Call Center Code-breaking

“HQ, this is Agent Hart. The target is on the move, I repeat, the target is on the move.”

“Copy that, Agent. Stay on course, but don’t engage. Backup should be there in two.”

“He’ll be gone by then,” Hart said. “I have to engage.”

A brief pause. “Alright, you have the green.” A deep breath, and then, “Please try not to die.”

Phoebe Hart grinned, tapping her earpiece to end the conversation. She let her legs carry her faster over the even cobblestones, footsteps nearly silent.

Not silent enough. The target must have heard her, for he turned. She tried to press herself up against the alley wall, but his eyes focused on her. He turned and ran.

She cursed, shooting after him. As he ran, he glanced over his shoulder, reaching one arm back. What the-

A gunshot, muffled by a silencer, rang in the night. She dove to the side on instinct, but knew that it was too late to dodge. Fortunately, his aim was off, and the bullet hit the cobblestones a few feet behind her.

She scrambled back to her feet and jerked the handgun from her waist. She was supposed to bring him in for interrogation, but she wasn’t too keen on dying. If it was him or her, she would choose him.

She fired once towards him, more to scare and confuse than anything. He flinched, only slowing for a fraction of a second. Then he turned abruptly down another alley. She sprinted forward, pausing at the turn. If he wanted to ambush her, this would be the moment. She held her gun ready and crouched, peaking around the corner. She saw no movement. In fact, she didn’t see anything but a wall. There was no alley here, just an indent in the brick building.

She growled softly in her throat, tapping her ear piece. “Target lost,” she said, trying to veil the frustration in her voice. “Set up a perimeter.”

She had little hope they would find him again. Somehow, this rat always managed to get away.

***

George Bailey was quite bored. He was certainly not cut out for the job of online tech support. Certainly, he knew enough about computers and the like to be competent and useful, but if he had to remind one more person that they needed to plug their computer in before it would turn on, he might very well have a seizure.

He dawdled idly, twisting the cord to the landline phone around his finger. He liked landline phones. They made him feel like a sheriff from an old western, although he wasn’t sure why.

He had been working for Techy Inc. for nearly two whole weeks now. That was an exciting accomplishment. He decided he should go out to Denny’s tonight to celebrate.

He started tapping a finger against the table to the beat of ‘We Will Rock You’. Soon, his foot joined in the ensemble. Christine, a middle-aged woman with a pinched face and severe looking glasses, gave him a harsh glare. He slowly subdued his tapping.

After several more minutes of sitting idly, George almost wished his phone would ring. Maybe he could strike up a conversation with someone on the other end.

Just as he was beginning to daydream about rescuing a beautiful damsel from the horrors of a deadly computer virus, the voice to his left caught his attention.

It was Crawly, the new guy. Or, well, newer guy. He had arrived only two days ago. He was a stiff, unpleasant fellow who tended to sniff disdainfully at everyone. His voice was comically low pitched for his thin face and slight figure. However, it wasn’t the voice itself that George was intrigued by. The man’s words were…odd.

“To think you did not know what else to say displeases me my friend, I must admit. And though you were a fool in this display, a further try I will perhaps permit.”

On the one hand, George was appalled. That was terrible costumer service. No matter how foolish a caller was being, you didn’t tell them that. But on the other hand, George was intrigued. Crawly was speaking with a strange cadence, as if he were reciting poetry. George thought it through, recalling the pattern and syllabic rhythm in his mind. Ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum…Aha! It was iambic pentameter, straight out of Shakespeare. Except less…good. Much less good.

After an exchange from the other side, Crawly spoke again, this time without the cadence. “That seems reasonable, quiet practical. Operate naughty monitor, internet links.”

George blinked. That…that was pure nonsense. Yet here again he sensed a pattern. He had always been good with patterns and wordplay. Maybe Crawly was as bored as he was, and was trying to make a game of things.

He ran over the words in his mind again. It wasn’t rhythm this time…

Crawly was speaking again. “Almost better? Can’t define exact factors guaranteed helping in…just kidding.”

George was busy scribbling down the words. He stared at them for a moment, then grinned. He had it! In the first statement, the first letter of each word was backwards alphabetical order from ‘T’ to ‘L’. The second statement, the first letter was in alphabetical order from ‘A’ to ‘K’. George understood why Crawly had simply left out ‘U’ through ‘Z’. Finding words to start with those letters would be an absolute mind sore. Except perhaps ‘W’.

George idly wrote down each statement Crawly had spoken as well as the odd patterns. Crawly continued to speak, but George was hardly listening to the words anymore. He was only interested in the patterns. When his phone began to ring, he covertly took it off the line. It could wait. He had a task to do.

***

Agent Hart knew as soon as she entered the call center that this would be a dead end. There were dozens of landline telephones, all connected to each other, and none assigned to a specific employee. The tech support at HQ had managed to trace a call from her quarry, but she knew if they tracked the phone they would find a disposable cell in a dumpster. Instead, she had asked them to find the recipient.

And so here she was, at a Techy Inc. call center in the middle of the night, no closer to finding her target.

She growled softly, but determined to make the most of it. Maybe she could find something incriminating, although she doubted it.

Desks had obviously been left uncleaned. Donut crumbs, empty coffee cups, and doodled on paper was strewn about. She saw one very elaborate doodle portraying a man sitting at a desk, picking his nose.

One paper caught her eye. It didn’t contain idle scribbles, rude phrases, or artful masterpieces. It was covered in tiny words. She leaned over it and began to read. At first, the words seemed nonsense. She noted that the writer had given a sort of code off to the side in a blue pen, while the rest was written in black.

After only a short time, her heart began to race. This was it. This was the code, the one that would allow them to communicate with the rat’s agents without being discovered. Who had cracked it? And why had they left it here so prominently?

She sensed a trap, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. She snatched the paper up and slipped out into the night, heading back to HQ.

***

“He’s heading for the slums tonight,” Jack announced, speaking around an unlit cigar. Hart had never actually seen him smoke. She assume he just thought the cigar made him look tough. “We need to set up a perimeter to block his entrance. If we don’t catch him tonight, we’ll miss our opportunity. We have it on good authority,” he gave Agent Hart an appreciative nod, “that the Night Gang intends to smuggle him out.”

He continued giving instructions, but Hart already knew her orders. She stepped away, gun strapped to her belt and bullet proof vest secure against her chest.

Harley stepped up to her, catching her by the arm. “Good work, Agent,” he said, grinning crookedly. She grinned back.

“You didn’t do too bad yourself, for a geek.”

He gave a mock bow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Good. It was intended as one.” She saluted and began to turn away.

“Hart,” he called out. She turned, a faint smile on her lips. He grinned. “Try not to die.”

“As always, Harley. As always.”

***

Apprehending the rat, who turned out to be the notorious but untraceable Davis Will of Chicago, Detroit, and Boston, was surprisingly easy after learning of his plans directly from his mouth. That code had been exactly what HQ needed to impersonate one of his cronies and get an inside scoop.

Davis had been brilliant in his plans. His contact at the call center would have been virtually untraceable, save for the mysterious codebreaker. How had they cracked the code that no one at HQ had been able to decipher for months? For that matter, how had they known that Hart would stumble upon it? They would’ve had to anticipate that she would track the recipient of Davis’ call, and that she would investigate even after discovering she had reached a dead end. That indicated a deep understanding of not only HQ protocol, but of herself as well. The thought made a chill run down her spine.

Whoever this vigilante was, she hoped never to run afoul of them.

***

George Bailey tried to look properly chagrined and penitent. Not that it would matter, he was already fired.

“You left your phone off the line for over thirty minutes!” his supervisor, Jenna, exclaimed. She was a large woman, with shoulders as broad as a bull and the horn rimmed glasses to go along with it. “We had complaints from seven different disgruntled customers! I tell you, that is completely unacceptable! It is a shame and an embarrassment to the company!”

George nodded gravely. In truth, he wasn’t disappointed to be leaving Techy Inc. He was a little frustrated at losing another job, but he would not miss his days here.

He was finally allowed to leave with a promise that, “You will receive no recommendations from this office, I tell you that!”

He sighed, hands in pockets as he strode back to his apartment. He would have to find another job soon. Rent was due in a week.