Something strange is going on. Very strange indeed.
Saturday, June 1st:
Special Agent Jones appears at your door. “We need your help again,” he says.
It seems the Government is very concerned about all the spies in the area. The four you’ve nabbed in the last month are only a few of many. Every time a spy is caught another seems to be ready and waiting. For the spies to be this organized, there must be a central command base for operatives nearby.
“We’ve been looking for this mysterious headquarters, dubbed ‘Base X’, for quite a while,” Jones explains. "If we are able to find it we could shut down this whole network of spies for good.
“Recently the Government got the surprising tip that Base X is located at the Downtown Poetry Center. The famous poet Cristopher Quentin Bellows runs this wannabe bard’s paradise. We’ve been keeping an eye on the place and even tapped the fax machines. Wednesday, this fax was received from a suspicious source:”
++++++++++
OF romances
muses may interrupt: “i Do”
love’s heart Asunder
Everything gone
marriages Despairing and Fallen
ALas!
madam Happiness proclaims:
“Lover, promise, Return OUr Fantasies!”
why Lovers fear times Passionate?
REach casanova
o’ BE a Masterful romeo
REjoice! Hurrah!
OUr pair Rejoin
embracing, Alive, kissing
MY Dream’s Rebuilt
Devotions
lover HUgs lover
Truth TO BE foretold
romantic’s Envisioned
--------------------------------Johannessy Walters STevens
++++++++++
“Looks like a poem…a very bad poem,” you say.
"We think it’s a code. Yet, our codebreakers find no anagrams, no letter substitutions, no mirror, no backward or up/down encoding. Nothing! They’ve rearranged and otherwise played with the strange capital letters. They’ve snooped around the letters that could be capitalized, but are not. Our computers found no relevant anagrams for “Johannessy Walters Stevens” or for “Cristopher Quentin Bellows”. Jones sighs. “It seems hopeless.”
“Poetry codes?!” you mutter wearily. “Whatever happened to the good old days of the simple cryptogram, or the code where A=1, B=2…?”
“Those good old days are long gone,” replies Jones. “These are not your father’s encrypted espionage directives.”
At that remark you both share a hearty laugh. You are glad Agent Jones is such a good friend.
Jones continues, “Once Bellows received that poem, he faxed back another the very next day. Here it is:”
++++++++++
SNowy storm
Thunder And a Sense
OF Arctic Whiteouts
frost
Wintery Ice, i run–sleet!
a weather igloo
White AS A Pillow
Where blows Snowystorm?
BLeak nightmare OF coldness
o’ Chill, chill…
WHat blizzards Are
who Can Answer?
Snows occur
---------------------------Cristopher Quentin BEllows
++++++++++
“Our codebreakers again failed. We questioned Bellows and he accused us of slander. He says they’re just poems…and frankly, we have little evidence to the contrary.”
“They must be codes because this stuff could never be legitamate poetry,” you declare.
However, as you have plans for Saturday you promise Agent Jones you’ll work on decoding these poems first thing Sunday morning. But then things really get weird.
Sunday Morning, June 2nd:
Early this Sunday morning, Special Agent Jones shows up at your door demanding the poems back. He has a strange, almost malevolent look in his eyes. “Bellows has been cleared and we’re returning his poems. We won’t need your help here. In fact, we probably won’t need your services again.”
Before you can utter a response, Agent Jones grabs the faxes off your desk and storms out.
“What the —” you think. You are almost sure those poems are really coded messages. Good thing you made a copy of each. Maybe if you can decode them you’ll be able to figure out what the heck is going on here.