anything one desired to create. And topping die list of desirables was, of course, gold.'
The monsignor explained how alchemy also functioned on a physiological level. Aristotle's four elements also manifested themselves in the four humors: phlegm, blood, bile, and black bile. In a healthy human, the humors were believed to be in balance. Illness was thought to arise from a
deficiency or an excess of one of the humors. Alchemy evolved beyond the search for a recipe that would turn lead into gold. It promised to uncover the secrets to physiological transformations, from sickness to health, or from old age to youth. Furthermore, many alchemists also used the search for this formula as a metaphor for seeking moral perfection, believing that what could be accomplished in nature could also be realized in the heart and mind. In its spiritual guise, the Philosopher's Stone they sought was believed to be capable of causing a spiritual conversion as well as a physical one.
Alchemy promised everything to whoever unlocked its secrets: wealth, longevity, even immortality.
In the twelfth century, however, alchemy was also mysterious and frightening to those who had never experienced it. Alchemists used strange instruments and mystical incantations; they employed cryptic symbolism and suggestive colors in their art. Aristotle's works were eventually banned. At the time, any science, as it was then called, was thought to be a challenge to the authority of the Church; a science that promised spiritual purification was a direct threat to the Church. 'Which,'
De Angelis continued, 'could be another explanation for the Vatican allowing the Templars' persecution to proceed unchallenged.
'The timing, the location, the origin of it all, everything fits.' The monsignor glanced around the table. 'Now don't get me wrong.' He flashed a comforting smile. 'I'm not saying such a formula exists, although to me it's certainly no more of a stretch of the imagination than the other fanciful theories of the Templars' great secret that have been discussed around this table and elsewhere.
What I'm simply saying is that a man who has lost touch with reality could easily believe that such a formula exists.'
Tess looked briefly at Reilly and hesitated before turning to face De Angelis. 'Why would Vance want to make gold?'
'You forget, the man is not thinking with the clearest of minds. You said so yourself, Miss Chaykin.
One need only look at what happened at the Met to realize that. That was not a plan drawn up by a sane man. So once you keep in mind that the man isn't behaving rationally, anything's possible. It could be a means to an end. Financing to allow him to achieve whatever demented objective he's set himself.' He shrugged. 'This man, Vance . . . he's clearly delusional, and he's caught in the grip of some nonsensical treasure hunt. It seems to me like you have a madman on your hands, and whatever it is he's after, sooner or later, he's going to realize that he's been chasing a ghost, and I dread to think of how he's going to react when that realization hits.'
A disconcerting quiet descended on the table as the assembled few mulled over that sobering thought.
Jansson leaned forward. 'Whatever he thinks he's after, he doesn't seem to mind how many dead bodies it takes for him to get there, and we need to stop him. But it seems to me like the only thing we have to work with right now are these damn papers.' He was holding up the copy of the manuscript. 'If we could read it, it might tell us what his next move is.' He turned to Reilly.
'What's the NSA saying?'
'It's not looking good. I spoke to Terry Kendricks before coming in, and he's not optimistic.'
'Why not?'
'They know it's a basic polyalphabetic substitution cipher. Nothing too sophisticated. The military used it for decades, but code breaking is all about frequency of occurrence, about patterns; you spot repeated words, deduce what they are, and that gives you something to work off until you ultimately manage to figure out the mnemonic key and work your way back from there. In this case, they simply don't have enough material to work with. If the document were longer, or if they had other documents written in the same code, they'd be able to deduce the key pretty easily. But six pages is just too little to go on.'
Jansson's face bent inward. 'I don't believe this. Several billion dollars of funding and they still can't crack something a bunch of monks came up with seven hundred years ago?' He shrugged, breathing out through pursed lips for a long moment. 'All right. Then we forget about the damn manuscript and concentrate elsewhere. We need to go over everything we have and find a new tack.'
***
De Angelis was watching Tess. She said nothing. She glanced over at him, and something in her eyes told De Angelis that he hadn't convinced her, and that she sensed this was about something more than just funding a personal vendetta.
Tes indeed, De Angelis mused. This woman is decidedly dangerous. But for the time being, her potential usefulness outweighed the danger she posed.
For just how long, Uiough, remained to be seen.
Chapter 44
'What station is that?'
Tess had agreed to an offer of a lift from Reilly, and sitting in the car with him now, listening to the uplifting music, the setting sun peeping out from behind a cluster of graphite clouds and painting the horizon a dark pink, she was glad she accepted his offer.
She felt relaxed and safe. More than that, she was finding that she liked being around him. There was something about his toughness, his incisive determination, his . . . honesty. It was plain to see.
She knew she could trust him, which was more than could be said for most men she'd come across, her ex- husband a particularly stellar example of that subhuman breed. With her house empty now that Kim and her mom had flown to Arizona, she was looking forward to a warm bath and a glass of red wine; a pill would also be drafted in to guarantee a good night's sleep.
'It's a CD. The last track was from Willie and Lobo's Caliente. This one's Pat Metheny. It's one of my comps.' He shook his head slightly. 'Now there's something a guy should never confess to.'
'Why not?'
He grinned. 'You kidding me? Burning compilation CDs? Come on. A sure sign of way too much free time.'
'Oh, I don't know about that. It could also be the sign of someone who's quite particular and knows exactly what he likes.'
He nodded. 'I like that interpretation.'
'I had a feeling you would.' She smiled and looked ahead for a moment, soaking in the subtle combination of the electric guitar and the complex orchestrations that were the group's trademark.
'It's good.'
'Yeah?'
'Really soothing and . . . inspirational. Plus we're ten minutes into it and my ears haven't gone numb, which is a nice change from the carnage Kim normally subjects them to.'
'That bad, huh?'
'Don't get me started. And the lyrics, my God ... I thought I was a hip mom, but some of those 'songs,' if you can even call them that ...'
Reilly grinned. 'What's the world coming to?'
'Hey, you're not exactly the king of hip-hop either.'
'Does Steely Dan count?'
'I don't think so.'
He put on a mock dejected look. 'Bummer.'
Tess looked ahead. 'I'm telling you, it's a New Frontier out there,' she deadpanned, watching him from the corner of her eye, waiting for it, then grinning when she saw that it clicked with him, enjoying catching him off guard with the title of the Donald Fagen track. He gave her a small, impressed nod, and their eyes met. She felt her face warm slightly, when her cell phone decided to come to life.
Annoyed by the intrusion, she fished it out of her bag and looked at it. The screen wasn't displaying the
