The Voynich Cypher

CHAPTER 33

Colonel Gabriel Synthe stood in the parking lot of the Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino Airport, watching the planes take off over the Roman hills while waiting for his rendezvous. He hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep over the last few days and had a throbbing headache from the tension. The girl and Cross had vaporized without a trace, and the police dragnet had yielded nothing so far. Synthe didn’t have a lot of hope on that front — the search was low priority even with the Roman police, and the other cities were probably largely ignoring it.

He idly blew smoke rings to the sky as he stood by his rental car. The lot was deserted at this time of night, so it made for a good clandestine meeting spot. A vehicle approached down his lane and pulled to a stop a few slots from where he was parked. To his considerable surprise, Luca got out of one side, accompanied by the Sentinel on the other. This was unprecedented. His despised counterpart in the Templars was now apparently rubbing shoulders with his superior.

Both men approached Synthe, and neither offered their hand in greeting.

Luca cleared his throat. “We are going to call off the hunt for the professor’s daughter and the Cross fellow, effective immediately,” Luca said dryly.

“Call it off? Are you delusional?” Synthe spat, dropping his cigarette to the ground and grinding it beneath his foot.

“No. I’ve solved our problem. We will have the Scroll back within a few days, and this entire episode will be over.” Luca held back a victorious smile.

“You mean you think you’ll have it back. You don’t yet, do you?” Synthe sneered.

The Sentinel took a step closer. “Colonel Synthe. While I — we — appreciate your enthusiasm and commitment, the problem has been solved and the Scroll will be in our hands shortly. I’m satisfied that is the case, and I have no reason to doubt that it will happen,” he said, ending the matter.

Synthe digested the information and decided to try a different approach.

“That’s wonderful news, then. Congratulations. It appears your instinct was the right one, Luca. As the protector of the Scroll for the Order, let me be the first to offer my praise and my support. Anything I can do to help, just say the word. That’s the whole point of cooperation between our two groups, right? To get the job done. It’s the end result that counts, not our egos,” Synthe enthused.

It didn’t look as though Luca was buying it, but the Sentinel seemed to be, and that was who he was playing to.

“I share that sentiment, Colonel Synthe,” the Sentinel said. “And I want to say that even though the Scroll will be back in our care before long, I want to make some changes to the security precautions — the most important being that I think the tradition of housing it in the Abbey needs to come to an end. It was originally stored there to keep it away from any politically-motivated squabbles within the Holy See, but times have changed and the benefits of keeping it hidden in a remote location are outweighed by the security we can arrange within the Vatican. I am going to ask you to work with me on crafting a foolproof system to house it here in Rome.”

“I would be delighted to lend my expertise.” Synthe almost bowed.

“There will also be another task for you. Besides security for the Scroll, we will need your assistance with a field operation to recover another enormously important item in the coming days. I will ask you to work with Luca on selecting an appropriate contractor to devise a vault to house the Scroll and this other item, with access limited exclusively to the Pope,” the Sentinel continued.

Synthe’s respiration increased. “Of course. Whatever is required. But, if you don’t mind me asking, what is this other item? It will help to know what I’m to create a plan to protect when designing the system, no?” Synthe asked.

Luca and the Sentinel exchanged furtive glances.

“We haven’t got a complete description quite yet. But when we do, you’ll be told everything you need to do your job,” the Sentinel assured him.

“I see. And the field operation? Where will it take place? Here, in Rome?” Synthe inquired.

Luca rubbed his hands together. “Again, when we have more information you will be brought into the loop. For now, all we need you to do is stand down, recall any men you have deployed in the search for the Scroll, and await further instructions. We should know more in a few days, so you should remain in Rome,” Luca said dismissively.

Synthe restrained his natural instinct to punch the pompous ass in the throat.

“Does this few days in any way involve the girl and the cryptologist’s return of the Scroll?” he asked.

“Infer whatever you like. You’ll be briefed when we have relevant details,” Luca said curtly.

The Sentinel eyed Luca, then returned his attention to Synthe. “Colonel, I can appreciate your curiosity, however I am going to ask you to consider Diego Luca your superior in this matter. This is temporary, however, it is necessary for reasons that extend beyond your need to know. Luca will require your cooperation in both the security matter and the recovery matter, and it must be unconditional and unhesitating. Do I make myself crystal clear?” the Sentinel asked him.

Synthe managed a faint smile. “Of course. I shall do as you say and call off the dogs, and await a call when you can tell me more. In the meantime, perhaps you can arrange for me to see the areas you’re considering for storage of the Scroll, as well as any blueprints? If I am to create a security scenario that will be more secure than the one at the Abbey, which clearly was not up to modern challenges, I’ll need as much time and information as possible.”

“That’s reasonable. I’ll contact you tomorrow with a time for you to be shown the spots.” Luca paused. “It goes without saying that everything you’ve been told is confidential and cannot go beyond our ears.”

“Yes. As always.” Synthe couldn’t think of anything further to add and decided to cut his losses. “I’ll await your contact. Let me get going, so I can recall my team.”

Synthe saw no reason to drag the meeting out any longer. He needed time to think through a strategy that was tickling the periphery of his awareness.

“Thank you for your efforts, Colonel Synthe. I trust this new arrangement will work well for us all. Remember that it is temporary, and you will report directly to me again once this regrettable affair is concluded,” the Sentinel advised.

“I would completely understand if you wished to end our arrangement once this is done, given the loss of the Scroll,” Synthe offered. It was virtually mandatory for him to offer his resignation in light of the circumstances.

“We’ve discussed that, and agreed that, for the time being, we would be better served with you remaining in your position,” Luca said. The message was unmistakable. Luca had been discussing Synthe’s future with the Sentinel, had participated in deciding his destiny.

“Ah. Just so, then. Whatever best meets your needs, then. I shall await your instructions.”

“We’re going to Jordan?” Natalie asked.

“Yes. The Scroll doesn’t exactly give GPS coordinates, but as near as I can tell, it does the best you could expect for the 1200s. Bacon was a genius, that’s for sure. Part of the instructions say to cut several of the drawings here, and here, and here.” Steven pointed to the seemingly random blue lines running through four of the illustrations. “Now compare the new composite to this satellite image.” Steven had cut and pasted four of the illustrations together to fit, like a puzzle, into one coherent drawing. There was an oblong body of water with several markers surrounding it — a crescent moon, a star, a sideways Y, and finally, the labyrinth crest.

“It’s amazing,” Natalie observed. “I mean, it would be more helpful if we knew what the symbols meant, but this is a good start…”

“The star fits with the location of Machaerus, which was a fortified complex on the Jordanian side of the Dead Sea. The Scroll specifically calls out the Dead Sea, so that would place the actual location of the fort approximately where it sits in the drawing, give or take…” Steven pointed at the screen, showing Natalie where he meant. “Machaerus is where John the Baptist was beheaded. It would have been a known landmark for centuries.”

“Kind of a grisly claim to fame,” Natalie said, shuddering involuntarily. Even with her familiarity of death, the vision of a bearded man having his head lopped off had stopping power.

“It is, but that makes it easier to pinpoint. There’s not much else I can find in that area that would correlate. The crescent references Job’s wife, which is also consistent with the region.”

“Turned into a pillar of salt, if I recall,” Natalie said.

“You know your Bible.”

“And the Y is?” Natalie asked.

“Looks to me like it sort of matches the Wadi Al Mujib,” Steven said.

“The what?”

“It’s a river that feeds into the Dead Sea. The Wadi Al Mujib. Which forks off east of the Dead Sea into the Wadi Al Mujib and the Wadi el Hidan. Wadi means river in Arabic. Or more specifically, it refers to a river bed, which may have water in the winter, but which usually dries up in the summer.”

“So it’s safe to say it gets hotter than hell there?” Natalie asked.

“That would be correct, this time of year. Although the Dead Sea does buffer the heat.”

“Okay, we have the fort, Job’s wife, and the Y.”

“And the Dead Sea.”

“Check. Then it should be a snap to find the Divine Whatever,” Natalie said. “So what’s for lunch?”

“The Divine Light — not to be pedantic. And no, not really a snap. Again, this is rugged terrain in a wasteland, and the map isn’t to scale. We have only a rough idea, along with some vague directions. Vague by today’s standards, but very precise by standards eight hundred years ago…”

“Not so easy?”

“Is anything in life?”

“You were when I slid up to you in the shower,” Natalie observed playfully.

“Your insulting tone with respect to my honor notwithstanding, what we have are some crude directions in Stadia, which are ancient units of measurement — from which the modern term ‘stadium’ comes. A Stadium is roughly six hundred feet,” Steven said.

“That sounds pretty precise.”

“Not really. Depending upon the language or the era, a foot varied in length. The two most likely as used in the Scroll are either 294 mm for an Olympic foot, or 308 mm for an Italic.”

“That doesn’t sound like a lot. Wait. They based a foot on…different sized feet, literally?” Natalie asked.

“Yup. And it isn’t much, but when amplified by six hundred, we’re talking around thirty feet of difference per Stadium. Put another way, if you calculate using the Olympic measurement, a Stadium is around 577 feet, and if you use the Italic, it’s around 607 feet. And the directions, such as they are, tell us that we are to proceed thirty-five Stadia from the point where the Y forks, presumably up the Wadi el Hidan river bed. Once we’ve done so, we’re supposed to go five Stadia north, where supposedly the Divine Light is located. Buried. But when you start looking at the margins of error, just based on the two most common possible variations of what a foot is, you could be off by over a fifth of a mile on the Wadi, and by about a hundred fifty feet once we leave the river bed. It’s not impossible, but we’re talking a ton of terrain to cover. Add to that we have no idea what we’re looking for, and it gets ugly early.”

“Then we could be off by huge distances, and won’t know until we get there…” Natalie said softly.

“Correct. Trial and error. Which in the sun, in hundred-plus degree heat, is going to suck. We’re probably talking about many days of digging around for who knows what in miserable conditions. And that presumes that the Church can get permission. Jordan is predominantly Sunni Muslim, as in ninety percent, so it’s questionable how much cooperation they’ll get. Oh, and that’s a protected nature reserve, or at least parts of it are, from what I can tell online.”

“You’re making it sound less and less likely to succeed as you go along. Mister Buzz Kill. You’re bringing me down,” Natalie complained.

“It’s like everything. If you don’t know much about most things, they look easy. But the more you know about them, the harder they reveal themselves to be. Because most things are hard, or rather, are difficult. This won’t be any different, unfortunately. It’s just a good idea to have realistic expectations. Mine are optimistic, but pragmatic,” Steven said.

“Like I said. Buzz Kill.”

Three days later, Luca had the four passports in his hands. The Church had pulled strings with the Italian government and gotten Natalie and Steven one Italian passport each, and the Vatican had issued two Vatican City passports for travel during the search for the Light. Steven was now Arturo Stefano Crossetti, and Natalie was Natalia Pomore Salmagundi.

He also had the agreed-upon signed letters. And two million dollars were ready to be transferred to whatever account Steven chose. He finished typing a message to Steven’s e-mail address and pressed send. Now it was just a matter of transferring the cash and doing the handoff.

Luca considered the deal a bargain, but was strangely unenthusiastic about the prospect of getting the Scroll back. Now that Cross had solved the riddle, the relic had little but internal symbolic significance. Still, it was a win for the good guys, and he’d take it.

Cross hadn’t told him anything about where they were going. Luca was hoping to discover more at their next meeting. When and where that would be was still unknown, but he figured that he’d soon find out.

A few minutes after sending the message, a chime sounded from his computer, signaling an inbound message. He opened it and read the instructions, nodding as he did so. Tomorrow was going to be another long day.

Steven took the seat next to Luca on the short train ride from Milan to Parma, and wordlessly handed him the box with the Scroll container in it. Luca took it with a sense of disbelief — Cross had used a wine gift box, which was the perfect size, purchased in the morning at a liquor store in Milan, making it untraceable to Venice.

Luca had flown into Milan and they’d repeated the last minute phone call with instructions. Moody had explained to Steven that the method assured them of minimal chance of being tracked, which Steven wasn’t hugely worried about, but Moody felt was still a risk. Moody had watched Luca at the airport to ensure there were no phone calls or any suspect contacts attempted, and then monitored him as he took a taxi, watching for a tail. Luca was clean. After ten minutes of waiting at the airport, he’d hopped into a cab and gone to the train station to do the reverse process there, just in case.

Steven was dressed like a businessman this time, wearing a blue dress jacket with a red tie over a blue and white pin-striped Oxford shirt, and gray slacks with a burgundy belt and loafers. There was also something different about his hair — it was slicked back with gel, in the Italian fashion.

Luca took the box from him. “This is what all the fuss was about?”

“Yes. Don’t drop it. And keep it somewhere safer this time.”

“Noted. We transferred the cash this morning.”

“Congratulations on your purchase of the company. It runs itself. You won’t have to do much. Although we might have a leak there — I’ve been mulling over how Frank’s people knew we were at the Basilica of Saint Clemente, and the only thing that makes sense is they were given the translation of the first parchment.” Steven proceeded to tell him about the two parchments, deliberately omitting the tablet. Why give up the secret sauce that made him look like a once-a-millennium genius?

Luca listened with interest and nodded. “Makes sense. So. Now you have the money and the letters…where do we go from here?” Luca asked.

Steven broke down the various items they would need in order to search for the Light.

“Do you mind if I write this down? It’s a lot of detail,” Luca said.

“Don’t bother. Inside the box, next to the Scroll cylinder, you’ll find a piece of paper with the requirements. Basically, permission from the Jordanian government to do some archeological exploration, a list of gear, ten or twelve men to dig, and a way in and out. I was thinking that we should fly into Amman. We’ll probably be in Jordan for at least a week or two. The Scroll directions are detailed, but it will still be something of a miracle if we find anything. It’s been at least eight hundred years and possibly longer than that, depending upon what we’re looking for. I wouldn’t expect a lot, but we’ll give it our best shot. Oh, and we’ll need some weapons. It also might be good if the diggers had military backgrounds,” Steven said.

“I’m thinking of some of the Templars who are particularly suited. They receive much unorthodox training, including all types of weapons. They’re among the best and very fit,” Luca said, unconsciously putting a hand on his stomach.

“I’m also going to bring an observer with us on my team, which will consist of the girl, myself, and my friend. He’s in the intelligence field, which could come in handy if we get into a bind in-country. From your side, I want you and the diggers. Nobody else.”

“I understand. But I do have a highly-placed colleague who is ex-Mossad, and knows the region intimately…” Luca started.

“Absolutely not. Israeli intelligence would be the last thing we’d want, whether ex or current. The Jordanians are going to be skittish enough without bringing that into the mix. Another thing, I don’t want anyone to know where we’re going other than essential personnel. Limit it to need to know,” Steven warned.

“Fine. What else? Timing?”

“That’s up to you, and how fast you can get permission from Jordan. I can be ready to roll in a day. Start pulling strings. Speaking of which, pull some with the Roman police department and get them to back off on hunting for me and the girl. We don’t know anything about the driver’s murder, except what they do, so it would be helpful if that went to the back burner,” Steven said.

“I’ll see to it.”

“Please do. Now it’s phone time again.” Steven gestured with his fingers, and Luca obligingly took out the battery and handed it to him.

“Can’t you just leave it in the bathroom or something? Finding a battery is a pain,” Luca groused.

“That’s the whole point. If it’s any consolation, I actually trust you. It’s my intelligence friend who stipulated this routine, with no variation.”

“Very well. I’ll look forward to seeing you soon. I gather we communicate as we have, via e-mail?” Luca asked.

“Yes. I’ll call your cell if there are any emergencies. Have a safe trip back to Rome and remember not to drop the box,” Steven said, as he rose to make his way out of the first-class car.

Luca stared at the nondescript cardboard sheath and opened the top. Inside was the item, so sacred he’d never actually seen it. An ancient cylinder with a host of symbols etched into it. Not much to look at.

Strange that such a seemingly insignificant relic could cause so much commotion. He wondered what the Divine Light would turn out to be. Assuming they found it.

Which, after talking to Steven, wasn’t a given by any means.