Printable Cipher Wheel Novels & Stories

She began to write on paper each corresponding letter of the alphabet in baconian cipher. BACONIAN CIPHER A = AAAAA B = AAAAB C = AAABA D = AAABB E = AABAA F = AABAB G = AABBA H = AABBB I & J = ABAAA K = ABAAB L = ABABA M = ABABB N = ABBAA O = ABBAB P = ABBBA Q = ABBBB R = BAAAA S = BAAAB T = BAABA U & V = BAABB W = BABAA

Taylor “Can I get your name and phone number? They are relentless.” My imagination is working overtime. There’s no way he asked for my numb - My eyes feel as though they might pop from my head. He keeps his eyes on the bar napkin with “The Three Wise Men” written on it, pen in hand. I recite, “Taylor T-A-F-T, 7-0-8-5-5-5-2-5-5-3.” I watch carefully as he transcribes on the napkin.

As their truck roared down the highway, Sophie explained to Jim that the cryptex was Da Vinci's solution to the dilemma of sending secure messages over long distances. "We require a password," Sophie said, pointing out the dials. "A cryptex works much like a combination lock. If you align the dialls in the proper position, the lock slides open. This cryptex has five lettered dials. When you rotate them to their proper sequence, the tumblers inside align, and the entire cylinder slides apart." "What about the inside?" "Once the cylinder slides open, you have access to a hollow central compartment, which can hold a scroll of paper on which is the information you want to keep private."

Being not able to escape, Massimo had locked himself in the deepest vault. I reached the end of the stone corridor and found my path blocked by a reinforced steel door. It wasn't wired to the network Isabella had dismantled. It was entirely analog. An iron cipher wheel was embedded in the center of the steel, surrounded by Latin inscriptions and Roman numerals. A failsafe mechanism. If I entered the wrong sequence, the internal deadbolts would permanently fuse. I stared at the iron wheel. Massimo was a creature of habit, a man obsessed with the old ways of the syndicate. He wouldn't use a random sequence. He would use something significant. Something that mocked me.

My gut rarely failed me, and this morning, it screamed of foul play. I rolled out of bed, stretched, and padded over to the desk in my room. The small lamp on it flickered weakly when I turned it on, casting shadows across the wood. I reached for the notepad hidden in the false bottom of the drawer, pulled it out, and grabbed a pen. Messages couldn’t be sent openly—not when eyes lingered on everything I did—so I wrote in ciphers, the kind only two or three people alive could understand. Short, clipped, disguised as nonsense. *Ravens circle the south. Nets must be stronger. The hound hides bones where wolves dare not tread.*

I was creating a tiny, hidden portal. I wrote a quick piece of code—a reverse shell—and installed it deep within Higgins's browser cache. This shell would only activate if it received a very specific, coded email. I then sent one last, encrypted message using the external proxy link to Mia's burner account: the activation code. > Evelyn (Coded): New contact method: Higgins's private email. Subject Line: The Queen needs a new cipher for her chess problem. Body: [4-digit code]. Send every ten days exactly. Do not miss a beat. If the code works, the reply will be confirmation.

Naomi read through the letter paper, which was a string of Morse code diary entries on it. From the date of the journal, it was written ten years ago before her mother's accident! But she didn't have the decoding book, so she couldn't translate the contents of the journal. And what was recorded on the parchment scroll was even stranger! It said that a hare equaled two. A turtle equaled five. Then there were different animals, each equaling different numbers. 'What do they represent?' Naomi spent hours looking through all the books in the house but couldn't find a single book decoding her mother's journal.

Reset before 18:00 to preserve safehouse. We wrote it twice. Nyra wrote a third copy with fewer words, just signposts: KEY—CIRCLE—SUNWHEEL—FOUR-NOTCHES. JOURNAL—C. STAFF—VAULT TWO. SHARDS—NIGHT ONLY. She taped it to the underside of the table with wax and a charm that would make the wood pretend it had always been like that. Thalia lifted the hearthstone and slid another copy beneath. Elias burned a fourth onto the back of the chair with a heated nail, the letters thin in the grain, not easily seen unless you were looking for them.

One flame. Then two... Then all nine. The temperature dropped instantly. Evelyn wrapped her jacket tighter. "What are they doing?" The stranger looked up. "They're counting." "Counting what?" He didn't answer. Instead, he stared at Adrian's brass key. The engraved numbers were changing again. 9... 18... 41... 1... And now... 2 Lucien's eyes widened. "The Second Cipher has already chosen its location." Adrian frowned. "You mean we're supposed to go there next?"

With one swift flick of my wrist, I pry the locket open. Out falls a folded piece of paper. My heart skips a beat. How long has this been in here? Holding my breath, I hastily unfold the paper. It’s no bigger than a sticky note, roughly three by three inches with black penmanship on one side. Another code. There’s a jumble of letters written in one long line, followed by a quickly scribbled ‘3 x 6.’ “A Caesar box cipher,” I murmur to myself, recognizing the formatting.