Mai Jia - Decoded

[To be continued]

Due to his profession and his overly cautious nature, to say nothing of his fear that something might happen, Rong Jinzhen was trapped within a valley of secrets. Days and nights passed in this fashion; from beginning to end he was like a fenced-in animal. His approach to life at Unit 701 soon became familiar to everyone: he had a singular attitude — stiff, almost suffocating. His only joy was to pass the time in a world of the imagination. But now he was on his way to Beijing. It was only his second time away from the complex and it would also be his last.

As his habits dictated, Vasili was once more wearing his windbreaker — a crisp beige jacket, very stylish, with the collar turned up. He looked terribly mysterious. Today, however, his left hand was not buried in his pocket; instead it grasped a leather suitcase. The suitcase was neither big nor small. Brown in colour, it was made of cowhide with a hard shell; a perfectly common travelling safetydeposit box. Inside, however, were the files on BLACK, a veritable ticking time-bomb. Vasili’s right hand, Rong Jinzhen noticed, was constantly twitching inside his pocket as if he had some nervous tick that he was self-conscious about. Rong Jinzhen of course understood that Vasili had no nervous tick; his pistol was in his pocket. Jinzhen had once inadvertently caught a glimpse of the weapon and he had overheard what people said about it. Rong Jinzhen couldn’t help but feel somewhat aghast: holding tight onto that firearm had become a habit, a need for Vasili; something he couldn’t do without. Taking this thought further, Rong Jinzhen felt a sense of enmity, of terror. A sentence came into his mind — ‘A pistol is like money in one’s pocket; it can be taken out and used at any moment.’

Thinking that there was a weapon next to him, perhaps even two, Rong Jinzhen felt anxious. They might be pulled out suddenly to deal with trouble, like water is used to douse flames. But sometimes water can’t put a fire out. If that were to happen. . he could dwell on it no further. Meanwhile, the muffled sound of gunshots rang in his ears.

Of course Rong Jinzhen understood that if anything happened, if they were hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned, Vasili would not hesitate to turn the pistol on him and fire. ‘Death before divulging secrets.’ Rong Jinzhen repeated this maxim in silence. The sound of gunshots that had begun to fade once more echoed in his ears.

This sense of impending failure, a sense that catastrophe was just waiting to happen, accompanied Rong Jinzhen throughout his trip to the capital. No matter how he tried to beat it back, to resist it, he couldn’t help but think that the road was long and the train moved ever so slowly. It was not until he arrived safely at headquarters that his mood began to change and the dread in his heart subsided to be replaced by a warm and relaxed feeling. At that moment, he bravely thought that there was no need for him to frighten himself so in future.

‘What could possibly happen? Nothing. After all, no one knows who you are; no one knows that you carry top-secret information,’ he mumbled, as though berating himself for his earlier silliness.

The conference began the day after he arrived.

It had a grand inauguration, with four deputy heads of the Intelligence Service in attendance. An elderly, grey-haired senior official acted as host. According to the introduction provided, the elderly man was the first director of the research section. Privately, however, many said he was the first secretary and military advisor for official XX. Of course, Rong Jinzhen cared little about titles. The only thing he was thinking about was what the senior director had said — ‘We must decipher BLACK; our country’s security depends upon it.’

‘What we are talking about here,’ he said, ‘is decryption; but not all attempts at decipherment have the same objective or significance. Some ciphers are broken to ensure victory on a battlefield; others are cracked to demonstrate military superiority; still others are decrypted to guarantee the safety and security of a nation’s leader; and others for diplomatic reasons. Some are even broken simply to satisfy professional pride. There are of course numerous other reasons for decryption, and yet, out of all of those many reasons, none truly involve the very security and safety of the nation as a whole. To speak frankly, this extremely sophisticated cipher now being deployed by X country threatens the very integrity of our nation. There is only one means by which we can resolve this precarious situation and that is by swiftly decrypting BLACK. Some people say, give me a place to stand and I will move the earth; decrypting BLACK is where we take our stand. If we say that at present the security of our nation is in a critical situation, that we are being pressured, then decrypting BLACK will be the key to fighting against this threat.’

The emotional and yet stately inaugural address delivered by this solemn and respected elderly official brought forth a resounding chorus of applause. When he spoke, his silver hair moved in unison with his excited gestures, as if it too were speaking.

In the afternoon, it was time for the professionals to give their lectures. Rong Jinzhen was ordered to take the lead, giving a report that lasted well over an hour on his progress towards deciphering BLACK. Unfortunately he had made no progress whatsoever. Later, on the way back to Unit 701, he regretted having publically shared his own bewilderment at the conference. Over the course of the next few days, he spent countless hours listening to the opinions of other cryptographers as well as attending the two final closing addresses. Taken as a whole, Rong Jinzhen felt that the entire conference had been more of a discussion and not a rigorous research symposium. It had all been rather frivolous and shallow. The lectures had been more flowery speech and clichéd slogans than anything of substance. There had been no meaty debates, nor any cold, detached contemplation. From beginning to end the conference seemed as though it had been floating on a calm sea and all that Rong Jinzhen could do was to blow bubbles — the tranquillity and monotony had been suffocating.

It could perhaps be said that deep down Rong Jinzhen despised this symposium and everyone who attended it. Later, however, he felt that feeling this way was uncalled for; and what’s more, it was useless. BLACK, he had come to realize, was a cancer eating at his body. For years he had tried to get at it, and still he was no closer to it. Death now shadowed him, sinisterly threatening him. Those who had attempted to help were neither geniuses nor sages, only gossipers. To think that they could find a cure for this cancer, that they could be the Saviour, was completely absurd, a dream, complete nonsense. [Transcript of the interview with Director Zheng]

A lonely and exhausted man, Rong Jinzhen would spend his days absorbed in thought, or perhaps we should say fantasy. Every night he would purposefully dream. As I understand things, he encouraged himself to dream every night for the following reasons: first, he had previously grasped that a certain lucidness came with his dreams (some said that it was whilst dreaming that he found the means to decipher PURPLE). Secondly, he began to suspect that the creator of BLACK was a monster gifted with a form of intelligence completely alien to humankind, and since he himself was human, the only way to get close to it would be in his dreams.

When he first came upon this idea it boosted his morale; it was as if he had found a way out. I heard that he was now instructing himself to dream every night. Dreaming had become one of his responsibilities. His deliberate excessiveness, however, only resulted in bringing him to the verge of mental collapse. One look at him and you could see that all manner of dreams were coming upon him thick and fast, never-ending. The dreams were disorderly, without coherent thought; the only thing they accomplished was to disrupt his normal sleep. In order to restore some normality to his nights, he had no choice but to dismantle the dream patterns he had become entangled in. He took to reading novels and going for walks before heading to bed. The former helped put him at ease, especially considering the stresses of the day. The latter would tire him out. The results were positive. To use his words: reading and walking before bed were his two sleeping pills.