The Voynich Cypher

by Russell Blake

  “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.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Blue flashing lights flickered along the basilica’s side street, where three police cars, a detective’s sedan, and the coroner’s wagon blocked the broad drive. A handful of officers stood at the edge of the yellow police tape that sealed off the crime scene. Bright spotlights were mounted on stands along the perimeter, bathing the bodies in a cold, white glow. The forensics team was processing the area, and as the dawn’s uneasy light pervaded the Roman sky, the cleanup crew was anxious to get the corpses moved – before the city came to life and they had a crowd-control situation on their hands.

  Rome was as dangerous as most large cities, but even so, it was unusual to have a stabbing victim as well as a gunshot fatality on church property. The two detectives chartered with investigating the mess were not optimistic about their chances. A late-night passer-by had phoned in the report, but nobody had called about any gunfire, which was strange, following a densely-populated area shooting. Either everyone in the nearby apartments was deaf, or a silenced weapon had been involved.

  The two homicide detectives watched impassively as the crime scene personnel methodically pored over the vicinity of the assault. Both detectives had been working the Rome beat for decades and so had seen everything. The older, taller of the two, Emilio Carruzo, leaned in to his partner. Neither man had shaved for three days.

  “What do you think? This wasn’t a robber – both victims were packing guns. Maybe a Mafia hit?” he asked his companion.

  The smaller, olive-skinned man, Detective Guillermo Farrallio, spat into the gutter then fished a packet of cigarettes from his jacket, pausing to light one with a stainless steel zippo before responding.

  “Could be, but there’s too much that doesn’t make sense. Where did the stabbing victim’s gun go? He’s got a shoulder holster; he was armed. But the other stiff got close enough to stab him, what, four times?” Guillermo gestured with his head. “And the stabber also had a gun he didn’t use, preferring a knife. The way I see it, the stabbing victim gets out of the car, is waiting for something, and the stabber sneaks up on him and gets him with the knife. But why wouldn’t the victim have heard him?”

  “Lots of possible explanations. There’s no point in speculating. At least we have a few good footprints – looks like a size forty-four man’s boot.”

  “What about the blood further down the street?”

  “I bet we’ll find it’s not from either of these guys,” Emilio said. “That means a third assailant, and also at least one more shooter. My hunch is the stabber somehow got the jump on the driver, maybe while he was distracted by a second or third guy, stabbed him to death, possibly after a struggle, and then a shooter took out the stabber. Maybe the shooter was in the car, maybe not. There’s no cordite smell, but the shooter could have exited the vehicle when the scuffle started and opened up.”

  “The driver still had his wallet on him. It’s not a robbery. And there’s the question of what happened to his gun…”

  “Again, numerous possibilities. Someone came along after the fact and stole it. Or he didn’t have it with him, although that’s not likely, given the holster. Or maybe the shooter took it, or the second assailant. There had to be two,” Emilio mused, running the physics of the altercation through his head.

  “I agree. No other explanation for the blood over there. But it could have been the stabbing victim who shot the man down the street as he ran away or approached the car, or was stabbed while preoccupied with his quarry and, as his dying act, shot his killer, too. Then someone came along and took the gun, or maybe the quarry returned for it once the driver was down?”

  “Forensics will be able to figure that out by the blood. But my gut says two hitters, the driver, and a fourth mystery shooter, who may have taken the gun with him. Could be it was used in some other killings…”

  Guillermo looked glum. “We pretty much have nothing right now.” He threw a poison look at the forensics team before taking a last drag of his smoke. Glancing absently at the smoldering butt, he spat again, and then threw it into the street.

  “We know from his driver’s license and passport that the stabbing victim was American,” Emilio said. “Frederick Marshall. We’ll run the ID and see what we come up with. And we’ll dust the car for prints and run those through Interpol. But right now, the best lead we have is the boot prints, which will only matter if we get a suspect…”

  “We’re not even close unless someone shows up to confess. But maybe the prints will tell us something. Maybe whoever has been in the car knows something. Could be this is drug related – most of these kinds of killings are. But with no witnesses, it’s not looking like a fast-solve case. Another problem to deal with.” Guillermo sighed, the weight of the world on his shoulders as usual.

  His taller partner eyed him with restrained amusement and then returned to studying the scene. It was definitely a curious one.

  Danny’s phone rang at seven-thirty a.m., just as he was stepping out of the shower. He quickly wrapped a towel around his waist and trundled into the bedroom to answer it.

  “Danny, it’s Natalie. Sorry to call so early.”

  “Ah, yes, Natalie. How are you? I trust your adventure last night went well?”

  “Not really, Danny. We have a situation.”

  Natalie explained what she knew about Frederick’s death and the unknown assailant. Danny listened without comment until she finished.

  “Any idea who it was, or how they found you?” he asked.

  Natalie decided not to share too much. The less he knew the better. “As David told you, I have some ugly characters looking for me. It was probably them. As to how they found us, that’s a mystery…”

  “Where are you?” Danny asked.

  “Someplace safe. But I need your help with one more item,” Natalie said and then told him what she wanted.

  Danny didn’t seem surprised by the request. “Praetextatus, eh? I’ve heard of the catacombs. Not an easy one,” he said. “It’s not open to the public.”

  “So you can’t do it?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say that, did I? No, anything can be done, but it will take some digging and a decent amount of money. How much I won’t know until I start checking with people. Do you have a budget for this?” Danny asked.

  “Whatever’s reasonable. Can you call me whenever you have something?”

  “Of course. I understand the urgency. You want access as soon as pos
sible, preferably today. Is that correct?”

  “Absolutely. Thank you, Danny.”

  Steven and Natalie walked into the hotel at eight, looking as though they’d been on flights all night. The desk clerk regarded them with little interest as he processed Natalie’s reservation and took her cash. The hotel was modern, all stainless steel and angles, with a decidedly business orientation. It was large, with a hundred rooms distributed over five stories, and another tired couple arriving wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.

  The bellboy escorted them to their room, and after a few minutes of perfunctory orientation, they were alone. Steven flipped the ‘do not disturb’ sign onto the doorknob, then locked and bolted it so a maid couldn’t intrude on their rest. He turned and faced Natalie, who was sitting on the king-size bed.

  “We can do a Clark Gable deal and hang a blanket between us,” he suggested.

  “Are you afraid you’ll be attacked? I can stay up with the gun if it’s a problem. Keep the boogeymen away…” She threw him an obviously fake smile.

  “I’m going to take a quick shower,” he said, ignoring the sarcasm.

  He peeled off his clothes and hosed down, mildly distracted by Natalie’s proximity, but exhausted. Steven didn’t think he’d have too much problem falling asleep, even with her next to him. It was a big bed, and they were adults. She’d correctly pointed out that it would look odd if they asked for separate beds, and he’d conceded the point. Unless she climbed on top of him, he’d be out within a few minutes, and he was willing to take the risk that his raw animal magnetism wouldn’t overpower her good sense. And if it did, he knew martial arts and could defend himself…

  Steven toweled off and pulled his clothes back on, trying to remember whether he’d put a T-shirt into his duffel when he’d packed it. That seemed like a month ago.

  When he emerged from the bathroom, Natalie had removed the wig and was rummaging in her bag. He noted that, even after the long night she looked great, especially without the wig. She’d pulled her shirt off and was wearing only a tank top and jeans. His impression of her physique being a toned one was validated – she looked like a gymnast, but with important curves in the right places. Steven quickly shook off that line of thinking.

  “My turn,” she said, then slipped past him and shut the door.

  Steven retrieved his T-shirt and hastily changed his underwear, then closed the heavy curtains and climbed into bed. The last thing he registered as he drifted off to sleep was the sound of the shower turning on. He was dead to the world almost before his head hit the pillow.

  CHAPTER 24

  A trilling jolted Steven awake. Natalie’s cell phone was clamoring. As she stirred beside him and reached for it in the dark, he tried to make out the face of the bedside clock. Four-fifteen p.m.. A little under six hours of sleep, which he supposed was better than nothing. He listened as she had a brief conversation, then he felt the bed shift as she got up and moved to the table. The blackout curtains ensured the room was as dark as midnight.

  “Shut your eyes,” she called to him before flicking on the light. He groaned and rolled over, away from the table, but not before catching a glimpse of Natalie in her tank top and a pair of bright green boy shorts.

  It was a good look.

  She took a few notes, repeated: ‘six o’clock’ several times and then hung up. The light stayed on, much to his dismay, and she returned to the bed, this time sitting on it and facing him.

  “All right, big boy, wakey wakeys. We’ve got a date with destiny to get into the catacombs at six. That means if we hurry, we have enough time to get something to eat and make it to our rendezvous,” she said.

  He peered at her, sitting cross-legged, reading her notes on the slip of paper.

  “That was quick. Where are we supposed to meet him?” Steven asked.

  “Another catacomb, somewhere near here. San Calisto. Apparently, it’s a popular destination. Big tourist stop.”

  He nodded. “It’s the largest catacomb in Rome. Famous, partially because of the Crypt of the Popes, where quite a few of the early popes were buried.”

  Natalie studied his face. “How do you know so much about it?”

  “I did a three-day tour of Rome’s sights and sounds five years ago, and that was one of the stops. On the Appian Way, not far from this hotel. I remember it because of the gift shop. At the time, I remembered thinking that it was hokey. For some reason that stuck with me.”

  “We have to get going. Don’t want to miss our meet,” Natalie said.

  He closed his eyes. “You do this one without me. I’m going to sleep some more.”

  She swatted him with her pillow. “Come on. We’re leaving in five minutes. I’ll buy the late lunch. You’re welcome.”

  Steven opened his eyes to the vision of Natalie walking over to where her jeans lay. An elaborate tattoo of a highly-stylized parrot adorned her right shoulder, which Steven found made her even more alluring as she paraded around wearing little more than a smile.

  “You use the bathroom first. I’ll only take a second,” he said, not wanting to get out of bed with evidence of his interest prominent. She glanced at him, her eyes seeming to flit across the blanket, then wordlessly collected her jeans and wig and moved to the bathroom.

  They had their late lunch in the hotel restaurant, which did nothing to improve the reputation of hotel food, and then waited patiently for a cab. When it screeched to the curb in front of the hotel, Steven shook his head. Even after over half a decade in Italy, he still hadn’t gotten used to the driving ethos, which treated every moment behind the wheel as a competitive race.

  The trip to the San Calisto catacombs took ten minutes, and soon they were standing near the dreaded gift shop, among swarms of tourists from all over the world. The crowds were thinning as the day drew to a close, but it was still unpleasant to be in the milling concentration. After a few minutes of anxious waiting, Danny materialized from the road and honked, waving from his window. They opened the rear door and climbed in.

  There was no preamble. Danny eased the car onto the Appian Way and spoke to them over his shoulder.

  “I got a telephone call from the police today. Someone at the church talked and, without admitting anything, pointed the finger at me. Your prints were on the car at the murder scene, and they now record them in immigration whenever you enter the country, so they have your names. They naturally were wondering what I knew about you. I told them you contacted me on a routine surveillance job and requested help with after-hour access to the basilica. Beyond that, I knew nothing about you, or why you wanted to get in. Maybe it was a kinky fetish thing. They seemed satisfied for now, but I think it would be wise if you left Rome as soon as possible.”

  “I’m sorry, Danny. I didn’t mean to cause you any problems. We had no way of knowing that we were tailed or that murder was a possibility,” Natalie soothed.

  “Be that as it may, I’d make myself scarce. They asked for a description and I gave them as generic a rendition as possible. The truth is, I don’t know anything about you. When they asked how you found me, I said through the phone book. I have an ad.”

  “But why are they spending so much time on us? Surely they don’t think we killed Frederick?” Natalie asked.

  “They said you were ‘persons of interest’. My guess is that they’ve got nothing else, so they’re focusing on the details they do have. If you’d taken the car instead of leaving it there, they’d have had zero. It’s the prints that connected you. Otherwise you’d have just been a mystery couple I helped with a problem, who I know nothing about.”

  “All right. How much scrutiny can we expect?”

  “I talked to a contact in the department and, right now, they’ve only circulated your names to the force, which will trigger a cursory hotel check for your names. If you don’t turn up in a day or so, you can expect things to escalate, especially if they don’t find any leads on the killer. They may be slow, but they aren’t completely inept.”

>   “Then for now, we’re okay. But your advice to get out of Rome isn’t bad,” Natalie acknowledged.

  They passed through fields surrounding small residential developments until they arrived at the gates of a vineyard surrounded by a seven-foot high brick wall, with an ancient, crumbling building at the far end of the property. A man in overalls waited for them at the gate and, seeing Danny, opened it a few feet. Danny parked in the driveway and turned to face Natalie and Steven.

  “That’s Umberto. He’ll take you to the catacomb entrance. You’ll have an hour to view it. Here’s a flashlight…” He opened the glove compartment and checked it before handing it to Natalie. “He told me there are a few lights strung down there, but they haven’t been used in nobody knows how long. They were installed as a temporary measure decades ago. Remember, it’s a historical site, so no vandalism, right?”

  “Fine. But how will we know the crypt we’re looking for?” Steven asked.

  Danny shrugged. “Beats me. Ask Umberto. He knows the layout as well as anyone. They’re on his family’s property. If he doesn’t, you may find that this was all for nothing. There are a lot of passageways down there, from what I hear. Some of the catacombs go for many miles. Hopefully, you’ll find your way in and out with no problem. It would be a shame to lose you…” Danny smiled. “Don’t worry. Umberto says he hasn’t locked anyone down there yet.”

  They got out of the car and shook hands with Umberto, a wiry man in his sixties with deeply tanned skin and dirty, graying hair. Steven and he exchanged greetings as they walked down the drive. Fortunately, Umberto knew the crypt they were interested in. He described the rough location and told them to look for the elaborate frescoes of birds and grapevines.

  They approached the old building, in modest disrepair as so much of Rome was, and he led them through a brick corridor to an old iron door. He flourished a key ring and made a big display of unlocking the rusty deadbolt. The lights were already illuminated. He gestured to them to descend the rough stone stairs into the murky chambers below. Umberto reminded Steven that they had one hour, holding up a single finger for emphasis. Steven nodded, then led the way, Natalie following close behind.