“I understand completely.” Meikle put on his reading glasses, but peered over the top of the lenses as he examined the book. “Interesting.” After a few minutes of silent study, he looked up. “I assume you’ve tried the usual suspects?”
Isla nodded. “Simple substitution, Caesar Shift, all the common ones I could think of. No joy.” Beside her, Grizzly nodded knowingly. She wondered if he actually had any idea what she was talking about.
Meikle stared at the page for a few more silent minutes. Suddenly, he dropped the notebook onto the desk, grabbed a legal pad and a pencil, and began scribbling furiously. Occasionally he paused, frowned, gave his beard a twist, and then got back to work.
Several minutes went by. Grizzly leaned in close to Isla and mouthed, “Do we need to be here for this?”
Isla had been wondering the same thing, but she didn’t appreciate her new partner asking the question. She smirked and pointed to the door. She hoped her message was clear. Go on and leave. No one’s stopping you. Unfortunately, he either didn’t take her meaning or, more likely, didn’t wish to leave without her.
Finally, Meikle breathed a soft, “Ah!”
Isla sat up a little straighter, hoping he’d made a breakthrough. Her heart sank as the man turned and began clicking away at his ancient keyboard.
At long last, he turned to face them, his face splitting into a wide grin.
“Did you crack it?” Grizzly asked.
“I have not yet deciphered the code,” Meikle said with exaggerated patience. “But I can say with a fair amount of certainty that this is a Vigenère Cipher.”
Grizzly was once again a bobblehead at the edge of her vision, but Isla pushed away her annoyance. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s not very well known. In fact, it was once believed to be impossible to decipher. The secret is a five-letter keyword used as a starting point.” He paused. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what that word might be?”
Isla hesitated. She thought about the code, the Tuatha, and the treasure. A single five letter word sprang to the forefront of her mind. But to reveal it would mean revealing to Meikle the nature of her quest. She immediately realized her folly. He’d know what they were about as soon as he deciphered the code.
“Dagda,” Grizzly said.
Isla flashed an angry look in his direction. It was one of the words she’d thought of. It’s not that she wasn’t going to tell Meikle; she simply wanted to be the one in charge. She sighed, knowing she was being childish.
“Either Dagda or Nuada,” she said.
Meikle pursed his lips, stared at her for five uncomfortable seconds. Finally, he turned back to his computer. “Where did you get this code, Isla?” Forced nonchalance filled his voice.
“There’s not a simple answer to that. It’s the culmination of a lot of research and digging. You know…”
“…the family tradition.” Meikle’s shoulders sagged. “You’re not just chasing legends this time. You’re after the treasure of the Tuatha de Dannan, aren’t you?” Before she could reply, he held up a hand. “I don’t want to know. But I would discourage you from this path if I could.”
“Why is that?” Grizzly asked.
“It’s a fool’s errand, and a dangerous one at that.”
“If it’s truly a fool’s errand, then why is it so dangerous?” Grizzly persisted. “What’s so deadly about the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?”
“Because,” Meikle said, turning in his chair to once again face them, “there are other fools who also believe in leprechauns.”
“Fair enough,” Grizzly said. “Did you decipher the code?”
“I did. Nuada was the keyword.”
Isla felt a flash of triumph that Grizzly’s offering had been incorrect. Stop being a child, she told herself. “What did you find?”
An odd expression passed over Meikle’s face, as if he didn’t want to tell them. He flashed a look of trepidation at Isla, but the damage was already done. Over his shoulder, she could see the answer on his computer screen. She provided the answer for him.
“Seek ye beneath Dun Monaidh.”
Walter Meikle sat stock-still, smile firmly in place as Isla and her buffoon of a friend left his office. It was a shame, really. He’d known Isla’s parents for a long time. In some ways, Meikle probably knew them better than she did. For that reason, he hated what he was about to do, but he had no choice.
“Should I have told her?” he whispered aloud. “Or would the knowledge put her in even greater danger?” He shook his head. He had no answer to either question, and it wasn’t his place to make that decision. Not unless he wanted to potentially put his head on the chopping block.
He waited five heart-pounding minutes until he was certain the pair had gone. He couldn’t have them returning unannounced and overhearing any part of the call he was about to make.
Hands trembling, he dug into the bottom of a desk drawer and took out an old address book. He flipped to the D’s and found the entry for Dominic’s Pizza. Both the name and the number had been struck through, but that was merely for show.
He took a deep breath, took out his phone, and punched in the number. It rang once and then someone picked up. No one spoke.
He cleared his throat and forced a hoarse “Hello?”
No answer. Was that someone breathing on the other end? He might as well try the code word.
“Tuatha,” he said, with more conviction than he felt.
“Hold please.” So there was someone at the other end.
Three rings and then someone picked up. More silence. Was common courtesy foreign to these people?
“This is Walter Meikle.” Annoyance lent strength to his words.
“Well?” the voice said.
What was it with these dobbers? He’d been told, in no uncertain terms, to call this number if he should learn anything of value, and now they treated him as if he were an inconvenience.
“There has been a breakthrough in regard to certain items of historical value. I was told to call this number.”
“Tell me,” the speaker said in a clipped voice.
Meikle gave a brief sketch of the meeting that had just ended. He didn’t mention Isla Mulheron by name, nor did he make mention of Smokey or whatever the American called himself. He kept it simple: the daughter of a former colleague had brought him information, a clue written in a cipher — a message which he’d managed to decrypt. He added a general description of the pair, enough that they could be recognized.
“And we can rely on this source?”
“Her father was reliable. This was a part of his papers.” Meikle swallowed hard. That was not precisely what Isla had said. In fact, she hadn’t said where she got the information, only that it related to her family’s research. Why had he lied? Perhaps he should correct himself. No. That would only lead to more problems.
“Are you there?” the voice asked. “I said, I’m listening. What is this clue?”
Meikle relaxed. “Dun Monaidh.”
Chapter 11
Drooping lavender flowers in window boxes and hanging baskets partially obscured the illuminated sign that marked Maggie Dickson’s Whisky and Ale House, a tiny pub on Grassmarket Square. This busy, yet picturesque section of Edinburgh’s Old Town featured pubs, shops, clubs, and hotels. Tourists mingled with locals going about their daily business. Here amidst buildings from the sixteenth century all the way up to recent vintage, Maddock felt the weight of history and truly appreciated how young his own country of origin was by comparison.