“It’s word of mouth from an unreliable source.”
“I know, Rasouli. King Dickhead of all the world.”
“That’s the one.”
“The thing is, I can’t see how the Saladin Codex can be connected to the nukes or anything related to nuclear science.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it’s a math book that was written in the twelfth century based on an even older book, and I’m no physicist, but I’m pretty sure the whole nuke thing came later than that.”
“Shit.”
“And,” added Bug, “it’s not even a good math book.”
“Meaning?”
“It’s a rewrite of a classic book called Al-Kitab al-mukhtasar fi hisab al-gabr wa’l-muqabala.”
Bug murdered the pronunciation, but I could make out what he meant. “The Compendious Book on Calculation by Completion and Balancing,” I translated.
“Right. It was written by some dude named Muhammad ibn Musa al-Khwarizmi, who was a noted mathematician of his time. Apparently ‘ al-gabr ’ is the original word for algebra, which is what the book is about. One of the earliest books on the subject, or maybe the earliest book on the subject.”
“Algebra,” I mused. “Physics is all about math, isn’t it? Physics and nuclear technology are kissing cousins…”
“Well-sure, but this is pretty basic stuff. Nothing that gives us direct insight into nuclear science. I mean, c’mon, I learned this stuff in tenth grade.”
“Okay, what about the Saladin Codex?”
“That was written in 1191 by someone named Ibrahim al-Asiri. He was a diplomat who worked for Saladin.”
“Rasouli mentioned Saladin,” I said, and explained what he’d said.
“Huh,” grunted Bug, unimpressed. “Anyway, al-Asiri was also a mathematician, but apparently not a great one. His book attempted to refute some of the theories from the earlier work. No one was buying it, though, because algebra isn’t a theory. Math is math.”
“Tell that to my tax attorney,” I muttered. “How’s this help us?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Joe, I don’t see how it does. Al-Asiri’s book was largely discredited. At most it’s a footnote in the history of math.”
“If it was dismissed, then why is it even a footnote?”
“Discredited,” Bug corrected, “not dismissed. And it was only that particular book that was discredited, not the author. Al-Asiri was a very important man from a very, very important family. He was second cousin to Saladin and was involved in many of Saladin’s most historically significant treaties during the Crusades.”
“Saladin’s name keeps coming up in this. Rasouli made a point of mentioning it, so maybe there’s a clue there,” I mused. “What about the word ‘Saracen,’ I know that relates, but how exactly?”
Bug tapped some keys. “Easy one. During the time of the Crusades the Europeans called all Muslims Saracens. Later that changed to Mohammadan and then Muslim. Purely a European word choice.”
“Okay. What about the other one? The Book of Shadows?”
“Yeah,” said Bug slowly, “that’s where we go out of the blue and into the black. And by black I mean magic. Or, maybe it’s white magic. What do I know from magic?”
“Magic?”
“Uh-huh. the Book of Shadows is the book of spells for witchcraft.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Serious as a heart attack, Joe. What the hell are you into over there? I mean… is the DMS suddenly at war with the forces of darkness?”
I thought about the freak with the fangs.
“Right now, Bug, I’d believe just about anything. Look-keep digging and get back to me with anything you find.”
I hung up and lingered in the alley for a moment wondering if Bug’s information moved me forward toward understanding or pulled a bag over my head.
“Witches. What do you think?” I asked Ghost.
He lifted his leg and peed on the wall.
“That’s what I figured,” I said.
We kept moving.
Chapter Forty
The Warehouse
Baltimore, Maryland
June 15, 1:48 a.m. EST
“Hey! I got something,” cried Bug as his image popped onto a view screen. His face glowed with excitement.
After signing off with Aunt Sallie, Circe had buried herself in the material from the flash drive, and Rudy had followed her in, picking up the thread of her logic and working with her on the psychological aspects of the case. They looked up from the semicircle of data screens.
“We’re in the middle of something, Bug-” Circe, began, but Bug overrode her.
“I’ve been tearing apart the documents on the flash drive,” he said. “At first there didn’t seem to be anything more than what we already had, but on a whim I matched the volume of data we’ve downloaded against the drive’s storage potential and there was a discrepancy.”
Rudy frowned. “Because some of the files were supposedly destroyed by moisture after Rasouli’s agent swallowed the drive, correct?”
Bug gave him a pitying stare. “Silly mortal. ’Destroyed’ is a relative term. Or, maybe it’s a term people who are a lot less super-genius smart than me use.”
“Bug,” warned Circe quietly.
“Yeah, yeah, okay. There’s more stuff on the drive than was openly indexed, and I’m not talking about real or faked damaged files. I’m talking about stuff that was coded to react like damaged files.”
“You lost me,” admitted Rudy.
“A file name is nothing but a piece of computer language. Zeros and ones, but arranged to create a readable name. When you give a file a name the computer writes that name in computer language, but here someone deliberately coded a few files so that their names appear as ‘read error’ warnings. That way they get hidden among the errors from the damage.”
“Devious,” Rudy agreed. “How many hidden files are there and what is in them?”
“There are ten files in two separate subfolders. One was marked BOS/SC, and I don’t think I have to go too far out on a limb to presume what that stands for.”
“You lost me again,” said Rudy.
“It was part of the verbal intel Ledger got from Rasouli,” explained Bug. “Rasouli made oblique references to two books, the Book of Shadows and the Saladin Codex. BOS/SC. Anyway, when I cracked the files I expected to find complete texts or abstracts, but instead I got nine scanned images saved as pdfs. Very low-res and muddy. The other file is weird. All I could find was a Word doc with two words written in English. ‘Fuzzy math.’ That’s it. I’m running some additional cleanup and deep extraction programs to see if there are other hidden layers, but so far, bubkes.”
“Fuzzy math?” asked Rudy.
Circe grunted. “The Codex is supposed to be questionable commentary on an exact science, right? That says ‘fuzzy math’ to me. Could be some code hidden there. You get anything from the Codex, Bug?”
“Not so far. We don’t actually have a copy of the Codex, so I can’t check to see if there’s anything buried in the text.”
“Damn. Who has one?”
Bug made a face. “There is exactly one copy and it’s in the National Museum in Tehran.”
“Crap,” said Circe. “Any full or partial scans online?”
“Not that I’ve found, but searching all foreign-language databases will take a little longer.”
“What about the other one?” asked Rudy. “The Book of Shadows. Surely I’ve heard of that somewhere…”
Circe nodded. “It’s the book of spells used in Wicca.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” complained Rudy, flapping a hand. “Really? We’ve done zombies, clones, and mutants, now the DMS is squaring off against black magic?”
“Don’t laugh,” said Circe with surprising heat. “And stop being so Catholic for a minute. Wicca isn’t devil worship or black magic. That was all medieval propaganda created to suppress the rise of education among women. And even the concept of ‘black’ magic is completely unconnected to the modern Wicca, which is earthcentric and practiced according to positive energy and harmony with nature.”
Rudy held up his hands, palms out. “Mea culpa.”