The Voynich Cypher by Russell Blake

looked to Natalie. “May I take that for you?”
    “Thank you, I’m fine,” Natalie said and then followed Steven into this office, closing the door behind them.
    Natalie took a seat in front of Steven’s desk. For a moment there was only silence, as he reclined in his chair and sipped his coffee. Steven and Natalie regarded each other. Natalie’s gaze was impassive, inscrutable.
    Steven put the cup to the side and folded his arms while leaning forward in his seat. “All right, Ms. Twain. You have my attention. Why is my life in danger, and how can I help you?”
    Natalie lifted her satchel and placed it on Steven’s desk.
    “Call me Natalie. Please.” She paused, appraising him, and then continued. “I – I’m not sure where to start, so I’ll just begin with my father’s death. I believe that he was murdered by a man named Morbius Frank. Dr. Morbius Frank. Does the name mean anything to you?” Natalie said.
    Steven searched his mental rolodex, but nothing flipped in terms of recognition. “No. Should it?”
    “He is, aside from being behind my father’s murder, a businessman. A businessman, adventurer, self-described archeologist and philanthropist, and a billionaire. A trust fund baby to an oil magnate dynasty – one of the largest in the United Kingdom.”
    Steven nodded. “I don’t recognize the name, but I get the point. He’s rich and powerful…and you think he killed–”
    “Two weeks ago, Frank funded an operation for my father to obtain a religious artifact which Frank had learned was intrinsic to the Voynich Manuscript. I know you recognize that.”
    Steven leaned back and his demeanor changed. “Of course. It’s only the holy grail of cryptology. But the Voynich’s been at Yale for decades. What relic could possibly be connected with it? I know everything about it, and there’s nothing but the manuscript and mountains of speculation as to how to crack the code – something nobody has ever done.”
    “It’s something that my father said could help decipher the Voynich. He believed it was the key, in fact, to a mystery that dates back six hundred years.”
    Steven studied Natalie quietly, but inside, his heart had just shifted gears into overdrive; his normal sinus rhythm shot from sixty to a hundred in just a few brief moments. “Go on, Natalie.”
    “The artifact is known as the Holy Scroll of the Abbey of St. Peter at Abbotsbury in Dorset, England. Have you heard of the place?”
    Steven nodded. “Heard of it? I visited the Abbey on a tour ten years ago. But there was no sacred relic there that I can remember. Are you saying this artifact is in the Abbey? I’m still not following the logic.”
    “It was there, deep in the hidden catacombs beneath the grounds. But no more,” Natalie said. “The Holy Scroll was liberated two weeks ago.”
    Steven shook his head. “Ah. So it was stolen. And your father had something to do with this?”
    “Liberated,” Natalie corrected.
    “Liberated. Sure, okay. And this ‘Holy Scroll’ was ‘liberated’…by your father? I would have imagined that he wasn’t a particularly, er, nimble man, given his years…”
    “He didn’t do it himself, but I know that he and Dr. Frank arranged it. But what’s important is that my father retained possession of the Scroll on the understanding that Frank would be able to share the information it contained once it was decrypted.”
    “And you believe your father was murdered because Frank wanted the Scroll for himself. Did Frank steal it after killing your dad?”
    “No, he didn’t.”
    Steven considered this, the hair on the nape of his neck prickling. “Then where is this holy artifact, and how do you know so much about all this?”
    “I have it,” Natalie said, answering part of the question. She glanced at her bag.
    Steven studied Natalie, and then his eyes slowly moved to the satchel. Natalie had his full and complete attention.
    “Did Professor Twain…your father…have time to