‘We’re the CIA,’ Dawson said. ‘Nobody is supposed to be better than us at cracking codes.’

‘Sir,’ Hedges said, ‘in our defence, this isn’t just a code. This is a language.’

‘We have linguists. You have linguists.’

‘Yes, sir. We do. We’ve even got people who can read and write Ancient Greek like nobody’s business. But we all feel this isn’t just Ancient Greek. We think this is a coded version of Ancient Greek.’

‘Then break the code.’

‘We’re trying, sir. With a little more time-’

Dawson glared at the other half of the wallscreen. The state department representative Mullins was actually a CIA agent. While Lourds had been detained, Mullins had captured digital images of the old book the professor had tucked away in his backpack and uploaded them to Langley. The book was the only possible lead among the other things the backpack had contained.

‘Do you know who I report to, Hedges?’ Dawson asked.

Hedges swallowed with difficulty. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Believe me when I say the pressure on this one rolls down from on high. If you don’t get this thing cracked – and soon – your next assignment is going to be in Antarctica. Am I making myself clear?’

‘Positively crystal, sir. But there is one upside, sir.’

‘Waiting to hear it,’ Dawson snarled.

‘If we’ve been unable to crack this code with all the software and manpower at our disposal here, sir, it’s most doubtful that anyone else will be able to.’

‘That’s not good enough. Get me that translation.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Dawson tapped one of the buttons on his headset and severed the communications link to Hedges. The section of the wallscreen showing the analyst blanked and the images of Lourds’ mysterious book filled the space. He picked up an air-mouse and clicked through the digitized pages. Looking at the symbols for the past hour had given him a headache. Then he cut to the wireless camera mounted in the sedan Lourds was presently riding in.

Lourds was sitting in the passenger seat, massaging his temples. The man didn’t look like a threat to national security. He didn’t even resemble an erudite Harvard scholar. He looked like a bum. He was dishevelled, unkempt, and dirty. But there was something about Lourds’ grey eyes that spoke of the intellect lying inside. He had translated documents no one else in the world had been able to.

Dawson tried to imagine what made the man so good at what he did, and couldn’t.

He’s lucky, Dawson thought. Everything’s that’s gone on since he arrived at Istanbul has proven that. He could have – maybe even should have – been dead a dozen times over.

Except, in that case, they would never have got their hands on the book. Dawson muttered a curse and wished that he knew what this chase was all about. He had the sense that Vice-President Webster knew, but the man wasn’t giving him a clue. Normally the vice-president kept him in the loop, but that wasn’t always the case.

Unable to stand still any longer, Dawson paced in front of the wallscreen. ‘Have we got audio and video inside Lourds’ hotel room?’

‘It’s going in now,’ one of the techs behind him answered.

‘Bring it online.’

The wallscreen shimmered and the view changed. In the blink of an eye, the book pages dissolved into a view of the inside of a hotel suite. Two men and a woman dressed in hotel staff uniforms worked quickly and efficiently inside the rooms.

‘Sequencing video,’ one of the techs said.

A series of perspectives cycled across the wallscreen. Dawson counted nine camera angles that provided differing and overlapping views of the suite’s living room, bedroom and bathroom.

‘All video is online,’ the tech reported. ‘Beginning audio check.’

Onscreen, the three techs walked through the suite conversing in normal voices. A few small adjustments were made to the audio gain before the system was declared satisfactory.

‘We have the hotel phone?’ Dawson asked.

‘First thing we did,’ the tech answered.

‘What about Lourds’ sat-phone?’

‘A clone application was installed before the phone was returned to him. We’ll be privy to all his incoming and outgoing calls, as well as to his answering service.’

Dawson relaxed a little. At least they had eyes-on. No matter what he did, Professor Thomas Lourds couldn’t make a move without them knowing it. Dawson just wished he knew why the vice-president was so interested in the man.

‘Where is Lourds?’ Dawson asked.

The upper-right corner of the wallscreen scrolled into a street map. Two locations marked 1 and 2 lit up. The number 2 was stationary while the number 1 was in motion. The car Mullins drove was equipped with GPS tracking.

‘Three minutes out, sir,’ one of the techs said.

‘We’re going to need about ten minutes to clean up in here,’ one of the hotel staff said. ‘Can you delay the arrival?’

‘Call Mullins and let him know,’ Dawson directed.

A moment later, the 1 changed directions, taking a left onto a side street away from the hotel. Dawson watched Lourds on screen and saw the professor sit up a little straighter.

‘Lourds knows Mullins is deviating from the hotel route,’ Dawson said. ‘Let Mullins know.’

In the car, Mullins turned to the professor and said, ‘I’ve got a quick stop to make, if you don’t mind.’

‘Of course,’ Lourds replied.

Two blocks farther on, Mullins parked the car at the side of the street and got out. ‘You mind staying put, Professor?’

‘Not at all.’

Mullins nodded happily and walked into a small jewellery store. Lourds immediately reached into his backpack and brought out the mysterious book. He perused the pages, took out a small notebook and began making notes. He worked quickly and confidently.

Dawson paced anxiously. ‘Can we get an angle on what he’s writing?’

The camera views offered inside the car cycled through, but to no avail. Whatever Lourds worked on remained hidden.

A few minutes later the team on-site in the hotel suite radioed that they were cleared from the scene. Mullins confirmed the information, then came out of the shop carrying a small bag.

‘Looks like the professor’s working away,’ Mullins said on the way back to the car. ‘We could take what he’s got.’

Dawson thought about that. Whatever Lourds had seen was definitely more useful than anything the cryptology department had put together at the agency. He had to wonder if the few crumbs the professor had assembled would be enough to find the answers to translate the information in the book.

‘Well, how do you want to handle this?’ Mullins asked as he reached for the car door.

Lourds only then noticed Mullins at the door. Quietly, feigning disinterest and boredom, the professor put the book away and tucked his notebook into his shirt pocket.

Mullins slid in behind steering well.

Dawson took in a big breath and let it out. Guys like the professor liked to play things smart. He’d already stonewalled the Istanbul police. Playing things smart would also mean that Lourds had created a code of his own to keep his notes in. They had already seen evidence of that in the notes Mullins had found in the backpack. Since the guy was so good with languages, there might be more than one code.

‘No,’ Dawson answered. ‘Leave him room to run. We know where he is. We can pick him up anytime we’re ready.’

As he watched, Mullins started the car and eased out into traffic.

Eserin Crown Hotel

Sultanahmet District

Istanbul, Turkey

March 17, 2010

At the door to his suite, Lourds swiped the keycard through the slot, turned the handle, then eased into the dark room. He halted before he was halfway through the door. Someone was inside. Or had only just left. The smell of expensive perfume lingered in the air. As interesting as that scent was, and perhaps familiar, he didn’t feel like trying his luck. The trip to Istanbul – except for the interesting manuscript – was turning out to be something of a surprise.