19 equaled S.
05 equaled E.
04 equaled D.
I edged forward, grabbed a pen, and scribbled down MSED on a sticky note. As expected, it didn’t make sense. Even when I tried shifting the sequence backward, like the simplest encryption twist, I ended up with LRDC. Which, by the way, still made no sense.
I considered the possibility that these might be acronyms for something. But after browsing the net, I found nothing interesting on them—they were just random letters.
I tucked my hair behind my ear, my fingers rattling across the keyboard. With my eyes fixed on my laptop’s lit screen, I searched the web for the translations of the Russian words underneath each number.
The first word was translated as “Move.”
The second was “Cargo.”
The third was “Night.”
And the fourth was “Bratva.”
My heart skipped a beat at the last word. I leaned back in my chair, my eyes scanning the room as if to confirm that I was still alone here.
The Bratva was a Russian criminal syndicate infamous for their ruthlessness and the death that followed wherever they went. Why the hell was their organization mentioned on this sheet of paper?
My pulse was racing at this point, and a voice whispered in my head, telling me to close my laptop and let this go. I could do that, but my curiosity got the best of me. Plus, there was no way I’d let this go without first connecting the dots.
Move.
Cargo.
Night.
Bratva.
Those words weren’t random; they must mean something. If they didn’t, why were they all scribbled under each number? Speaking of numbers, what the hell could they possibly mean? What did they stand for?
A noise came from outside, drawing attention to the window. It was just two boys arguing about God-knows-what and laughing so loudly.
“Hey, when’s the game next month?” one asked.
“On the seventh,” the other replied.
I returned my eyes to my laptop screen, fingers rubbing my temples. That’s when it hit me. “Date,” I said, my eyes widening like I’d just solved a part of the puzzle.
The numbers weren’t letters as I thought—they were dates! But dates for what?
My eyes returned to the words above each date, and the longer I stared at them, the more they began to look like a set of instructions.
Move. Cargo. Night. Bratva.
I spotted something else at the base of the paper.
2200-18-07.
Stroking my chin, I observed it for a while, trying to decipher what it meant, until something clicked. Military time. A location marker. A month.
22:00 hours. 18th. July.
I wiped the sweat that dampened my forehead, a warning that I was digging too deep. Even though I wasn’t ready for whatever I’d find, I couldn’t help myself.
