There was an infallible logic to the answer, and that appealed to Sasha, but it hardly justified what had been done to her. “You had all those people killed, just so you could get me here?”
Her host glanced nervously at Rainer, but then his expression hardened. “Maybe I haven’t made myself clear to you, Ms. Therion. I get what I want, no matter the cost.”
She swallowed. “I understand.”
“Good.” He put his hands on his hips and looked around the room as if to collect his thoughts.
“So what do you want? From me, I mean.”
The man gestured again at the computer. “The object in those photographs was discovered last year in a crypt in the Yunnan Province of China — just a few hundred miles from here, actually. As you can see, the artifact has markings on it that are identical to those found in the Voynich manuscript. It’s badly damaged of course, but there are eight definite matches, and another fourteen probable matches, to Voynich script. I’m sure you, of all people, understand how significant that is.”
She stared at the computer screen as it continued to cycle through the images of the strange object. “What exactly is it?”
“That is one of the questions I am hoping that you will be able to answer. Our best theory is that it is an antique code machine.”
Sasha pondered that. The existence of a machine designed to facilitate enciphering or deciphering was not beyond the realm of possibility, but it seemed unlikely in this instance for the simple reason that the Voynich script remained so unique. If it had been produced using a machine, then surely other documents would have been found utilizing the elaborate — and still impossible to decrypt — substitution alphabet.
More unknowns.
Then she realized that the function of the device didn’t matter nearly as much as the simple fact of its existence. It was tangible proof that the Voynich manuscript could be deciphered…it was meant to be deciphered.
By her.
Sasha felt as if someone had wiped her mental chalkboard clean. All the uncertainty surrounding her abduction, the actions and motives of her captors, even her ultimate fate when all of this was done…all of those variables had been erased.
“I need to see this machine. The real thing, not just pictures. Can you arrange that?”
The man regarded her with a taut expression, as if it was he that now harbored uncertainties about the situation. “Ms. Therion, because I want you to be able to solve this problem for me, I’m going to be straightforward with you.
“The sealed crypt in which this object was found, was infected with a particularly nasty strain of proto-bacteria — an organism very similar to the bacteria responsible for bubonic plague. The first people to enter were exposed and died in a matter of minutes.”
“There’s a connection between the manuscript and the plague?” Sasha recalled her earlier conversation with Daniel Parker. The document that had prompted the Agency to send her to Iraq in the first place, had suggested just such a link, but following Rainer’s act of treachery, she had assumed it to be just so much window dressing to sell the deception.
“There is…let’s call it a circumstantial connection. Archaeological sites contain all kinds of strange things — bacteria, fungi, viruses, even prions, which have been hidden away for thousands of years. Investigating those ancient mysteries is my specialty, though in this case, my motives are…” He trailed off as if realizing he’d said more than he intended. “I tell you this only because you need to understand that you can’t interact directly with the artifact. It’s here, in the facility, but it is still hot. Any attempt to decontaminate it would probably destroy it completely. Bio-safety level-four protocols are in effect. The closest you will be able to get to it is in a full environment suit.”
Sasha nodded in agreement without even considering the pre-condition. She didn’t care about the safety considerations; she was here for just one thing. The Voynich manuscript was a mystery that seemed unsolvable, a variable that kept the equation from balancing.
But she would solve it, and when she did, it would transform chaos into order.
FIFTEEN
Domenick Boucher sank wearily into the chair at the conference table in the White House Situation Room, and gestured for his traveling companion, Staff Sergeant Lewis Aleman, to do the same. Despite the fact that Aleman’s right arm was heavily bandaged and nestled in a protective sling across his chest, he looked alert and ready for action, which was more than Boucher could say for himself. He’d caught a few hours of sleep on the flight back from Iraq, but anxiety over the unfolding crisis had robbed him of anything vaguely resembling rest.
Despite his injuries and over the protestations of the doctors at the base in Tikrit, Aleman had insisted on accompanying Boucher back to the states. “I need to be a part of this,” the Delta sniper had argued. “If I can’t be in the fight, then at least let me coordinate the mission from the TOC.”
There was a lot to recommend granting the request. Aleman was familiar with the team and their protocols, but more importantly, he was already read in. With the full extent of the conspiracy still unknown, Aleman was one of a very few people that were above suspicion. Until more was known about the enemy, secrecy was paramount. That was why the President had directed the operation be run from the Situation Room.
Boucher was in the process of establishing a secure satellite link with General Keasling when the President entered the room. Aleman immediately snapped to attention and somehow managed to extricate his hand from the sling to offer a salute. Boucher also started to rise but Duncan waved him off.
“I’ve only got a few minutes, so let’s dispense with all the formalities.” Duncan nevertheless returned Aleman’s salute. “Sergeant, as one shooter to another…helluva job. I promise you that your sacrifices will not be forgotten, and I will see that the deaths of your teammates are avenged.”
“Yes, sir.”
Duncan turned to Boucher. “Do we have the General on the line?”
Keasling’s voice issued from the speakers. “I’m here, Mr. President.”
“Good. Let’s have the sitrep, gentlemen.”
Boucher went first. “We’ve conducted preliminary forensic testing on the intel recovered from Ramadi, but there’s nothing conclusive. The paper and ink are of the same type available for civilian use in Iraq. The only trace DNA evidence was from the people that we know handled it: the Delta team and our own analysts.”
“Wouldn’t that support the idea that it was a forgery?”
Boucher nodded. “The most likely conclusion is that Lt. Col. Rainer created the document and planted it during the course of the raid. But it’s also possible that the insurgents were working with him — sacrificial lambs, so to speak — to further reinforce the illusion.”
Duncan frowned. “Let’s cut to the chase. Is there a WMD lab out there somewhere?”
Boucher knew the President well enough to recognize that the man wanted a truthful answer, but he hated having to admit to his own uncertainty. “I wish I could say unequivocally that there is not, but…”
“I read you, Dom. Keep digging.” Duncan turned away, directing his voice toward the speaker box. “Mike, what’s your situation?”