The Judas Strain - James Rollins [180]
A shaft of bright sunlight illuminated their labors.
Unlike Seichan and Kowalski, Vigor had not been able to watch the mutilation. Even now he swung away and returned his attention to the wall he had been studying. Away from the central shaft, the vault here lay in deep shadow. Vigor had been allowed a flashlight so he could hunt for another entrance to the subterranean cavern. And while he hated to help Nasser, if he could find another way down, then he could perhaps limit the degree of defilement to these ancient ruins.
But Vigor hadn’t been granted much time.
Ten minutes.
With preparations under way, Nasser had climbed out of the vault. Vigor had noted him checking his cell phone, searching for a signal. Apparently unsuccessful, he had climbed out, ordering them to be ready by the time he returned.
Gray joined Vigor. “What is it? Did you find that doorway you were looking for?”
“No,” Vigor admitted. He had walked the entire circumference of the vault. There was no other door. It seemed the only way down was through the stone face of bodhisattva Lokesvara. “But I did find this.”
Vigor waited for one of the patrolling guards to pass, then shifted his flashlight flat against the wall, casting the beam up the surface. Lit by shadow and light, an expanse of wall etchings appeared, reminiscent of the bas-reliefs above. But it depicted no figures, just cascading tangles.
“What is it?” Gray said, reaching his fingers out to examine what the light revealed.
By now, Seichan and Kowalski had joined them.
Vigor shifted the light, widening the beam to illustrate. “At first, I thought it was just decorative scrollwork. It covers all the walls.” He waved an arm to encompass the breadth of the chamber. “Every surface.”
“Then what the hell is it?” Kowalski muttered.
“Not hell, Mr. Kowalski,” Vigor said. “This is angelic.”
Vigor took the light and cupped it over a small fraction of the carved tapestry. “Look closer.”
Gray leaned to the wall, tracing with his fingers. Understanding dawned in the commander’s face. “It’s made up of angelic symbols, all jumbled together.”
Seichan joined Gray, following his fingers, nose to nose. “This is impossible. Didn’t you say angelic script was devised by someone in the sixteen-hundreds?”
Vigor nodded. “Johannes Trithemius.”
“How could it be here?” Gray asked.
“I don’t know,” Vigor said. “Maybe at some point the Vatican did send someone all the way to Cambodia to follow Marco’s trail like we did. Maybe they returned with etchings of this script, and Trithemius somehow got ahold of it. Devised his script from it. And if he knew Marco’s story of glowing angelic beings, it might be why he claimed the script was angelic.”
Gray turned to Vigor. “But you don’t believe that, do you?”
Vigor watched Gray step back, retreat a few more steps, his gaze fixed to the wall.
He sees it, too.
Vigor took a deep shuddering breath, trying to restrain what he suspected. “Trithemius claimed he gained knowledge of the script after weeks of fasting and deep meditative study. I think that’s exactly what happened.”
Seichan scoffed. “He just happened to dream all this up, a match to the ancient script here.”
Vigor nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Remember what I told you before, about how angelic script bears a striking resemblance to Hebrew. Trithemius even claimed his script was the purest distillation of the Hebrew alphabet.”
Seichan shrugged.
“What do you know about Jewish Kabbalah?” Vigor asked.
“Just that it’s some Jewish mystical study.”
“Exactly. Practitioners of Kabbalah search for mystical insight into the divine nature of the universe by studying the Hebrew Bible. They believe that divine wisdom lies buried in the very shapes and curves of the Hebrew alphabet. And that by meditating upon