Mystery equals change

Mystery equals change.

Saved by patience.

The day started just as so many others but ended rather differently from anything I have experienced in the last few of my eighty years on this planet. I was woken by the light, did my stretches and all usual routine tasks, finally settling in front of my laptop, coffee gently steaming near my right hand. All so reassuringly similar to so many other days for the last year or so. The first indication that this was not going to be a normal day, came when my golden retriever, “Goldy”; originality was never my strongest asset; got up from her usual position by my feet and wandered to the front door. This made me sit up and listen intently. I heard the faintest of thumps, Goldy heard much more and started to bark. I hurried to the front door, but nothing disturbed the view from inside, no dark outline of a visitor’s presence clouded the frosted glass panels. Goldy still insisted something was amiss and refused to leave the doorway. I opened the door to show Goldy all was clear. She rushed out swerved to her left and sat, triumphantly, beside a package. A brown paper covered package. It was addressed to me in bold bright red marker pen handwriting. It was not heavy, less than a kilo, I guessed. No return address, no delivery carriers’ markings, no signature had been asked for. The first thing that puzzled me, was how had this arrived by my door, without setting off the gate and fencing alarms. I did a quick scan of the surroundings and just caught a glimpse of a small flying machine disappearing over the horizon, a drone. Someone knew how to invade my privacy, that was disturbing by itself, but that the person also knew the name I was using, and my present address was far more of a concern. I carefully examined the package without moving it, nothing alarming to see but that did not mean all was good. I warned Goldy not to touch and went to my workshop and found a thin sheet of plywood. The package was a cube twenty-five centimetres on every dimension. The outer wrapping was brown paper sealed with clear sticky tape. I stood an occasional table beside it. Since it was sitting on grass, I was able to slide my sheet of ply under it without disturbing it, and lifted with great care, ensuring that I did not tilt it in any direction, put it onto the table. So far so good, I carried the table and package round to the back of my detached house and into my workshop, lifted ply and package onto a turntable placed on the work bench and slowly turned the whole thing round for more detailed examination. I used a scalpel to slice open the layer of brown paper from the top of the mystery box, lifted the part with my address, clear and checked the underside of this. It was thick paper, far thicker than normal wrapping stuff. I do not have chemical analysis facilities here so just had to press on. I used a stethoscope to listen for any sign of anything, but all was silent. Only fools rush into the unknown, so I made myself more coffee and drank this while thinking about how this strange box had arrived and who could have known where to find me. The result of my contemplation was not encouraging, those friends who knew enough, would have used my burner phone to warn me of its arrival; this only leaves enemies, none these were supposed to know how to reach me. Any clue had to be in the package or its covering.

I used an infrared lamp, but this told me nothing I did not already know. I found an old fingerprint kit and dusted everything including the address I had removed. Nothing, absolutely clean, as if no human hand had ever touched the brown paper. Whoever had sent this gift is as careful as I am. I sliced down the vertical edges and peeled back the outer layer of paper. Under this was a cardboard box, I scappled along the base edges to remove the side wrapping while leaving that which was under the box, intact. The box was again sealed shut with clear sticky tape. It had no markings on it, checking with my fingerprint kit showed that it was suspiciously clean. I used the scalpel to cut a small section from the top of the box, I chose a section near a corner and away from the taped join in the centre. The section I removed was about three centimetres square and this enabled me to see what was under the cardboard. More brown paper. Enemies, the sort I have, do not play practical jokes and the whole thing was getting more and more dangerous. It occurred to me that the delivery may be a diversion, a distraction from the main event. I left the workshop, gun in hand, and checked my perimeters, then every room, I checked my surveillance cameras, nothing to indicate my privacy had been invaded. Back in the workshop. I cut away sections from the sides of the outer box and all showed the second wrapping of brown paper. I took Goldy outside with me partially closed the door and used a long pole to tip over the package, exposing the base. Nothing, no cloud of poisonous dust, no explosion, nothing. I pulled the door wide open, called Goldy to heel and waited back in the house, just in case some colourless invisible gas had been released, extremely unlikely outside the more desperate fictional stories, but I am still alive due to past caution. I allowed half an hour to pass before going back to the workshop. All was as I left it. The parcel was on its side beside the turntable and the exposed base was just more of the second box. I removed all the outer box and the second layer of brown paper. I checked each layer for prints but found nothing. I put the box the correct way up and sliced a flap like opening in one corner of the second box with my scalpel and slowly lifted the open end of this. All I could see was a layer of stiff black plastic. This was beginning to feel like opening those endless Russian dolls, but I am experienced enough to know that impatience at this stage could be fatal. I cleared all the wrappings, just leaving the black plastic package.

I checked the weight and found it was actually three hundred grammes, so whatever this was, it was not a mechanically operated large slab of Semtex, even a small slice of Semtex can blow your hand off so I did not abandon cation. I cut a tiny section of the black plastic away and found yet another layer of plastic, this time clear, a plastic box with a sealed lid. Why did this need all the outer layers especially a dense black layer of plastic. My mind switched on fast, whatever was inside was sensitive to light. I dropped my tools grabbed Goldy by the collar and ran out of the workshop, slamming the door behind me. I made it to the kitchen grabbed the fire extinguisher and got back in record time. I peered in through a window the package was starting smoke and glow, if I had just ripped away the black plastic or if I had been inside a well-lit indoor space, the whole thing would be a fierce fire ball by now. I used the extinguisher and the workshops own fire blanket to smother the flames.

Who and why? Were obvious questions but these would have to wait, since for me the biggest question still remained, how did they find me? I used an unregistered phone to call my old office, I may be officially retired but in our line of business, that just means you work less. They sent a clear up team but like me they found nothing to help. Goldy and I left within moments of my making the call. By the time the team finished, I had a new name and a new place to live, a younger fitter and better armed couple took my place. The hope was that when the unknown enemy realised, I was not burnt to a crisp, they may make a personal call, spiders and their webs was the hope. The need-to-know boundaries mean I will never know who or what, walked into this particular trap.