“But that’s not the book we’re looking at here,” Lyra asked.
“No, ma’am. Not only that, but this book has another book hidden within it.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a secret text hidden in what you see here.” Jenkins brought up morepages. These were filled with text in a language Leah couldn’t identify.
“Language has never been my strong suit,” Lyra admitted.
Leah’s background had included encryption, but not -linguistics. If someonetried to hide information in English, French, or Japanese, she could ferret through most of those and find suspect passages.
“What you’re looking at here is Coptic Egyptian,” Jenkins said. “Presumablythe language King Solomon might have used for scholarly works.”
“Where’s the secret text?” Lyra peered more closely.
“Here.” Jenkins spoke commands and certain words and phrases were highlightedon the monitor.
“This looks like a different language,” Leah said.
“I wouldn’t have known that,” Lyra said.
“I’ve a bit of a background in linguistics,” Leah admitted. “Nothing sharpenough to handle something like this.”
“You’ve more than I do,” Lyra said. “I can speak passable French and Italian,but I have extremely limited use of those written languages.”
“That is a different language,” Jenkins said.
“What language?” Lyra asked.
“We don’t know.” Jenkins sighed in an enervating manner as only the youngcould do. “I’ve sent it round to the experts in documents, but they’ve yet toidentify it either. And I must admit I’m pretty keen on languages myself.”
“How did you find it?” Leah asked. “It looks seamless.”
“It is seamless. The conjugation of the verbs and the syntax is faultless.However, the molecular scan revealed the hidden words because they were always shown with two layers of ink. One was written right over the top of the other.”
Jenkins spoke commands and one of the words overlaid another. The letters were formed differently.
“Those aren’t a match,” Leah said.
“No.”
Leah stared at the jumble of letters. “Something as atrocious as that shouldhave been immediately apparent.”
“If both inks were written so the human eye could see them, it would havebeen.”
“Explain,” Lyra said.
Jenkins faced her. “The second layer of ink was invisible to the naked eye.Judging from the chemical composition we were able to extract from the burned vellum sheetsand heat does change a chemical signature, mind youwe’ve made atentative match to one of those chemicals used by the Cabalists.”
“A Cabalist wrote this?” Lyra asked.
Leah felt her stomach knot up. If that was true, it might screw up her hopes of getting the translation back to Simon and the other Templar.
“We don’t know that a Cabalist wrote this,” Jenkins said. “Given the timethat we think this manuscript was written, based on the chemical composition of the paper and the inks, it’s possible someone else was using the ink as well.”
“But you don’t know what it says?” Lyra asked.
Jenkins shook his head. “We have no clue at all.”
FORTY-THREE
Eleven-point-seven miles east of the Templar fortress, Simon stood on the lee side of the ATV he’d used to arrive at the rendezvous. He scanned thesurrounding darkness through the HUD.
Nathan and Danielle stood at attention nearby. Other Templar secured the perimeter.
In the distance, Simon could see the London landscape. Black smoke from the Burn occluded the sky. Even after four years of seeing it, the fact that the city was unlit at night was strange and foreboding.
“Simon,” the ATV comm ops radioed. “I’ve got two unfriendlies onscreen.”
“Put them through,” Simon said. In the next moment the two unknown vehiclesghosted onto his HUD.
“They’re on a direct approach vector,” the comm ops man stated coolly. “Atthirty-seven miles per hour.”
“Can you give me an ETA?” Simon asked.
“Given the terrain and based on the fact that they’re pretty much maxing outthe ATV, I’d estimate between twenty-two and twenty-six minutes.”
Twenty-four minutes later, the two ATVs rolled up onto the tree-covered hill where Simon and his crew waited.
“Simon Cross,” someone radioed from one of the ATVs.
Patched into the comm channel from his ATV, Simon saw the Templar’s faceappear on the HUD. He opened the channel at his end so his face could be seen as well.
“I’m here,” Simon answered. He recognized the Templar’s features although ithad been years since he’d seen the man.
Donald Pettibone was in his forties by now. His face was lean and haggard. A thin salt and pepper mustache framed his upper lip. He was a sergeant of the House Rorke and had trained many of the Templar in small-unit maneuvers. The Fists, as they were called, of the House Rorke were some of the most disciplined of all Templar.
“It’s good to see you again, Simon,” Pettibone said. He smiled a little, butthere was no warmth to his dark eyes.
“I’m glad you’re well, Sergeant Pettibone. Still training?”
“Always.”
“I’m surprised you’re away from it now.”
Pettibone hesitated. “The High Seat felt it would be better if you saw afriendly face.”
Friendly face or not, Simon still didn’t trust the situation. “What does hewant?” He didn’t feel generous enough to refer to Booth by either his name orhis rank.
“To talk with you.”
“He could have come himself.”
Pettibone pursed his lips in distaste. Simon wasn’t sure if it was becausehe’d suggested Booth come or because he’d forced Pettibone into admitting theHigh Seat didn’t want to do that.
“He feels it would be safer if you visited the Underground,” Pettibone said.
“Then we’re at an impasse,” Simon said. “Booth has wasted both our times.” Hestarted to turn away.
“Lord Cross.”
Pettibone’s use of the hereditary title froze Simon in place.
“That was my father’s title,” Simon said, “and he chose not to use it exceptat House functions. He saw himself as a knight first, a Seraphim and defender of the House Rorke and the Order.”
“I know that, Simon,” Pettibone said. “I’m only reminding you that the tideis yours now.”
“Why?”
“Because there are some who feel you should be treated accordingly.”
Simon studied the man’s face. There had never been any deviousness inSergeant Donald Pettibone. He was as truthful a man as ever served a House.
“When
