Tis is a work o fiction. All o the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products o the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. HE CRYPOS CONUNDRUM Copyright © 2012 by Chase Brandon All rights reserved. A Forge Book Published by om Doherty Associates, LLC 175 Fifh Avenue New York, NY 10010 www.tor www .tor-orge -orge.com .com
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Forge is a registered trademark o om om Doherty Associates, LLC. Library o Congress C ongress Cataloging-inCataloging-in-Publication Publication Data Brandon, Chase. Te cryptos conundrum / Chase Brandon. Brandon. — 1st ed. p. cm. ISBN 978-0-7653-1877-0 (hardcover) ISBN 978-1-4299-4464-9 (e-book) 1. United States. Central Intelligence Agency—Fict Agency—Fiction. ion. 2. Intelligence officers— Fiction. I. itle. PS3602.R3597C79 2012 813'.6—dc23 2012009271 First Edition: June 2012 Printed in the United States o America 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Te cordite-clouded cordite-clouded sky �ashed sparks o primordial fire. And Earth’s anvil shook with concussions that pounded his body and soul as though smithed by Tor’s angry-red angry-red hammer. In terrified awe, Dr. Jonathan S. Chalmers Jr. watched as blinding artillery bursts and dismembering detonations reinorced the enemy’s enemy’s specter o Death that t hat he elt already al ready overovershadowed shadow ed him. hi m. Cold, wet, wounded, and a lietime’s distance rom his amily in New York, Chalmers gripped the steel barrel and bloodstained stock o his 8mm French Lebel, but he would gladly have swapped the ri�e or a crystal brandy snifer. A brilliant brill iant mathematician, Chalmers Chal mers was a scholar and gentleman completely out o his affl a ffluent Long Island Isl and element. element . Against Agai nst reasonable reas onable odds or definable logic, he was also a private in the U.S. Army and at present trapped in a gash o dangerous dirt between France and Germany known as the Western Front. Here, a orm o human slaughter called trench warare raged unabated with the rising sun o each new day in a world at war with itsel. Chalmers knew that the gruesome horror o this historic killing zone was already immortalized in the t he battlefield battlefield term no—a realm no-man’s-land man’s-land —a that his knotted guts and a nd analytical analyt ical mind told Chalmers was nightmarish beyond even his own vivid imagination. THE TRENCHES. 0215 HOURS
Chalmers clutched his circular ID tags, their cool metal a talisman or him. He surveyed the trench to his lef and right. Flanked by shattered bodies, he saw his dead riends as harbingers o his own anticipated ate. Chalmers had been sent up to reinorce the 407th French Ri�e Regiment two weeks ago with a platoon o American volunteers, including longtime riend and ellow New Yorker Yorker Paul Baker, as well as a s some British
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regulars. He’d been under siege and without sleep or so long that he’d lost all track o time. “So tell me again, John,” Baker said. “What the hell are we doing here?” “Saving the French by holding this line. Didn’t you listen to that lieutenant’s briefing, le bâtard who who sent us into this th is rats’ nest?” “Yeah, right. Guess I overlooked the part about the Krauts trying to wipe us out.” Both men were scared, though they tried not to show it. Tey winced, recoiling again rom the thundering bombardment now under way to destroy ortifications ort ifications and trench systems along a long a twenty-mile twenty-mile ront rom Bois d’Avocourt to Étain. German Krupp howitzers, called Big Berthas , should have finished the demo demolilition tion in a matter o days. But both o them were still here, still alive and holding this line—even line—even though the French ortification at Douaumont had been captured by German inantrymen. Chalmers knew it was only a matter o time until the Krauts pushed them back or overran the allied stronghold here in Alpha Sector. I they survived surv ived the night, their t heir orders were were to go over the top at first light and claw across a five-hundredfive-hundred-yardyard-wide wide strip str ip o barbed-wire barbed-wire hell. And i they t hey made it to the other side, fight the Fritzies man to man with bayonets, and then bare hands. Te killing zone, Chalmers thought. A suici suicide de charg chargee int intoo nono-man’s-land. man’s-land. Chalmers touched his heart, then pulled a photo o Margaret rom his tunic’s breast pocket. He could make out her eatures in the sudden glare o a bomb’s blast. He loved her deeply and elt this was probably his last chance to look upon her ace. Chalmers elt his riend riend nudge him. He quickly replaced the t he photo. photo. “Seems like an eternity since we enlisted, huh?” Chalmers nodded. “Maybe longer.” He scoured mud rom his ri�e breech with his sleeve. “Sorry I snookered you into this latrine. Rotten thing thi ng to do, Paul.” “Aw, it’s all right. I’ve always been your shadow. You couldn’t have come without me . . . just don’t leave without me, okay?” he he said with a weak wea k grin. v
Chalmers and Baker had been neighbors and inseparable pals since they were still in short pants. wo years older, Chalmers had always been like a big brother to Baker Ba ker.. all, lanky, and with angular good looks, Chalmers had excelled in lacrosse in his early years but quit the sport in avor o academics.
THE CRYPTOS CONUND RUM
Baker was short and stocky, and though quite smart, he tended to muscle his way through lie’s lie’s challenges, having havi ng eventually earned ea rned his law degree and joined his ather’s practice more through sheer grit than a scholar’ss grasp scholar’ g rasp o jurisprudence. A year ago, they’d been sae on Oyster Bay, Long Island, secure in the warmth o their t heir parents’ love love and their amilies’ a milies’ wealth, wea lth, power, power, and in�uin �uence. Although he’d recently married, Chalmers still lived in the stone mansion that had housed generations o Chalmers amilies. Baker still lived just down the road with his parents as well. It was a near perect world they’d willingly lef in avor o this deadly trench. Even more more than Baker, Chalmers had been born and raised in privilege, priv ilege, with every advantage o wealth and sophistication his parents could give him. Chalmers’ Cha lmers’ss ather, ather, the t he man he’d been named afer a fer,, was a successul ship line attorney and investment banker. Chalmers’s French mother had always been a tender caregiver to her son. She was a consummate homemaker and devoted wie. She’d told her son, when he was just a young boy, that she’d met his ather on one o his business trips to the Continent. Tey’d allen in love at first sight. He was their only child, and he’d always tried his best to live up to their love and expectations. He had set a high achievement bar or himsel as well, especially in the field o education. Most who knew Chalmers described him as being blessed with extraordinaryy, i not incomparable, intelligence. When Chalmers traordinar Chal mers was only a ew months old, he’d already begun to demonstrate awareness, physical prowess, and nascent communication skills that astounded his parents and the amily physician. v
Now twenty-six twenty-six years old, Chalmers held doctoral degrees in mathematics and engineering physics rom Columbia University. Beore enlisting, he’d been a proessor, head o his department, and the youngest youn gest man to hold that job. His students and university colleagues believed Chalmers was a true savant, the most brilliant individual they had ever known. He’d never set a oot off the t he path his parents had planned plan ned or him, nor his own pursuit o knowledge, until the t he day he’d seen the t he recruiting poster. Its patriotic message spoke to his idealism and sense o adventure, and constituted what Chalmers called the convergence of coincidence—a orce majeure o unrelated events that shaped one’s lie, that perhaps defined the concept o lie itsel. He believed in the t he power o that orce. orce.
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Chalmers Senior Senior believed that t hat his son’s son’s abrupt decision to enlist enli st would, “in hateul ashion,” as he’d put it, change the young man’s lie, and he had argued vehemently vehemently against agai nst it. Jonathan Chalmers Cha lmers had stood his ground g round— — and now occupied it in the soggy bottom o this trench. Baker was here too, having ollowed Chalmers’s lead by signing up the next day. Both o them t hem now aced another moment o convergence, convergence, waiting or the only thing they knew could ever end their riendship . . . Death.
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“I thought we’d be a part o a gallant ga llant army ar my that would save save France rom the heel o the Huns,” Chalmers said, his h is voice �attened by disillusionment. “I this is gallant,” Baker replied, afer spitting out the mud rom the trench wall that oozed into every orifice, “I’ll eat this stinking, ass-dirty ass-dirty uniorm.” “Paul, truth is I wish I’d I’ d never gone to town, town, never seen that goddamned godda mned poster.” “We probably would’ve volunteered anyway, just to prove that we were men.” “Maybe it was just rebelling against ollowing in our athers’ ootsteps. Me probably more more so than you.” Chalmers shrugged. shr ugged. “Doesn’ “Doe sn’tt make much difference now.” “Wee should’ve swiped your dad’s boat “W boat again . . . sailed sa iled around the t he world world instead.” “Yeah “Y eah . . . Father told me I’d rue the t he day I volunteered.” volunteered.” “And . . . ?” Chalmers surveyed the corpse-strewn corpse-strewn trench. “He was right . . . about everything.” v
Chal mers had made impetuous decisions that had landed him in Chalmers i n hot water beore. Like the time he’d decided it would be exciting to cross Long Island Sound in his ather’ at her’ss sloop-rigged sloop-rigged daysailer during a fierce summer squal squall.l. Baker had been along a long or or the ride then, t hen, too. Te boat boat had capsized and sunk sun k hal a mile rom the pier. Chalmers rescued Baker rom certain death in the whitecaps that day. However, he wasn’t nearly so sure he’d be able to save them both rom his disastrous impulse to join the army. Tey’d been assigned to the 101st Inantry, slated or an elite “exploratory” assignment in France. He’d promised Baker it’d be a memory maker
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to last a lietime. He promised his parents and his young wie that he’d come home in one piece as soon as they whipped those Germans into shape. FIRE BAY. 0330 HOURS
Concussive artillery shells and ratcheting machine gun fire shattered the night. Chalmers was positioned with others in his unit, including Baker, on the Alpha Sector fire bay, which was a cutout in the trench with an ele vated platorm where where Allied Al lied ri�emen stood to fire on enemy positions. positions. “You “Y ou have to admit, John, there’ there’ss a certain cer tain orchestral quality qua lity to it.” Chalmers, who’d been trying to distance himsel, at least mentally, rom this nightmare, cast a sideways glance at his trench mate. “Sure. Like a concerto o death.” Chalmers knew he was smart. He had the degrees and titles to prove it. Right Rig ht now, now, though, he elt like the t he dumbest jackass alive—the alive—the alive part being a condition he eared would end soon enough. “Yeah, “Y eah, I want you, too,” he muttered, muttered, remembering the t he poster with w ith Uncle Sam’s finger pointing at him. All Chalmers wanted now was to go home. v
President Woodrow Wilson wouldn’t have his congressional declaration o war against Germany and a nd its Central Power Power allies all ies until a year rom rom now, now, although Chalmers’ politi political cal sense told him that bill would have to be passed. In the t he interim, a ew small units un its o American volunteers had been shipped overseas as a show o good aith to America’ America’ss uture utu re Allied Al lied Power partnership with Britain, France, and Russia. Russia. Chalmers and Baker were here in this t his trench as part o that “show. “show.” Chalmers believed the adage that those who ailed to learn rom history were doomed to repeat it. He realized he’d enrolled himsel in the ront line o a brutal class. Fear told him that something ar a r worse than the school o hard knocks was about to start.
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