The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [158]
“So you’ll help?” Lisbeth asked.
“Less talking—more working,” he said, once again engrossed in the puzzle.
Lisbeth moved behind him, barely able to hide her excitement.
“Let’s start with the four-dot sign you have here,” he said, pointing to the : :. “If you draw a vertical line down the middle of it, like this:
: | :
“. . . and a horizontal line like this:
“. . . the symbol is the same on both sides of the line, which means this sign is multi-axis symmetric.”
“And that matters why?” Lisbeth asked.
“Ever try to look up a symbol in a dictionary? Four-dots-in-a-square isn’t filed under F. But the same way every puzzle has a solution, every symbol has its own classification, which breaks down into four distinct subgroups: First, whether it’s symmetrical or not. Second, whether it’s closed like a triangle or open like your four dots here. Third, are its lines straight or curved? And fourth, does the symbol have lines that cross, which opens up a whole new religious can of tuna.”
“And when you answer those questions?”
“When you answer those,” Kassal said, limping to his bookcases and pulling thick, phone-book-sized texts from his shelves, “then you go to the references.” With a thud, he dumped the pile of books on his desk. Elsevier’s Dictionary of Symbols and Imagery, Encyclopedia of Traditional Symbols, Franken’s Guide to Religious Images, The Visual Almanac of Occult Signs, Passer’s Handbook of Native American Symbols . . .
“This is gonna take some time, isn’t it?” Lisbeth asked, flipping open one of the books to a section titled Multi-Axis, Closed, Soft Elements, Crossing Lines. The open pages contained four encyclopedia entries for infinity (including its denotations in mathematics, genealogy, and botany) and six listings for various overlapping circles.
“Of course, it’ll take time,” Kassal replied, already cataloging the other symbols from the crossword. “Why? You got someplace t—”
Lisbeth’s cell phone erupted with a high-pitched ring. Flipping it open, she was about to pick up, then caught herself when she saw caller ID.
“Bad news?” Kassal asked, reading her reaction.
“No, just—not at all,” she insisted as the phone rang again.
“You say so,” Kassal replied with a shrug. “Though in my experience, looks like that are reserved for two people: bosses and boyfriends.”
“Yeah, well . . . this one’s a whole different problem.” But as the phone rang for the third time, Lisbeth couldn’t ignore the fact that even though her notepad was sticking out of her purse, she wasn’t reaching for it. Of course, that didn’t mean it was easy for her. But after nearly a decade of trying to turn four-inch stories into front-page headlines, well . . . some things were more important than the front page. Finally picking up, she asked, “Wes? That you?”
“Yeah,” he replied, sounding even worse than when they watched the video of the shooting.
“Everything okay?”
“I-I don’t think so.”
Hearing the pain in Wes’s voice, Lisbeth turned back to Kassal.
“Go,” the old man told her, readjusting his bifocals. “I’ll call you as soon as I find something.”
“Are you—?”
“Go,” he insisted, trying to sound annoyed. “Young redheads are just a distraction anyway.”
Nodding a thank-you and scribbling her number on a Post-it for him, Lisbeth ran for the door. Turning back to her cell, she asked Wes, “How can I help?”
On the other end, Wes finally exhaled. Lisbeth couldn’t tell if it was relief or excitement.
“That depends,” he replied. “How fast can you get to Woodlawn?”
“Woodlawn Cemetery? Why there?”
“That’s where Boyle asked to meet. Seven p.m. At his grave.”
94
Fighting traffic for nearly an hour, Rogo veered to the right, zipping off the highway at the exit for Griffin Road in Fort Lauderdale.
“Y’know, for a guy who deals with traffic tickets every single day,” Dreidel said, gripping the inside door handle for support, “you think you’d appreciate safe driving a bit more.”
“If I get a ticket, I’ll get us off,” Rogo said coldly, jabbing the