Secret Breakers: The Power of Three

by H. L. Dennis

  Her eyes narrowed.

  ‘Now, Brodie, lover of puzzles and riddles and codes. Here’s a puzzle for you. A puzzle of dragons.’ She waved her hands around again as if conducting the dragons in flight. ‘Of all these beasts there’s only one king. Only one Pendragon, the ruler of them all.’

  Brodie scanned the room.

  ‘Can you guess? Which of those you see is the true ruler?’ The woman stamped her feet dramatically. ‘This one,’ she said, pointing down at the ground and the huge dragon woven into the pile of the carpet. ‘See how the other dragons fly on outstretched wings? Except this one. This wingless dragon is the true ruler. The lowest,’ she stamped her foot again, ‘and yet the highest. The Pendragon. He has no need to fly, for his power is greater than flight. He’s invincible. Indestructible. All power is his. You do well to remember where true power lies, Brodie. Not in flights of fancy, ideas and dreams. In reality. And facts.’

  She kicked out her foot and the toe of her boot clanged against the sooty metal box. ‘Take this back to your code-cracking friends and show them there aren’t any secrets to find, no great truths to uncover. Show them you failed. Go home, Brodie. Back to the real world.’

  Brodie’s grandfather stood at the desk of the branch of Gimlet and Suffolk International Bank and waited. The assistant who’d gone to get the safety deposit clearance card looked, in Mr Bray’s opinion, hardly old enough to be out on his own, let alone old enough to be in full-time employment. On another occasion he’d have said something. Asked to see the manager even. But the young boy was pleasant enough, and he seemed, when he returned with the card, fairly competent, so he decided not to mention it. There were after all more urgent issues on his mind.

  The footsteps of the junior clerk rang out against the tiled floor as he led the way down into the vault. He gestured with his hand and led Mr Bray through to a wall of deposit boxes clearly numbered. Using a swipe card, the clerk opened one deposit box and slid out the small metal tray it contained.

  The contents of the box appeared modest. Simply a shaft of papers and a half-opened envelope with the name ‘Robbie’ printed neatly on it with purple ink. Mr Bray felt a surge of emotion as he saw his daughter’s handwriting. The last thing she’d written on the visit to Belgium that cost her life. In the light, it was also possible to see the indentation made by a tiny key and loops from a chain pressed into the paper of the envelope. This sight made him feel no better. Mr Bray’s hand shook a little as he placed all he’d collected into his briefcase.

  ‘Will that be all?’ asked the bank clerk.

  ‘For now,’ answered Mr Bray. ‘Thank you for your time.’

  ‘It’s been a pleasure, Mr Bray,’ replied the clerk, obviously making use of his fresh ‘in store’ training.

  Mr Bray tightened the grip on the handle of the briefcase and walked back towards the lobby. If he hurried he might just be in time for the appointment with his solicitor.

  It was suddenly cold. The light was beginning to fail and Brodie had begun to shiver.

  She wasn’t sure how long ago the woman in red had left her. She heard her leave and then Brodie dropped to her knees, the blue carpet soft against her legs. It hurt to look at the metal box. Soot-covered silver, a dirty reminder of what she’d hoped for and lost. There’d be no rising of the phoenix. The code-book kept safe for so long by the Professor, hidden to be found by someone worthy, was lost. Turned to ash. There’d be no reading of MS 408 now. No understanding of the strange unheard language, or the pictures that seemed to show another place and time. The only thing left to do was to tell the others. So why she waited as the darkness crept ever closer she wasn’t sure. Something told her it was too soon to leave.

  When a door opened in the panelling in the wall she wasn’t even afraid. The man who stepped out was thin and wiry, blond hair curling round his head like a halo. Something about him looked familiar but she couldn’t place where she’d seen him before. Something about his eyes. She supposed at first he must be another government official, come to check she understood it was all over. Or perhaps a guard from the museum wanting to know why she’d spilt ash on to the carpet. And it was perhaps the state of the carpet, the blackened smears across the mighty dragons, that made her begin to cry.

  ‘Hey,’ the man said in a voice as soft as velvet. ‘Why the tears?’

  She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  He angled his head in question.

  ‘About the carpet. I’ve made a mess,’ she said.

  He smiled reassuringly. ‘It’ll all brush away,’ he said gently. ‘Do you know this whole room was burnt to the ground in the 1970s? Arsonists threw a fire-bomb through the window in November 1975 and the entire room was destroyed. The splendour you see around you now took eleven years to restore. Remarkable, don’t you think, what can rise again from the ashes?’ He waited a moment. ‘No one will be cross about the mess and besides,’ he said, ‘it looks to me as if you’ve been very brave.’

  Brodie had forgotten about the cut on her arm. She sat still as he took out a clean handkerchief and pressed it against the wound. As he moved, a tiny golden key glinted on a chain around his neck.

  ‘Who are you?’ she said at last.

  ‘Robbie Friedman,’ he said.

  Something inside her stomach fell. ‘Friedman who was thrown out of the Black Chamber?’

  He looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Smithies said trying to solve MS 408 cost you your job.’

  ‘It cost me far more than that.’ His cheeks coloured a little and he returned his attention to the makeshift bandage. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you properly at last. Smithies tells me you’ve a real eye for codes.’

  Brodie just pointed down at the soot-filled box. ‘Van der Essen’s code-book,’ she said. ‘It’s ruined. I guess we’ll never read MS 408 now. Besides, that woman told me the manuscript’s a fake.’

  Friedman’s eyes gave nothing away.

  ‘Are you angry?’ Brodie asked.

  ‘Sad,’ he said, easing himself into a sitting position. ‘It would’ve been wonderful for Alex’s memory if we’d found the truth.’

  Her heart leapt at her mother’s name. ‘You believe it? You don’t think it’s a fake?’

  He breathed in as if he were about to plunge underwater and needed all the air he could take into his lungs. ‘It’s not fake, Brodie. It’s just – the government don’t want us to know the truth.’

  ‘What is the truth?’

  ‘Something big,’ he said at last. ‘Knowledge about worlds hidden inside our own, perhaps.’ He paused. ‘Why’d they go to all this trouble if it wasn’t worth hiding?’

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Well, chasing you for a start,’ he said with a laugh. ‘And making the rules. But other things as well.’

  Brodie thought for a moment. ‘But the code-book was ruined anyway.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Brodie couldn’t help but frown. ‘Can I ask you something?’ she said.

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘You knew my mum?’

  Friedman nodded wistfully. ‘For many years.’

  ‘I was told she died in a car crash in Belgium.’

  Friedman’s eyes flickered.

  ‘Do you think there was any way,’ Brodie could barely finish her words, ‘any way at all … ?’

  Friedman leant forward and pressed his hand on hers. ‘Brodie, your mother’s accident was a tragedy. But if you’re trying to ask me if I believe others were involved then I have to tell you, yes.’ He paused and tightened his grasp on her hand. ‘They’ll stop at nothing to divert people from the truth behind the manuscript. I have to question whether your mother found out too much.’

  A silence stretched between them like a fragile spider’s web, yet it didn’t matter neither of them spoke.

  ‘You really think MS 408 spoke of a different world and Van der Essen knew how to read it?’

  ‘I really do.’ />
  ‘Don’t you mind if people think you’re mad?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  Brodie frowned. ‘I think Smithies believes in you,’ she said quietly.

  Friedman didn’t answer.

  Brodie reached forward and closed the lid of the box. ‘We’ve got to find the others. Let them know what happened.’

  ‘What will you say?’

  ‘That it’s over.’

  ‘You really believe that?’

  Brodie lifted the box in her hand. ‘It’s empty. What else can I think?’

  Friedman stood up. ‘Your mother would’ve loved these dragons,’ he said, looking again around the room.

  Brodie wasn’t sure if it made her sadder to know something about her mother she didn’t know or if it made her a little happier. ‘What would she like about them?’

  ‘The stories,’ he said. ‘She was always writing up stories about dragons. And of course she loved the stories of Arthur. The real Pendragon. A story of a child. A child very much like you. Alone. Separated from his parents and raised by another.’

  Brodie’s heart beat against the casing of the box held tight against her chest.

  ‘A child who, despite all the odds, would become a mighty ruler.’ He hesitated. ‘You know, I don’t think we should give up on MS 408, Brodie.’

  ‘But it’s all a dead end.’

  His eyes twinkled. ‘Things aren’t always what they seem,’ he said.

  Brodie looked down at the ground and the noble dragon at her feet.

  ‘It seems this room has doors on only one side. We know otherwise. We’ll find an answer, Brodie, if we can just be determined enough to keep looking.’ He moved across the room to where, disguised by the painted pattern on the wall, there was an opening. A doorway to a tunnel.

  Brodie followed. The door hung open for a moment as she stumbled over the threshold. The light from the Music Room pooled inside.

  There was a flight of spiral stairs. The air was cold. Slowly, and without a sound, the secret door swung closed behind them, driving out the light.

  The darkness was complete; all-consuming. It took the breath from Brodie’s lungs.

  There was a scratching sound; a match struck against the stone of the walls and then a spark of light stretching like a cloud. Friedman took one of the candles set in the wall and lit it. He held it in his hand so his face was ringed in a warm golden glow. Then he led her out of the secret tunnel and on into the fading light of evening.

  The Director sat with his back to the door. He held a pencil in his hand, twisting it between his fingers like a miniature baton. ‘You’re telling me there was nothing.’

  Kerrith eased the line of her red jumper across her hips. ‘Nothing, sir.’

  ‘Just ash?’

  ‘Ash, sir.’

  The Director stilled the pencil between his fingers. ‘Seems we were successful then, back in the seventies. We had a lead that documents relating to MS 408 were hidden at the Pavilion. It’s a shame. The Music Room took thousands of pounds to restore after we destroyed it. I seem to remember they spent years hand-knotting the replacement carpet. No matter. If our job was done.’

  Kerrith looked appreciative.

  The Director tapped the arm of his chair with the pencil. ‘So. Van der Essen’s gift is useless, and for that we must be grateful. You’ve done well, Vernan. Very well.’

  Kerrith shuffled her feet.

  ‘However,’ the Director added, spinning round his chair so he could face her. ‘This ridiculous set-up at Station X is a worry to me. Smithies has always been a loose cannon, and his past association with Friedman always a source of annoyance to me. You’ve got to admire Smithies’ style really, setting up under our very noses.’ He tapped his teeth with the pencil. ‘But no one takes me or this department for a fool, Vernan. No one.’

  Kerrith shook her head in a way she hoped showed full agreement.

  ‘The lead they had about MS 408 may’ve come to nothing but their interest in the document shouldn’t be overlooked. We have a duty to uphold here. Rules to keep. Any work on MS 408 is prohibited.’

  ‘You think they’ll keep looking for answers, sir?’ Kerrith offered quietly.

  ‘Oh, they’ll try, Vernan. That’s how it gets, isn’t it? Compulsive. Addictive. The search for the missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle, the final letters needed for the crossword. Now they’ve started they’ll be driven to find out more. They’ll look for other leads, seek out other sources. Our job here is to prevent them.’

  ‘Sir?’

  The Director laughed. ‘My dear Kerrith. There’s so much you need to learn. So much you’ve yet to see, about Level Five and its ultimate aim.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I was wondering. If you could tell me about the stamp across the copies of MS 408. The mark of “the Suppressors”. Who are they? What do they do?’

  ‘All in good time, Miss Vernan. All you need to know for now is that we’ll stop Smithies and his team of code-crackers. They must be prevented from looking deeper. Must give up their quest and leave MS 408 well alone.’

  ‘And how will we do that, sir?’

  The Director took the pencil between his fingers and snapped it in half.

  Back at Bletchley railway station, Ingham was waiting for them. It was rather unfortunate that because there were five of them, they couldn’t fit into an ordinary car. The journey back to Station X in the back of the World War Two land assault vehicle was not the most comfortable of rides. Brodie gave up checking the time of the journey on either of her watches. The bumping around made her feel travel-sick. She closed her eyes and longed to be back at the mansion.

  Smithies called a meeting in the ballroom.

  Tusia left her books and files on the end of her bed. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll be making notes,’ she said gloomily.

  Hunter met them by the water fountain. He didn’t even attempt to avoid the spurting jet. ‘I’ll sort of miss it,’ he said as they turned and walked towards the mansion. ‘I was more than seventy-six per cent used to that discomfort,’ he added, hobbling awkwardly on his heavily strapped ankle.

  The room was organised as it’d been on that very first night. The chairs in an oval and at one side a table where Smithies, Ingham and Miss Tandari sat. This time their faces were grave instead of welcoming. Disappointed maybe. Brodie swallowed. The guilt of failure bubbled in her throat. She thought for a moment Ingham was trying to catch her eye but she was too embarrassed to look up. He’d trusted them to come back with the code-book and they’d returned empty-handed.

  After a moment Brodie felt enough courage to lift her head. She realised Smithies was talking and she tried hard to focus on his words despite the confusion. ‘We must admit defeat when we see it.’ He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose as if the vision through them was at the moment a little hazy. ‘We fought an excellent fight! We solved a puzzle that would’ve stretched the best minds in the land and we should feel no shame about that. We just have to accept our phoenix wasn’t intended to fly. Our Firebird Code led us simply to her ashes.’ He paused. ‘Like an English football team in a World Cup qualifier, I’m afraid we snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. And yet,’ he tried to pull himself up taller but Brodie noticed his shoulders were stooped as if he carried a heavy weight on his back, ‘we did all we could. I really thought we’d find the answers. That after all these years we’d finally be able to read the secrets of Voynich’s mysterious book. Now,’ he sighed. ‘Now we must accept we’ll never know the story its pages hold. The pictures of the plants and animals, the islands and the people, will never really get to share their truth with us. I’m so very sorry.’

  His voice cracked a little. He whispered something into Miss Tandari’s ear.

  ‘We should acknowledge too,’ he continued, ‘that the authorities are on to our quest. So the procedure will be as follows. Miss Tandari will spend the week bringing you up to speed on general curriculum work but as of today your work on code-cracking is at
an end.’ He pulled himself up taller and straightened his rather crumpled tie with the flat of his hand. ‘Arrangements will be made with your previous schools to readmit you.

  ‘Plans will be made for you to leave this Black Chamber on Friday. Your families will be notified and as of Saturday your life will return to normality.’ He glanced down at notes he had on the table, and once more adjusted his glasses. ‘It’s been a privilege to spend time with such an excellent crop of young brains,’ he said, ‘and we must remember, despite the sad demise of our operation, Van der Essen’s Firebird Code was broken and the message read. Take comfort in that. We just didn’t arrive in time to see the phoenix fly.’

  Brodie looked down at the ground. She wondered if the final words were really for them or him. When she looked up again, everyone at the long table was standing. Smithies leant his weight against the table. Brodie thought suddenly of her granddad and a tear slipped down her cheek.

  ‘I’m duty-bound to say this is the most unusual of requests, Mr Bray.’

  Brodie’s grandfather sat nervously in his chair, his scooter helmet resting precariously in his lap. ‘And I must say that as my solicitor, your job is merely to tell me if what I suggest is workable and not to offer opinion on the wisdom behind the act.’

  Mr Baxter of Pout, Hackett and Gurr LLP winced visibly and lowered his gaze to the desk. ‘It’s just it’s an awfully large amount of money, Mr Bray.’

  ‘And you think at my age in life I should stick to usual?’

  ‘No, sir. Not at all. Not at all.’

  ‘Good.’ Mr Bray grasped his bicycle clips which balanced on the arm of the chair. ‘So. Is what I’ve suggested possible?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely possible, sir.’

  ‘And there’s no loopholes you can see regarding the education of the children or the purchase of the properties?’

  ‘No, sir. I’ve checked the land registry and the huts of the building can be sold separately so what you’re suggesting is perfectly legitimate. And as regards the education constraints, this Mr Smithies you mentioned seems to have covered every base. We have no worries there.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘And my dealing with the US branch suggests Mr Fabyan III of Riverbanks Labs is more than happy to cover the shortfall in costs and act as guarantor.’