In Tongues of the Dead (13 page)

“There's other copies of the book.”

Benicio frowned. “You have a copy?”

“No, no, no,” McCallum said. “I mean that the entire manuscript has been scanned, and there are copies of all the research that's been done over the years.”

“That's great!” Benicio exclaimed. “Where can we get them?”

“Anywhere. Every single page of the Voynich is on the Internet.” But suddenly he frowned.

“What is it?” Benicio asked. “I'm not sure the copies are any good. I asked the cardinal why I had to watch the Voynich manuscript when all the pages
were available online, and he said only the original can be read. The copies are useless.”

“What? Why?”

“He just said that eyes will look directly on the manuscript and read. I never asked for more of an explanation.”

“I know there is a legend or myth about the Nephilim that they can only read the language written by the hand of another Nephilim. Obviously, a copy isn't written directly by a descendent.”

“Perhaps that is it,” Father McCallum said.

The waitress slid up next to their table. “Orders, guys?”

They both scooped up plastic menus. Benicio ordered an egg and ham crepe wrap and McCallum ordered pancakes. She thanked them, topped up their coffee, and spun away.

“Have you ever investigated anything like this before?” Father McCallum asked.

Benicio shook his head. “Nope. This one is completely out there.”

“Could this boy really be Nephilim?”

“I don't even want to speculate. Not yet.”

“Maybe he can read the manuscript because he's autistic.”

“I don't really see how — it doesn't make sense that a child would not develop speech but then be able to talk specifically about the Voynich.”

“Because if he can't talk, he can't talk,” Father McCallum said.

“Right. Even in the cases of savants I don't think this fits.”

“That's when the child has a real talent for something.”

“
Si
, like when an autistic child has incredible math skills or can play the piano like a virtuoso.”

Both men were silent for a moment. Then the old priest asked, “Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“Clinical psychology. You did your doctorate and then entered the church, where you haven't exactly practiced as a psychologist.”

“Well,” Benicio said slowly, “That's true, but I use my training every day. I investigate issues around the world. When I meet new people I have to establish rapport quickly and efficiently. I often have to help people through a crisis just to ask them what's wrong. I use a lot of psychology without actually hanging up a shingle that says I'm a psychologist.”

“I can see that. I never meant to imply you don't use your training. I was just curious whether you ever regret the path you took. You must have given up a lot to serve the faith.”

“You get a lot back though,” Benicio said. “You probably know that more than I. How do you manage being so isolated out here? You aren't working in a church at all.”

Father McCallum's face lit up. “I couldn't be happier. I love the library and I love my job there. And I know I'm serving a higher purpose. I know there is a great secret hidden in the pages of that book, and we're finally so close to it. I can't believe my good fortune. This has been a mystery for hundreds of years and I may be here when it's finally solved. I couldn't be happier.”

The food arrived and they began to eat. Benicio knew Father McCallum wanted to talk about the Voynich, to speculate about the mysteries it held and the Vatican's role, but he was too tired to listen. The effort of the last few days was rapidly catching up with him. He also found himself thinking about grad school. It had been a great experience: the work, the classmates, and the practical experiences.

When he'd joined the church he'd left behind more than a career. His calling also meant leaving his girlfriend. Seeing Father McCallum growing old chasing the Vatican's mystery gave Benicio a glimpse of his own future: he would grow old alone. He would have no one.

He missed Jenna.

“What are you thinking about?” Father McCallum asked.

“Nothing,” Benicio said, shaking his head. “Just wondering what's going to happen next.”

As they walked to the car, Benicio said, “I'm exhausted. I think I'll grab a cab and head to the hotel. The Vatican put me in the Holiday Inn Express. I need to get some sleep. It's been a real whirlwind recently.”

“Listen,” Father McCallum said. “Why don't you drop me off at my place and then keep the car. You'll need it more than I will. That way I know you'll stay in touch with me.”

Benicio smiled. “No, you don't have to do that.”

“Really, I insist.”

Benicio nodded. “Okay.”

They headed for the older priest's house. When they arrived, Father McCallum said, “Would you try and keep me in the loop?”

Benicio frowned. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Once you report and they find out the Voynich is gone, my usefulness might be at an end. I'll be disappointed if I can't follow this thing through. I'd like to help.”

Benicio knew Father McCallum was right: if the cdf saw no further use for the old man he'd be reassigned and forgotten. “If there's any way I can swing it, I'll make sure you stay involved. I won't leave without saying goodbye.”

Father McCallum smiled broadly. “I was right about you. You're a hard man to dislike.” He got out of the car and walked toward his house.

Benicio watched him walk around the house to the back before he put the car in gear and headed to his hotel.

Father McCallum hung his coat on a hook at the back door and walked through the kitchen. He went upstairs without calling a greeting to Evelyn and Fred. Then he remembered it was late Friday morning — they'd be out grocery shopping until after lunch.

He felt tired and sad. No, not sad — dejected. His energy completely drained.

He knew why. Father Valori would call the Vatican and report on the child.
The church isn't going to need me any longer. My job was to watch over the manuscript, and now it's gone. I'm no good to them any more
.

He tried to wash those thoughts from his mind. It was the exhaustion talking. He should just take a nap.

Ronald McCallum walked into his bedroom. He kicked his shoes off, sat heavily on the edge of the bed, and then dropped over sideways. He had to talk to someone.

The Most Reverend Thomas O'Regan, in the archdiocese of New Jersey
.

The old priest thought of his dear friend, a respected figure in the Roman Catholic church.
I'll just call him up for a chat
.

He sat, reached for the telephone, and dialed the number, thinking about what he would say. Thomas knew he worked at the Beinecke Library, but Father McCallum had been careful not to divulge the exact nature of his work. The cdf had insisted on secrecy even with other church members. It seemed too clandestine to Father McCallum, but a part of him enjoyed the top-secret feel of it.

“Office of the Archbishop.”

“Yes, could I speak with the archbishop please?”

“Who can I say is calling?”

“Ronald McCallum — an old friend.” This was true in every respect. Ronald and Thomas had attended seminary together years before and remained friends ever since.

“One moment.”

There was a pause and a clicking sound, then Thomas said, “Ronnie?”

It was good to hear his voice. “Hey Thomas. How are things?”

“Wonderful. Wonderful. What about you? Still guarding the books?”

He hesitated. “Yes. Still here.”

“Everything okay?”

Father McCallum heard concern in Thomas' voice. Again he hesitated, then said, “Sure. I guess. Just reaching another milestone and feeling my age, I suppose.”

“What's the milestone?”

“Well, I think that my job here at the library might be getting close to an end.”

“Why? What happened?”

The old priest weighed his words carefully. “I'm not sure. I really feel like I need to talk to someone. My world is getting turned upside down and I've never felt so disoriented, so disconnected.”

“Ronnie,” Thomas said, “why don't I come visit you. I have some time in my schedule and could pop down there for the day.”

“No, no. I wouldn't hear of it. I didn't call to try and pull you away from your work. I just wanted to hear a friendly voice, I guess.”

“Can't you tell me some of what's going on? I might be able to help.”

“Well, the short version of the story is that I've been watching a certain manuscript for all the years I've been here.”

“Right.”

“No one has been able to make sense of the manuscript in fifty years, and then yesterday along comes a child who can easily read it.”

“That's good, isn't it?”

“I thought so but I don't know. The cdf sent someone to look into it and that person is reporting to the Vatican right
now. I think the cdf is going to take things over. I'm worried I'm going to be out.”

“What was the manuscript?” Thomas asked.

Father McCallum bit his bottom lip. “Um, I'm not sure I — maybe I'd better not say.”

Thomas didn't comment.

“I think it's better if I don't give any specifics.”

Thomas still didn't speak.

“Hello? Thomas? You there?”

Still nothing.

“Hello?” the old priest repeated.

The line clicked again, and Ronnie McCallum heard a distant hum of static. He was about to hang up when a heavily accented voice spoke softly. “Your betrayal is noted.”

Then the line went dead.

After he settled into his room Benicio contemplated the phone call to the Vatican. He knew he wouldn't be able to relax until he called. He was worried, though. Once he made the call he could be forced into immediate service without having a chance to rest. He was tempted to put it off, if only for a few hours.

But that was not the Vatican way.

He picked up the hotel phone and hit zero to connect to the front desk, then gave the operator the fifteen-digit number he'd memorized on the plane. He dropped into a moon-shaped chair next to a tiny table. It was a clean, comfortable room, but small.

One ring.

“Hello?” It was the accented voice of Cardinal Espinosa. Benicio realized the cardinal had been sitting by the phone. Good thing he hadn't waited until morning with his report.

“Your Eminence,” Benicio began. “I have made contact with the boy.”

“And?”

“There is something unusual, no doubt. I haven't had a chance to observe the child reading the manuscript because —”

“No!” the cardinal said sharply. “The boy is not to view the manuscript again. You are only to determine the credibility of Father McCallum's claim. You are not to let the boy read the manuscript.”

“Well, I was going to say that the Voynich manuscript has been stolen, so I —”

“Stolen? Already?”

Already
? “I can't verify the boy's abilities without letting him see the manuscript. Should I be looking for the manuscript?” Benicio asked.

“That book is not your concern. You were to evaluate the claims of Father McCallum. That is all.”

“Yes, your Eminence.”

“Is there credibility to Father McCallum's claim? Yes or no?”

“I would like more time to investigate, but right now I would say there is a chance of it. The boy said the fathers are free and the forsaken need to tell the story. Unfortunately, that's all he said, but it's quite remarkable given that he is not supposed to be able to speak at all.”

“The fathers are free?” Cardinal Espinosa asked. “What does that mean?”

“I don't know.”

“Can you get the boy?”

“
Non capisco
.”

“Can you get the child?” Espinosa said again. “Bring him to me.” It was an order.

“Your Eminence,” Benicio began, his mind racing. “I don't think I could convince the parents to let me take the child.”

“So don't convince them. Just take the child.”

“By force?”

“If need be, yes.”

Benicio didn't know what to say. There was a very uncomfortable pause.

Finally the cardinal spoke again. His voice was calm and carefully measured. “My son, I have misspoken. Forgive me. My enthusiasm impaired my reason. Ignore what I said. We must discuss the matter more thoroughly. Return to the Vatican immediately. I will have a ticket waiting for you at the airport.”

Something is going on here
. “What about the child? I think it would serve the church better if I —”

“Don't tell me what would serve the church. As of this moment, the boy is no longer your concern. And he is certainly not the concern of Father McCallum. Your assistance to the Holy Church has ended in regard to this matter. Speak of it to no one, and return to the Vatican.”