Octopus Intelligence

He returns to bed, but sleep is impossible. His ears strain to hear the click of a popped window latch, the creak of straining wood as a crowbar pushes apart the basement door. He pulls a blanket over his head and the urge to face his attackers becomes a shiver of paranoia up his forearms which he tolerates as long as possible before tossing the blanket into a corner and staggering again to his feet. He dresses in darkness and moves around the house until the tremors subside and he's able to shave, locking himself in the bathroom so that he can submerge his head in the sink. He feeds the dog and then sits at the kitchen table to eat half a grapefruit, thinking through the personal ad he's decided to run in tomorrow's paper. He'll use the opening and closing keywords he remembers from a ten minute briefing in contractor-grade cryptography half a century ago; it's a calculated risk that an ally might catch it while his pursuers pass it by in their reliance upon modern methods. "Gentleman of independent means" begins every message, switching to the alliteration of at least three words in the first sentence and closing with any of four interrogatives depending on the nature of the message - who if identifying a foe, what if seeking information, where if requesting safe shelter, or when if continued on a forthcoming message.