computer specialist from MIT were to present the latest techniques for decoding the text. But it was the third that interested the priest: 'The Voynich Manuscript: A Doomed Quest for Eldorado?'
He clutched his attache case tighter and thought of the photocopied document within it. The original recorded the trial and testimony of a Jesuit priest burnt at the stake for heresy. It also recorded the existence of a book that should have been burnt with him: The Devil's Book.
He confirmed the time of the last presentation, satisfied he could still make his flight, then checked the name of the academic giving it: Dr Lauren Kelly.
4
Sitting on the New Haven line train from Grand Central to Darien, Ross Kelly was preoccupied with thoughts of his career. Geology had not been a popular or easy choice for a schoolboy growing up in the Bible Belt. His mother had believed the Earth was created a few thousand years ago and that the Great Flood was the major geologically related event in human history. Creationism might have morphed into Intelligent Design, but things hadn't changed much – and not only in the Bible Belt: the new pope had recently rejected Darwinian evolution in favour of God's guiding hand in all aspects of creation.
But Ross had always fought for his passions. Ever since he was a boy, growing up on his father's farm in the shadow of the Ozark mountains, he had seen geology as a romantic, magical science that charted Earth's history over an unimaginably deep chasm of time. He could still remember the hairs standing up on the back of his neck when he'd first read that Mount Everest was made of rock that had once formed the floor of the oceans. How could anyone not marvel at the sheer pressure and time involved in pushing the Himalayas from the bottom of the sea to the top of the world?
A scholarship to study geology at Princeton, a PhD from MIT and his first years with the earth-sciences division of the mighty Alascon had fuelled his wonder. It was quickly apparent, though, that the oil industry cared more about making profit than exploring the world's treasures. When Xplore, then a lean, progressive search consultancy, had headhunted him, their desire for fresh ideas had rekindled his passion.
But his career there was over now: the visionaries who had recruited him had gone, swept away by men like Underwood and Kovacs, who had more in common with accountants than with explorers. And he had no illusions that other companies in the industry would be any different in embracing anything new.
On the short taxi drive home from the station, Ross contemplated his future. He tried not to think about whether he had made the right decision, or what his wife would say. As the driver pulled into the kerb he saw his ancient Mercedes convertible parked next to Lauren's economical Prius. He had acquired the so-called classic car after he'd joined Xplore. Back then it had seemed to symbolize his success. Now, like his career, its lustre had faded and it looked what it was – an old car covered with bird shit. A third car, small and boxy, was parked alongside. Ross groaned: he was in no mood for visitors. His work took him all over the world, but when he came home he wanted to be alone with his wife. He enjoyed nothing better than a bottle of Pinot Noir, pizza, making love and squabbling over the TV remote – he'd never understand why someone as smart as Lauren preferred reality makeover shows to classic comedies, a good movie or anything by David Attenborough on the Discovery channel. He paid the man, got out and crunched across the gravel to the white clapperboard house he had mortgaged himself to the hilt to buy.
The front door opened and Lauren appeared. In the early-afternoon light, her honey-blonde bob gleamed, her soft green eyes sparkled and her skin glowed. Just seeing her made him feel better. The door opened wider, to reveal another striking woman. While his wife was conventionally beautiful, her assistant at Yale was the opposite. Elizabeth 'Zeb' Quinn resembled a strange blend of punk and geek. Her long, curly hair was dyed henna- red and she wore thick glasses, second-hand jeans, a shapeless hemp jacket and a T-shirt proclaiming: Gaia's Your Mother! So Stop Killing Her!
Lauren rushed to kiss him. 'Ross, you're back – God, I'm so happy to see you.'
'Not as happy as me.' He held her tight, enjoying the smell of her hair, then looked over her shoulder. 'Hi, Zeb.'
Elizabeth Quinn smiled and raised a hand in greeting. Ross and she had as civil a relationship as any oilman could have with an ecowarrior who believed everybody in his industry was raping the planet. 'Don't worry, I'll leave you two alone. I was just helping Lauren with her presentation tonight.'
'Presentation?'
Lauren rolled her eyes. 'You know, the Voynich. The translation. My big night.'
'Oh, yes…' He'd pushed it to the back of his mind because he hadn't planned to get back from Uzbekistan until the end of the week – just in time for them to fly off on their first vacation in years: two weeks' caving in the jungles of Borneo followed by a week on the beach in Malaysia. He had fought for the time off work – but that, of course, was no longer a problem.
'Welcome home, Ross,' said Zeb, and got into her little hybrid car. 'See you both later. Good luck tonight, Lauren, and whatever Knight says, don't give away any more than you need to.'
'I won't. Thanks.' They waited for her to drive away, then Lauren put her arm through Ross's and led him indoors.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small rock. Its opaque metallic surface made it look like gold in the sunlight streaming into the hall. He always brought Lauren an unusual specimen from a field trip. 'It's Schreibersite, a rare meteor stone.'
'It's beautiful. Thank you.' She smiled, eyes bright with excitement. 'I'm glad you had to rush back – I've got amazing news.'
'Great.' He paused. 'I've got some news, too, about the takeover I mentioned on the phone.'
'Tell me.'
'I've resigned.'
Ross wasn't sure what reaction he'd been expecting but it wasn't the one he got. Lauren burst out laughing.
'What's so funny?' He had always admired and envied her relaxed approach to money. She came from a relatively wealthy New York family and didn't equate it with security as he did. Nevertheless, even she had to understand the implications for the mortgage. Then again, she had always counselled him against buying such an expensive house and would probably downgrade quite happily.
She shook her head, trying to control herself. 'I'm sorry, Ross. I'm not laughing at you, just the timing.'
'Why? What's your amazing news? Don't tell me your career's taken yet another stellar turn as I've flushed mine down the drain.'
'It's our amazing news. I saw the doctor today. We're having a baby.'
For a second he didn't know what to say. They had been trying for a child for years, but after three unsuccessful rounds of IVF, they had virtually given up. He swept her into his arms. 'That's fantastic! How long?'
'I'm almost three months.'
'Three months.' He stroked her belly, imagining his child growing inside her. 'Why didn't you tell me before?'
'I only just found out. Must have happened when you came back from that long trip to Saudi – you remember how we made up for lost time?'
He smiled.
'And don't worry about your job, Ross. You always feel so responsible for providing us with everything. But we're fine. More than fine. If the faculty members don't make me a full professor after tonight, they're bound to when I translate the final section of the Voynich. A Yale professorship might not pay as much as selling your soul to Big Oil but it's enough.'
He kissed her. 'I'm not worried. The only real problem is our vacation. We'll have to cancel the caving expedition – far too strenuous for a woman in your condition – and spend the whole time on the beach.'
'That suits me fine.'
'I bet it does.' He laughed. She always preferred to laze on a beach and read while he got bored after a few
