The Tenth Cycle: A Thriller (A Rossler Foundation Mystery Book 1) (13 page)

Daniel was winding up his explanation about what they had discovered and the problem he saw with it. Sarah looked at Mark expectantly as he stared at the floor, letting the information sink in. Finally, Mark raised his head.

“Look, I think you’ve jumped to a conclusion that isn’t necessarily warranted. I’d like to propose that we do a few tests before we involve a linguist, especially since you say your friend is opposed to it. What do you say?”

“I’d be interested in hearing your reason for thinking our conclusion isn’t warranted. If we can avoid a can of worms like an unknown pictograph language, I’m all ears.”

“Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking. We’re assuming that this was an advanced civilization, more ancient than that of ancient Egypt, and also more advanced, maybe more than even we are. Does that give a fair assessment of your thinking?”

“Yes, I believe we’re on the same page,” Daniel answered.

“Then, what is to prevent them from having a more advanced written representation of their language? I mean, maybe we can assume that one of the ancient languages grew out of it, after whatever disaster made them disappear. But maybe the written language didn’t survive,” said Mark.

“That’s an intriguing thought. Like, if we had a world-wide nuclear holocaust, all traces of our written language would disappear, but the survivors would still speak it, although they might be too busy trying to survive to think about teaching their kids the alphabet.” Daniel was tapping his chin with his forefinger, his brain trying to fill in the blanks.

Mark said, “Exactly.”

“Okay, suppose that is our working premise. What’s next?”

“I think we have to assume that there is in fact an alphabet hidden somewhere in the numerical codes we’ve discovered. Let’s go a little further, and say we assume the language represented, resembles an ancient form of Arabic, like Sumerian. That would be logical, as the survivors of their disaster would, as you say, still speak the language, albeit an evolving form of it, just as all language evolves.” Mark was wound up, talking faster and faster as his theory took shape.

“So, we’re looking for a language resembling Arabic. How many letters does Arabic have?”

“Twenty-eight, if I’m not mistaken. But, look, there could be diacritical marks and punctuation marks as well. If we include those, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say the 34 that you say is the highest expression of the blocks Raj has done so far…”

“Represents an alphabet that we can eventually understand, at least phonetically,” Daniel finished his thought.

“Right,” confirmed Mark.

Sarah spoke up now, having mentally left the conversation as soon as the words Arabic and Sumerian were spoken. “You know, if I remember correctly, Arabic used to have more letters. Some have been dropped over the centuries, and when other languages developed out of it, others were added in the different languages.”

Mark and Daniel both gave her their full attention. “Sweetheart, I didn’t know you could read Arabic.”

“I can’t, not really. I learned that much in one of my undergraduate anthropology classes, I think.”

Daniel said, “So, we should go ahead and bring in a linguist, one who specializes in Arabic.”

“Wait,” Mark interjected. “I disagree. I think we should examine what we have for patterns first, see what we can come up with on our own. Maybe we’ll see it has nothing to do with Arabic. I don’t want to start a linguist with a misleading premise, otherwise it will take longer to find the right fellow.”

“That’s a good point, Daniel,” Sarah agreed.

“Ok, then what should we do?”

Of course it was the mathematician who came up with a simple but elegant solution. “Let’s say the alphabet is actually in the size and shape of the stone; that is, each stone represents a distinct letter, even though they were clever enough to leave a clue in the ratios to show us what alphabet to use. Or at least they thought so, not realizing maybe that by the time their message was seen, many diverse alphabets would have developed. Let’s set that speculation aside, because it doesn’t matter what they thought, the key is, they have written a message in the blocks themselves.

“So, what we need to do is assign a letter, and I’m suggesting it be one of the letters in the Arabic abjad, to each block, beginning with the top left block and repeating all the way to bottom right. If I remember correctly, that’s the way Sumerian was written. We’ll have to find out where those extra letters that Sarah mentioned belonged in the sequence, and if there are letters that sound different if they have an extra dot or tittle, we should include those.”

“What’s a tittle?” Daniel asked.

Mark drew breathe to answer but Sarah cut him off. “Long story, you can look it up later. Suffice it to say it’s a diacritical mark, something that changes the sound of the letter, like a Germanic umlaut.”

“Oh, okay. Funny word.”

Mark said, “May I finish? This sequence will have to be put through all its iterations, starting with each of the thirty-four letters or symbols we come up with at the top right corner. Then we need to repeat the process from left to right and bottom to top just in case.”

“Why not do the same thing reading down in columns instead of across in rows?” Sarah asked.

“We should, with the same process; right to left, left to right, top to bottom, and bottom to top.”

“How about diagonal?” Daniel’s question was meant to be a little sarcastic, as he contemplated the painstaking work involved.

“Good point,” said Mark, causing Daniel’s mouth to drop in disbelief. “Yes, have him do that, too.”

“Have who do what?” Daniel asked, confused now.

“Raj. I’m thinking that he could write a fairly simple computer program to run through the data and show us the translations. We’d be able to see in moments whether any direction gives us actual Arabic words. If not, we’ll select some other ancient language, one of the precursors of the Indo-European group perhaps. But my money is on Arabic, or more precisely, Sumerian language expressed in the Arabic script.”

~~~

The NSA listener thought it would be best to report immediately that he’d heard what might be a code word at the home of the math professor. Fibonacci number. That plus the discussion of alphabets and ancient languages was intriguing enough when you didn’t know what was going on. Assuming correctly that the person to whom he would make his report would know more, he took care to make his call before the end of his shift early in the morning on August fourth. Then he got a day off before his next shift.

Impes thought for a moment before taking action. Should he report this back to Barry, or report immediately to Septentrio?  Intrigued by Barry’s innuendo, he decided to let it play out a little longer. His directive to Barry was simple: Find out what the significance of the Fibonacci numbers was.

~~~

When Daniel spoke to Raj, after an elaborate charade where they made sure they weren’t followed before meeting up, he was happy to hear that Raj thought he’d be able to write a program for their purpose within only a couple of hours. They made arrangements for Daniel to come to Raj’s home, properly disguised, to see the results the following day.

When he arrived, Raj was in high spirits, spouting his usual logorrhea about aliens. Aware that calling him down for it would be of no lasting benefit, Daniel let him run his course until he calmed enough to talk about their data.

“Raj, can you show me what we’ve got at this point?”

“Sure! You know, we used an identifier for each block for relational queries, right?”

“Umm, yeah. Although I’m not sure I know what relational queries are.”

“Don’t worry about it. So, I wrote a little program to run inside the database program and deposit the block’s image and an image of the sequential Arabic letters into a report. The result is a chart for each iteration. Then another program puts the Arabic letters together into one long string. Your linguist should be able to recognize if there are any words in the string, kind of like those find-a-word puzzles.”

“Okay, I get it. Wow, that wasn’t as much trouble as I thought it would be.”

“No trouble at all, my friend. Do you want to see it running?”

“Sure! Have you run all the iterations yet?”

“No, only the top left to right bottom one, but it works perfectly. Let me show you.”

Once again Daniel watched as the screen filled with symbols, only this time it was Arabic letters that meant nothing to him. He assumed they meant nothing to Raj as well, and was therefore surprised when Raj pointed out a short sequence. “This is the word for ‘person’ or ‘human being’.”

Daniel stared at Raj. “You know Arabic?”

“No, not really. I have read Nizar Qabbani in translation, and this word is a particularly beautiful shape, is it not?”

“Still waters run deep, Raj. So you read Arabic love poetry. I wouldn’t have ever guessed.”

Raj blushed. “Sushma is more woman than I can handle without help,” he admitted. “Qabbani writes more than just love poetry. It is quite erotic.” Blushing more deeply, he ducked his head. “Too much information,” he quipped.

“Not at all! I’m going to have to look that up. And don’t think you’re going to get away with dropping that little bombshell without an explanation!”

On Friday morning, Raj walked by Daniel’s desk and casually dropped something at his feet. When a few minutes had passed, Daniel dropped his pen and bent to retrieve it, along with the object that Raj had dropped. It was a black flash drive, and Daniel had no doubt that it contained the reports for all of the iterations of data strings Raj was running all week. He sent Raj a one-word text, ‘Complete?’ An image of a fist with the thumb up appeared in response. Great! Now they were getting somewhere. As was his usual practice, he filed his column by noon and then set out for Rhode Island, his heart singing and body tingling at the thought of seeing Sarah soon.

~~~

On Monday, Sarah found a note on her office door that Professor Barry wanted to see her. She cataloged the possible reasons mentally, and reviewed her primary research project, which was due for publication soon. She was on track, so if this was Barry’s concern, she would be able to reassure him. In due course, she presented herself at Barry’s office door.

“Come in, Sarah, thank you for stopping by.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, automatically. “How can I help you?”

“I just wanted to have a little visit. You’ve been making yourself scarce.”

“Have students been looking for me, sir? I am keeping regular office hours, and I’ve missed no lectures.”

“Relax, Sarah. I didn’t call you in to have you on the carpet. I just haven’t seen you around much, that’s all. How’s your side project with that Rossler fellow coming?” Barry’s nonchalant manner put Sarah on alert. Always before, he had waited for her to report, and had acted as if he were interested in the latest developments.

“It’s going, though very slowly,” she said. “We thought we had something in the measurements of the blocks, but it hasn’t panned out.” It was the truth, if only partially. It hadn’t panned out,
yet
.

“Well, keep me posted, will you?”

“Of course, Professor. You know of course that the Times is no longer interested in publication?”

“Perhaps I could be of assistance if you make any interesting discoveries. John Kingston is an old acquaintance. I may be able to persuade him, if the report is worthy of the university’s name.”

Very interesting, thought Sarah. Aloud, she said, “Thank you, sir. I’m sure Da.., I mean, Mr. Rossler would be grateful.”

Now Barry was saying something else. Sarah brought herself back to the here and now.

“…good reports about your work,” Barry was saying. “I want you to know that, assuming your project is on track and you’ll publish on schedule, I’ll be supporting you at your tenure hearing.”

“Thank you, sir! I appreciate your support.”

“You deserve it, my dear. Now, don’t be a stranger, and keep me informed about both of your projects.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you again, sir.”

Sarah stepped out of the office after her dismissal, lost in thought. What could have triggered Barry’s closer interest in the pyramid project? She would have to report this oddity to Daniel, and hear his thoughts.

When she had left, Barry did a little thinking of his own. Why hadn’t she mentioned the Fibonacci numbers?

A week passed before Mark had news for them. Daniel and Sarah stared in awe at the large screen on Mark’s desktop on Saturday afternoon. There, at last, was vindication for Daniel’s obsession and their long search. Mark’s friend had sent back word that indeed there was a message, and what a message it was! Before discussing the meaning of it, Mark said his friend had told him it bore a striking resemblance to a very ancient dialect of the Arabic family of languages. He thought it was more ancient still, and asked if they had more data, as it needed lots of work. But, he was pretty confident that the message went something like this:

[Unknown word] traveler/person/human/man from future. [Unknown word] critical/important/significant [Unknown word] telling/story/message [Unknown word] read/browse/assimilate/learn all/ [Unknown word] everything/all here/in this place/at this location [Unknown word]

Daniel pumped his fist in the air. “I knew it! My god, we’re the first to ever see this message from at least three and a half thousand years ago! How cool is that?” He danced around the furniture in Mark’s office, swinging Sarah along with him in a waltz of some creativity. For her part, Sarah couldn’t stop smiling and now and then a giggle escaped her as Daniel narrowly missed some object that would have ended their dance in disaster. Finally, Daniel danced over to Mark, and let Sarah go only to throw his arms around the older man and lift him off his feet.

Mark was chuckling as Daniel set him down. “Here, now, none of that. You can sweep the lovely Sarah off her feet, if she’ll let you, but have a care for an old man’s dignity.”

Daniel’s answer was to pick him up again and give him a resounding kiss on the cheek.

“Don’t you see? We’ve done it! We can turn it over to the experts now, let someone who knows what they’re doing translate the rest of it. It’s finished! We were right all along!”

Mark and Sarah exchanged a more sober glance. Sarah said, “Um, Daniel? Hang on, honey, it isn’t finished.”

Daniel stopped prancing around to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“For one thing, this isn’t nearly enough. We aren’t even sure what it says. Remember our talks when all this started? We’ve got to validate this with more. Mark, would your friend join our group? Help us translate more of the message?”

“Maybe. Sarah’s right, Daniel. We’re not ready to go public. How much more has Raj done in getting the blocks from the Great Gallery entered into the database?”

“I’m not sure. He stopped that to write and run the program that got us this.”

“Let’s get more data to analyze, maybe get my buddy on board, and see if we can get some more before we announce it to the world.”

“Okay, if you guys say so. I’m still stoked.”

“Of course you are! Now, let’s see if we can figure out what this means.”

After more discussion, they came to the consensus that the message said something to the effect of ‘Person from the future. Here is an important message. You must learn everything about it.’ With Daniel still figuratively bouncing around the room like Tigger, the other two couldn’t help but join in his enthusiasm. The only thing that marred their elation was that Martha was once again out, attending her garden club meeting all afternoon. So their toast was just among the three of them this time.

Despite Mark’s protestation that Martha would hate to miss them and would want them to stay for dinner, Sarah demurred. They had dropped in as unexpected dinner guests on Martha often enough, but doing it to her when she had been out all day was not an option. Instead, they went to a little pub where Sarah sometimes met her graduate students for fish and chips and a draught beer. Remembering that she had told Daniel about it before, she said, “This is where you can get that wonderful IPA I told you about.”

“Great! That ought to go down well with fish and chips.”

After their meal, they decided to play a game of pool, which turned into two because Sarah beat Daniel at the first game and he wanted a rematch. After the second game, there was a tie to break, so they played a third. At the end of that game, Daniel ran the balls in, one after the other, but scratched on the eight ball, handing Sarah the game by default. He thought it was a perfect outcome. So did some of Sarah’s acquaintances, who had greeted her when she came in and were standing on the sidelines watching the game, flagrantly taking her side and cheering whenever she sunk a ball or Daniel missed.

“I see the way you are,” he teased her as he opened her door for her at the car. “That was a totally unfair match, you had all the partisans.”

“You’ll just have to bring your own partisans next time,” she grinned. “But I warn you, I’m a great pool player.”

“You’re great at everything you do, my sweet.”

“Everything?” Her brow was lifted, enticingly.

“Everything,” Daniel said, leaning over to kiss her as he buckled his seat belt.

~~~

They were in bed and sound asleep when the racket at the door startled Sarah awake. She sat up abruptly. “Daniel, someone’s at the door.”

Groggy, he answered, “Huh? What time is it?”

She turned to look at the bedside digital clock. “Good heavens, it’s two a.m.!”

“Who the hell?”

Just then, the pounding started again.

“Ms. Clarke? Open up, police.”

Now the pair looked at each other in alarm. Sarah scrambled out of bed and grabbed her housecoat, rushing to the door while Daniel struggled to get his pants on.

Sarah no sooner cracked the door open than two police officers shoved their way into the room, causing her to cry out in alarm. Daniel came racing down the hall, prepared to do battle. He glared at the officers.

“What the hell is all this? How dare you scare her? You’d better have a good explanation…”

One of the officers held up his hand. “I have a warrant for the arrest of Sarah Clarke and Daniel Rossler, on suspicion of murder. Are you Ms. Clarke and Mr. Rossler?”

Sarah’s face went white. “M-m-murder!” she stammered. “Wh-who…” Daniel was stunned. This couldn’t be happening. What the hell was going on?

The officer was still speaking. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak with me?"

Sarah opened her mouth, but Daniel spoke first. “No, we do not wish to speak with you. We want an attorney. In fact, we want two. Sarah will tell you the name of hers. I will have to speak with my office at the New York Times before I can contact mine.”

Sarah was looking at him with confusion. “But, Daniel, we’ve done nothing…”

“Shh, Sarah. Trust me, this is best.” Turning to the officers, he said, “I assume you’ll want us to come to the station, and then we’ll be given a phone call to contact our attorneys, is that correct?”

“Been through the drill before have you?” the second officer smirked.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Any idiot knows that much from TV, but as it happens, I’ve done enough reporting on the criminal beat to know exactly what our rights are.” After giving the officer a significant look of warning, he continued, “May we get dressed?”

“One at a time. You stay here with us while the little lady gets some clothes on.” To Sarah, he said, “If you care for this guy, you won’t try to run. It wouldn’t go well for him if you did.”

Indignant now, Sarah flashed him a look of contempt, then turned and marched down the hall. She would follow Daniel’s lead, but when this all settled out, heads would roll. She was so angry that she didn’t realize the officers hadn’t told her who she was supposed to have murdered.

Daniel and Sarah rode in silence in the back of the squad car. Because they hadn’t resisted arrest, and because they had already asked for lawyers, the officers were circumspect in their treatment and allowed them the courtesy of not being cuffed. Sarah kept glancing at Daniel, hoping for a signal regarding her unanswered questions, but after whispering to her that she must answer no questions of any kind until her lawyer was with her and that there was nothing to fear in the verbal bullying, he kept his eyes straight ahead. Their hands were tightly intertwined, though, and she knew he was aware of her glances, because every time she did it, he squeezed her hand. It was very comforting, made her think that everything would be all right.

The ride was surreal. Barely able to think from being awakened from a sound sleep and the impossible events since being awakened in the middle of the night, Sarah was bewildered. The one question she wanted to ask, but dared not because Daniel had told her not to speak, was, who was dead?

When they got to the police station, Daniel and Sarah were separated without even being allowed to kiss. Their fingers clung to each other until the last possible second, as the officers pulled them in opposite directions. A last desperate glance behind her told Sarah that Daniel was standing tall and implacable. It gave her the courage to do the same. She was taken to an interrogation room and told to sit down. Then the officer left, without another word.

For a few minutes, Sarah sat, tense and shaking, expecting at any moment that another angry policeman would come and ask her questions. Or maybe, there would be two, a good cop and a bad cop. One would offer her coffee, and the other would slam his hand on the table to scare her and yell in her face. When neither of those things happened, Sarah succumbed to her weariness and slumped over her crossed arms, her head resting on her forearms, and closed her eyes. Maybe she could sleep a little. But the question circled in her brain; who was dead? Why would she and Daniel be suspects?

In another room, a preternaturally alert Daniel was also waiting for interrogators. He, too, had wondered the same things that puzzled Sarah. But his reporter’s analytical mind had the answer, he thought, and it was a disaster. Nor could he ask directly to confirm his suspicions, because that would only add fuel to the fire. If he seemed to know who, it would look as if he were guilty.

Instead of dwelling on it, Daniel went over every action he and Sarah had taken since leaving Mark’s house. Was it enough? His guess was that it would depend on when the murder occurred. Next, his thoughts went to Raj. He hoped Raj was okay, and he knew he needed to get word to him. When it came time for his phone call, he would kill two birds with one stone, call Raj and ask him to get in touch with the Times. Daniel wasn’t sure that the Times would defend him against a murder charge, but he was fairly confident they would send someone to check out the situation. First things first, though. He had to find a way to confirm who was dead.

~~~

Daniel was still on hyper-alert when two plainclothes officers entered the room. One introduced both himself and the other man to Daniel, and then spoke in a mild voice. “Do you want to tell us what happened?”

Daniel answered, the only thing he intended to say until a lawyer was with him, “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” The officer regarded him for a moment, his face neutral. The other man melted into the background as Daniel focused on the one who had spoken.

“Professor Mark Simms was killed sometime this afternoon, stabbed multiple times. His office was ransacked. His wife found him when she came back from a garden club meeting. Naturally the poor woman called us. We know you were there this afternoon.” The succinct story had no less impact on Daniel than would a hysterical and detailed account. Mark dead. As he suspected. Thank god Martha was all right, although how she would be all right after the death of her beloved was beyond Daniel to consider at the moment. He shook his head.

“I’ll talk, but I want to consult my lawyer first. May I have my phone call?” His manner was calm, although the officers could see that he was laboring under some emotion. If it was guilt, the fastest way to get a confession would be to let him consult his lawyer and try to work out a plea bargain. Maybe he would give up the dame, maybe not, but there didn’t seem to be any downside in letting him make his call.

~~~

Daniel dialed Raj’s number from memory. It was past three a.m., no doubt the call would panic his paranoid friend, but at this point, panic may not be the wrong choice. Raj answered before the second ring had finished. “Yeah.”

“Raj, it’s Daniel. Are you awake?”

“I am now. What the hell, Daniel?”

“I don’t have much time. Simms has been murdered. I’m under arrest but I haven’t been booked yet. Call the office and get them to send a lawyer to Providence for me, precinct number four. Then get rid of your phone, I had to call from their system.” Under 15 seconds, too short to trace the call. He slammed down the receiver. Raj would come through, or Sarah’s lawyer could help him if not. But at least Raj had warning. Now he was prepared to wait. He raised his hand in a signal that he was done, and the officers came back in, this time trailed by another man in plain clothes, who introduced himself as James Jones.
Very creative
, Daniel thought.

“Are you ready to speak to us now, Mr. Rossler?”

“I’ll wait for my lawyer, like I said already.” Daniel let his heavy sarcasm convey his displeasure. “I might add that if I learn you have treated Dr. Clarke badly in any way, even made her feel bullied, I will use every resource at my disposal to bring the full disapproval of the New York Times down on you. You’ll wish you were lucky enough to have a patrol beat in Southeast LA when I’m finished. Now, would you gentlemen care for a game of Texas Hold’em while we wait?” His sardonic grin expressed his opinion that he’d won this round.