The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI #5)(27)

“More important, is there a key to help decipher it?” She nodded, waited, waited. “I have found the key.”

There was a buzzing of voices.

“The key turns out to be a single page that was with the missing quire.” She held up one finger. “Only a single page. Here it is.” She pressed a button, and the slide on the screen switched. To the audience, it was more of the same nonsensical writing. But Isabella smiled and pointed to lines of text. “There is a repeating pattern here, which lines up perfectly with the lettering in the book. This page is labeled seventy-four, and, it is the only page of the Voynich manuscript physically cut from the book. Page seventy-four is from the astrological section and has a few new drawings never seen before. I’ve verified the quire and page seventy-four is a match to the original Voynich. Why was page seventy-four cut out?

“I believe it was cut out because it provides the clues needed for non-twins to translate the Voynich. It is still not completely clear to me, but I am working hard to figure it out.” She paused again and looked out over the fascinated faces, her heartbeat picking up. She leaned forward—sell it, sell it—and deepened her voice.

“Today begins my hunt to find the special twins able to read the Voynich. With our current communications technology, I believe I will succeed. And when I have, I will introduce these twins to the world, and they will stand before you and read the Voynich.”

She paused, drew a deep breath. “I do understand from the pages that they must be reunited with the original manuscript, the one stolen last year from the Beinecke.” Did that sound too crazy? I hope not. I couldn’t very well say the pages told me so.

“I am begging those who stole the Voynich to return it. Here, to me, at the British Museum. Please.”

She looked out over the faces, many of them talking low on their cell phones, many others simply writing. Did I convince you? Did you believe me? Or do you believe I’m a fake?

“Now, I’m going to turn this over to Dr. Webster Hoag, distinguished professor of chemistry at Princeton and a leading expert on manuscript radiocarbon dating. We have worked closely with Dr. Hoag, and he will now explain how we verified the provenance of the quire we discovered. Dr. Hoag?”

A cadaverous man came from the wings of the landing, a massive grin on his thin face. He was a tall man with wispy hair, a paunch, the exact opposite, Roger thought, of the beautiful, dark—and young—Dr. Marin. But he had to say, he liked the man’s small red-and-white polka-dot bow tie.

Dr. Hoag took the mic from Isabella. She smiled once more at the group and left the stage. Her heart was kettle-drumming. She’d done her best. If her performance hadn’t convinced—well, she’d tried. This announcement was the only way she could think of to draw out the thief who’d stolen the manuscript from the Beinecke. The thief would surely want the newly discovered missing pages and the key, page 74.

Persy patted her shoulder when she stepped off the stage. “Well done, my dear, well done. Look at them, they’re practically salivating, and that’s saying something for a group of hardened vultures.” He stopped and eyed her. “You’re on the green side. Doubtless due to overwrought nerves, but thankfully you didn’t show it. It’s very interesting what you said, and rather mystical about the pages having to be reunited to the stolen manuscript. We’ll see what happens, now won’t we?

“Let’s get you a nice cup of tea, and you can put your feet up. I’m very proud of you. One day you’ll be able to do this without a thought.”

Little do you know. What she couldn’t tell him was she would tell the world the truth once she had the Voynich in her hands.

“Sir, don’t you need to stay for the rest?”

“Oh, no. Webster will talk himself blue in the face and won’t stop until the reporters walk out. You know how much he loves the Voynich. He’ll give them the entire history of it, from start to finish, take at least an hour. Oh yes, he whispered to me he didn’t believe for a minute the quire and page seventy-four you found will enable you to read it, not that you claimed they did, exactly. He’s jealous, poor fellow.”

She didn’t say anything as they walked to the cafeteria, only ran the announcement about her twin search over and over in her head. While she waited for her boss to bring her tea, she tried to calm herself with deep breaths. She knew she’d put herself in danger—she could feel it creeping up on her. Nearer, nearer, but she’d had no choice, the pages had told her to reunite them with the manuscript.

Roger Bannen had followed Dr. Isabella Marin and Dr. Wynn-Jones to the cafeteria and stood watching her while she waited at a small table for Wynn-Jones to bring her tea. Should he try to get her alone, ask her more questions, get more clarification on exactly what was in the quire pages and page 74? He took a step toward her, then stopped. No, Wynn-Jones was coming back with her tea. He didn’t want to deal with the old buzzard.

He turned into an empty corridor and pulled out his mobile, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. Roger wasn’t worried about a story anymore, or keeping his job at the bloody Sun. A couple of reporters came into the corridor.

Roger hurried outside. It was raining, but he didn’t notice. He punched in a number, drew a deep breath. The phone rang once, twice. Finally, a sharp voice, “What.”

“It’s been found.”