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.”
