Michael Cordy - The Source

As Lauren recounted the story in more detail she used the screen to punctuate her narrative with disturbing illustrations from the manuscript. The audience listened politely. Her synopsis was only a theory until she published and her full findings were accepted. The priest, however, appeared transfixed, his sharp features expressing a blend of incredulity, wonder and concern.

'Our unknown author provides one final twist. Not only does he employ a unique language, present us with bizarre illustrations and an even more bizarre story, but he – and I assume it's a he – claims that the fabulous garden illustrated and described in the manuscript actually exists, and that his story is true. This is how he concludes: "Congratulations, fellow scholar, you have read my story and so proved your dedication, intelligence and wisdom. Whatever your faith, God has now chosen you to do what I cannot: keep His garden safe and ensure its miraculous powers are used for His glory. One day, mankind will doubtless need these powers. I only pray it deserves them. Amen." ' She smiled. 'Because of the extraordinary pains he took to tell his story, it's tempting to think it might be true, and that he created his ingenious language to guard its secret.'

The room was buzzing again.

'You have no idea of the author's identity?' asked the priest.

'No. He doesn't give his name.'

'What do you expect to find in the astrological section you haven't yet translated?' demanded another voice.

'A map?' someone shouted.

Lauren raised her hands for calm. 'Before we get too excited, we must remember that at the time the Voynich was written, in the late sixteenth century, encrypting documents was extremely fashionable. So, sadly, I'm afraid the likelihood is that the author simply possessed an extraordinary intellect, a mischievous sense of humour – and the leisure time to indulge both.'

She waited for the audience's laughter to subside. 'Nevertheless, the Voynich is still a work of genius and if you want to read my synopsis of the translated story I suggest you visit the Beinecke pages on Yale's website.' In the hallway outside the meeting room, members of the audience besieged Lauren with questions.

Watching her, Ross felt a stab of regret – and envy. After his PhD he, too, could have carved out a career in academia. Harvard and three other good colleges had offered him positions to continue his studies, but he had declined them. If, after graduating from high school, you tell your parents that their only child – their only son – has no interest in taking over the struggling farm that's been in the family for generations, but is leaving to take up a scholarship at Princeton, you'd better be successful. To Ross, that meant making money. A lot of it. So he had joined Big Oil. And, if he was honest, he had never wanted to be an academic. He liked the buccaneering cut and thrust of oil exploration, journeying to the more inhospitable parts of the world and finding what no one else could.

How quickly things had changed, though. He had once been the shining star with the glittering career ahead of him, while Lauren had been the dedicated academic destined to spend her career in worthy obscurity. Now her star was in the ascendant and, as he watched her fielding questions, he realized she had no idea of how huge her achievement was. She hoped her translation of the Voynich would bring her promotion within her faculty but it was clear to Ross that, once she had completed it, she could take her pick of any job in her field – across the world. Suddenly he had a vision of himself as a house-husband, looking after their baby, while Lauren ascended to even greater heights. He consoled himself with the thought of their three-week holiday. He would worry about finding another job when they got back.

Lauren smiled and beckoned to him, but the priest suddenly engaged her in conversation. Though not a big man he had a commanding presence. Ross watched him introduce himself and, above the hubbub, heard him say: 'I asked if you knew the author's name because I've seen confidential Vatican files that may reveal his identity – and help to unlock the final astrological section.'

Lauren's eyes widened. 'Really?'

'Yes. I rather hoped we might collaborate.'

'I'd certainly love to see the files.'

'We'll happily show you everything in exchange for certain conditions.'

'Such as?'

'The Vatican needs to retain some control over publication to restrict circulation of anything that might be injurious to the Church.'

Lauren flashed her most polite – and dangerous – smile, from which Ross knew the priest would leave empty-handed. 'I'm sorry but I must decline your kind offer,' she said.

'I'm speaking on behalf of the Society of Jesus,' the priest said, as if it was unthinkable anyone could refuse. 'This is for the Holy Mother Church.'

'That's as may be, Father, but this is a personal project and I don't believe in putting any restrictions on academic scholarship.'

There was an awkward pause. Then the priest reached into his robes and handed her a card. 'I have to respect your decision, Dr Kelly, but if you change your mind please don't hesitate to contact me.'

As she took the card, Bob Knight intervened smoothly: 'If Dr Kelly's tight-lipped, Father, don't take it personally. She guards the privacy of her work fiercely, keeping most of her files at home. I'm her head of faculty and I barely knew the detail of what she was presenting tonight.' He took Lauren's arm and steered her away. 'Now, if you'll excuse us…'

As Knight led Lauren to the end of the corridor the priest stared after them. He was older than Ross had first thought, although his blue-black hair contained little grey and his face was unlined – but for the frown marks between his eyes. Suddenly the man turned, and as the priest's dark eyes met his, Ross saw that he was seething with rage and frustration.

When Lauren returned, beaming with excitement, Ross put his arm round her and escorted her to the exit. 'Congratulations. You certainly got everyone around here buzzing. That priest seemed pretty intense, though.'

She grimaced. 'He said the Vatican had files that might interest me, but he wanted some kind of gag, so I passed.'

'And Knight? He looked pretty excited.'

'He is.' Outside in the cool night air, she gave him a strange pleading smile. 'You want the good news or the bad?'

Ross had never been a fan of bad news. 'The good.'

'Knight's promising me whatever I want at the faculty. I'll be a full professor, significant salary rise, everything.'

'That's great.'

'He wants me to translate the last section as soon as possible. Says there's a lot of interest out there right now.'

Ross knew where this was heading. 'But we're going on vacation for three weeks.'

Again the pleading smile. 'I know. That's the bad news.'

Rome, the next day Because of their power it is said that there are three popes in Rome: the White Pope, the pontiff; the Red Pope, the Grand Inquisitor, now known as the Cardinal Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith; and the Black Pope, the head of the Jesuits, the Superior General of the Society of Jesus.

The evening after Dr Lauren Ross's seminar at Yale, all was quiet within the walls of the Vatican, and even the surrounding bustle of Rome seemed muted. However, the Black Pope's mind was jangling as he entered the labyrinth of rooms and corridors that adjoined the Apostolic Library. On last night's flight from JFK to Rome's Leonardo da Vinci airport, Father General Leonardo Torino had been unable to sleep, thinking through the implications of Dr Ross's findings. Though exhausted, he had been desperate to rush to the Inquisition Archives and recheck the original document against the photocopy in his case, but first he had had to debrief his staff on his visit to the New York Province of the Society of Jesus and their conference at Fordham University. Then he had had to sit through interminable meetings with the Curia as they discussed plans to set up a second Vatican state in the developing world. Finally, he had updated the Holy Father on the work of the Institute of Miracles – even though all it seemed to do was disprove their existence in the modern age.