“We’re working on it. My network is handling this even as we speak,” Frank said. “I will share more once we meet in Tehran.”
That had been three days ago. He wished he could turn back the clock and confront Twain himself about the change in plans on the Scroll, but nobody got to do things over. Frank had been occupied by other matters — critical matters that demanded his attention and which would come to the fore once the Scroll was located and the translations from it were obtained. It was a shame things had rapidly gone from controllable to chaotic, but in the end he’d prevail. He always did.
Frank felt a renewed sense of confidence as the buildings of Tehran loomed below. His team was pulling out all the stops in their search. Twain’s daughter would be located. Of this, Frank was sure.
He just hoped that they would find her before the Order of the Holy Relic got to her first.
CHAPTER 9
Steven opened the door to his offices for Natalie, fumbling with the baguettes and coffee while Natalie walked into the building, clutching a leather bag.
Gwen Peabody rose from her desk and briskly approached Steven, taking the bread from him and glancing at the new female arrival.
“Hullo,” Gwen chirped at her.
Natalie only offered a nod. Steven glanced around the red brick interior of the old building, which had been gutted and converted into a single large workspace. The section nearest the entrance housed a reception area and a group of computer stations, arranged in a semi-circle on the polished concrete floor and occupied by the other residents of the office. All three now turned to regard Steven.
“Hello, gang,” Steven said. He turned to Natalie. “Ms. Twain, I’d like you to meet Gwen Peabody; she’s my office manager and is responsible for anything that goes right in my life on a day-to-day basis.”
“Nice to meet you, Gwen,” Natalie said. “Natalie Twain.”
Gwen made the connection instantly. “Ah, immediate relative, I would guess, of Professor Winston Twain. His…daughter?” She appraised Natalie more closely. “Or granddaughter?”
“The very same. His daughter,” Natalie answered.
“He called our office the other day. How is your father?”
“At peace,” Natalie said cryptically.
“Professor Twain passed away a few days ago, Gwen,” Steven said softly, and then looked to his three other employees.
“Oh,” Gwen said, deflated, and at a momentary loss of words. “I’m…so sorry.”
“Thank you,” Natalie replied.
Steven turned to his team, who were watching him expectantly.
“Ben Walker, Will Donahue and Sophie Lipton,” he introduced.
Sophie, a stout black woman of twenty-six, whose fondness for Italian pastry was clearly evident, smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Pleased to meet you, Natalie.”
“Likewise,” Natalie replied good-naturedly.
Ben smiled and said, “We’re the tragically underpaid and perennially overworked elves who make the software work. I’m Ben, and that’s Will.” He nodded his head in the direction of Will, who was busily typing on his keypad even as he glanced at Natalie in acknowledgement. Ben was tall and lanky, even seated, and had a scar running from his forehead down to his lower lip. Will was thin and pale, with a three day growth of sparse beard, and iPod headphones blaring metal music in his ears.
“Nice to meet everyone,” Natalie said.
“Natalie, let’s step into my office; this way, please…” Steven moved ahead of her to a room at the far end of the cavernous work area.
Natalie strode behind him, still holding her soft leather satchel.
Gwen looked to Natalie. “May I take that for you?”
“Thank you, I’m fine,” Natalie said and then followed Steven into this office, closing the door behind them.
Natalie took a seat in front of Steven’s desk. For a moment there was only silence, as he reclined in his chair and sipped his coffee. Steven and Natalie regarded each other. Natalie’s gaze was impassive, inscrutable.
Steven put the cup to the side and folded his arms while leaning forward in his seat. “All right, Ms. Twain. You have my attention. Why is my life in danger, and how can I help you?”
Natalie lifted her satchel and placed it on Steven’s desk.
“Call me Natalie. Please.” She paused, appraising him, and then continued. “I–I’m not sure where to start, so I’ll just begin with my father’s death. I believe that he was murdered by a man named Morbius Frank. Dr. Morbius Frank. Does the name mean anything to you?” Natalie said.
Steven searched his mental rolodex, but nothing flipped in terms of recognition. “No. Should it?”
“He is, aside from being behind my father’s murder, a businessman. A businessman, adventurer, self-described archeologist and philanthropist, and a billionaire. A trust fund baby to an oil magnate dynasty — one of the largest in the United Kingdom.”
Steven nodded. “I don’t recognize the name, but I get the point. He’s rich and powerful…and you think he killed—”
“Two weeks ago, Frank funded an operation for my father to obtain a religious artifact which Frank had learned was intrinsic to the Voynich Manuscript. I know you recognize that.”
Steven leaned back and his demeanor changed. “Of course. It’s only the holy grail of cryptology. But the Voynich’s been at Yale for decades. What relic could possibly be connected with it? I know everything about it, and there’s nothing but the manuscript and mountains of speculation as to how to crack the code — something nobody has ever done.”
“It’s something that my father said could help decipher the Voynich. He believed it was the key, in fact, to a mystery that dates back six hundred years.”
Steven studied Natalie quietly, but inside, his heart had just shifted gears into overdrive; his normal sinus rhythm shot from sixty to a hundred in just a few brief moments. “Go on, Natalie.”
“The artifact is known as the Holy Scroll of the Abbey of St. Peter at Abbotsbury in Dorset, England. Have you heard of the place?”
Steven nodded. “Heard of it? I visited the Abbey on a tour ten years ago. But there was no sacred relic there that I can remember. Are you saying this artifact is in the Abbey? I’m still not following the logic.”
“It was there, deep in the hidden catacombs beneath the grounds. But no more,” Natalie said. “The Holy Scroll was liberated two weeks ago.”
Steven shook his head. “Ah. So it was stolen. And your father had something to do with this?”
“Liberated,” Natalie corrected.
“Liberated. Sure, okay. And this ‘Holy Scroll’ was ‘liberated’…by your father? I would have imagined that he wasn’t a particularly, er, nimble man, given his years…”
“He didn’t do it himself, but I know that he and Dr. Frank arranged it. But what’s important is that my father retained possession of the Scroll on the understanding that Frank would be able to share the information it contained once it was decrypted.”
“And you believe your father was murdered because Frank wanted the Scroll for himself. Did Frank steal it after killing your dad?”
“No, he didn’t.”
Steven considered this, the hair on the nape of his neck prickling. “Then where is this holy artifact, and how do you know so much about all this?”
“I have it,” Natalie said, answering part of the question. She glanced at her bag.
Steven studied Natalie, and then his eyes slowly moved to the satchel. Natalie had his full and complete attention.
“Did Professor Twain…your father…have time to analyze this Holy Scroll?” Steven asked quietly.
“No, but…” Natalie hesitated for a moment.
“No, but what?” Steven persisted.
Natalie opened the satchel, removed a piece of paper and handed it to Steven. Steven took it and opened it.