The Third Floor | Faint Signal to a Faltering Star, pt. 3 (55.28)

[mragland]

07.13.2055 – Unincorporated Los Angeles County

Grant came home after a long day spent reviewing job applications and resumes.  After the initial bout of layoffs that kicked off 2055, there were indications that the club was preparing to lift its self-imposed hiring freeze in a few months.  Grant was eager to add some junior analysts to the staff.

Barry was at his by now usual station on the couch, reading something on his laptop.  He was wearing a neatly pressed dress shirt and blue tartan tie.  The shirt was tucked into his cargo shorts.

"Hey," said Grant as he entered the apartment.  "How did it go today?"

"Good, I think.  Had four interviews.  Went well.  What do you know about Encino?"

"I know I've never been there, to my knowledge, and sure couldn't afford a house there."  Grant sets his bag down in an armchair.  "Working on something?" he asks.

"Been looking at numbers stations," replies Barry, not taking his eyes off the screen in front of him.

Grant doesn't say anything at first, and just moves on to the kitchen.  It is gleaming and immaculate; has been ever since Barry started crashing on the couch.  Grant hasn't had to bother with the dishes in weeks.  That part is nice, but he does regret bringing home a copy of that crazy recording.  Barry seized upon it like a drowning man grabbing a life line.  Since then he has spent a lot of his time trying to decode it, he's convinced it's a code of some kind, and the rest of his time on housework and getting back into the job market.  This is an improvement, though.  From talking with friends, Grant gathered that Barry hadn't been doing much of anything before, except cleaning their kitchens.

Grant grabbed a beer out of the fridge and turned back to Barry, "and a numbers station is, what, exactly?"

"Old spy stuff," replies Barry.  "Shortwave radio stations that would transmit encrypted messages, not unlike the one you received."

Grant runs his hand over his face.  "Hate to break it to you, buddy, but I'm not an international man of mystery.  Just a guy who works for a baseball team."

"Who also just happened to be stationed in Beirut a few years back."

"I lived in Beirut while working for a different baseball team."

"Good cover story."

Grant shakes his head.  "Is this getting you closer to cracking the code?"

"No. Odds are that message was encrypted with a one-time pad.  End to end encryption virtually impossible to crack.  But I did do some research into your employer."

"The Stars?  Why?" asks Grant.

"Not the Stars per se, but the entity that owns the Stars.  That made for some interesting reading."

[Jwalk100]

Awesome!