Mai Jia - Decoded

He noisily roused Vasili and the professor, the latter telling him that about an hour before when he had got up to use the toilet (please remember that it was an hour ago), he had seen a young man in military plainclothes on the connecting platform, leaning against the door-frame smoking a cigarette. On his way out, however, the young man had disappeared without a trace. In his hand he had been holding an attaché case very much like the one Rong Jinzhen had just described.

The professor said, ‘At the time, I gave it little thought, thinking that it must have been his case because he was just standing there, smoking, I never really paid much attention to what was in his hands, it seemed as though he were in no hurry, would just finish his smoke and leave, but now — ah, I should have been more attentive.’ The professor’s voice was full of empathy.

Rong Jinzhen thought it most likely that it had been that man in the military clothes who had stolen his case. Even though it seemed as though he had just been standing there, in truth he had been deciding upon his mark. The professor’s trip to the bathroom gave him his opportunity, like seeing tracks in the snow — following them would lead you to the tiger’s cave. You could speculate that whilst the professor was in the lavatory, the man had made his move, he had ‘made use of every second and every inch’.

Mulling this over in his head, Rong Jinzhen couldn’t help but laugh bitterly.

[Transcript of the interview with Director Zheng]

In truth, cryptography is very much like having to make good use of every second and every inch.

Ciphers are very much like an enormous, seamless net, thus seemingly unreal. But once a cipher is used, they are like anyone’s mouth: it is very hard to avoid slips of the tongue. These slips are like rivulets of blood, splitting open a gash, providing a glimmer of hope for those attempting to crack the cipher. Just as lightening splits open the sky, a sharp mind squirrels itself into the gaps, passes into the inner labyrinth of a cipher as if it was a normal corridor, and sometimes even finds access to heaven. These last few years, Rong Jinzhen had used an enormous amount of patience in waiting for the gaps in the sky to open, he had waited through a countless number of days and nights, and yet he still had not succeeded in deciphering BLACK.

This was highly irregular. It was downright strange.

In trying to find a cause for this state of affairs, we at Unit 701 thought about two things:

1. Cracking PURPLE had forced our adversary to grit his teeth and bear the pain, to be ever more cautious when opening his mouth, to be circumspect and deliberate, to ensure that not one drop of water was spilt. It made us feel invulnerable.

2. Rong Jinzhen had failed to detect any errors within BLACK. The drops of water fell right through his hands. And what’s more, the chances of this happening were rather high. Think about it: Liseiwicz truly understood Rong Jinzhen; he could easily have warned the creators of BLACK of Rong Jinzhen’s skill at decryption and assisted them in developing countermeasures. Quite honestly, they were once like father and son, but now, because of their respective political positions and beliefs, the spiritual gulf between them was greater than any geographical distance. I still remember to this day the moment we learnt that Liseiwicz was in fact Weinacht — everyone in our organization wanted to come clean to Rong Jinzhen, to tell him of Liseiwicz’s clever ruse, to beg him to be wary. And guess what he said upon learning about this? He said, ‘Tell him to go to hell, this devil in the temple of science!’*

* This recalls the preface written by Young Lillie for Jinzhen’s thesis.

To reiterate, our adversary was increasingly cautious, making fewer and fewer mistakes; thus making it easier for us to miss things. Even if we were less than diligent, it would still have been obvious that our opponent had begun to make fewer errors. We were like an uneven mortise and tenon, echoing each other, nipping at each other, but never quite linking up; there was a heretofore unseen perfection in the network of lies we wove. But this perfection was strange and frightening. For Rong Jinzhen, each day and each night was greeted with a feeling of cold terror. No one but his wife knew what he was going through; for he had told her everything about the problems he was experiencing in his dreams: on the path to breaking a cipher, he was already too tired to be on his guard. His faith, his inner tranquillity had already met with the threat of despair; he was sick and tired of making his moves and fending off countermoves. .

[To be continued]

Now, thinking of what had happened, thinking of how the thief had kept watch on them, thinking of his stolen leather attaché case, Rong Jinzhen’s thoughts became focused on his own vigilance and desperation. He mocked himself: ‘I thought of other people — the cryptographers who had constructed BLACK as well as those who had used it — and how difficult it was to get close to them, close to it. Yet it was so terribly easy for me to have my bag stolen, a task that took all of half a cigarette.’ He laughed to himself and smiled a bitter smile once again.

In truth, at this time Rong Jinzhen had yet to realize the gravity of the situation, had yet to think about the seriousness of his predicament. Thinking about what was inside, all he could remember was the return train ticket and the receipt for his lodgings, as well as 200 yuan or more worth of food stamps and an assortment of credentials. Johannes’ book was in there as well; he had put it in there last night before heading to bed. Realizing that he had lost a prized possession sent a pang through his heart. Still, comparing these things to what was still safely locked away in the safety-deposit box made him appreciate his good fortune, to be glad he had just narrowly escaped calamity.

It goes without saying that what the thief had desired to take was the safety-deposit box. That would have been a disaster. Now it seemed as though there was nothing to be worried about: what had happened was regrettable and that’s all; a pity, but not something to dread.

Ten minutes later, the carriage had become peaceful once again. Vasili and the professor had done much to console him and the emotional upheaval of losing his case had gradually receded. He felt calm. However, once he settled back into the dark of his berth, the peace of just minutes ago seemed to be swallowed by the night, shattered by the clacking of the train upon the tracks. It made him sink into a sea of regret.

Regret is a frame of mind; to recollect means to use one’s brain, to mentally exert oneself.

Was there anything else in the leather attaché case?

He turned it over in his mind.

Since all he now had was an imaginary briefcase, he needed to use his imagination to pull open the zipper. But as soon as he began this train of thought, his mind was invaded and harassed by feelings of regret and pity, turning his mind blank, making it impossible to open the zipper. All that was in front of his eyes was a large dizzying expanse of gloom. This was the outside of his leather attaché case, not the inside. Gradually, the feeling of regret began to subside and his thoughts returned to what was inside. His thinking was urgent, focused; much like the forcefulness of water running off melting snow — rising, pooling together, rising again, and again pooling together. Finally, he tore open the zipper and there was a blast of blue light that blazed in front of his eyes. It was as if an assassin’s hand had just flashed before him, making him stumble backwards into his bunk. He screamed, ‘My god, Vasili!’

‘What is it?’ Vasili had jumped up out of his berth; in the dark he could see Rong Jinzhen shivering.