by Cameron West
He held the rear door open and I climbed in. Mobright squinted his beady eyes at me in the rearview mirror.
“Now,” Beckett said. “Let’s find the Dagger, shall we? Any idea where to begin?”
“Rome,” I told him.
seventeen
At Big Bear Airport we boarded a private plane that looked similar to Dracco’s. Beckett and I buckled into presidential-class leather seats in a large private compartment. I snugged my belt with shaking hands. It was one part heights, ninety-nine parts pulling away from the continent where I’d last seen Ginny.That was a particularly cruel kind of torture, finally having someone-to live for, but not knowing if she was still alive. The Dagger was a ransom I would gladly pay to free her. I had to follow it and work with Beckett to unravel the mystery of the Circles of Truth.
Once we were airborne, Beckett said, “Well, then . . . I suspect we have some work to do over the course of the next thirteen hours. Please begin with an explanation of the Circles.”
I plugged the laptop into an AC bar just above the bird’s-eye maple table in front of me, and turned it on. Beckett watched with keen interest as I opened the CorelDraw files, located the proper rings of Truth One, put them in the correct order, and rotated them to fit together, repeating the process with the second circle. Beckett studied the results carefully.
“So,” he stated, “inner and outer alternations, thirty-six degrees per ring, flip flop from one circle to the other. Positively ingenious. How the devil didyouarrive at this?” He heard his tone of superiority and blanched. “Do forgive me,” he said. “Let me rephrase that. How did you arrive at this?”
“Tecci’s got these, too,” I said, ignoring his question.“Krell’s people will figure this out. And they’ve got Ginny to translate them. Can’t you find out where they are?”
“I’ll have Mobright extend Gibraltar’s reach, but Krell will most certainly wish to remain behind the curtain for now. Not only are we on his tail, but of course there is also Soon Ta Kee. Krell is a slick fish, albeit a sick one. And Tecci . . . well, there is only one Nolo Tecci.”
I took stock. Just because I had the Circles of Truth laid out didn’t mean they were directions to the Dagger. What if they were some cryptic message or a laundry list or a love letter to Ginevra de’ Benci, for that matter?
I wiped the sweat off my upper lip with the back of my unbandaged hand and pulled up the scan of Ginny’s translation on the computer. Beckett peered at the document as I explained how the notes led to Rome.
“Absolutely brilliant,” he said. “Belvedere Palace, the Vatican. I believe you’re right.”
“You believe Antonia’s right. All I did was the ring toss, here.”
“Honorable of you to say so. Yes, of course, Ms. Gianelli is to thank for the Rome connection, but do not sell yourself short on the Circles. What you’ve done is miraculous.”
Beckett smoothed his Windsor-knotted silk tie.“Now bring up the Circles again and let’s find out what they say.”
I shifted my focus to the computer screen and the drawing program. Opening the file containing the completed Circles, I mirrored each image. Truths One and Two were now written left to right and presumably legible, except that they were still circular.
“Excellent,” Beckett said. “I trust you can utilize the program to break them apart.”
“I think I can do that, but where?”
Beckett studied Truth One carefully for a full minute, tracing it with a slim finger. Then he pointed to a place where one of the letters had a tiny handle sticking off it.
“Try here,” he said.
I broke the circle at that point, clicked a few commands, and snapped it into a straight line. Watching Mona work had paid off.
Beckett took a pen and a small leather-bound notepad out of his pocket. He started jotting.
“What does it say?” I asked impatiently.
He ignored me and kept writing. Several more minutes passed.
Finally I said, “Can you do this or not?”
Again he ignored me, deep in thought. He continued to avoid me for another half hour.
I settled uncomfortably back in my chair. There was nothing to do but wait and think.
I pictured Tecci and Krell and Ginny on Krell’s jet. That was an image I couldn’t allow myself to linger on. I looked out the window. We were above the clouds. No birds, no bugs, no lost balloons. Just freezing cold hypoxic air. Killing air.
“What have you got?” I finally asked.
He scribbled one last note, shaking his head in puzzlement, then tapped the page with his pen. He frowned. “Are you ready for this?”
“I’m more than ready.”
“All right then, here it is,” he said, taking a deep preparatory breath.
“Soar with love me my each friend and thing you will of be the this new guardian world of the for dagger above you the tangle all of the are sleeping carver’s its mighty whorl keepers.”
I said nothing. What could I say?
Beckett repeated the garbled sentence.
I let out a sigh. “Mighty whorl keepers? Who taught you Italian— Dr. Seuss?”
“I accurately portrayed my skills at translation,” Beckett replied confidently. “The message Leonardo wrote is the one I just read to you.”
“Are you sure you broke it in the right place?”
“I believe I did,” he said, pointing out the little knob again. “This is a marker. I chose the break based on my substantial experience with cryptanalysis. The question now is, what the devil does he mean?”
We looked at each other silently for a moment; then I leaned my head back and ran my tongue back and forth across my teeth.“Mighty whorl keepers . . . mighty whorl keepers,” I repeated.
“This is obviously a scrambled message, Reb. A transposition code.” Beckett rhythmically tapped the pad. “Perhaps every other word drops out or every third, but of course that would be in Italian, and we’ve already got the correct English.”
“I’m thinking here,” I said.
“This is no time to be silent,” Beckett urged. “Share your ideas. So far, with the exception of punching me in the jaw, they’ve been good.”
It was my turn to ignore him, and I took it. “Mighty whorl keepers,” I mumbled to myself. “What the hell’s he talking about, ‘soaring with love’?”
The phone on the maple table beside Beckett rang. He answered it without hesitation. “Yes, bring it.” He hung up. “Lunch.”
In short order, Mobright pushed an elegant cart into the cabin.
“Bravo,” Beckett said.
“Yes sir,” Mobright answered deferentially. “May I ask whether you’ve made any progress?”
“You may, but you won’t get an answer yet. Be a good chap and close the door behind you.”
Neither Beckett nor I made a move for the cart, although the aroma of Mexican food emanated from the table. The image of Beckett in a sombrero entered my mind, providing me with a temporary respite from the burden of thought. I pictured him and Mobright strumming guitars and singing “Guantanamera.”
Beckett pointed at Truth Two on the computer screen. “Since you choose to be silent,” he said, “be a good man and break this one here and straighten it out for me.”
I did as he requested, then got up to check out the trays on the cart. One plate of tamales with refried beans and saffron rice. The other, filet mignon. Beckett looked up from his work.
“Which one do you want?” I asked, hoping he’d pick the steak.
“One moment, one moment,” he cautioned, holding the notepad six inches in front of his face, fingers gripping the tip of his pen. After a few seconds he mumbled, “Mobright cooked the tamales for you.”
“He did? Mobright?”
“Yes. At my instruction. Vegetable. Your favorite.”
“How do you know they’re my favorite?” I asked, carrying my plate back to my seat.
“Please . . .” he said, annoyed.
“Mobrig
ht, a chef?” I muttered to myself.
“No one is merely who he seems to be,” Beckett said. “No one. There, I’ve got it!
“ The lion I God and offer the languid future man share people the secret my the bearded heart man will and never know soul.
“Equally cryptic,” Beckett said. “Just as I’d suspected.”
“Wonderful,” I muttered. “Languid future man.”
“Yes, quite.”
My companion poured himself a glass of water from a silver pitcher, pulled out his pill organizer, and swallowed some capsules. He chased them with a sip and picked up his meal.
I watched him carefully tuck a corner of the white linen napkin into his collar, then slice off a small piece of the meat. He put his knife down, placed his free hand in his lap, and chewed inconspicuously, as though he’d gone to finishing school with the Queen. He pushed his plate aside, apparently through with his meal.
I cut off half a tamale with my fork and stuffed it in my mouth so my cheeks puffed out. Beckett eyed me.
I studied the garbled messages on his notepad.
“Listen to both of them,” I instructed.
“Please finish chewing first,” Beckett said.
I swallowed and read the two lines aloud. Then I inhaled the second half of my first tamale. The son of a bitch Mobright could cook.
“You know what I think?” I said, looking at Truth Two.
“Mm?”
“I think there is no such thing as a bearded heart man, that’s what I think.”
“Good point.”
“Uh-huh. So we’ll take that ‘heart’ out of there.”
He thought about that. “All right then. We’ll do that.”
“You know what else? ‘Share people the secret’?”
“Yes?”
“Take ‘people’ out and you’ve got ‘share the secret,’ ” I said. “What do you think of that?”
Beckett regarded the notepad with growing enthusiasm. “You’re really quite amazing.”
His flattery didn’t touch me. What I felt was gratitude for having gotten as far as I had, and determination to push on further.
“I’m going to finish this tamale,” I said, “and use the facilities while you type these sentences. Then we’re going to start tugging words till we find out what is exactly what with the Circles of Truth. How much time before we touch down? Eleven, twelve hours?”
Beckett checked his Oyster Rolex. “About that.”
I shoveled the last chunk into my face. “Well,” I said, standing up, “start typing.”
When I returned, Mobright was in the room staring over Beckett’s shoulder with a pad and pen.“No one is who they seem to be,” I told him.
Mobright looked taken aback.
“You’re not only a smirking prick,” I offered, “but you make a very nice tamale.”
The look of puzzlement faded, replaced by his familiar glower.
I pushed past him. “Aren’t you supposed to be coordinating the search for Krell?”
“But I’m only—”
“Get back to it,” I interrupted, taking my seat. “We’re busy.”
Mobright retreated and Beckett slid the laptop toward me. “You don’t like him, do you?” he said. “The man is a tad squirrelly, I think.”
“Forget that. Truth Two. We took ‘people’ and ‘heart’ out of there. Let’s see what that leaves.”
Beckett turned the screen in his direction and read it. “ ‘The lion I God and offer the languid future man share the secret my the bearded man will and never know soul.’ Take ‘my’ out of the ‘secret my the bearded man.’ ”
I clipped it out and pasted it down between “people” and “heart.”
“That’s good,” Beckett said. “ ‘The secret the bearded man will and never know soul.’ Never know soul . . .”
“I’m taking the ‘and’ out of there,” I said. I clipped it and pasted it down after “heart” in the same order as the sentence.
“Take ‘soul’ out, too,” Beckett commanded.
“Why?”
He pointed at the four words I’d pasted at the bottom. “ ‘People my heart and.’ Tell me ‘soul’ doesn’t follow.” His gray eyes gleamed.
“You’re right,” I admitted. “Heart and soul, just like the tune.”
“Look at this now, Reb,” he said, pushing my hands away from the keyboard. “What at the beginning of the sentence would Leonardo do to ‘people my heart and soul’? If this is the correct order, then a verb would naturally precede those words, would it not?”
“Right,” I said. “The verb is ‘offer.’ ”
“So take ‘offer’ and put it in front of ‘people my heart and soul.’ Now what have we got up top?” We both looked down and saw:
The lion I God and the languid future man share the secret the bearded man will never know.
I said, “Somebody has to offer people, right? There’s only one word that’s singular and that’s ‘I.’ I offer. Are you certain ‘offer’ is singular?”
“Positive.Offro. Singular. You needn’t question my skills.”
“Okay, then, ‘I offer people my heart and soul.’ What’s sticking out here?”
“The lion God?” Beckett asked.
“Yes, that, but also ‘future’ is sticking way out. This is a message. Leonardo wasn’t talking to his peers in the present. This was meant for the future.” I cut “future” and pasted it before “people.”
“Absolutely,” Beckett confirmed. We stared at the two lines.
The lion God and the languid man share the secret the bearded man will never know.
I offer future people my heart and soul.
“What the devil is ‘the lion God’?” Beckett mused.
We both puzzled over that for a minute and then it occurred to me. A smile crept over my face as I felt the thrill of discovery. “It’s not ‘the lion God,’ Beckett,” I blurted. “It’s ‘the lion, comma, God, comma, and the languid man.’ Leonardo didn’t use punctuation.”
“By Jove, you’re right,” Beckett said. “Then who is the lion?”
Tingles of excitement tap-danced on my stomach. Back and forth, in and out, I was walking the master’s path.
“It’s Leonardo himself,” I stated with certainty. “Leonardo is the lion. Leonardo, God, and the languid man share the secret the bearded man will never know. I’m sure of it.” A wave of sadness washed over me as I read the next line.
“He’s offering us his heart and soul,” I whispered.
“So he is,” Beckett said, shaking his head in amazement. “So he is.”
I took a deep breath. “Now who the hell are the languid man and bearded man?”
“Excellent question, my good man. Perhaps it’s in with the mighty whorl, eh? Incidentally, how in the world did you get so bloody good at this?”
“I’m enigmatic,” I said.
“Quite right,” he replied with a smile. “I suppose the same could be said of me.”
With Truth Two solved, we stepped into Truth One, side by side, ready to explore the rest of Leonardo’s lush and mysterious path.Beckett read it out loud.
“Soar with love me my each friend and thing you will of be the this new guardian world of the for dagger above you the tangle all of the are sleeping carver’s its mighty whorl keepers.”
“ ‘Soar with love me my’ doesn’t sound right,” I said. “ ‘Soar with love me’? I’m pulling ‘love.’ ”
“Why? ‘Soar with love’ sounds right.”
“Not with ‘me my’ after it,” I said. “Watch this.”
I clipped “love” out and put it below. Now it read “soar with me my.”
“Granted, the lack of punctuation would allow it,” Beckett said, “but it still looks strange.”
“I’m grooving here,” I said. “Watch this.” I cut “each” and pasted it to the right of “love” below.
“Now read it,” I told him. “Please.”
“ ‘Soar with me my
friend,’ ” Beckett read. “Good show.”
“ ‘Thing you will be,’ ” I said. “Sorry ‘thing,’ it’s moving day.” I dropped it down next to the words “love” and “each.” The bottom line now read “love each thing.”
Beckett began to read what remained on the top line.
“ ‘Soar with me my friend and you will of be the.’ ‘Of’ has to be next,” he said.
I pasted it below.
“Now ‘this,’ ” I said, moving it.
Beckett read the bottom line excitedly. “ ‘Love each thing of this . . . world’—it has to be ‘world,’ Reb.” He removed his handkerchief from his coat pocket and mopped his brow. “My word . . .”
I clipped “world” and pasted it at the end of the bottom line. “ ‘Love each thing of this world,’ ” I said softly.
Beckett read the top line. “ ‘Soar with me my friend and you will be the new guardian of the’ . . . ‘for,’ Reb, pull ‘for.’ ”
I was already doing it.
“ ‘Soar with me my friend and you will be the new guardian of the dagger.’ Goddamn,” I said. “We are getting into the sweet stuff now. Can you smell it?”
“With both nostrils,” Beckett said exuberantly, pointing at the top line. “ ‘Dagger above you the tangle.’ Dagger above you? ‘Soar with me my friend and you will be the new guardian of the dagger above you.’ That makes sense somehow.”
“No,” I said. “Look further. ‘The dagger above you the tangle all.’ ‘All’ shouldn’t be there. I’m pulling it.” I moved it to the end of the bottom line, which now read, “Love each thing of this world for all.” “Hmm,” I said, “I’ve lost it. ‘For all’ what? After that we’ve got ‘of the are sleeping carver’s its mighty whorl keepers.’ We’re in the mud here. Give me a second, give me a second. ‘Are’ would have to come next, right? ‘All are’?”
“Definitely,” Beckett said. “Do that.”
