The Voynich Cypher (28 page)

“Likewise. Hang out here for a few minutes, playing tourist. I’m headed to the hotel.”

With that, Moody forked off onto a path leading back to the Coliseum and blended quickly with the foot traffic. Natalie slid the envelope into her purse.

“What’s your problem with Moody? Or do you just ordinarily suck at meeting new people?” Natalie asked.

Steven was taken aback. Was it that obvious? He framed two or three defenses in his mind.

“Sometimes it takes me a while to warm up to people,” he said simply.

“You better accelerate the process. If you didn’t notice, he just saved both our asses.”

“Without putting too fine a point on it, mine wouldn’t need saving if you hadn’t gotten me involved,” Steven fired back.

Natalie stopped walking. “I suppose you think Frank would have just invited you for tea when he found you? Do you still not get this? It’s nobody’s fault. Sometimes things happen. This just happened to you. You can either mope about it and alienate my closest allies, or get your shit together, knock off the dick thing, and play nice,” Natalie warned.

“The dick thing?” Steven repeated.

“Two males in the same sandbox, threatened and unsure of each other. We don’t have time for this. If you don’t mind, lose it.”

Steven had no snappy rejoinder to that. Natalie was right. Worse, his dislike for Moody stemmed from the idea that maybe in the past he’d been intimate with Natalie. Which was juvenile bullshit. It wasn’t as if Steven was dating her. True, he thought she was hot, and smart, and very, very sexy. But lust wasn’t the same as having a claim. Her point was completely valid – it was time to knock off the attitude.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Natalie resumed walking. “Wow. He admits when he’s made a mistake. There may be hope for you yet,” she said and picked up the pace, leaving Steven to play catch up.

They killed time ambling around the arch and down several of the boulevards, and after the agreed-upon half hour Steven dutifully presented the valet stub to the attendant at the St. Regis. They’d agreed he would collect the car and then pick her up a block away, on the off-chance anything unexpected occurred during the process. Thankfully, there was no drama, and after paying the equivalent of thirty dollars in parking fees and tip, he was ensconced behind the wheel of the small sedan, wheeling his way to Natalie. He pulled to the curb to a symphony of horns behind him, and she quickly slung her bag into the rear and climbed into the passenger seat. Moody had been thoughtful enough to include a road map of Italy in the glove compartment, and after a few minutes of battling their way out of downtown Rome, they were on the freeway to Mestre, the lights of the capital receding in the rearview mirror as they sped to their next hiding place.

Steven was anxious to decrypt the Scroll, but knew that it was more important to get them out of harm’s way. Besides, it wasn’t the kind of project he could do in a moving car with dim lighting. He needed a controlled environment to first absorb all the glyph combinations and decode the Scroll, and then make sense out of whatever it said. He was under no illusions that it would be a finger snap, but a part of him had the familiar buzz of excitement he felt when he was getting close to solving a puzzle. Whatever the Scroll was hiding, soon he would be one of the few people in the world to have ever known it.

He wondered silently what terrible secret could have been worth spending centuries to protect. In the end, it was useless to speculate.

Glancing at the dashboard clock, he calculated that if they were lucky they’d make Mestre by nine a.m..

The teenage couple swigged the last of the bottle of
Lambrusco
, the boy anxious to get to the night’s main event, the girl also excited, but more interested for the moment in having a cigarette. The boy had a better idea. He’d gotten his hands on a small wedge of greenish-black opiated hashish from Afghanistan, reputed to be an incredible high by the dealer he’d bought it from.

The two sat on the stairs of the dark building while he carefully broke off a chunk the size of a pencil eraser. The girl watched with interest as he pulled out a pouch of tobacco and some papers, and then made a hand-rolled cigarette with the sticky resin liberally crumbled into the tobacco. He closed up the tin foil packet, sealing the remaining drug, and slid it into his sweatshirt pocket, pausing before lighting it to sniff the creation.

He held it out to Theresa, tonight’s hoped-for conquest, who had just turned fifteen and was bursting with youthful experimentation.

“This is great shit. You can smell it. See?” the boy, Luciano, said.

Theresa sniffed it with approval. “Wow. You’re right. It smells awesome,” she said, not quite sure what it was she was supposed to be appreciating, but game for anything after the better part of a bottle of cheap sparkling wine. Luciano was really cute, with a devil-may-care attitude that had half the girls in school pining for him. At this point, he could have held out a piece of rat poop and she would have expressed enthusiasm. She giggled inwardly at the thought and gave him a beaming smile.

They lit the joint and took deep hits, holding in the smoke for as long as they could before noisily exhaling. At first they didn’t feel anything other than the rush from the nicotine as their blood vessels constricted, but after a few minutes, a euphoric tingle of relaxation flooded their senses. By the time they’d finished their smoke, both felt wonderful.

Luciano leaned into Theresa and kissed her, eyes closed as he savored her taste. She responded with ardor, and before long he had his hand up her shirt as she moaned encouragement. Luciano disengaged and, looking around, motioned to the interior of the old building. He stood, his passion unmistakable through his jeans, and held out his hand. Theresa took it, and he pulled her to her feet before leading her into the dark space.

They kissed again once they’d moved into the entrance a few yards, away from prying eyes, and it was only after a few seconds they registered the flies, which were buzzing in an audible swarm from the depths of the building. Theresa recoiled instinctively from the insects, and Luciano hesitated for a moment before fishing in his pants for his lighter.

Theresa’s scream echoed through the quiet area, reverberating off the walls of the nearby residences. A light went on in one of the windows after she screamed again.

Fifteen minutes later, two police cars stood in front of the abandoned machine shop, their lights illuminating the curb as they took statements from the two frightened teens while waiting for the forensics van to arrive. One of the officers logged the time – midnight – while another wrapped the entry with bright yellow tape in a gesture to keep the non-existent crowds from entering the area.

A television van screeched to a stop, the driver having picked up the call from a police scanner he constantly monitored so as to be first at any scene.

Contrary to Amieri’s best laid plans, Danny would be front page news the following morning.

The orange rays of dawn were breaking across the Roman skyline when Colonel Gabriel Synthe received a hasty call from his police contact. He listened intently and, after hanging up, mulled over the ramifications of what he’d just been told. He’d need to call Luca and update him on the latest events, much as it irritated him. The only joy was had in knowing he would likely wake the man up. To his dismay, Luca answered within seconds and sounded alert.

“What do you have for me?” he asked perfunctorily, not bothering with any niceties.

“The investigator who arranged for the girl and Cross to get into the basilica was found dead last night. Tortured and strangled,” Synthe reported.

“Good heavens. That’s two dead in as many days. This can’t continue…” Luca exclaimed.

“Nobody’s happy about it. The police are increasing the status of the alert for the pair. That’s going to make it increasingly hard for us to intervene before they’re taken into custody.” Synthe reminded Luca of the obvious. “Or until whoever is doing the killing locates them. Either way, this is bad.”

Luca took a few moments to digest this latest news.

“Do we have any evidence that the girl or Cross are doing anything but running from a threat?” Luca asked.

“It’s safe to assume they’re trying to solve the mystery of the Scroll. Why else would they have come to Rome and done a night visit at the basilica?” Synthe reasoned.

“I tend to agree, but the security footage was inconclusive. They’re captured by a camera as they enter the basilica, and then as they descend to the middle level, but there are some holes in the camera positions there, and between the gaps we lose them for about fifteen minutes. We don’t know what they were up to during that time.”

“You’ve had someone go in and look around?” Synthe asked.

“Of course. I had three men go in the following morning, and they found nothing amiss. But it’s a big hall, and without knowing what the girl was looking for, it’s impossible to speculate whether she found it or not. By the time my men got over there and looked at the footage, the church was open and crowds were moving through, as were the custodians. We do know that the art was intact – the curators helped to inspect it all, and nothing was touched that they can see. So we’re no further along than before, other than knowing that two people in direct contact with the girl were murdered.”

“As troubling as that may be, our first priority is still the Scroll,” Synthe reminded Luca. The Sentinel had spent half an hour with Synthe for an in-person progress report the prior afternoon, and he’d underscored that he was very disappointed that Synthe hadn’t been able to put the matter to rest.

“Yes. But it could be that we’re going about this the wrong way. The girl and Cross must know their driver was killed, so they’re undoubtedly terrified of everyone and everything. As far as we can tell, the girl doesn’t know much about the Scroll, so she may have gone to Cross, not out of a desire to learn its secrets for the sake of the knowledge, but rather as a way to discover what happened to her father, or perhaps to carry out his final work. We just don’t have enough information.” Luca paused. “I’m thinking about trying a different approach.”

What the hell
? “That sounds like an extremely bad idea.” The last thing Synthe needed was Luca going operational. That could be disastrous.

“Your opinion is noted. But what we’re doing right now isn’t working, is it? Did I miss something in all of this where we’re getting closer to finding the Scroll? Seems to me that it’s working exactly the opposite, and we’ve now lost track of the pair, have no idea what they’re doing, and are in danger of losing them, and presumably the Scroll, to a hostile unknown group that kills without hesitation.”

Synthe had no facile counter to that. All he could do was restate his position.

“You getting involved is a poor call. You’re not experienced with field work, and it will only complicate matters.”

“Again. I understand, but with all due respect, matters are already complicated. And not to put too fine a point on it, but it wasn’t my job to ensure the Scroll was safe. It was under your ‘professional’ watch that this disaster happened, and I see no evidence of it improving, having done things your way for the last few days. Whether you like it or not, I am already a part of
this scenario
, as your ilk like to call it, so I don’t see what harm I can do that hasn’t already been done.” Luca’s voice had taken on an edge.

Synthe was experienced enough to sense that nothing he said would alter Luca’s intent now that he’d dug in. If the idiot wanted to get himself killed, it was better to just step out of the way and let events unfold of their own momentum.

“I will have no alternative but to register my reservations with my superior, then,” Synthe fired as a parting shot. Perhaps alluding to the Sentinel would give Luca pause.

“Do what you have to do. I’ll advise my superior to expect his call. I will keep you posted of any progress. I expect you to do the same,” Luca said and slammed down the phone.

Luca considered his next step. All the subterfuge had gotten them nothing. He didn’t see what they had to lose by being more direct. Luca had a feeling that this was the right step, once he put himself into the fugitive pair’s shoes. They might be receptive to talking to someone who could make the whole problem just go away.

It was worth a try.

Natalie and Steven took turns driving to Mestre. A little after nine a.m., they pulled into the garage on the lower floor of a small house on the outskirts of the city. A suburb of Venice, Mestre was one of the primary living areas for the workers who kept the tourist machine that was the historical city of Venice running. It was perfect to get lost in – near a massive international destination, and yet completely off the radar. After they had pulled into the single space garage and closed the door with the remote control, they both exhaled a sigh of exhausted relief. Natalie had been quiet for the last few hours, and Steven couldn’t get a read on what was going on in her head. He figured she was just beat, as was he.

The house was a two bedroom, two story brick contrivance where the entire living area was on the second story with parking and storage below and was outfitted with modest but comfortable furnishings. Steven carried the bags upstairs to the living room and set them down on the hardwood floor while Natalie explored the kitchen. She exclaimed with delight when she opened the refrigerator, which was stocked with food and beverages, and gratefully opened a container of orange juice and poured them both a glass.