message to you without changing a single word.”

“Please, go ahead.”

“This knife is being sharpened too quickly.”

Yan Zheng smiled, a soft chuckle coming from his nose.

“Thank you, Mr. Burns. Tell Mr. Fury for me that whether it's sharp or not depends on whether the whetstone is hard enough.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Yan.”

“Goodbye.”

The call disconnected.

Yan Zheng put the phone back in the drawer, took off the other glove, placed both hands on the counter, and slowly curled his fingers against the wood grain.

“Alkali Lake.”

Yan Zheng: (ꐦ✧⌓✧)

“Mr. Fury's style—no extra meat, only the bones.”

“The bones are enough. As for the rest, Mr. System and I will chew on them ourselves.”