He squeezed into the tight confines of the washroom, shut the lid of the toilet and set the bag down. He peered into the mirror. Streaks of black stretched across the stubble on his face. The
moto
ride and his work in the slums had left him looking miserable and dirty. He rubbed his rough chin before punching the water on.
He washed and shaved, then nodded at his reflection.
A little better
, he thought. He reached into the carry-on bag for the shirt and pants. He slipped out of his dirty black Khmer shirt and trousers and put on the new outfit, which included a sport coat. He found no traditional religious accoutrements, so he assumed his new assignment was not for broadcast.
He slipped the sport coat on and smoothed down the sides, then felt a bulge in the right pocket. He reached in and pulled out an id badge and a wallet.
Dr. Benicio Valori
, he read.
YaleâNew Haven Children's Hospital
. It was an employee badge.
Very interesting
, he thought and dropped the id in the pocket. The wallet contained about a thousand dollars American and a valid driver's license and credit card in his name. He tucked the wallet into his trousers' back pocket. Finally, he gathered up his
Cambodian clothes and shoved them into the bag then left the washroom.
He stretched out in his leather seat, aware only that he had a long flight ahead of him and this might be his last chance for rest.
Benicio was sound asleep when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. His eyes fluttered open and he saw a flight attendant bending over him.
“Your phone,” the flight attendant said, motioning to the armrest next to him.
He blinked and sat up abruptly.
“Grazie,”
he said sleepily as the attendant slipped away down the aisle.
He was on the plane to Philadelphia â the longest leg of the flight â and had fallen asleep again. He wrestled the phone out of the armrest and found the connect button, then put the receiver to his ear. “Hello.”
“Father Valori?” It was the crisp voice he'd heard in Prasat.
“Yes.”
“This is Cardinal Espinosa. I trust you remember our first meeting.”
“Yes, your Eminence. I remember it well.” And he did. Cardinal Espinosa had recruited him straight out of grad school. The cardinal had sent a personal invitation for an all-expenses-paid trip to the Vatican, an invitation Benicio couldn't refuse.
He had arrived in the magnificent office of the cardinal and within moments he was convinced he had been called to the priesthood. The cardinal, a charismatic, enthusiastic recruiter, insisted that Benicio's gifts and expertise in mythology and spirituality were crucial to the Holy Church. Benicio's strong Catholic upbringing was also a factor.
Since his recruitment Benicio had learned that Cardinal Sebastián Herrero y Espinosa was the Cardinal Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith â the cdf â and one of the most powerful men in the Vatican. Many people
thought the Supreme Pontiff or even the Secretariat of State were among the most powerful but it was the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith that held the reins of authority within the church. The cdf, a special branch of the Roman Curia, was responsible for maintaining and ensuring the integrity of the Catholic faith around the world. Benicio also knew Espinosa showed little respect for traditional church boundaries and protocol. He was fanatical about protecting the faith and saw no limit to the means by which he would do that. Twenty years ago he had faced life-threatening cancer but had miraculously recovered. Even the cancer hadn't deterred him from his holy duties.
“Thank you for your immediate loyalty to the one true faith,” the cardinal said on the air phone. “Your assistance is urgently required as the eyes and ears of the Vatican. It is in your judgment we trust at the most crucial of hours.”
“Yes, your Eminence.” Benicio knew the assignment was high priority. After his recruitment and his time in the seminary he rarely spoke with the cardinal. His directives normally came from others well beneath Espinosa. Now, he almost felt nervous.
“As you likely realize from your flight itinerary, your destination is Yale University. We've had a representative there for some time to watch a certain manuscript of importance to the Holy Church. His name is Father Ronald McCallum, and he is expecting you. You will find his address in the pocket of your coat.”
A certain manuscript
? Benicio wondered.
Could this really be about the Nephilim Bible
?
Cardinal Espinosa continued, “You will investigate a claim made by Father McCallum in regard to a certain child who may have the power to read the manuscript. Father McCallum will explain the details. You must investigate the child and report immediately to me.”
The cardinal emphasized the word
me
. Benicio suspected this mission did not have the full blessing of the Holy Church.
“You have been specifically selected for this task because of your proven loyalty and discretion in the service of the Holy Church. In addition, your secular education through your doctorate in clinical psychology will be an asset as the boy in question has psychiatric difficulties.”
“Yes, your Eminence.” Benicio knew it was not his place to ask questions. Questions, when they were permitted, were always much later.
“Ascertain the validity of Father McCallum's claims. Report to me directly at this number. Do not write this number down.” Cardinal Espinosa read off a fifteen-digit number, and Benicio memorized it.
And then the line went dead.
Cardinal Espinosa let his fingers sit on the disconnect button of his phone for a moment before he dropped the receiver. His office walls were lined with twelve-foot-high bookcases. Every shelf was filled with religious reference books and books about every code and doctrine of the Holy Church. Some of the books dated back centuries, and most were in the original Latin. He'd read all of them, and all in the original language. He glanced around the room, heavy with history, then slowly stood.
“God,” he prayed, his arms outstretched, his head tilted sky-ward, “I want only to serve You. To protect You. To protect the faith.
“I am Your servant. With Your help and guidance I will act. I will act swiftly on Your behalf and erase the source of the poison that might infect the faithful. On my vigilance You can rely.”
He sat again and with a trembling hand pulled back the sleeve of his white robe. He opened his top desk drawer, removed a small black case and set it carefully on the blotter. He lifted the lid and revealed an ornate knife with a three-inch blade. He picked up the knife.
The cardinal turned his left arm up and rested it on the desk. The underside was scarred from bicep to wrist. He touched the skin with the knife and carefully drew a straight line. The exquisitely sharp blade slit the skin, and the slit quickly filled with blood. Without hesitation, Espinosa drew a line perpendicular to the first, completing the cross. He struggled to keep his breathing regular as he watched the blood fill the cross.
“For You, God,” he whispered.
He set the knife down. “I will call on the forsaken one more
time, Lord,” he whispered. “I know they are repulsive to You but they will serve this just cause.”
He reached for the phone and dialed a number. After three rings someone answered sleepily.
“Do you know who this is?” the cardinal asked curtly.
The sleepy voice snapped to attention.
“Yes â”
“Do not say my name,” Cardinal Espinosa interrupted. “You and your brother must travel to New Haven and await my instructions.”
“New Haven? Is it the Voynich?”
“Travel, and wait for my instructions. You have my number. Call me when you've arrived.”
“Will this be our last mission?” the voice asked. “Will you release my brother and me after we have served one more time?”
“Call me when you arrive in New Haven. Take no action without my authorization.”
The cardinal hung up the phone. He was confident in his decision but regretted its necessity.
He picked up a satin cloth and held it against his arm then sat back in his leather desk chair. His mind wandered to when he'd first laid eyes on the two brothers.
Maury and Jeremy
, he thought.
Such unlikely servants of the church
.
Eighteen years ago, as the Cardinal Prefect, Espinosa had eyes and ears around the world. An army of faithful servants who kept watch and reported to the Vatican. Some reported on miracles, religious fraud, or priestly improprieties. Others watched for certain abnormal medical conditions. The cardinal did not provide reasons for his requests. He simply ordered them.
Thus his discovery of Maury and Jeremy began with a phone call.
One of Espinosa's secular agents called to make a report. The agent, a devout Catholic who worked as a hospital orderly in a small town, reported the specific medical abnormality, a skin condition where the body seems to reject its own tissue. The
cardinal traveled to North America on the next available flight.
Remembering it now, Espinosa smiled. Hindsight made his actions seem reckless but he had had no other choice. He could hardly imagine taking on the role of an investigator any longer. There were other, more able-bodied people to do such things.
When he arrived in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, he was amazed that the town existed. Pigeon Forge billed itself as the home of something called Dollywood, a theme park built for a celebrity he'd never heard of.
He got off the plane and went straight to the town's medical center. The orderly had told the cardinal about two recently orphaned children, Jeremy and Maury. Their parents had been killed in a car accident; the boys were showing signs of a serious and possibly infectious condition no one in Pigeon Forge had ever seen. The medical center wanted to transfer the boys to the hospital in Knoxville.
The orderly met the cardinal at the door and escorted him to the director of the medical center.
“Well, it shore is strange to see a man of the cloth all the way from Rome down here in our little neck of the woods. How can I hep you?”
“The church has an interest in the two children. The orphans.”
“Yessir, that's a mighty sad case,” the director said. “Them boys just got back from Angola or some damn place with their globe-trotting missionary parents when they was in a horrible car accident. The parents are gone but the boys were unhurt â at least by the accident.”
“I understand that the children have no living relatives.”
“That's right.”
“I also understand that this facility suspects the boys have a serious communicable disease.”
“Yeah, we got 'em in quarantine until we arrange to get them to Knoxville. We can't handle them here.”
“I might be able to help. We have a comprehensive program to deal with boys like these.”
The director frowned. “You got what?”
“May I see them?” the cardinal pushed.
“I said they was in quarantine. It wouldn't be much of an idear to go see 'em.”
“I understand the risks.”
Thinking about it now, Espinosa shook his head. The backward facility was quite lax in its medical precautions. He wondered if it would be the same today. He remembered being allowed to go right down to see the boys, Maury and Jeremy. The facility had only insisted he wear a surgical mask.
Espinosa later told the boys he had known as soon as he saw them that they were Nephilim. Six-year-old Maury and his five-year-old brother were direct descendents of the forsaken line of half-angel, half-human bastard children. He knew because God had given him the power to discern it. It was that simple.
The wheels were immediately set in motion. With his vast political connections and considerable influence, the cardinal arranged for the boys to be made wards of the Vatican. He assured the small-town physicians that he would have the boys' medical condition treated.
Arrangements were made quickly and the boys were ready. By that same evening, Maury and Jeremy were in Rome.
Shemhazai walked through the library slowly, lost in thought. He was sure of his decision but doubted his resolve. He glanced at the large leather portfolio he carried.
It was closing time and the final security checks were almost done. He headed to the guard station and sat behind the desk, then tapped the three-digit code into the combination keypad and opened the small metal door of the lockbox under the desk. Two sets of master keys were kept there. He pulled one set off the hook and left the box open. Shemhazai knew the keys would open doors but not display cases. It would only be a small inconvenience.
He started toward the display rooms in the back. Soon he reached the climate-controlled room that sheltered the Voynich. He tried the handle; as he suspected, the room was already locked. Shemhazai used the master key to let himself in.
He went to the display case, set down the black portfolio, and looked at the Voynich manuscript. Seeing it now he felt a slight spark of emotion somewhere between fear and awe. He laid a hand on the cold Plexiglas for a moment. He hoped he could touch the manuscript without ill consequence.
He felt beneath the case and lifted the lid, but the case was locked. Only the curators had keys for the display cases. The security guards were expected to protect the books â not handle them.
Shemhazai knew he was about to start a journey from which there would be no return. He breathed deeply, then lifted his arms and spoke. “Father, forgive me my sins.”
As he spoke the last word, his body fell like a discarded costume, all life obviously gone before it reached the floor. Almost
as soon as it came to rest, the body began to wither; the skin turned dirty brown, then gray, then began sinking into the bones beneath.
In the place where the security guard had stood was now a glowing, golden figure. Without his earthly disguise, Shemhazai stood seven feet tall. He had perfect skin. He reached out and slid his hand through the lid of the Plexiglas case as if it weren't there. He gripped the Voynich, pulled it out of the case, then held it tightly in both hands.