The Voynich Cypher

CHAPTER 22

Steven scratched his head. The message didn’t make a lot of sense.

“From holy Januarius’ crypt, three paces from the olive harvester points the traveler to the path, five hands above the trinacrium.” Steven groaned. “I’m tired. Is it just me, or is this gibberish?”

“Remember the last one. On first blush it wasn’t obvious. Aren’t you going to run it through the computer and see what hits for likely locations? It worked with the basilica.”

“You’re right. Sorry. I’m just running low on steam,” Steven apologized. Suddenly he felt beat.

“Too bad we can’t use Moody’s apartment. But given the circumstances, seems like a poor idea,” Natalie observed.

“That’s an understatement.”

“Maybe we can get a room once it’s light out. It doesn’t have to be in Rome. Or we can take a train somewhere for a few hours and sleep onboard.”

“You know what? That’s not a bad idea. We can get first class seats to somewhere in Italy and catch up on our rest. And they have internet on board.” Steven brightened. “I’m sorry. It’s just that this requires a lot of mental focus, and when I’m exhausted…”

“No need to apologize. You’re not a young man. I completely understand,” she said in a neutral tone. Steven cocked an eyebrow. “I’m F-ing with you again,” Natalie deadpanned.

“I got that. Let’s go over and see what time the next train to anywhere leaves,” Steven said, closing the laptop. “We can run the search while we sleep.”

They proceeded to the ticket windows, where they were greeted by a surly man with a low patience threshold. After a few curt sentences back and forth, Steven was able to glean that the next train for Milan left in under two hours. He asked about other destinations, but the ticket vendor seemed annoyed at having to answer questions, and brusquely slid a laminated paper timetable under the window to them before resuming reading his magazine. Natalie gave the man a black look, which he cheerfully ignored.

“We might as well run the search while we wait,” Natalie said and held out her hand for the laptop. Steven handed it over and she plugged it into her phone again. They moved away from the ticket area, and Steven sat, typing in a series of commands — then the little computer began searching online for relevance.

“Train for Milan doesn’t leave till 6:15 a.m.. You mind if I get a little shut-eye while we wait?” Steven asked, more a statement than a question.

“Help yourself. If you can sleep on those plastic seats, you’re entitled to. There’s no way I can,” she complained.

“Right now I could sleep through a Metallica concert.”

They moved to a waiting area near the ticket window, and within a few moments, Steven’s head moved down toward his chest, and he was out.

Steven ran down a long hall roughly hewn from polished black stone. Obsidian, he realized, even as he registered the scrape of claws behind him. Something was gaining on him, and it had murder on its mind — he could smell an odor of death, of carnage, wafting over his shoulder, driving him on as he blindly raced down the dark passageway. Ahead in the distance a torch flickered smoky illumination, revealing an ancient wooden door; heavy, held together with rusting iron studs and brackets, its surface scarred by long vertical grooves. As he neared it, a part of his brain noted that the scores were symmetrical and could only have been left by razor-sharp talons.

His body slammed against the door, but it wouldn’t give. He grabbed the torch and spun around, waving it in front of him, the better to make out his stalker. The gleam of giant, wickedly serrated mandibles thrashing the air, drooling a thick, stinking mucous appeared out of the murky depths of the passage; a long spiked claw shot at him with lightning speed, as his eyes went wide with horror–

He was shaking.

Being shaken.

“Steven. Wake up. The computer’s done with its search.”

He groggily cracked one eye open, and then forced both wide, blinking from the glare of the overhead lights in the increasingly bustling terminal. He tried to focus on his watch. After a few seconds, he saw that he’d been asleep for just over an hour. His neck was stiff. He rolled his head cautiously, reaching up to rub the muscles at the top of his shoulders. Natalie ignored his plight and thrust the laptop at him.

“It’s finished,” she repeated.

“All right. Let’s see what we’ve got,” Steven said, taking it from her. “Huh. Not a whole hell of a lot. Although we do have a bit of luck. It’s obscure, but it’s really the only hit that makes sense. ‘Holy Januarius’. There is a Saint Januarius…”

“I’ve never heard of him. Then again, I’m not big on saints,” Natalie admitted.

“No reason you should have. I’ve never heard of him, either. Our biggest problem is that his remains are in Naples. On first take, we’d have to go there to find what amounts to his crypt. But that’s deceptive because a lot of these saints and popes were entombed elsewhere originally, and then later had their remains moved to their current resting places.” He performed a series of rapid keystrokes. “Ah. See? We search further, and while his remains aren’t in Rome, sure enough, there’s a reference to an obscure crypt that housed his corpse for a time in one of the Roman catacombs.”

“I hate catacombs.”

“Not many people get warm and fuzzy when it comes to underground burial chambers. But Rome has miles and miles of them. Most are located along the Appian Way — the original road that led into Rome and connected the Roman Empire. It was forbidden to bury anyone within the city walls, so the locals came up with a way around that by excavating massive tunnel complexes to house the dead just outside the gates. When the Christians were persecuted by the Romans, before Christianity became the state religion, they used the catacombs to hold secret worship ceremonies.” Steven paused, staring at the screen. “The only problem is that this one is closed to the public, and the location of the entrance is a secret. That, and I have no idea what the message means. But it’s the only hit on the terms that has any relevance.”

“Then we need to go there. Wherever it is, we need to find it and get in,” Natalie said excitedly.

“That didn’t go so well the last time, as I recall. And we can’t afford to use Danny to grease the wheels anymore, so we’re on our own.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I’ve been waiting to call Moody and tell him what happened. He might have some ideas. And he’ll be able to give us a read on exactly how trustworthy Danny really is. If Moody thinks it wasn’t him that rolled, I’d believe him — he’s a very careful man, and he wouldn’t send us into harm’s way. I say we wait until I talk to Moody and see what he proposes. It can’t hurt.”

“No, it probably can’t. Although I’m reluctant to trust anyone right now. There are probably hotels around the Appian Way that we could check into without sounding any alarms. Fortunately, it’s not far from this terminal,” Steven reasoned.

“Really?”

“Maybe two and a half miles. Assuming that this catacomb is anywhere near the others. Most of them are in the same general area.”

“Just a few miles? That’s nothing. Let’s go,” Natalie said.

“I think we’re better off waiting until it’s light out. It’ll still look suspicious if we show up at a hotel without a reservation before dawn.”

“Wow. If only you had a computer and could go online and make a reservation for early checkin, say around eight this morning…then it wouldn’t look at all weird. Just a couple getting in early after an all-night flight,” Natalie suggested sarcastically.

Steven didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“Did I mention I don’t process well when I’m exhausted?”

“I got that. Let me know what you find…” Natalie stood. “I’m going to the little girls’ room. Oh, and just get one hotel room — use the name Linda Jenkins. That will take care of any problems we could run into getting two rooms. They’d want your passport for the second room.”

“Linda Jenkins. Got it.”

Steven rubbed his eyes, then did a quick search for hotels near the Appian Way. There were a few within a mile, and he found one that was modern, large and had plenty of vacancies. He was just finishing up as Natalie got back.

“I’ve been thinking. I want to call Moody right now and get it over with. It’s after midnight in Virginia, but I think this rates a call. I don’t want to have to wait seven more hours. We’re in a footrace, and the sooner we make it to wherever we’re going, the better.” Natalie shrugged. “I’m sorry you’re tired — I’m tired, too — but I really feel strongly about this. If Danny’s bad we need to know it, and if he isn’t, we need to get him working for us as soon as possible.”

He looked at her, standing with her hands on her hips, her jaw set with determination. Steven was too tired to fight about it. He unplugged the phone from the computer and handed it to her.

“Knock yourself out. I’m going to get some more coffee. You’ll probably want the same order, right?”

Natalie nodded, already pressing the phone to her ear.

Some of the cafés in the terminal were putting out small tables, gearing up for the morning crush of commuters making their way into the bustling capital. Steven stood outside one as the tired-looking man who was probably the owner of the nearest one set out a few chairs and then motioned to Steven to approach the counter. He ordered two lattes and waited as the man steamed the concoctions. Fumbling with some change, he paid the proprietor and made his way back to Natalie, who was finishing up the call.

“Would you? That would be awesome…but you really don’t have to. No, it’s not that. I just don’t want to drag you into anything that’s not your problem. All right. It’s your funeral. I appreciate it. Let me know when you arrive. And, Moody? Thanks again.” Natalie glanced at Steven and hung up.

He silently handed her a cup.

“Moody says there’s no way Danny tipped anyone off. He’s been a trusted asset for fifteen years, and there’s never been any question of his loyalty. Moody swears by him. I think we can rest easy on that. I told him what happened with Frederick and gave him a brief outline of what’s going on, and he volunteered to fly over to help out.” Natalie hesitated. “That would be invaluable, Steven.”

He sipped the rich brew and then asked the question that had been burning since she’d originally referred to him. “This Moody is going to fly across the Atlantic on a moment’s notice to get involved in a dangerous situation in a foreign country that involves the most powerful organization in the world? That’s some friend. Mind if I ask what exactly the relationship is?”

“I do mind. It’s none of your business,” she snapped and then seemed to reconsider. “Moody and I met when I was in Quantico. We dated for a while, but it never went anywhere — I wasn’t interested in him that way, I guess you could say. He was, but it didn’t pan out. But we’ve remained close ever since, and he’s a good man. It doesn’t hurt us that he’s pretty high up in the CIA.”

Steven didn’t betray any emotion.

“He’s twenty-five years older than me, Steven. It wasn’t meant to be. I think we can leave it at that.” Natalie suddenly sounded defensive, more like a teen having to answer to a parent than the confident woman he’d spent the last two days with.

“Natalie. The guy’s a spook. I don’t know much about them, but are you sure he’s completely disinterested and just pursuing this as a favor to a ‘friend’? It may sound overly paranoid, but you’ve got me convinced now that your story’s true, which means the manuscript could in fact hide a secret that some would do anything to get their hands on. What makes you think that a government wouldn’t take a side in this to curry favor with the Church?”

“Steven, you’re not paranoid. If it was anyone else but Moody, I’d say you have a point. But you don’t know him. I do. For almost a decade. I trust him like I’d trust my father,” she replied evenly.

“If you’re wrong, it could be our lives.”

She gave him a look he’d come to know well even within the scant time they’d spent together — the old Natalie was back with a vengeance.

“I’m not wrong.”