the Source (2008) Read Free Page B

then quarters and finally eighths.
    'Do you understand?' asked Underwood again, his voice shaking.
    'Take it easy, George,' warned Kovacs. 'Alascon needs guys like Dr Kelly. I'm sure he understands well enough.'
    'You understand, Ross?' persisted Underwood.
    'Perfectly.' Ross kept the torn file in his right hand and retrieved his phone from his pocket with the left. He speed-dialled and Gail answered on the second ring. 'It's me,' he said, into the phone. 'I promised you'd be the first to know.' Staring at Underwood, he dropped the torn file on the man's head. 'I'm resigning,' he said.
    'Wait!' said Kovacs, leaping to his feet. 'That isn't necessary.'
    Loosening his tie, Ross put the phone and palmtop back into his jacket, then picked up his laptop and walked to the door. As he opened it, he turned back. 'It is necessary,' he said. 'For me.' Then he closed the door and walked away.
    Chapter 3.
    A few miles from the Xplore offices, the guest of honour was leaving the McNally Auditorium on the Lincoln Campus of Fordham University, the Jesuit university of New York. The priest had stayed as long as he had needed to at the conference and was satisfied that he had discharged his duties. Now he was impatient to get away. After thanking his hosts and dismissing his entourage he walked so fast to his official limousine that his limp was barely noticeable.
    In the back seat, concealed behind tinted glass, he checked his watch. He had plenty of time before his return flight to Rome tonight. 'Yale University,' he told the driver. 'The Beinecke.'
    As the car drove north towards Henry Hudson Parkway, he turned his mind to what had occupied him since he had arrived in America a few days before. He opened his attache case and began to study the photocopy of a 450-year-old trial document that his office had discovered in the Inquisition files of the Vatican's secretum secretorum, the archive of the Church's most sensitive secrets. As he read the hand-written Latin, one of five languages he spoke fluently, his mind whirled with the threats and opportunities it presented.
    If what he had heard was true.
    An hour and a half later, the limousine pulled up outside Yale University's Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, one of the largest buildings in the world devoted entirely to rare books. A white oblong structure covered with translucent marble 'windows', which resembled the indentations on a golf ball, it contrasted sharply with Yale's more traditional buildings. The priest, however, ignored the unusual architecture as he climbed the steps.
    They were expecting him at the front desk and a senior researcher escorted him to the main hall.
    'It's not very busy,' said the priest.
    'No.' A flush of excitement suffused the researcher's face. 'But it will be this evening. We're expecting quite a turnout for the open seminars. One of the talks promises to be dynamite.' He pointed to a Plexiglas box, displayed prominently on a plinth in the centre of the hall. It was empty. 'All this week the book's been displayed here, but we've arranged for you to study it in one of the reading rooms for half an hour. If you need more access, digital copies of the pages can be studied on the Internet, on one of the terminals over there.' The man led him to a small, subtly lit room and handed him a pair of white gloves. 'You may only touch it when you're wearing these.'
    The priest approached the reading table. 'Thank you.'
    The researcher cleared his throat. 'The Voynich is one of my specialist areas. What can I tell you about it?'
    'Nothing.' As the priest put on the white gloves, he doubted there was anything the man could tell him that he didn't know already. 'I just need some time alone - to see it in the flesh, as it were.'
    'Right.' The man hovered, then moved to the door. 'I'll leave you to it, then. Call me if you want anything.'
    But the priest was no longer listening. He was staring, transfixed, at the book. The yellowing document looked unremarkable.