The Hand of Christ (59 page)

To the sea i go. To the Presidents’ Mother.

Michael studied the phrase looking for anything that would point him in the right direction. It wasn’t difficult to find what he was looking for; it was a bit too easy really. With the Pope’s writing utensil he circled the words –
i go
– and the last letter of the word
Presidents’.

The apostrophe was on the outside of the “s” and denoted use for plural possessive rather than for singular possessive. His eighth-grade English teacher, shaking her well-used copy of Strunk & White at the class, would have been proud. The simplicity of this phrase was made easier knowing to what it referred. Every good and even bad CIA officer should have been able to decode this sentence.

One of the original thirteen colonies and founded by the Virginia Company of London, Virginia is the state that houses the headquarters for the CIA, and is also the birthplace of eight US Presidents. The state has been called the Mother of the Presidents.

To the Presidents’ Mother.

Once Michael figured this part out it made decoding the other sentence easier and offered further confirmation that he was right. The sentence contained a double entendre; of that much Michael was certain.

To the sea i go.

Michael had already circled the clue that was in the sentence and it now made complete sense. The “i” in “i go” was lower case and pointed to a person. The first part of the sentence, “To the sea,” referred to that person and to that person’s profession. Both parts put together were that man’s name.

The continents of the Americas derive their name from the feminized first name of Amerigo Vespucci, an Italian explorer and cartographer that made at least two voyages to the land masses of the western hemisphere. The words that Michael had circled were the last three letters of that man’s name: “igo.”

As a trained linguist, Michael often enjoyed the use and misuse of language. When he had been in the Army, and stationed at Fort Bragg, he had wanted to buy a good used car. He had visited a nearby car dealership with his eye on a well-kept ‘72 Chevy Nova. In Spanish, the word Nova literally means
does not go
– no va. He had laughed at the Guatemalan used car dealer when the man told him “This Nova runs like a dream.” The car didn’t sell well in Spanish speaking communities, but Michael bought it anyway.

It was simple: “A mer.” The Latin based translation of “To the sea” is the first half of Amerigo’s name. When the phrase was put together its hidden meaning became clear: “A mer i go – Amerigo”

To the sea i go – Amerigo.

The first sentence was a clever play on words and the namesake of his own country: Amerigo – America. The first part of the sentence was the country and the second part was the state: The United States & Virginia: country and state.

The location of the code?
Michael thought.

Michael wrote this on the paper and then quickly moved on to the final part of the riddle.

It is the second key to our power. It is Hidden.

It is Hidden.

The location of the second code is hidden somewhere in Virginia. This didn’t make sense. The riddle was complete. Michael had hit a dead end. He was starting to feel frantic; images of his wife flashed before him, then of his father. He saw her tantalizing smile; he heard his scholarly voice.

Think, Michael, God damn it! Think! Where would the damn code be hidden?

He was moving between the lost Apocryphal of Paul and the book. Michael screamed out, his voice resonated throughout the Pope’s apartment, “The damn thing is in Greek!”

He flipped between the documents, back and forth, from one to the other. His frustration was growing. He had to calm down. Grasping both sides of the table he squeezed fiercely onto the wood and lowered his head trying to find his composure. His eyes were open; in front of him was the riddle.

It is Hidden.

He stared at the words. They stared back. He moved his elbows to the table and rested them on the dark wood; his head was in his hands. The priest’s irrational words were flowing through his mind. He remembered something the man had said. Sitting up, the answer appeared. Like a sore thumb, the answer had been sticking out; why had he not noticed earlier? He almost kicked himself for being so blind. Reaching for the pen, he picked it up and hovered over the words. Slowly he circled the word
Hidden.
Moving the book out of the way he focused on the Apocryphal.

“
It’s got to be here!” Michael was reading the Greek out loud.

“
I thought you said that you can’t read Greek?” Geoffrey was right, Michael couldn’t.

“
I can’t,” Michael replied, but I can pronounce it.

“
Then what the hell are you doing? I don’t have all day, Dr. Sterling,” Geoffrey pulled out his cell phone, “You are stalling. I think that it is time I give the Sheriff a call.”

“
Just wait! Wait for one minute, damn it! I am not stalling. I am looking for a word. I think I now know why you self-important morons threw me into the middle of all this.”

Geoffrey put the cell phone back into his pocket and ordered, “Explain.”

“
The second part of the riddle is referring to a place. That place is in America, in Virginia. The riddle says that it is hidden.”

“
Hidden where, Dr. Sterling?”

“
That’s what was confusing to me; just how in the hell am I supposed to know where in Virginia the code is? It could be anywhere. But then, thanks to you, it dawned on me. Earlier you had said that you didn’t think I was as smart as the Director told you that I was. You didn’t call him the Other, you called him the Director!”

“
I said no such thing!” Geoffrey was becoming aware of his error. He had referred to the Other by his real title.

“
You know damn well that you did! And I know why you called him the Director. You weren’t speaking about a title in the Order you were speaking about the Director of the CIA, my boss, weren’t you?”

How could he have figured that out?
“So what! Of what consequence is that now? Who cares if you know who he is? That pitiful man will be dead soon anyway.”

“
It matters because that’s where your second code is hidden. It’s in Virginia, at Langley – at the headquarters for the CIA – and the Director is responsible for it. He wouldn't give it to you; that's why you needed me. For Christ's sake, the damn code has been available since 1990 for the entire world to see! The code to the Iranian nuclear weapon guidance system sits out in broad fucking daylight!” Michael’s anger was rising, “You egotistical self worshipping people really are full of yourselves aren’t you?”

The Monsignor couldn’t fathom the thought, in broad daylight?

Michael went back to the Apocryphal; it only took another minute to find it. Amongst the ancient writing, the same used to write the original New Testament, he quickly found the Greek word for which he looked: Kryptos.

There are only a few words that Michael easily recognized in Greek: gyros, feta, kudos, and Kryptos.

Many times Michael had sat in the CIA’s lush gardens in the northwest corner, and just outside of the New Headquarters Building’s cafeteria, to enjoy a bit of fresh air with his lunch. It always amused him at the number of dorky cryptanalysts that would sit in front of the garden’s impressive granite, slate, and quartz sculpture trying in vain to decode its secret message.

From the different bits of rock used in the sculpture, flowed a curvy copper scroll that had been etched with different ciphers. For years, the many brilliant minds that walked the halls of the CIA used their lunch hours and breaks to try and decode its meaning. Many tried and most have failed. The panel is sectioned into four parts and each part had its own code. Three of the four panels have been successfully broken, but the fourth has eluded all newcomers and seasoned veterans alike. More than one analyst has been found by security, and well past closing, toiling in front of the hypnotic piece of art working without success to decode the final panel. It was an obsession.

The sculpture is called
Kryptos,
which is the Greek word for hidden.

It is Hidden
.

As plain as day, the short sentence said what it is.

It is Hidden
.

The word “Hidden” was capitalized. The word “Hidden” was a noun and not an adjective: “It” is “Hidden.”

Michael laughed out loud and thought that if the analyst geeks back at Langley realized how many countless hours they had wasted chasing a code that didn’t exist they would have probably put a gun to their heads. The fourth panel of the copper scroll back in the gardens at Langley repeated the same word over and over again. That word is Kryptos. It wasn’t a code but a reference to The Order’s own riddle. The designer himself had even said that the panel was
a riddle within a riddle
: it was the key!

He scribbled on the pad a series of numbers that any employee at CIA could recite. The Monsignor looked at them and said, “What are you writing?”

Tearing the page from the notepad Michael walked carefully to Geoffrey and responding to his question handed it to him, “Your code.”

Geoffrey looked at it and read: “38, 57, 6, 5, 77, 8, 44 – but how? What are these numbers?”

“
You figure it out. I’ve done my part.”

Chapter Sixty-Seven

The Gathering

Rome, Italy

Deputy Director Ron Willis walked slowly around the leather chairs. Yousef sat the poker down but did not get up. Turning his head, their eyes met. Ron was never able to become used to the effects of Yousef’s one deep blue eye next to the black one. He hadn’t seen him for quite some time and Yousef usually wore dark contact lenses.

He was startled.

Yousef saw this and smiled.

“
Please, take a seat.” Yousef commanded. Ron didn’t argue.

“
What is the plan?” asked Ron.

Yousef couldn’t answer; behind the two leaders of The Order, the sound of shuffling footsteps caught their attention. Both men jumped to their feet and turned. A small, old man wearing a gray suit and a black vest was walking toward them. His hair was silver, combed straight back, and worn just below his collar. In his left hand, he held a formal top hat; his right hand was stiffly pressed into the small of his lower back. He stood erect with a slightly forced curvature of his spine that accentuated his refined demeanor.

He spoke, his accent was British, “Gentlemen, now that I am here shall we begin? There is much to discuss. First, please tell me, where is the book?”

The three men stood as a triumvirate in the room and stared upon one another until Yousef broke the silence. “Primitus, the American CIA Officer that we spoke of, he still has it. He is here in Rome.”

“
And what are your plans to retrieve it?”

“
At the moment, one of my men is in the Vatican with him. I have full confidence that he will be able to get it.”

“
You speak of Monsignor Hauptmann, an interesting fellow that one. The last time that we spoke, Yousef, you had delivered the horrible news of the loss of our book. The implication of that news gave foundation to a traitor within our organization.”

The old man set down his hat, and moved with care toward the fire holding out his hands to feel its warmth. He spoke to Ron without looking at him, “Mr. Director, how is it that one of your men, a CIA Officer, was in Umayyad and the only one to survive the attack by Hezbollah?”

Ron was shook and lashed out, “You accuse me!”

His response was calm, “Please, Mr. Director, lower your voice. These old ears cannot tolerate such screaming." He then stated matter-of-factly, "I do not accuse just you, I accuse you both.”

Yousef threw his hands up as if to say
why?
but the old man wouldn’t have it. He held up his hand as a signal for Yousef to stop his phony plea of ignorance, “You are my two highest ranking commanders. You,” he pointed to Ron, “are in control of Book II and one half of our Treasure,” he looked at Yousef and continued. “And you had Book I. Gentlemen, the heads of The Order are never fools. The events that have transpired smell wretchedly of a foul collusion.”

Yousef moved closer to the Primitus, but Ron’s feet were planted firmly where he stood. He looked at Yousef with knowing eyes, and as if to send the message: this is the right moment; kill him now!

The silver haired man continued to speak, “Hezbollah attacked the mosque on your order, Yousef. They were your men and led by your Second. You passed off our book to a CIA Officer; a man who is one of the Director’s men. Together, you two have conspired against this organization! You both wear your greed and hunger for wealth and power on your sleeves. You two have become that which we loathe!”

“
Shut up old man! I have heard enough!” Yousef was pointing his Russian made .380-caliber pistol toward him.