Boucher’s forehead creased in concern. He was one of a select few who not only knew about Deep Blue—the one man the President trusted enough to run his new super-secret black ops team—but he also knew the man’s true identity. Chess Team however, had no ties to the Agency, and Boucher couldn’t think of a single reason why Deep Blue would contact him like this. There were other, much more direct routes of communication.
“I’m listening,” he finally said.
“The team recovered your missing contractor last night.”
“Sasha Therion?” Boucher’s anxiety eased measurably. “Alive and well, I hope.”
“That remains to be seen. There’s been a new development.”
Boucher listened without interruption, and when Deep Blue finished, he simply said: “I’ll make it happen.”
He then hung up and called for an emergency meeting with all senior department heads. Ten minutes later he addressed a conference room full of harried-looking staffers.
“As you all are no doubt aware, a few days ago one of our own, Field Officer Scott Klein, was murdered by a group of traitors. Sasha Therion, one of our contracted cryptanalysts was abducted in the same event.
“I’m pleased to say that last night, a Delta team rescued her. The team also recovered information relating to the development of an unspecified biogenic weapon.”
He briefly glanced at the Director of Sci/Tech, the only man in the room who knew the full details of what Sasha Therion had been sent to find. The man’s face creased in confusion at the seeming incongruity. No one else knew anything about the Voynich manuscript or what it purportedly contained, nor did they need to know.
A ripple of relief circled the room like a crowd wave at a sporting event. Boucher let them savor the news for a moment before dropping the other shoe. “At approximately 0900 Zulu time this morning—so about eight hours ago—our contractor and a Delta operator named Daniel Parker, went AWOL from Incirlik Air Force Base in Turkey. Their purpose is unknown, but it is believed that they might be on their way to the south of France, looking for a component necessary for the manufacture of the aforementioned biogenic weapon.
“It isn’t known at this point if Therion or Parker were involved in the original incident. They could be acting as free agents, or they might even be working under the assumption that they have the best interests of the nation at heart. Regardless of their motives, it is imperative that they be found and taken into custody.
“The Delta team will be handling the operational aspects; our job is to provide them with actionable intelligence—review video camera feeds, cell phone calls, get our assets in airports and train stations… Hell, get out a damn Ouija board, if it will help track them down.”
Boucher let that sink in for a moment before concluding. “Coordinate with my office for sectors of responsibility. Let’s make this happen, people.”
Boucher retreated back to his office and spent the rest of the morning assigning specific tasks to the different departments of his agency. He didn’t expect immediate results; it would take several hours to collect enough data to get started, and perhaps days to sift through it all. Worst of all, there was no guarantee of success, especially considering for whom they were searching.
Parker had received the very best training in escape and evasion techniques; if he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be.
FORTY-SEVEN
Shanghai, China
Rainer thumbed the button on his phone to end the call. He turned to face his employer with a satisfied grin. “We just caught a break that might make up for the disaster in Iran.”
The other man, who had been lounging on a couch and idly watching television, looked up with a frown at the implicit insult. “I work with what I have. We both agreed that it was too risky for you to make that trip. Obviously, our gangster friends weren’t up to the task of taking on the US Special Forces, but to be fair, we didn’t know they would be there.”
Rainer suppressed a chuckle. He had known; he had even said as much, but the billionaire had dismissed his concerns, claiming that Sigler and the others were almost certainly dead in Myanmar. Rainer hadn’t believed that for a second, if for no other reason than that he and Jack Sigler had unfinished business.
Still, going to Iran had been a risk he wasn’t eager to take, so he’d bowed to the other man’s wishes. While the triad soldiers, in the guise of a Chinese cultural delegation, were getting their asses handed to them, Rainer and his men had been indulging in a veritable smorgasbord of pleasures afforded to guests of the five-star Renaissance Shanghai Pudong Hotel, where they had been holed up since their escape from the facility in Myanmar.
He waved off the excuse. “My agency contact reports that Sasha has gone off the reservation, and she’s got help from Danny Parker.”
“Should that name mean something to me?”
“Parker was in my unit. He’s a good soldier and a smart guy, but I think he has a soft spot for Sasha. You know, she says ‘jump’…well, it sounds like he jumped.”
The billionaire still didn’t get it. “Why has she left?”
“The official word is that it has something to do with—get this—‘biogenic weapons.’ Does that sound familiar?”
The man’s eyes flitted back and forth as he pondered the news.
Rainer went on. “I think our girl solved the problem, and learned something important from the book. The Company is looking for her and Parker in the south of France.”
“France? What on Earth could be there?”
“I guess I’ll find out when I run her down,” Rainer answered confidently.
“Your decision to implant the RFID tracking chip in her when she was unconscious was fortuitous. That bit of foresight is going to pay off a huge dividend.”
“Yeah, well that’s me. Mr. Prepared. Speaking of which, I don’t want to get caught flatfooted like those jokers in Iran.”
His employer just smiled. “I think I can help you with that.”
FORTY-EIGHT
Vallon-Pont-d’Arc, France
Daniel Parker breathed in the cool air and turned slowly to take in the panoramic vista laid out before him. Thousands of years ago, the Ardèche River had cut through the soft limestone landscape, leaving a deep gorge, and although the river’s course had changed long ago, the place still remembered. He felt that it remembered something else too, something much more ancient.
Sasha got out of their rented Renault, but she didn’t seem the least bit aware of the magnificent scenery. Her attention was completely fixed on the strange device she placed on the hood of the car—really nothing more than a board on which several irregular looking quartz crystals hung suspended by fine copper wires. Roger Bacon had once possessed such a device, and he had probably stood with it on this very spot.
They had built Sasha’s version of the crystal array shortly after arriving in Paris, though hers was an upgraded model. The bare copper wires were spliced to a length of speaker wire that trailed from the microphone jack of her laptop computer. All she needed to do was push a button, and the computer would play a harmonic frequency that would vibrate in the crystals. The computer would then translate those vibrations into a graphic display, allowing for a much greater degree of precision than Bacon could ever have hoped for.
Sasha studied the display as she adjusted the position of the crystal device, just as she had done in Paris, from the roof of the hostel where they had spent their first night, and several times thereafter, to verify that they were on the correct path, following in Bacon’s footsteps.
They kept to the back roads and avoided human contact. Parker knew they were being hunted.
He gazed once more at the wooded slopes that ran up to the sheer walls of the gorge, wondering if they were being watched right now, and if so, by whom.
Sasha made a disapproving sound as she fiddled with the device. He watched her for a moment, marveling at her single-mindedness, then finally he asked, “What’s wrong?”
She pointed at the looming cliff wall to the north. “The signal is strongest in that direction, but it’s not strong enough.”
He circled around the car and looked over her shoulder. Based on her earlier calculations, they should have been practically on top of the Prime source, but sure enough, the crystals weren’t vibrating with the feverish intensity he expected. He turned the crystal array back and forth, but the action only had the effect of further diminishing the vibrations. He returned them to their original position and stared in the direction in which they were pointing.
Had Roger Bacon and Nasir al-Tusi been confronted with such a puzzle?
“Right at the cliffs,” he muttered. He tilted the array up, toward the place where the rock face met the sky, but once more the signal strength faltered.
No, not up, he realized with a growing sense of excitement.
He tipped the array so that it was angled down.
The pattern of oscillations on the screen practically exploded with intensity.
“You did it,” Sasha said, almost breathlessly.
He savored the rare praise. Despite all that he had done for her, Sasha still seemed unable to think of him in anything but the most utilitarian terms. He was a tool to help her accomplish her purpose, just as the CIA, the Delta team and even Rainer and his triad allies had been, each in their own way and without even suspecting it. This wasn’t a cynical calculation on her part; it was just how she was.
Driven.
His initial physical attraction to her had cooled somewhat over the course of their days together, but his fascination with both her intellect and her personality had grown stronger. She was an enigma, a puzzle even more intricate than the Voynich manuscript, and just as he had solved it, he would also solve her. He would give her what she wanted, and when she had it, he would unlock that part of her that was capable of compassion, friendship…and love?
Well, he could hope anyway.
Her elation faltered. “But I don’t understand. We have to go down? How is that possible?”
He scooped the array up and tucked it under one arm, then picked up the computer. “Let’s go find out.”
They left the road, skirted a small field of grape vines, and pushed into the pine forest. Parker thought he could feel the crystals vibrating against his skin. It was probably his imagination, fueled by the anticipation of success, but with each step forward, he could sense the energy of the Prime rising out of the ground, invigorating him and filling him with possibilities.
The woods ended abruptly at the foot of the cliff. Parker checked the array again; if the crystals were to be believed, the Prime lay somewhere within the limestone wall, perhaps fifty feet below them.
“Do you suppose this is as close as they got?”
Sasha’s brow furrowed, as if she had never considered this possibility.
“We could test it here,” he continued. “Try one of the formulae from the book. If it works, we’ll have our answer.”
She shook her head. “No. They found it. The book said they found it. You read it, too.”
He knew she was right. While the Voynich manuscript had been short on details about what and where the Prime was, nothing in the account suggested that Bacon and al-Tusi had been stopped short of their ultimate goal. They had found it; somehow, they had found a way into the Earth’s interior.
They skirted along the wall, scanning the rough limestone face for some shadowy niche, crevice or crack that might conceal a cave entrance. What they found instead, barely a hundred yards from where they started, was a door.
It was so incongruous that, for a few minutes, Parker could only stare in disbelief. There was a gray metal door with a U-shaped handle above a metal box with numbered buttons, pasted into a gap in the cliff face with dark concrete. It looked like the entrance to a utility corridor at a mall or an amusement park. Then he remembered where they were, and he realized what lay on the other side of the door.
He turned to Sasha, unable to contain his excitement at this revelation. “This is Chauvet Cave.”
She blinked at him, the name evidently ringing no bells.
Parker laid an almost reverent hand on the door.
Discovered in 1994, Chauvet-Pont-d’Arc Cave was the site of what was arguably the most impressive example of paleolithic art on Earth. Carbon dating of charred timbers—wood used for fires to illuminate the cave for the artists—dated back more than thirty thousand years, making the paintings in Chauvet Cave the oldest known examples of human artwork. The walls of the cave were adorned with extraordinary detailed images of horses, bears, panthers—more than a dozen different species of animals, many extinct. Some of the paintings seemed to represent mythical creatures, chimera combinations of beasts that had never actually lived on the planet, or perhaps, like the plants painted in the Voynich manuscript, had existed only here and only for a brief time.
He had read about this place in National Geographic. What was truly remarkable about the cave was how well it had been preserved. Similar discoveries across Europe, such as at the one at Lascaux, had been severely degraded by thousands of visiting tourists, but almost immediately after its discovery, Chauvet Cave had been locked up tight. Even the scientists authorized to conduct research on the site had to observe stringent procedures to minimize their impact.
Parker felt his excitement roll back like the tide. “‘Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further,’” he muttered.
“What’s that? Something from the manuscript?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s from the Bible…the Book of Job. Bacon and al-Tusi might have been able to get closer, but this is the end of the line for us.”
“It can’t be. We haven’t come this far to be turned back now. Can’t we break in?” She looked around, belatedly checking to see if they were being observed.
Parker balked momentarily at the cavalier suggestion; it wasn’t just the illegality of the action—he did illegal things on a routine basis in the interest of a greater good—but rather the immorality of it. This was a sacred place; a treasure to be preserved, not desecrated.
Yet, what if the very reason it had been venerated by those ancient artists was because it contained the thing they now sought? What if those primitive cave painters had, perhaps even without really knowing it, intuitively recognized that this place was a source of life?
The source of life.
Sasha was right. They had come too far to turn back now.
He stared at the door a moment longer, trying to think of the best way to get past it. He hadn’t been able to bring along explosives for a breaching charge; he didn’t even have a Swiss Army knife.
“Something’s not right here.” He turned to Sasha. “The original entrance to this cave was sealed up by a landslide about twenty thousand years ago. That’s why it’s so well preserved.”
“So?”
“So, this entrance wasn’t discovered until just a few years ago. And I would be willing to bet money that Bacon and al-Tusi didn’t come this way.”
“Then there’s another entrance?”
“Maybe. But I think there’s another answer; an answer worthy of the men who wrote the Voynich manuscript.” He offered her an outstretched hand. “Do you trust me?”
He saw immediately that she did not, not unreservedly. His heart sank like a stone. After everything he had done for her, all the risks and sacrifice… She still couldn’t find it in her heart to give him the benefit of the doubt. She stared at his hand warily, but finally took it, clasping his fingers as if to indicate that she would comply, but only on her own terms. Parker struggled back from the event horizon of his emotions, and he gave her hand an awkward squeeze. Then, he led her back the way they’d come.
Parker set down the computer. In response to an unspoken question, he said: “What do we know about the Prime? It’s a place where harmonic frequencies can be used to radically alter the composition of matter, right?”
“You don’t mean…?”
&nbs
p; “It’s what the alchemists were always looking for. They understood the connection, but they didn’t have the technological know-how. We already know that wave energy can have an effect on the states of matter; what do you think a microwave oven does? It causes water molecules to vibrate, which releases heat.”
Her eyes began darting back and forth, processing his suggestions, calculating. Then her expression changed.
Not just her expression.
He felt her hand shift in his, sliding up so that their palms were facing.
Then the moment passed. She let go and knelt at the computer, once more consumed by calculations that had nothing at all to do with him.
He heard the sound of her fingers tapping on the keyboard, but then he heard something else that drew his attention away. It wasn’t a distinctive sound, more of a change in atmosphere than anything else, but it chilled him nevertheless. He scanned the tree line and saw movement.
Then he saw people, and before he could utter even a word of warning, he recognized one of the men striding toward them.
Kevin Rainer.
FORTY-NINE
For just a few moments, Sasha felt the sublime satisfaction of a balanced equation. Order had come into her world at last. The Voynich manuscript had given up its secrets, and in so doing, had shown her the underlying arithmetic of the entire universe. She deftly entered information into the virtual urghan, instructing it to play a combination of notes—a specific low frequency sound—and then hit the key that would turn data into music.
The next sound she heard however was not a deep resonant bass tone, but a human voice; the voice of her former captor. “Hello again.”
Even before she could look up, a lighting bolt of pure chaos ripped through her. No. Not now. Not again.
Rainer and four other men stood in a semi-circle around her and Parker. She recognized two of the men—the two rogue Night Stalker crewmen—but the other two were not really men at all; short but massively muscled, they were the hideous science projects that the Chess Team had dubbed ‘frankensteins.’ The renegade soldiers were armed with compact machine pistols but the frankensteins needed no weapons.
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