The Voynich Cypher

by Russell Blake

  “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.

  CHAPTER 34

  Heat waves shimmered off the tarmac as the private Hawker executive jet set down on the runway of the Queen Alia airport in Amman, Jordan, its wheels smoking as they struck the scorching surface with a series of screeches. The summer temperatures were just beginning to hit the mid-nineties during the day, and temperatures could easily climb into the triple digits nearer the desert. Fortunately, the dust clouds from the freak winds, the notorious khamsins, had settled over the last few hours, and the flight arrived on time.

  Steven and Natalie deplaned along with Luca, trailed by two Templars that Luca had selected for the detail. Both were in their late twenties and had seriously athletic bearings. The most obviously out-of-place member of the group was Luca, who was the oldest and also the least agile.

  Natalie powered on her phone and made a quick call as they moved to customs, where the group was passed through as a formality. Luca had worked his magic, and they were welcomed as dignitaries in Jordan – a key archeological team associated with the Church, which had just made several lavish donations to some of the King’s favorite charities. Their luggage trundled in a cart towards the charter lounge baggage claim, and within several minutes they were outside in the arid day, watching for their ride to appear.

  A passenger van pulled to the curb followed by a Ford Expedition. The driver of the van got out, rounding the hood to greet Natalie with a hug before shaking hands with Steven.

  “Robert. Good to see you. Everything going okay?” she asked. Robert was Moody’s agreed upon cover name for the trip.

  “Been in beautiful Jordan for two days, and so far, no worries. Let’s get you loaded up and into the air-conditioning. You want to introduce me now, or later?” he asked, glancing at the rest of the group.

  “Robert, this is Luca,” Natalie said. “Luca, Robert. He’s an old friend and will be facilitating things for us on the trip.”

  Luca shook hands and eyed Moody warily. “I believe we already met on the train. Always nice to have facilitators helping out,” he said noncommittally.

  “Nice to meetcha.”

  “And these two are Arturo and Francois,” Natalie continued, gesturing to the young men.

  They quickly got the bags into the back of the SUV, and soon they were on the road, departing the city. The two vehicles moved at a moderate pace down the well-maintained highway as Moody briefed them.

  “We’ll be heading to the Dead Sea, then down the coast until we get to the parking area for the Wadi Al Mujib. There, we have a helicopter that will fly us to the coordinates Steven selected for the base camp. It will bring us in, and then return to Amman for the remainder of the supplies. It would take far too much time to hike to the camp location – days, in fact – and ATVs won’t make it due to the water depth in some of the sections. I have a satellite phone for communications; cells won’t work where we’re going.”

  “What’s the weather been like?” Steven asked.

  “Hot during the day and hot at night when the wind’s blowing off the desert. Otherwise, you see a thirty-degree drop in a matter of a few hours. Which sounds like a lot, but if it’s a hundred during the day that means it gets down to maybe seventy-two at night, if we’re lucky. So think of this as a warm-weather holiday, but without the nice hotel rooms, restaurants, or bathrooms and showers. We’ll haul our own water in – you don’t want to drink the water in the stream. It’s probably okay for bathing, assuming there are no parasites in it, but I’d advise using our water supply for that, too. The helicopter will keep it coming, and we’ll have a one week emergency supply in case the weather doesn’t cooperate.” Moody turned to Steven. “Any idea how long we’ll be in for?”

  “My guess is weeks. But no way of knowing.”

  “Then we should plan on establishing as comfortable a base camp as we can. It would have been nice to get more guys on the ground, but that was a problem, correct?” Moody asked, leaning his head towards where Luca was sitting.

  “Yes. On such short notice we were limited. The agreement was that we wouldn’t use any machinery or power tools, that we’d be discreet, and would leave the land largely as we found it. Six was the maximum number of people they would allow on the dig. Believe me, I pushed for another dozen, but it wasn’t possible,” Luca said.

  “Sounds like they were concerned about having a big camp tearing up the hills,” Natalie commented.

  “That was a part of it. But it also was really more the timing than anything. That, and we had to agree to leave anything we found in place, which we all know isn’t going to happen. So the fewer people around, t
he fewer witnesses, from our perspective,” Luca underscored.

  “I’d imagine the Jordanians will take the position that whatever we find is their property, being as it’s on their soil,” Steven pointed out.

  “Yes, but we’ve already taken care of that. We have been assigned an inspector from the state, who you’ll soon learn is nowhere to be found. He’s probably sitting at home counting his blessings at the newfound wealth he’s come into for filing reports saying nothing was located.”

  The highway came to an abrupt T intersection at the shores of the Dead Sea. They headed south, past numerous large hotels and spas. The area had been developed into a thriving tourist area, where locals and international visitors alike flocked to the complexes in droves.

  “Was that a Marriott?” Natalie asked as they sped by yet another massive group of buildings.

  “Yup. Unfortunately, we won’t be staying there. It’s tents and air mattresses for us,” Moody said.

  The four lane highway narrowed to two and became a steep drop off into the sea. Traffic was light, and once they passed the tourist zone it thinned to nearly nothing. Even with the air-conditioning belting out, they could all feel the heat radiating off the windows, and it ran through everyone’s minds that this would probably be the last time they’d be in a cool environment for a long while.

  Eventually, the vehicles pulled off at a dirt parking lot along the east side of the road, in front of a group of dilapidated red-painted buildings – bathrooms for the tourists. A few vehicles were parked abreast of them, but there was nobody to be seen other than a wizened old man who acted as the parking attendant.

  “We’re here,” Moody sang out as he shut the motor off.

  When they opened the doors, the withering heat that greeted them was like the blast from an oven, and the group reluctantly crawled out into the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. Moody made a call on his satellite phone, then turned to Steven. “Helicopter will be here in a few minutes.”