The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI 5)

Roger Bannen had followed Dr. Isabella Marin and Dr. Wynn-Jones to the cafeteria and stood watching her while she waited at a small table for Wynn-Jones to bring her tea. Should he try to get her alone, ask her more questions, get more clarification on exactly what was in the quire pages and page 74? He took a step toward her, then stopped. No, Wynn-Jones was coming back with her tea. He didn’t want to deal with the old buzzard.

He turned into an empty corridor and pulled out his mobile, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. Roger wasn’t worried about a story anymore, or keeping his job at the bloody Sun. A couple of reporters came into the corridor.

Roger hurried outside. It was raining, but he didn’t notice. He punched in a number, drew a deep breath. The phone rang once, twice. Finally, a sharp voice, “What.”

“It’s been found.”

“What? What’s been found? What did you say?”

“The missing quire and page seventy-four, the only page cut out of the manuscript. A cryptologist unearthed the pages at the British Museum, in the archives. What are your instructions?”

“Who knows this?”

“The free world. A Dr. Isabella Marin found the pages. She claims the language is idioglossic, more specifically, cryptophasic, twin talk. Claims she’s going on a search to find the special twins who can read the Voynich, said she made this out on page seventy-four, said it was the key. She said something about how the loose pages had to be reunited with the stolen manuscript, begged the person who stole the Voynich to bring it to her at the British Museum.”

A sharp hiss of air. “Get the pages. All of them. Now.”

“There will be no way for me to get them. They’ll be under lock and key.”

“Since you appear incapable of performing this task for me, get me every bit of information you can on this Isabella Marin. I will acquire the pages myself.”

Incapable? Roger knew he’d only sound defensive if he argued. He said, “Certainly, sir. I will have a dossier for you this evening. Now, about my fee—”

“If the free world is aware of the lost pages, Mr. Bannen, why should you be paid a fee?”

Oh no you don’t, you blighter. “Is anyone else in the free world calling you right now?”

The cold-blooded laugh made Roger’s heart stutter. “Good point. Your bank account will receive a finder’s fee tonight. Now go.”

Roger went. He felt a punch of guilt. He hoped he hadn’t signed Dr. Isabella Marin’s death warrant.

The Voynich, twin talk? Was it true?

Roman Ardelean hung up the phone and closed his eyes at the galloping of his heart.

Finally. Finally.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Quire (n): Four sheets of paper or parchment folded to form eight leaves, as in medieval manuscripts.

—Oxford Dictionary

FBI Special Agent Ben Houston listened with half an ear to the older chemist, Dr. Hoag, from Princeton, run through the various methods his team had used to date the quire. Ben was familiar with their methods, being the former head of the art crimes unit for the New York Field Office, and now the art (and other things) expert for Covert Eyes. Whereas Dr. Marin had made her dramatic announcement short and sweet, Hoag was droning on and on. Few remained to listen.

He and Melinda were sitting at the back of the room. He leaned close. “This is amazing, imagine the Voynich written in twin talk. But only certain twins, and now Dr. Marin is on the search. Gleaned from this page seventy-four? I wonder if she will find the right twins who communicate cryptophasically—is that a word?”

He was nearly bouncing with excitement.

Melinda said, “I don’t know, do you believe her?”

“Why not? I know Dr. Marin is a renowned expert, spent her career so far with the Voynich. Do you doubt her?”

Melinda was frowning. “I’m not sure. I just felt she was holding something back.”

“Well, that makes sense. Why throw all your surprises out at one time? Melinda, thank you so much for bringing me here today.” He eyed her. “Did you know I worked the case of the stolen Voynich manuscript from Yale? That I became an amateur expert on the Voynich?”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Didn’t I tell you? As a member of Her Majesty’s Parliament, I’m required to know all specialized information about my lover.”