Codex

by Adrian Dawson

  “Thanks Em,” He pressed ‘TAB’ again to close the floating palette as well as holding ‘ALT’ to release the door latch and turned his attentions back to the blurred items in the movie.

  To the right of the books was what appeared to be an empty glass and to the right of that, disappearing behind Lara’s shoulder, was a bright red glow which seemed to possess the structure of illuminated letters. Jack scrolled across the area and selected ‘ENLARGE’. He could pull no more detail from the section but its increased size made it far more recognisable; an LED clock reading ‘08:12’. According to the mainframe log that was twelve minutes before she had downloaded the message, consistent with her having downloaded the file complete. The LED numbers were of the kind often used in bedside clock radios. Wherever in the world Lara had been at the time of this transmission, Jack got the distinct feeling that this had been her temporary sleeping quarters.

  Wherever she had been in the world it also told him one more thing. She had been in the same time zone.

  He closed the enlarged section and looked again at the overall image. There was nothing else that seemed to be worthy of his interest it seemed, though it was not for the want of looking. Eventually, his heart back in his mouth, he clicked ‘PLAY’ and his daughter’s face came to life again. The same ten minute message and the same lack of clues that he had seen many times already. The door opened and MaryBeth appeared carrying two large cups of coffee. She handed one over and took a seat to Jack’s right, glancing at Lara’s image on the screen.

  “Tearing yourself up again?” she asked with concern.

  “Don’t think I have that much of a choice, do you?” he said, though his question was nothing if not rhetorical. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “I just want to see if there’s anything that might give me an edge over this guy, you know? There might even be something that I’ve had all along, but never really looked at before. Something that might confirm or deny the things he’s telling me.”

  MaryBeth shook her head. “I still think it’s crap myself but hey, it’s your choice.” She glanced at the other screen and saw the endless stream of paintings appearing, being analysed and then disappearing again. “You don’t need to do that,” she said, “I’ve already put Dave onto the postcards.”

  “It’s not the postcards,” he replied. “It’s the fragment of painting that you can see there.” he pointed to the upper left section of the screen. “It looks old and if it is, ArtWorX should tell me who painted it.”

  “And that will tell you what exactly?”

  Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. Something.”

  With the file now settled on the final frame he called movie file number two to the screen. Unlike the first, this one had been recorded outdoors, possibly on a hillside, with only windswept grass visible in the background. There were no buildings in the scene and no identifying landmarks, just Lara herself and the countryside which surrounded her.

  “No paintings in this one,” MaryBeth offered wryly.

  “Nothing at all in this one, unless of course you know someone who can identify that species of grass for me.”

  MaryBeth glanced at the base of the image and squinted her eyes. “Why are there no GPS codes attached?”

  “She switched them off before she recorded the file,” Jack replied. The GPS code was usually attached to all Lara’s transmissions. An abbreviation of ‘Global Positioning System’ which showed longitudinal and latitudinal co-ordinates for the laptop computer wherever it was in the world. If the code was switched on, it also showed the date and time of recording. This too was missing, leaving Jack with only the date and time of receipt logged by his own mainframe and nothing whatsoever that would help pinpoint his daughter’s location at the time. “She obviously didn’t want me looking over her shoulder,” he said, smiling awkwardly at the irony.

  Knowing that the removal of the code and the lack of identifiable objects was going to make the chances of finding any useful clues in file two minimal, Jack tentatively selected the ‘PLAY’ function and the movie started to roll. The laptop’s lack of battery power at the time of transmission had made the recording jump awkwardly; Lara’s hair leaping unnaturally as each frame attempted to catch the strands as they danced on a light breeze. Like file one; Lara was reiterating that she was ‘fine’. When Jack himself had been a child, his father had always told him that ‘fine’ was merely an acronym for ‘Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional’, but he guessed that this was a private joke of which Lara was desperately unaware.

  Or was she?

  After only forty seconds of recording time something or somebody caught Lara’s eye off-camera. She turned back and said that she had to go. Simple as that. As she reached forward and the movie froze on the final frame he looked at the time bar placed by his own computer at the bottom left of the image. Four months after the first message, one minute and six point eight seconds was all she had chosen to spare him.

  He shook his head gently, took a deep breath and called up file three. This had also been recorded outdoors, on a similarly grassy hillside with a similar lack of identifiable details. It had also been her last ever message, downloaded on February 4th 2004, almost a full year before her fatal flight home.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” MaryBeth asked, knowing just how much Jack despised this third file.

  Jack sighed. He did not really know, if he was honest. In the end he just said; “I’ve got to.”

  “You know this is the one where she starts spouting the religious crap?”

  “Yes I do. And that’s why I’ve got to see it.”

  “It’s not going to help,” MaryBeth said softly. Her concern was genuine. “She might have changed her views, I mean she was on her way home, after all. Perhaps, once she’d tried the alternatives - like kids do - she’d decided that it simply wasn’t for her. In the end she might have realised that she needed you and that’s how you should be remembering her now. Not like this...” she gestured scornfully at the screen. “Not when she was still messed up.”

  Jack span around, his tone derisive if only to hide his pain. “I’m really sorry you think that, but since this file came through I think I’ve coped quite well with the knowledge that she’d found God. I didn’t like it but then, after the accident, I thought the same as you. I thought that at least she was coming back home to me and leaving all that crap behind. Now I’ve got somebody telling me that she had a child whilst she was away and the people who currently have that child might just have killed her to stop her coming home and getting my help.”

  He looked at MaryBeth with wide, expectant eyes. “Don’t you see? Getting my help. Not coming home because she loved me... not coming home because she’d decided I meant more to her than some false promise of God’s salvation. Coming home because she needed something. Help. Money, perhaps? Her laundry doing? Anything, but not love.” He shook his head in despair. “It wasn’t me she was looking for, MaryBeth, it was just what I could do for her, that’s all.”

  MaryBeth shook her head with a stern look of disbelief. “You can’t possibly believe that.”

  “I don’t know what to believe any more.” He rubbed his fingers through his neatly trimmed beard and sighed again. “You know, I spent three years wondering about my daughter. How she was. What she looked like. How she felt. And now this guy shows up and...” He looked into MaryBeth’s eyes, his tone lowered. “... and I’m scared, okay? I’m scared that I’m going to spend the rest of my life constantly wondering. If watching this... this... shit... over and over will help me find an answer then fine. Face it; it can’t possibly make me feel any worse than I already do.”

  MaryBeth said nothing.

  With the reluctant press of a button, the file started running and the silence was replaced by an excited voice; Lara resonating in every word she spoke. Unnervingly so. It was this excitement which Jack hated the most. He would never be able to handle the fact that another group of people or perhaps even some i
ntangible deity had managed to make her happier within a few months than he had achieved in her entire lifetime. Somebody had made her feel wanted.

  Jack had never felt prejudiced toward alternative or non-Semitic religions, but what he did hold an inherent dislike for were those who preyed on the weak and it was that very fact which made him hate this file the most. It was a short movie, sure, but also one that gave him the distinct impression that Lara, disillusioned as she had been at that stage with her life, had been an easy target for those promising to deliver answers. When he had first played this message he had known in an instant where every penny from her recently matured trust fund had gone.

  ‘Get on your knees and start paying.’ Genesis. The band.

  On the file she spoke of her ‘enlightenment’; that for the first time she knew deep in her heart that the answers to all existence were contained within the word of God. Everything that was, is and will ever be. There was a plan, she said, a path for everyone to follow that would lead toward the eternal life which He had promised the righteous. Abraham had shown the way and selected Mary to bring forth a Saviour for mankind. She did not expect him to understand because he lived in a world of corruption and was ruled by wealth, but she hoped that one day she would be able to show him the hidden truth of God and save him from the ultimate reckoning...

  MaryBeth shivered. “I know it’s Lara and all, but she really gives me the creeps on that one.”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah, but at least she wasn’t just telling me she was fine. At least on this one she was actually talking.”

  MaryBeth scowled. “No Jack, she wasn’t talking at all. She was preaching.”

  Though it was not something that Jack particularly wanted to accept, he knew that MaryBeth was right. It was run-of-the-mill salvation fare which he had seen occupying far too many hours of public access television already. Now he was listening to it flowing like cheap wine from the lips of his very own daughter. He was starting to realise that even though Lara had been coming home, she was never actually coming back. She was too far gone. Somebody had taken Lara Bernstein away from him permanently.

  And they had done it at least a year before Flight 320 went down.

  mother of jesus

  John 2:1

  It was late and the room, illuminated only by the pale blue of a single computer screen, was silent save for a repetitive and intermittent drumming sound. It lasted for over five minutes, was broken by a long laboured sigh, and then continued for a further three. The longer it went on, the more annoying it became. The emptiness amplified the sound, four fingers and a thumb tapping a desk becoming a herd of wild horses charging endlessly through the darkness. Slowly but surely it was driving Dave Clearwater nuts.

  Despite the fact that it was his fingers doing it.

  He leaned as far back as his chair would allow, stretched his arms wide and delivered a long, laboured yawn. “Bored, bored, bored,” he complained, though there was nobody around to listen. In the end he decided to grab a coffee from the machine. He didn’t want a coffee, he hated coffee, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do at, he checked his clock, three twenty-nine in the morning. As he stood he glared at his screen. “Get back to me, Paulo. I wanna go home, for God’s sake.”

  Paulo was one of three Spanish searchers that Dave contacted when he was looking for information, and the only one already on-line when he had logged on to ‘Netspagnol’, the Spanish Internet forum he used.

  Having spent one hour in France (virtually speaking, of course) asking about the paintings, forty-five minutes in Italy and another hour in London, Dave had consistently come up empty. Not many of his trusted searchers seemed to know a great deal about religion or the works of the Old Masters. Sometimes it seemed as though computers were their only religion; the corporations which developed them their gods. They knew more about pixels than pigments, more about icons than iconography and would only

  be tempted to get down and pray if it could be done at

  www.god.com.

  Usually that worshipful devotion to technology worked very much in Dave’s favour, because usually it was computer related information that he probed them for. As such, many had been openly surprised that tonight’s line of questioning had taken such an ecumenical slant. One or two had said that they would investigate as best they could, but had lamely suggested that he try the Louvre website in Paris. Dave thanked them all but, as he had spent his first hour doing just that, he was already aware that the site offered little more than images of the Da Vinci postcards themselves.

  Paulo, however, had reacted somewhat differently. When Dave had posted the question it had taken the Spaniard less than three minutes to compose and download his response:

  Dave, how you do?

  Your paintings problem I may be able to help. You know my father Catholic Priest yes? Well, I bet you not know I study theology in Rome when I in my teenage? In my second year I do paper on ‘heresy and heretical thought’. What this have to do with paintings eh? Well, my friend, I tell you...

  I study all about the Inquisition from instigation by Pope Gregory IX in 1231 and continue to formation of Holy Office in 1542. In first 13 years activities very slight but then when Pope Paul IV accede (1555) he charged congregation to draw up list of ‘works that offended faith or morals’. All things contained in ‘First Index of Forbidden Books’ deemed morally or doctrenally (spelling?) objectionable. Some paintings also included. Follow now?

  One name appear within book very often - your friend - Leonardo Da Vinci. I surprised at time because Leonardo supposedly represent all Christian thinking at time. So I ask tutor and he say that there was belief that Leonardo paint hidden messages in his art. ‘Contra Bocca Della Verità’ (contrary to mouth of truth). By painting messages, Leonardo put himself in great danger but he do it anyway.

  I intrigued - you know me.

  I ask tutor how he know all this and he say that he told by a guy, once a monk, who live in nearby village. He give me address. I no have but I can get I sure. You say your problem is ‘artist in picture and look away from Christ’. I think this is heresy and I think one time monk guy might be able to help. Who know?

  Three problems though Dave. First, guy very old at time (5 years ago) so probably not be alive now and second, if he is, can guarantee you he not on internet!!! Third is I have no idea where to get address so I have to do some search. I e/mail back in an hour.

  Paulo :-))

  That hour had become two. Ten minutes ago.

  The machine unceremoniously spluttered granules of coffee and powdered milk into a polystyrene cup and delivered a pre-programmed amount of blisteringly hot water. Dave reached in to retrieve it and curled his lip at the lumps which had stubbornly refused to dissolve. As his fingers reached the cup his computer finally sounded to signal an incoming message, breaking the silence and causing him to spill enough of the boiling liquid across his hand to promote the kind of expletive that he was so careful never to let his mother hear him utter.

  He left the unwanted drink and rushed over, shaking liquid from one hand as the other directed the computer’s cursor to ‘RECEIVE’. In this way he could watch the message appear live as it was downloaded:

  Sorry Dave I could no find address. Long time ago. So... I ring old tutor in Roma and he find it and call me back. Have no seen or speak him in five years so I could no just say ‘grazie’ and hang the phone. Have to talk old time new time. Well here it is yes.

  I hope he still alive and that it help you with paintings. If not I afraid I lost for further idea but I ask around for you. Ciao Baby.

  Paulo.

  Brother Frederico Mandionetti c/o Monastère Saint Jerome, Montecastrilli, Umbria, Italia.

  “Muchos gracias... Amigo!!” Dave yelled, pulling his fist triumphantly toward his body as he copied the address onto a sheet from his internal memo pad. Then he realised that he’d probably just thanked Paulo in Mexican or something. The computer would keep a copy of the E/Mail on sys
tem, so he would slide the note under Jack’s door on his way out of the building. To help clarify what it was regarding he also scribbled his name at the top and ‘This man may know of postcard link, will try to contact him for you tomorrow, Crow,’ as he pushed his free arm through the sleeve of his patchwork jacket.

  Less than a minute later the screen was off and the room was empty. As he breezed past the security officials in reception they reminded him, to his mock annoyance, that he would now be afforded less than three hours’ sleep before feeling obliged to return to work again. The guards knew as well as everybody else within the company that whilst the young whizzkid bore all the visual hallmarks of a laid-back native with long hair and little or no work ethic, it was actually a well-crafted misnoma. Though IntelliSoft employees generally dictated their own timetables, late was a word which was usually accredited to the time Dave Clearwater left work, never the time he arrived.

  diligent inquisition

  Deuteronomy 19:18

  Paulo Estadore had indeed studied heresy in the second year of his theology masters, but that had been in Barcelona, not Rome. Nor did he have any idea who the hell Brother Frederico Mandionetti was. He had never heard his name and he never would. All Paulo Estadore did know for sure was that he was going to die.

  He had known for so long, it seemed, that in some ways he had almost resigned himself to it. He did not care any more. Anything to escape the pain. His concern was no longer that he was going to die, but that he was going to be murdered without ever actually knowing why.

  It was because he had researched heresy that he could now recognise an auto-da-fé when he saw one, but what he did not understand was why the hell such a thing should be performed on him. He was a believer, a Catholic; the son of a Catholic priest for Christ’s sake. He had only ever researched heresy as part of a University paper. Studying alternative points of view had not diminished his own faith, if anything it had served only to strengthen it, so why should he now been tried and condemned as a heretic?