The Judas Strain - James Rollins [118]
But it was swift.
The sea crossing to the island of Hormuz would take no more than twenty minutes. They had made good time. Still, it would leave them only two hours to find the last key and use it and the others to decipher the angelic script on the obelisk.
Gray had used the time aboard the private jet, provided via Seichan’s black-market connections, to study the obelisk’s complicated code. Even on such a short flight as this, every minute counted. Seated in the back row by himself, he pulled out his notebook again, scribbled with notes and possibilities. He had already tried converting all the obelisk’s scripts into letters, like Vigor had done with the Vatican’s angelic script, which spelled out HAGIA. But he had made no real headway.
Even with Vigor’s help.
Back on the jet, the two of them had poured over the cryptogram. Vigor was better with ancient languages. But it proved no use. Decoding was made especially difficult because they didn’t know which of the four surfaces of the obelisk was the starting point, and in which direction it should be read, clockwise or counterclockwise.
That created eight possibilities.
Vigor had finally rubbed his eyes, admitting defeat. “Without the third key, we’ll never figure this out.”
Gray refused to believe that. The two had even gotten into a brief argument. They mutually decided to take some time apart, to quit banging their heads together over the riddle. Gray knew much of the shortness of his temper was tied to the knot in his stomach.
Even now he felt like vomiting. Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured his mother’s face. He saw the blame in his father’s eyes.
So Gray stopped closing his eyes and continued to work.
It was all he could do.
Gray stared again at one of the letter-substitution pages.
Seven more possibilities covered the next pages.
Which was right? Where to even begin?
Ahead, a loud snort drew his attention forward. Kowalski had already fallen asleep. Probably before the wheels even left the tarmac.
Vigor shared the neighboring seat, poring over the silk diary yet again. It was surely a dead end. The monsignor scowled at Kowalski’s racket and undid his belt. He slid back to join Gray and collapsed in the next seat. He held the scroll in his hands.
A moment of awkward silence stretched.
Gray closed his notebook. “Back there…earlier…”
“I know.” Vigor reached out and gently patted his hand. “We’re all worried. But I wanted to run something by you. Get your thoughts.”
Gray straightened. “Sure.”
“I know you want to solve the obelisk’s code. But since we’re about to land, maybe now’s a good time to figure out where on Hormuz Island the third key might be.”
“I thought we already knew where to search,” Gray said.
Unable to resist he reopened the notebook and tapped the angelic symbol found on the back of the third gold paitzu.
They had compared it to a map of the island and discovered that the blackened circle marked the location of the ruins of an old Portuguese castle, built about a century before the keys were hidden. In its prime, it had been a prominent stronghold. Built on an isthmus and separated by a moat, it had overlooked the town of Hormuz and the best anchorage ports. To those Vatican mystics looking to hide a key for the ages, the castle would have appeared to be a good place.
They were headed to its ruins now.
Vigor nodded. “Yes, the Portuguese castle. But what I meant was why are we searching there. If we knew that, we might figure out what to look for inside the castle ruins.”
“Okay, so where do we begin?”
Vigor pointed out Gray’s porthole window. The island could be seen ahead. “Hormuz was a major trading port, trafficking in jewels, spices, and slaves. Important enough that the Portuguese invaded during the sixteenth