Trifariam, The Lost Codex (2012) (9 page)

Da Vinci was the only man Richard admired, so the key to understanding the book lay somewhere between him and Trithemius.

Richard’s head was about to explode; however hard he studied the book, he couldn’t understand a thing. He was unfamiliar with the characters used by the author, which impressed him even more because if James had been able to decode it, it was because it wasn’t in an extinct language, and therefore he should understand it.

Think about what James said. My idol, the person who I most admire is Leonardo Da Vinci, without a doubt.

Richard was one of the greatest paleographers and very few people had his knowledge. He had managed to decipher a myriad of hidden secrets in ancient documents and the most prestigious museums in the world were queuing up to hire his services.

It’s impossible for him to have cracked it and not me,
he said to himself over and over.
It must be related to the life of Da Vinci, his achievements, his work, his…
He remembered an experience he had fifteen years ago, at the start of his professional career. A London museum had sought his services to translate one of Leonardo’s manuscripts which had been discovered a couple of months before and which they had since kept secret. Richard took part in the research for about three weeks, working alongside great professionals who taught him how to study and read the genius’ manuscripts. His jaw had dropped when they revealed that Da Vinci had the habit of writing his documents back-to-front, reversing his writing. The only way to understand the meaning of the text was to place it before a mirror and read the reflection. Suddenly, what had been incomprehensible became comprehensible. It was a fascinating and very enriching experience. He chuckled as he remembered how, on more than occasion, he would spread out the folios of the manuscript and immediately afterwards spend countless hours before the mirror, translating them little by little.

Richard drifted back to reality; he had discovered what his friend had been referring to.
Not only is the writing back-to-front, the author has also taken the trouble to encode it using the famous Trithemius cipher
. After pausing to think for a few seconds, he grabbed the photocopies which were spread on the bed and took them to the bathroom mirror, putting them into order on the way. Shaking, he held the first page up to the mirror and, upon seeing the text reflected, he understood it straight away. “Christ, that’s impressive!” he exclaimed.

From the initial mess of blurry scrawl emerged letters, words and well-structured sentences. Richard was aware that it would take him hours to decode the text, but on first glance he could see that the pages were written in perfect Latin, using Visigothic script, something which surprised him to no end.

After nearly two hours of tireless study, Richard collapsed onto his bed, exhausted. It took him ten minutes to fall into a deep sleep from which he would not wake unless a jug of cold water was thrown over his head.

At that moment, a black shadow was quickly sliding along the corridors of the fifth floor before coming to a halt at the door to Room 501. The hotel was practically deserted and most people had been sleeping soundly in their beds for some time now.

He opened his raincoat and took out an electronic card which had been given to him beforehand by Alpha 1. When he swiped it through the reader, the green LED lit up and there was a click as the lock opened. Before entering he prepared his tool of choice, which on this occasion was his favorite gun, the HK Mk 23. He opened the door very slowly and, taking advantage of the darkness which emanated from inside the room, he screwed the silencer on the gun and then removed the safety catch.

The intruder left door slightly ajar, allowing a small stream of light to combat the profound darkness of Richard’s hotel room. He padded across the room, maneuvering himself around the pool table with no problem, and quietly opened the bedroom door. Somebody was sleeping in the bed, wrapped up in bedclothes in spite of the burning heat inside. Without further ado, he fired bullets from the magazine, aiming at the bulk under the sheets.

The hail of bullets ripped through the mattress and the bedframe, causing many of them to ricochet against the floor. The body hadn’t even made a sound - something wasn’t right. He approached the supposed body and pulled back the covers. His jaw clenched tightly, making his teeth grind with anger. The bullet-ridden was, in fact, a pile of jumbled clothes full of holes. His prey wasn’t there. He had escaped.

In a nearby room, Richard had just woken up; something had startled him. He had had the bright idea of making another reservation in a different name. That way he was able to sleep soundly all night, knowing his life wouldn’t be in danger.

T
he alarm clock sounded at eight in the morning on the dot, just as James had programmed it to do. Half asleep, he patted the bedside table in search of that wonderful button which would stop that infernal beeping.

The dark gray clouds that had threatened Florence with rain for several days had cleared, revealing a deep blue sky crowned with a shining sun.

James Oldrich went over to his window and drew back the curtains with a sharp yank. He had forgotten to lower the shutters the night before and was momentarily blinded by the sunlight.

After freshening up and putting on more suitable attire, he went into the kitchen where he found Mary having breakfast. She chuckled at him slightly and couldn’t help but comment on his new look. “About time! I’ve finally met the man who’s been hiding behind that awful beard for weeks!”

James smiled back at her so as not to seem grumpy and set about making himself a good breakfast. He knew only too well that he had a long day ahead of him. “We have to leave straight away. We’re going to Rome, I have a good friend waiting for us who will help us to decipher the document.” He thought about Richard and for a moment he prayed to God that his friend wasn’t in danger. He would never be able to forgive himself if something happened to Richard now. “I’ve been thinking about how we should travel to Rome and I think the best thing would be to go by train. I’m fairly certain that those two will be monitoring all the entrances and exits in the city. The train station seems like a busier place where we’ll be more likely to pass by unnoticed.”

“I agree with you,” said Mary. She had traveled by train numerous times and the station was so big that it was sometimes extremely difficult to find the car you were supposed to travel in.

James took a last swig of coffee. “Get ready, we’ll leave in ten minutes. Get everything you need, especially any money you have lying around so we don’t have to use a credit card. I don’t know who the hell is behind all this, but at the moment they’re playing rough.”

A taxi swiftly took them through the streets of the city to Santa Maria Novella, the central train station in Florence. It was without doubt the biggest in the city and the whole of Tuscany. They both carried everything they needed in small rucksacks which they carried on their backs, with the money and documentation in the pockets of their pants so that they wouldn’t lose them.

The taxi sped past the Church of Santa Maria Novella, the train station’s namesake and neighbor. James couldn’t resist pressing up against the glass to get a better view. He had already been inside on several occasions, but it was one of his favorite churches in the city, along with the Basilica of Santa Maria del Fiore, the cathedral of Florence.

“Where do you want me to drop you?” asked the taxi driver, interrupting James’ train of thought.

Mary answered before her friend could say a word. “At the entrance, please.”

They got out of the taxi after paying the driver for the ride and making sure to collect all their belongings, especially the book which they carried in the inside pocket of one of their jackets.

“James.” Mary stopped him out of the blue and seemed to be very unsure of herself. “Are you sure you want to travel by train? You see, there are several bus stations around here which serve both national and international routes. Together with the station they make up the first points of entry and exit from the city. Don’t you think that those two guys will be looking for us in this area?”

The young man laughed. He appeared to have everything thought out. “Last night, I was thinking about which would be the best way to leave Florence. Obviously your car was out of the question, so if I were in their shoes I’d think that we were going to escape by taxi. That is actually the safest way, but we don’t know who is behind those two killers. I don’t think it would be too difficult for them to check if some tourists matching our description had caught a taxi heading for Rome.

“How are they going to know that we’re going to Rome?”

“I’m sure that they intercepted our call yesterday, they’ll know where we’re going.”

Mary was starting to understand his reasoning little by little, but she wasn’t completely sure that they had done it the right way. “Ok. Well, let’s go in, but keep our eyes wide open.”

They linked their arms and pretended to be a beautiful couple as they went through the automatic doors.

The inside of the station was stunning. It was built in the thirties during the fascist regime, since the supporters wanted to create a modern and functional station in keeping with new times. To carry out the work, they hired the Tuscan Group of architects, which counted Giovanni Michelucci among its number.

The building had caused a commotion in modern Italian society; some didn’t support the notion of erecting modern buildings next to the historic quarter of the city, and their opposition went head to head with those with less conservative ideals.

The station was full of people. From a bird’s eye view, it looked like an anthill where people quickly moved in all directions, giving the impression of organized chaos. The ensuing din allowed them to go unnoticed, which put the young woman slightly at ease.

“Calm down, you’re shaking. Someone will notice something is not right and they’ll start to look at us. Can’t you see how many people there are inside here? Don’t worry, they won’t find us.”

The station was enormous. It was virtually entirely made of glass, metal and stone, the same stone which was used to build the Church of Santa Maria Novella. It had a long corridor with lots of stalls, as well as a restaurant and cafe. At the end of the corridor was the
Billeteria
, or ticket office, located beneath a huge digital clock which read
9:19am
.

It took them several minutes to walk the length of that corridor, but their journey was made more enjoyable with the sight of a series of mosaics which hung about twenty-three feet up on the walls.

“It is known as ‘La Galleria di Testa’”, said Mary, while James looked back down at the floor patterned with red and white marble stripes.

There were a lot of passengers waiting to buy their tickets in several well-defined queues. They chose the smallest one.

“Who is the man we’re going to see in Rome?”

Although he didn’t think now was the best time to talk about it, he could see that Mary was feeling much calmer and he dared to tell her some more details. “He is a good friend. We’ve known each other since we were children and he’s one of the best paleographers I know. For several months now, I have been receiving lots of letters asking for the unbiased cooperation of one of our university professors. They are usually temporary, short-term placements where they help to decipher ancient texts which have been recently found. Guess who I always send?”

Mary smiled and gestured with her arm for him to look ahead. The queue which had been before them had evaporated as if by magic. In front, a young lad was impatiently waiting for James to tell him where he wanted to go.

“Sorry,” he proffered. “I didn’t realize you were talking to me. We’d like two tickets to Rome, please, for the next train.”

He slowly studied the screen in order to tell them their options. “No problem. Look, there’s a train which goes direct to Rome within forty-five minutes. The departure time is 10:15. Shall I book two tickets?”

“Yes please,” he replied. “That’s not bad, I thought we’d have to wait around here for hours,” he whispered into Mary’s ear.

“That will be 23.90.” The young man looked thoughtful. “Going by your accent, you’re not from here. Did you know that the station has a restaurant-bar if you want to make the wait more pleasant?”

“Yes, we’ve just seen it. Thank you and here you go.”

After paying for the tickets, they made their way to the station cafe. It was divided into two parts: a cafeteria where people could wait in comfort for their train, and a dining room paved in marble where passengers could enjoy the delights of Italian cuisine. They sat at one of the wooden tables next to the large window panes through which they could look at the crowds who were making their way through the station. They both ordered orange juice.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, James slowly looked at his friend and spoke. “Mary, are you sure you don’t want to let your family or partner know that you aren’t going to be here for a few days?”

Her face became tinged with sadness. “I’ve been completely independent from my parents since I was very young. Although we have a cordial relationship and we often call each other, deep down they know the pace of life I lead and that I spend more time abroad than in my beloved city. Nor do I have siblings or a boyfriend, so I don’t have to let anybody know.”

James knew deep down that he had put his foot in it. Mary’s face wasn’t the same as it had been five minutes ago. Her beautiful blue eyes radiated sadness; maybe he had made her remember something she would rather forget.

“Are you okay? I get the feeling you’re sad.” James brought his hand close to hers until they touched, squeezing it tightly. “Although you’ve known me for barely a day, you can tell me anything you want.”

The woman hesitated. “A few weeks ago, my ex-boyfriend and I had an argument. We had split up months ago, but he doesn’t want to move on and insisted we gave it another chance, for the twentieth time, and I’m already tired of suffering now.” Mary’s face had reddened, her eyes were glistening and about to burst into tears. “I spend months away from home as part of my job, and it’s so hard to leave knowing that you’re always leaving somebody behind who is waiting for you. You want to see them every day, but you’re three thousand miles apart.”