"Shortly," he replied. "But first, I want to talk to you for a moment. Considering that this is our first meeting and your obvious contempt for me, I think that we should try to hash some things out before inviting the others into the conversation."
Rebecca didn't want to hash anything out but felt she had no choice. "Okay. What do you want me to say?"
"Nothing that you don't want to," Corbin responded. His face was very soft now, which made it difficult for Rebecca to build her internal rage for the man.
"Well what do you want to know?" she asked.
Corbin nodded and thought about the question as if he may only get this opportunity once. "I would like to know why you are here."
That was the one question she didn't want to answer. Her face showed it. Rebecca began to stammer as she tried to give him a bogus response. "I needed help. There was nowhere else to go."
Corbin nodded and said: "I think I know how much it pains you to be here right now—and I'm sorry for that. I wish things would have started differently for the two of us, I truly do, but all things begin in their own time. There's no controlling that. But with that said, I know how much you probably want to get your old life back and to pretend we never met. Am I right?"
Rebecca was powerless to respond. He was right, but he was also wrong.
"I know that you had a real father, a true father, and I also know that you lost him. And I would never pretend that I could ever replace him even with all of the years I have left in my life."
You can't replace him, Rebecca wanted to say.
"But with that said, I think there is much to be gained by our getting to know each other. I was never given the opportunity to be there for you," Corbin said sadly, "and I accept that as the Universe's will. However, here we are, right now. You are here and I am here, together as we sit on this bed." He then seemed to struggle with what was to come next. "I would like nothing more than to have a relationship with you, Rebecca, if it would please you. Despite all that has transpired since your birth, we are blood. All that I ask from you is a chance to prove that I can be as loyal and as caring for you as your previous father." Corbin had completely made himself vulnerable at this moment. "If there is anything I can do to have this opportunity, please do ask it of me."
Rebecca was beside herself with confused emotion. He represented the very thing that she was raised to despise and yet he was also her biological father. She knew what she wanted; she wanted this whole ordeal to be over. Rebecca wanted to forget that any of it happened; she wanted to forget that her biological father was a Heretique. Rebecca wanted her life back. It was then, that Rebecca knew what to say. "If everything you said is true, and that you want to prove to me that you can care for me as my father once did," she said.
"I do," Corbin reaffirmed.
"Then let me negotiate your capture so that I can get my life back."
Corbin didn't appear to have a reaction to her terms, which surprised Rebecca. It was almost as if he had known this would be coming.
"If you want to protect me," Rebecca continued, "then give me my life back."
"I can give you your life back by surrendering?" Corbin said calmly.
"You asked why I was here," she continued, "that's why. I came here to find a way to turn you into the Ministry. If you do that, then I will know that you truly care for me over any agenda that has kept us separated for the last twenty-eight years."
It made sense. His absence from her life was directly motivated by his agenda with the Heretique. If he were willing to give it up, then she would know that he truly cared for her.
Corbin didn't say anything else. He simply rose from the bed and then gave Rebecca a warm smile, which was like dowsing a fire with cold water. "We'll reconvene shortly," he said.
Rebecca took his no response as a sign that he needed to meditate on the answer. "Okay." She then looked down at the d-reader and remembered what they were supposed to discuss. "Do you want to take a look for yourself?" she asked and held it up toward him.
Corbin shook his head and said: "Like it says in the beginning: it's for your eyes only. No one else needs to be reading it." He walked to the door. "Someone will get you when it's time."
Rebecca nodded and watched him leave. An unexpected awfulness filled her soul. Corbin took it too easily. He was not the man she had built up in her mind. But now he was making her wait again. The waiting was the worst part. Rebecca wanted to get on with their discussion. She wanted to learn more about William Coulee, or at least what they presumed to know.
Sighing and laying back down, Rebecca stared up at the ceiling in frustration with everything. Disarray, was what she thought. My life is in disarray. Little did she know that the disarray would end soon.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
A storm appeared to be forming outside, as Rebecca noticed. Far off in the distance she heard faint cracks and rumbles of thunder. It was odd to her. She knew so little about the Vriezen but assumed that the extreme cold climates wouldn't get thunderstorms. Shows how little I know, she told herself and then continued reading:
*******
It took a while for us to leave the tarmac. Jackson had to do quite a bit of negotiating with the Turkish control tower in order to get us moved up in the procession of planes waiting to depart.
I felt an over whelming sense of relief that the trip was finally coming to an end. I was heading back to New York and couldn't have been happier about it.
While we were waiting for our turn to take off, I placed the box onto an empty padded seat in order to see if my effort was for something. The wood was rough feeling and had a thin layer of dirt on it instead of polish. There were no clasps keeping it shut, just several metal hoops and two brass pins. There was an opening in the hoops that would allow a small knob on the pins to pass through when aligned correctly. I weaved the knobs through and pulled both pins free.
It was the moment of truth.
The lid lifted off the box and revealed a gray-blue burlap looking cover with tarnished brass on all four corners. Etched into the cover were three triangles making up a single, larger triangle.
Carefully, and quite gently, I lifted the cover as far as the box would allow. Underneath was a surprisingly thin stack of unevenly trimmed yet tightly bound papers. There appeared to be around a hundred or so pages. They were yellow and brittle to the touch but other than that they looked like they were kept in pretty good condition. Nothing like I had expected.
On the first sheet was writing that looked much like the type I found carved into the walls inside the pyramid in Visoko, which greatly lifted my spirits. There was also a repeat of the triangles making up the majority of the page. The writing on the page surrounded this rendering. I wanted to lift the page to see what was underneath but was afraid of causing any damage. So I decided to replace the lid and wait for the professionals to extract them.
Regardless of how little I saw, the contents of the box brought about a new feeling inside of me. For the first time since my decision to go to Iraq, and since my first meeting with you, I felt the excitement of the unknown; or better yet, a renewed sense of excitement. Maybe the book gave instructions on how to become a divine being, or maybe it gave instructions on how to make a divine stew. Anything was possible. That's what made it so exciting. The ignorance was bliss. It allowed me to dream for as long as the flight lasted—for the dreaming was something I had missed dearly. I had not dreamt since your death. I had not dreamt since I realized that the world had gone completely mad, since my realization that the religious narcotic had intoxicated the world. But with that said, even that was reopened to possibilities. Even religion had its shot at redemption. Maybe the texts would reveal their underlying good—their purpose for existence. Maybe I could have renewed faith for the afterlife—that there truly was order to all the madness. I was dreaming again and if nothing else, that was good enough.
*******
The plane touched down at the Westchester County Airport at roughly six
in the morning. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon and a new dawn was born. There wasn't a cloud in sight and the sky was a gradient of oranges, pinks, purples, and blues.
After we took flight from Istanbul I had contacted Mr. Vermil via the phone on his plane and gave him the full scoop of everything that had transpired. He told me that the attack at the mosque made national news. I asked him if he had anything to do with the sudden arrival of security forces at the mosque. He told me that one of his warnings might have made it through to some of Turkey's top security advisors. I had not realized how powerful Mr. Vermil was until that very moment.
As we taxied along the tarmac, I saw a black Town Car—much like the one I had rode in to the airport before my flight to Bosnia—waiting for my arrival. The driver courteously opened the door for me and offered a cup of coffee, which I gladly accepted. The driver took me out of the airport and south to get on the highway that led straight west to Tarrytown. He asked how the flight was and began talking about the past couple of days' weather: mild, boring, perfect. I was guessing he used to be a taxi driver before falling into the service of Mr. Vermil.
We arrived at the Lyndhurst Castle in twenty minutes time and outside the front doors was Rory, just as before. He greeted me with a smile and opened the door. "Good morning," he said as if I was on holiday. Rory gave a quick visual examination of my physical condition and offered to have a doctor come to the house. He then escorted me to Mr. Vermil's suite.
Inside I found Professor Haggins and Iah Vadimas already there and waiting. The excitement on both men's faces, when they saw the box, said volumes.
"Well done William, very well done indeed," said Professor Haggins as he patted me on the shoulder. It was Iah, however, that couldn't remove the smile from his face. "I can't believe it's finally found! So many years searching, so many . . ." but then he stopped, ". . . this is a good day."
When Mr. Vermil had contacted them he warned not to mention the trip to either Simon or Dr. Thatcher out of concern that they might be working with Bertók. Unbeknownst to me, Simon's company Aeronyte was the sole distributer of fighter jets to the Bosnian military. He was well connected to the politicians there and might have some connection to what had happened. Mr. Vermil felt it best to leave him out until we could certify his allegiance to Project Renew Our History.
"Let's take a peak, shall we?" Professor Haggins insisted. He then walked over to the box and removed the pins.
Iah looked down at the lid and smiled. "It fits perfectly. The ancient ouroboros is the lost ring for the Order of Thoth. The ouroboros represents the cyclic nature of the Universe. It's the Samsara, the ever-repeating process of life. The masters of the ring are the masters of the Samsara."
"Excuse me?" I said. It was the first time I had heard of the Samsara. "What does that mean?"
"Thoth was an enlightened being. In Buddhism, in order to reach enlightenment, one must master the Samsara, which is the cyclic flow of life. The Buddhists refer to it as the endless flow of reincarnation."
"So then, to master the Samsara one stops himself from being reincarnated?"
"Not stops," Iah said, "it's kind of complicated. You see—"
"Gentlemen," Mr. Vermil had cut in, "maybe we can continue this conversation after we have a look inside the box. Poor Professor Haggins looks to be dying from impatience."
I looked over to the jolly man who did appear to be quite anxious.
"I'm sorry gents," he said, "but we came all this way to see this most important text of texts. I simply have no more patience." He then finished removing the lid and gazed down at the rugged cover of the book. "Absolutely fascinating!"
Iah quickly peered in as well but his facial expression was less than enthusiastic. "Excuse me Professor," he said with some concern and leaned in closer. He cranked his neck around in order to see the book from multiple angles and then said: "Is this right?"
My heart dropped through the floor. "What do you mean?"
Iah didn't answer and continued to carefully prod for more details. Professor Haggins looked slightly confused too. "Well it definitely looks the way I had imagined," he said. "It's most certainly a codex from as early as the fifth century. Probably more likely that it's from the late medieval era."
"Wait a second," I said, "what do you mean?"
"Well, most codices are actually copies of much older works. It's very likely that what we have here is a copy of the original scrolls passed onto them."
"No, that's not what I meant," I said. "I wanted to know what Iah meant."
He looked up at me as if I had just dragged him out of some deep concentration. He hesitated before answering: "The book appears to be too thin." He placed a hand near the cover and said to Professor Haggins, "Do you mind?"
Professor Haggins looked unsure but then said: "Uh, yes, it's fine. Go right ahead, just be careful."
Iah opened the cover and revealed the first page. His eyes bounced around to the copy surrounding the triangle as if he was looking for something familiar.
"You don't think this is the whole book?"
"In the Order of Jambres, we have documented our achievements in a single handbook, if you want to call it that. It is over one thousand pages. So you can probably see my surprise when the book inside this box looks no more than a hundred pages in size."
"Could it have been divided?" I asked.
"If the book was divided it would not have been done by the Ottomans," answered Professor Haggins.
"Why not?" I asked.
Iah straightened up a bit and said: "The better question would be why split it up. If the Ottoman's had the entire book, then why break it apart?"
I instantly thought about something mentioned at our first meeting: "Could it have been the Cathars?"
"The Cathars?" Professor Haggins said, perplexed.
"Yeah; didn't Simon say that four Cathars had escaped the siege at Montségur? Could they have split the book? Instead of going in four different directions with only one person holding the book—throwing off the Catholic Church—maybe they had split the book up so that no single person had the entire thing."
Everyone thought about it for a moment and then Mr. Vermil began to smile. "Good form, William."
"Yes," said Iah in agreement, "the book could have been broken into fourths. That would definitely make more sense. Four Cathars took the book in four different directions, which would mean we have only one fourth of the text. But then I should say, what happened to the other three-fourths? Where did they go?" He laughed but it seemed the laughter was more out of frustration than humor. "I have spent seven years looking for this book. This is the closest I've come and it took the help and ingenuity of so many. How in God's name are we to find the other three parts if it took this long to find just one?"
Mr. Vermil added: "And you can rest assure that Bertók is out there—right now—trying to figure out how to get this part for himself."
Professor Haggins returned his attention to the codex inside the box and perused its written copy. I watched him lean closer and lift his glasses away from his eyes. A smile formed on his face just before saying: "I've seen this writing before."
The entire room fell silent.
Professor Haggins continued looking at the first page and said: "Yes, I most certainly have seen this before. My goodness what an incredible discovery this is."
"Where?" Iah asked anxiously—we were all waiting anxiously.
Professor Haggins looked up and returned his frames to their proper place. "I believe this writing is a form of Voynich."
"What's that?" I said.
"Voynich is a man, William. He discovered a mysterious codex in the very early twentieth century, much like the one we have here. It was scripted using an unknown language, which we refer to as Voynich."
"Where did it come from?"
The Professor arched his eyebrows in a manner that suggested he didn't have an answer. "No one knows for sure. There are all kinds of speculation, of
course, but nothing definitive. But as I seem to remember, it was first noted to have been discovered in what we now know as the Czech Republic." Professor Haggins pulled out his cell phone and tapped the screen a few times before walking over to me and holding it up: "Here, this is Voynich."
I looked at the small screen and saw an image of what looked like a fully painted plant with text surrounding it. The page looked very much like the first page of the book in our possession. "You're right, this does look similar."
"Yes, well, if I'm correct then it only means we solved a very small problem and opened a much larger one."
"How so?"
"Voynich is indecipherable," the Professor said. "Hundreds have tried and none have succeeded, which had led many to believe that the text is nothing more than a hoax."
"A hoax?" I said in disbelief. I looked from the image on the cell phone and then to the book in the box. "This can't be a hoax."
"I agree. Never mind the coincidence, computer analysis has shown that there is an intelligible language written in Voynich. It failed to decipher it but proved that it can be deciphered. Yet, despite those results, people still speculate its authenticity."
"Okay, but let's just pretend these two codices are related, does that mean we know where half of the Book of Thoth is then?"
Professor Haggins laughed slightly, "Well, in theory, yeah."
"So then," I said, "the next question is: where's the other half?" But there was no immediate answer to that. Had the professor or anyone else known we wouldn't have been discussing it.
I walked over to the book in the box and reexamined the cover.
"What are you doing?" Iah called out from across the room. His inquiry was more curious sounding than concerned.
I told him: "I'm trying to understand what this triangle means. It looks like the Citgo gas station logo."
The Sinner King: Book of Fire Page 33