The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI 5)

She took a deep breath. “The pages were in my mother’s keeping. I was the strong twin, my sister the weak. Did she have the affliction? She died before it was known. But she heard the pages, too. My mother saw the pages upset me. And one day, soon after my sister died, she buried them so I wouldn’t hear them anymore.

“I found the pages after she died.”

“That is not the whole truth, Isabella.” Radu shrugged. “We can control so little in our lives, but through the Voynich we’ve gained unimaginable knowledge. It gave you power, didn’t it? Gave you precious knowledge no one else had? And in the back of your mind when you studied and deciphered, you knew you wanted greatness.”

“No, no, of course not.”

But they both knew she was lying.

The rapid PCR—polymerase chain reaction—machine testing Isabella’s DNA started to beep. Radu’s heart leaped into his throat. The printer kicked in with a mechanic whir, and a single sheet of paper slipped out.

He rushed across the room, held the scroll up to the light. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was everything they’d hoped for, for so long.

He shouted in English, “She’s a match. Iago, she’s a perfect, exact match. Get Roman in here.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

The British Museum

Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury

London

The entrance of the museum reminded Mike of the Parthenon, with its huge columns presided over by a triangular frieze. The massive courtyard was full of people; tourists and students, many segregated into groups with leaders, speaking different languages—a polyglot babble of voices.

Inside the glass doors was another large courtyard with walls painted a calming shade of green, lined with marble busts of Roman leaders. She wondered if they were replicas like they’d seen in Italy, with the real pieces stashed away where thieving hands couldn’t steal them.

The interior was stunning under a clear honeycombed metal roof, the huge white cylinder in the center.

Mike saw a young woman with a blond bun and glasses approaching her, saw the woman had been crying. How much had Ian told her?

“You’re the investigator from Scotland Yard? Please come with me.”

Mike didn’t bother to correct her, or show her creds. She followed her deeper into the museum, past the gift shop, past the donation box signs Mike read as they passed—The British Museum, free to the world since 1753.

There was a private elevator behind the stairs, staff only, Mike saw. The woman pressed the elevator button.

When the elevator doors shut on only the two of them, it was suddenly eerily silent. The woman turned and said, brow arched, “You’re not Scotland Yard.”

“You’re right. Special Agent Michaela Caine, FBI.” She pulled out her credentials, flipped them open. “What gave me away?”

“The gun. Plus, none of our Scotland Yard detectives have quite your style. I like your motorcycle boots.” She put out her hand. “I’m Phyllis Powers, Dr. Wynn-Jones’s personal assistant, have been for almost ten years now. What’s happened to Isabella?”

“We’re here to find out. I see you’re upset.”

“Yes, of course I’m upset. Everyone is horrified at Gil’s murder and her kidnapping. It’s too much, simply too much, and no one knows what’s going on.”

The doors opened, and Mike followed Powers down the hallway, up the stairs, and down another, smaller corridor.

Mike smelled the familiar, comforting scent of tea, and, sure enough, inside the office, there was a pot waiting. “Persy had to jump into a meeting, but he’s given me permission to share all we have, to help in any way. Tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Phyllis poured tea into a souvenir mug from the gift shop with BRITISH MUSEUM stamped on the side and handed it over. “Sugar, milk?”

“This is fine. I’m going to get right to it. We need as much information about Isabella Marin as you can provide—what she was working on, who her friends were.”

Phyllis Powers said very simply, “Isabella is a sweetheart, exceptional, frighteningly brilliant. She’s been working here for almost a year now, and she’s been a huge asset to Persy. She also had her first presser this week, on the newly discovered Voynich pages. It is ridiculous to think someone inside the community would attack them, but she was on television and all over our media resource page. Some disturbed person must have seen her and decided—”