by Brett King
Getting closer, he saw a shadowy image in the front seat. His mind flashed to the Linda Vista Hospital, when he had found Bob the Driver’s body. Keeping his gun steady, he moved into a crouch beside the car. Taking a hard look, he saw a rectangular canvas. It didn’t look rigged. He opened the door. A small card was attached near the upper corner of the blackened painting. A few lines were written in small, precise penmanship:
How good of you to let the Knight burn. You now have one less enemy in the world.
You might find the artwork intriguing. Please accept it with my compliments.
Perhaps we’ll meet in the new year?
—M
Brynstone’s heart beat a little faster. The painting was in Delgado’s style. More crude than his later work, it showed a king stabbing a saint. As with his other paintings, the look of terror on the martyr’s face was haunting in its realism. A wave of nausea rolled inside his stomach. Brynstone knew the inspiration for this painting. He recognized the saint’s face. He studied the ice blue eyes, captured forever in torment. His father’s eyes.
Chapter Sixty
Washington, D.C.
11:57 P.M.
Brynstone parked near the Mount Olivet Cemetery. He had been driving in a stupor since leaving Delgado’s home. Climbing over the fence, he found himself alone in a cemetery at midnight. James Delgado, Erich Metzger, and Jordan Rayne. One down. Two to go. Learning the truth about his father’s murder dampened any satisfaction. Would he feel closure after tracking down Metzger and Rayne?
In the distance, the Washington Memorial glowed like a phantom obelisk. Distant fireworks crackled and burst, spraying the night with twinkling color. New Year’s Eve. He wasn’t in the mood for celebration as he headed for the Wurm mausoleum.
A figure darted past a darkened oak tree. He brought out his gun.
“Stop right there,” he barked.
The woman screamed, then backed against the tree. He holstered the Glock. Cori Cassidy stared at him, shock blanking her features. “John,” she gasped. “Why are you here?”
“Long story,” he said. “What about you?”
“Left a friend’s party at the Wyndom Hotel. Not in a party mood.” She embraced him, then pulled back. “I was going to call. You met with the CIA director today, right? Everything go okay?”
“It was strange,” he confessed. “Edgar Wurm always claimed the Knights of Malta wanted the Radix. Before I met with McKibbon, I contacted the president of the Federal Association of the Order of Malta. He confirmed that the order did not play a role in the search for the Radix. A couple people on the fringes of the order were looking for it. Director McKibbon was one. General Delgado was another.”
“Your boss? He was involved with the Order of Malta?”
“Doesn’t matter now. He’s dead.”
“What happened?”
“Later.”
Taking the hint, she changed the subject. “John, I need to tell you something. At Edgar’s funeral today, Shay fell down and cut her knee. Bad enough to—”
He raised his hand to silence her. He listened. Had he heard footsteps? Or maybe wind rustling a tree. He wasn’t in the mood to take a chance. He pulled Cori inside the Wurm mausoleum. No one else in here. He turned toward the door, shielding her against the wall.
He didn’t hear anything outside.
In the center of the mausoleum, a raised oblong coffin stone supported the Belgian marble tomb where Edgar Wurm had been laid to rest. The lid had been moved to the mausoleum floor. Brynstone rushed over, gliding his hand along the polished black marble. He peered down with a flashlight.
Wurm’s body was not inside. The tomb was empty.
He glanced at Cori. “Did you tell the CIA that Edgar swallowed the Radix?”
“Agent Angelilli talked to Nicolette Bettencourt. She saw Wurm pop something in his mouth. Flying back from Paris, Angelilli asked if Edgar swallowed the Radix. He was suspicious, but I covered it.” She glanced inside the tomb. “The noise we heard. Was that the CIA? Did they take Edgar’s body?”
Brynstone didn’t answer. He darted outside, running to where they had heard the sound. The night was still. No sign of another person.
Moving behind a massive oak tree, he inspected the ground. She stepped behind him, then peered over his shoulder. Footprints carved in fresh snow. Leading from the mausoleum’s door, the prints curled past the tree and disappeared at the wet road.
Cori stepped alongside one footprint, measuring it against her boot. “These prints are huge.”
“About size fourteen, I’d guess.”
She studied him. “That footprint could belong to Santo Borgia.”
Brynstone nodded. “Or Edgar Wurm.”
Author’s Note
Napoleon Bonaparte may have said it best: “What is history but a fable agreed upon?” Embellishment is a vice for historians, but a virtue for novelists. My ultimate goal in writing The Radix was to craft an entertaining story. Along the way, I committed a few historical transgressions in the name of fiction. So, let me set the record straight on a few topics.
Let’s begin with the Borgias. People from Alexandre Dumas, pére, to Mario Puzo have suggested that Cesare Borgia’s face inspired the depiction of Jesus Christ in Italian Renaissance paintings. In turn, the idea goes, paintings that emulated Borgia’s look continued to shape the portrayal of Christ. As mentioned in Chapter Twenty-eight, Borgia did contract syphilis and he was reputed to have worn a mask to conceal his scarred features. His father, Rodrigo Borgia, better known as the controversial Pope Alexander VI, was also syphilitic. A Raffaele della Rovere did exist and was murdered in 1502 by Oliverotto da Fermo, an acquaintance of Cesare Borgia, but he bears little resemblance to Raphael della Rovere, the character in my book.
As depicted in the prologue, Niccolò Machiavelli was in the service of Borgia during Christmas 1502, although there is no record that they traveled to Paris at that time. Machiavelli drew upon Borgia’s commanding style while writing The Prince, his 1532 book on leadership and the psychology of power. We learn in Chapter Forty-two that Cesare Borgia displayed an enemy’s head on a pike in Cesena on December 26, 1502. That’s true, but the decapitated head belonged to a governor named Ramiro de Lorqua. So, do the tales of Borgia’s brutal exploits represent a fable agreed upon? Maybe, but it is clear you didn’t want to make the guy angry.
Unequaled as a book of puzzles, the Voynich manuscript is an authentic document with distinct Voynichese “languages.” It contains drawings of 113 unidentified plant species and over 100 species of medicinal herbs and roots. Housed at the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library at Yale University, it has frustrated a legion of amateur and professional cryptanalysts hoping to unlock its centuries-old mystery. Either a book of secret codes or one of the most sophisticated hoaxes in history, the origin and meaning of the Voynich manuscript remain unknown. My speculation in Chapter Fifteen about the Voynich author is pure fiction.
What about the Rx symbol? Familiar to anyone who has been in an American pharmacy, this symbol’s origin offers its own mystery. As Cori notes in Chapter Forty-one, some are convinced that its origins can be found in the symbol for the Egyptian god Horus. Another popular idea suggests that the symbol is derived from the Latin recipere or recipe, meaning “take thus,” while other variations insist the origin came from fiat mistura, or “let a mixture be made.” There are still more theories. In truth, there is a great deal of speculation, but no real consensus.
In his 1944 book Psychology and Alchemy, Carl Jung used the term radix ipsius while discussing the prime material. The Scintilla receives broader coverage in his last major work, Mysterium Coniunctionis. I took liberties in my interpretation of the Radix and Scintilla that bear little resemblance to alchemical concepts that fascinated Jung. As mentioned in Chapter Thirty-one, Jung did build the Bollingen Tower complex, but the descriptions inside his spiritual tower (Chapter Thirty-nine) are the product of my imagination. I should add that Jung’s paintings
as well as imagery from his writings inspired the images that I described on the Bollingen walls.
From as far back as 1949, the accusation that Jungian psychology inspired a cult and secret society has arisen in several books and private interviews (Chapter Thirty-three). In the most aggressive charge, Richard Noll wrote The Jung Cult: Origins of a Charismatic Movement and The Aryan Christ: The Secret Life of Carl Jung, with the assertion that Jung was the “most influential liar of the twentieth century.” In Noll’s version, Jung found inspiration in polygamy and Aryan sun worship and served as a self-appointed cult leader. Jung did experience a trancelike vision of himself transforming into a lion-headed deity, a practice arising from the Mithraic unio mystica, a fusion of a human with a god. For Noll, the transformation into the Deus Leontocephalus was a dramatic experience that was forbidden knowledge to all but a few in Jung’s inner circle. Sonu Shamdasani countered Noll’s accusations in his book, Cult Fictions: C. G. Jung and the Founding of Analytical Psychology. Shamdasani argues that Jung had no appetite to serve as a cult leader—regardless of what a few followers may have believed—nor did he use his analytical psychology to shroud a quasi-religious sect.
Jung’s grandfather did serve as grand master of the Swiss Freemasons. Although Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc spent his final years in Switzerland, there is no evidence that the architect interacted with the elder Jung. As the driving force behind Notre-Dame’s restoration, Viollet-le-Duc’s likeness does appear on the cathedral statue of Saint Thomas, with the architect’s name on the staff (Chapter Forty-six). The information concerning the Pillar of the Nautes (Chapter Forty-two), Fulcanelli (Chapter Forty-three), and the grotesque, Le Stryge (Chapter Fifty), are based in fact. Although Friar Zanchetti is fictional, the “catacomb mummies” from central Italy are real. In Navelli, a floor collapsed in the Church of San Sebastiano, revealing the mummified remains of two hundred bodies. And let me be clear that the Sovereign Military Order of Malta, in its long and storied history, has never expressed interest in the mythical Radix.
To see the cista mystica or to learn more about the fact behind the fiction in this novel, please visit my website: authorbrettking.com. You can also find me on Facebook and Twitter. Thanks for reading The Radix!
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Acknowledgments
The story of The Radix has been alive inside my mind for more than seven years. Although other projects consumed me during that time, the Radix legend always returned to enchant my imagination. It is with thanks and heartfelt gratitude that I acknowledge the people who helped bring this story to life.
From beginning to end, my wife, Cheri, acted as muse and mentor, editor and accomplice, critic and cheerleader. She never let me lose focus while remaining—always—the love of my life. With Cheri as my wife and best friend, I consider myself to be the luckiest man alive. My beloved children, Devin, Brady, and Tylyn, bless me every day with never-ending laughter, hugs, and inspiration. Although they often mistake me for playground equipment, words can never capture the profound joy they bring to my life. My parents, Dee and Don King, taught me the value of enthusiasm, determination, and hard work. No matter how rambling my dreams and schemes, they have always been there to support me.
My tireless agent, Pamela Ahearn, far exceeded my every expectation and did so with dedication, wisdom, enthusiasm, and a sparkling sense of humor. Thank you, Pam, for never giving up! I am indebted to Don D’Auria—a man every bit as colorful as his office—for taking a chance on me. As executive editor at Dorchester Publishing, he welcomed me with charm, warmth, and patience while helping me navigate the publication process. I also want to thank everyone at Dorchester for their efforts on my behalf. As a team, their talents in editing, artistry, and publicity helped me realize this dream.
A special thanks goes out to my buddy, Troy Barmore, for his candid opinions about this book, all shared with intelligence and splashes of acid wit. His breadth and expertise proved to be an inspired help. I owe a huge debt to my amazing mates, Kyler Storm—a true-to-life superhero—and Candice Storm, a wellspring of inspiration. You both kept me fired up, time after time, while proving that extreme and challenging dreams can come true with faith and perseverance. A special thanks to Dr. Wayne Viney, my cherished friend and mentor, for his faith in me and for bleeding all over my early work with his red pen. Under his guidance, I learned the value of editing and scholarship while discovering a love for the history of ideas. Wayne and his lovely wife, Noni, have taught me more than they will ever know. A boy wonder from the old days, Nathan Clay has been a co-conspirator and fellow cinemaphile. It was a delight corrupting you during your formative years. Like Nate, Ryan Christie has read every shred of fiction I have ever written, yet still chooses to speak to me. I am indebted to you, Rhino, for your positive spirit and for pulling off that black op on foreign soil. My brother, Dennis, and my sister, Gayla, and their families have always been a critical force in my life. For years, Penny Morton, LuAnn Harrah, and Connie Strommenger have expressed interest in my writing, and I’m grateful for their encouragement. After enduring marathon phone calls with me, Gabriel Porras and Trisha Maas at Blue Jay Technologies designed my website with uncompromising creativity and dedication, leaving me awestruck with their talent and vision. Of course, I have to thank Joe, my favorite nemesis and raconteur, for never taking himself—or me—too seriously. You’ll always be my hero for rescuing that mysterious one-eyed cat (RIP O-EDC).
I also owe a huge thanks to the people who have shared comments after reading early drafts of this book or have offered support and encouragement that sustained me over the years, including Kristen Hnida, Ashlee Tripp, Jenn Shaw, Amanda Molencamp, Anne Bliss, Courtney Davis, Kristen Richards, Patty Berger, Dr. Tom Pazik and Leanne Pazik, Alicia Pazik, Laura Kinde, Alex Sward and Ashley Sward, Lauren O’Mara, Laura Mangum-Childers, Aaron Clay, Amanda Clay, Kirsten Orcutt, Kim Shepard, Lisa Kurthy, Vickey and Tom VanParys, Mary Ann Tucker, Dick Hayes, Dr. Andri Bjornsson, Maggie Tillquist, Dr. Don Cooper, Dr. Tim Koeltzow, Holly Greenberg, Adam Cohen, Jenn Elliot, Natalie Pitts, Emily Hennrich, Carl and Alice Hennrich, Amanda Carroll, Lauren Phillips, Erin Christiansen, Megan Gromelski, Elisebeth Hare, David Scott, Aaron Bothner, Julie Giarratano, Bridget Carey, Linda Ensley, Timea Schrantz, Dr. Frank Vattano, Dr. Henry Cross, Dr. Michael Wertheimer and Marilyn Wertheimer, Dr. Diana Hill, Elly Cushman, Leslie Brick, Mike Viney, Kevin Crochetière, Dr. Debbie Clawson, Dr. Doug Schwartzsmith, Jaymie Thorne, Meredith Karol, Renea Nilsson, Chloe Wheeler, Roman Aleksejev, Nancy Grabowski, Jude Cass deLaubenfels, Brittany Yakobson, Julianne Wilson, Kelly Murphy, Dan Gustavson, Erica Merrill, Lindsey Bullard, Christine Gebbia, Renee Foster, Amy Woolridge, Terri S. Thompson, the Prinster family, Kathryn Keller, Cassie Jahn, Katie Kingsley, the Heyse family, and my old friends, Kevin Lucy and Scott Doughty. Finally, I am grateful to Frank Hinchion and Joe Rowsell for technical and medical advice.
Let me add that any errors of fact or content in the following pages or any liberties taken in the name of fiction belong to me alone. I hope you enjoy reading the first book in the Radix series.
B.K.
August 2009
RAVE REVIEWS FOR BRETT KING’S THE RADIX!
“The Radix brims with rich detail, in a story fraught with action, suspense, and intrigue. The reader is in highly capable hands with Brett King—a fresh, exciting voice in the international suspense genre.
Settle back, enjoy the ride, and savor this debut.”
—New York Times bestselling author Steve Berry
“Brett King’s The Radix is a gem of a novel, a thrilling blend of historical mystery and modern intrigue. Lightning paced and expertly told, here is a debut not to be missed!”
—New York Times bestselling author James Rollins
“A topnotch thriller! Part Da Vinci Code, part 24, The Radix is roller-coaster storytelling at its best.”
—New York Times bestselling author Jeffery Deaver
“The Radix is a relentless, plot-twisting, labyrinthine quest to decipher the medieval mystery of the ‘Voynich Manuscript’—a very real tome that still conceals an arcane code that no secret service agency—including the CIA and KGB—has been able to crack in the past five hundred years.”
—New York Times bestselling author Katherine Neville
“The Radix is a pulse-pounding thrill ride of a book.”
—Jason Pinter, bestselling author of The Fury and The Mark
Copyright
A LEISURE BOOK®
May 2010
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016
Copyright © 2010 by Brett King
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