by Joseph Nagle
Well all be a son-of-a-prostitute, thought the Sheriff.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Papal Apartment
The Vatican
“You have the code that you need, now call off your dogs. Leave my wife and father out of this!”
“Dr. Sterling, you are not finished. There is still the other half of the code to finish.”
“Other half? All you needed was this one! You have the other half already! You don’t need…” Michael abruptly stopped speaking; the revelation of the Monsignor’s true intentions reverberated throughout his thoughts. His father’s voice was speaking to him again: “Any time you put three men in a room one will immediately conspire against the other, and the third will align with whoever comes out on top.”
“It’s you! It’s been you all along. You don’t have any intention of giving these codes to the Messenger or to the Director do you?”
Monsignor Geoffrey Hauptmann looked upon Dr. Michael Sterling with a look that bordered on childish admiration. “I do stand corrected, Dr. Sterling. You are as smart as the Director said you are. If you must know, and apparently you have some incessant need to satisfy all of those unanswered questions in your tiny little brain – an all too common trait of your kind – The Order has been led for far too long by incompetent fools. They have fallen prey to the same things that plague this world: greed and self preservation. It is time for new leadership, Dr. Sterling.”
“And that would be you.”
Geoffrey didn’t answer and only smiled. He pointed the weapon at Michael, “Get back to work.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
The Oval Office
The White House
The Lt. Colonel looked young for his rank. He was visibly nervous, which couldn’t be held against him, or seem out of the ordinary given that the well practiced procedures he was now following were not being conducted as a drill.
Many times he had read the Field Manual that covered the required and well planned steps. They were embedded eternally into his brain, and next to the face of his young daughter, whose tiny blue eyes and admiring smile were also running through his mind. He didn’t have a photographic memory, but the requisites of his one simple job required perfection. Every step was memorized. He really hoped that this was a drill and that no one had yet told him: he hoped that this wasn’t real.
The tension in the room had the President pacing while all of the powerful men of the President’s inner circle watched the Lt. Colonel closely. The officer carefully laid the “football” on the coffee table in the center of the room. It was an action that caused all of those staring to move closer to the officer and the President to stop pacing.
The large and heavy leather briefcase earned the nickname “football” from an old Single Integrated Operational nuclear war Plan (SIOP) that had been codenamed “dropkick.” Although the SIOP has long since changed, the nickname stuck.
The “football” was now open.
The Lt. Colonel pulled out the four highly classified contents and began to spread them before the men. Each item that he laid out on the table seemed to validate the resolute seriousness of the situation.
General Diedrick picked up the Black Book, the first item, and refreshed his memory of its contents. The book listed all of the retaliatory options afforded to the leaders of the United States including one that called for a full-scale nuclear strike.
The President and Vice President sat themselves in front of the table. They were side-by-side. They looked at one another knowing that soon the Secret Service may have to be called in to separate the two. It would be a necessary action in case one of the men was to die. The Vice President picked up the second item from the “football”; it was a list of all of the classified launch sites. He studied them.
The Lt. Colonel gave the third item directly to the President. It was a three-by-five inch index card, “Mr. President, these are the authentication codes,” said the Lt. Colonel.
The index card was small and light, and was made from cheap paper stock, but beamed omnipotent in the round room. The President took the codes and then stared at each man in the room. The authentication codes are used to release any weapon from the United States’ nuclear arsenal and, now that the President was holding them in his hands, somehow exclaimed just how real the threat was. The President was nervous and afraid, but it didn’t show.
The fourth item that the officer pulled from the reinforced satchel outlined the procedures for the Emergency Broadcast System (EBS). No sooner had the paper touched the table when the DHS snatched it from its top and headed toward the door calling out, “Mr. President, I will activate the EBS immediately!”
“Stop!” The President’s booming command would have echoed off the walls but the room was oval. Instead, the deafening word just hung in the air as if it were an anvil readying to drop. General Diedrick just shook his head at the presumptuous actions of the DHS.
“You will do no such thing! So far, the only thing that we have is nuclear missiles pointing straight up. We will do nothing until such a time warrants action on our part.”
The President walked to the shocked DHS and angrily removed the instructions from his grasp, “Mr. Director, would you risk fear induced rioting and widespread panic simply to satisfy your ego? Wasn’t it you that lamented the number of innocent lives that would be lost if we didn’t act pragmatically, that you would give one life for thousands?”
General Diedrick didn’t know how he could enjoy this moment given the somber circumstances, but he did.
The DHS began to open his mouth to speak but the President held up his hand, “John, I nominated you because you were highly recommended to me by the outgoing President. Against my better judgment, and as a favor to him, I did so. I made a mistake. Please go back to your office until I decide that I need you.”
The DHS grew sheepish and pale and looked ready to beg. If he were a dog, his tail would have been between his legs and he would have been whimpering. He left the Oval Office as a defeated man.
The President looked upon the remaining men and said, “This is not the time to act in a manner to satisfy no personal or political agendas or egos. I expect that each and every one of you in this room, including me, will remember that at no time in our history have we been faced with the gravity of a global nuclear threat. At this moment we are but men; not Republicans nor Democrats, but, simply, are men. Our actions today may decide the fate of millions. We will act with calm; we will act with intelligence; and, above all, we will act with control. Any words, or comments, or suggestions that come out of your mouths will be done so with care and conscious thought. You will think twice before you speak. Any decisions made in this room will be made together. It is the fragility of the human condition and our innate morality, and not our biases and hatreds, which should drive us in our decisions. Do I make myself clear?”
Every man nodded.
With the aura of absolute authority, the President looked to each man, “What we may decide today will no doubt haunt each one of us for the rest of our lives. Forever, your soul will be in despair. This decision, if made, will be the single most crucial action that any one of us will have made or ever will make. If there is any one of you that does not feel he has the ability to make a decision that would extinguish millions of innocent lives, please excuse yourself now.”
Not one man moved as a few long and breathless moments passed.
“Good. General, let’s start with you. Brief all of us on any and all options available.”
The General opened the Black Book and began. As he did, the Lt. Colonel pulled out the one remaining item. On to the table, he set a radio and handset. The secured satellite phone is only to be used once the current SIOP is enacted.
General Diedrick stopped reading and looked at the phone in the same manner that every man in the room did. Continuing to read, he hoped they wouldn’t have to use it.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Papal Apartment
&n
bsp; The Vatican
Michael clearly understood what was happening, almost kicking himself for not having figured this out earlier. The Monsignor was right in the middle of a coup. The man wanted to take control of The Order; he wants to be their leader. He was waiting to see what would happen between the two leaders: between the Other and the Messenger. Putting his attention back to the remaining portion of the riddle, he thought, I will not let this happen.
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.” 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 igo – 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 “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.
