Charles Brokaw - The Lucifer Code

‘It is. Does it look familiar to you?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s written in Greek, but not any kind of Greek I was ever trained to read.’

‘I think very few people could read that.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I believe it’s an artificial language.’

‘Hundreds – I’m assuming here, of course – of years ago?’

‘More like two thousand, unless I miss my guess.’

‘I would trust your instincts on something like that.’

‘Good.’ Lourds sat on the bed beside her.

‘But what makes you think this is so old?’

‘A test?’ Lourds grinned.

‘As I recall, you always did well with tests.’

Lourds flipped through the pages of the book. ‘The paper is old, probably hundreds of years. Handmade. Not purchased off a rack at a department store.’

‘The size gives that away immediately.’

‘Very good.’ Lourds dipped his head in appreciation. ‘But that only covers the handmade part. The age I’m going to guess at because of the stylized lettering and because of the rag content in the paper rather than wood. Charles Fenerty and F. G. Keller invented a paper-making machine and technique that used pulped wood instead of rags in 1844.’ He tapped the book. ‘These sheets were made out of a rag-fibre slurry and calendered to improve the writing surface.’

‘Impressive.’

Lourds shrugged, but he was pleased with himself. ‘Even if this turns out to be a copy of something else, which I think it could well be, its age alone makes it a worthwhile artefact.’

‘So what’s this about?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’

‘You?’ Olympia smiled in disbelief. ‘The incredible Professor Thomas Lourds is stumped?’

‘Only a minor setback, I assure you.’ Lourds ran his fingers over the textured pages. ‘I’m already starting to make some headway, I think.’

‘All this while dodging terrorists at the airport?’

‘Multi-tasker, remember?’ Lourds gazed longingly at the flowing script, then reached out and flipped through the pages.

Olympia closed the book. ‘Nope. Not at this moment, Professor. You’re tired, and you know you’re not at your best when you’re overly fatigued. All you’ll do is stare at those pages while your brain spins helplessly.’

‘Really?’ Lourds loved the way she knew him so well.

‘Yes, really.’ Olympia ran her fingers through his hair and massaged his scalp. ‘After you get a few hours’ sleep, you’ll perform much better.’

‘At solving the riddle of the book, I assume you mean.’

She tweaked his nose playfully and grinned. ‘That. And certain other distractions.’

‘Any clue as to what those distractions might entail?’

Without a word, Olympia set the book aside, then put a hand on his chest and pressed him back on the bed. When Lourds lay supine, she shimmied out of the skirt suit and straddled him wearing only her teal panties. The gauzy material didn’t leave much to the imagination.

She leaned forward and kissed him, and her hips naturally pressed against his hips. His erection was trapped against her sheer panties and her warm excitement soon allowed her to glide up and down against him. They continued kissing, and Lourds’ tongue parried hers again and again. Her breath came in shorter gasps and she inadvertently shivered as she stroked against him harder and harder.

Lourds thrust up against her and held in check his own impulse to flip her over and rip the thin material away. Within the next moment, though, she shivered and convulsed, then collapsed against his chest. He luxuriated in the warm feel of her flesh pressing against his. He stroked her back, running his fingers from her shoulder blades to her buttocks.

Minutes passed. Lourds was beginning to think she’d fallen asleep.

‘That,’ she said groggily, ‘was better than I’d expected.’

‘I’m only here to please.’

Olympia pushed her head and shoulders up and rolled her hips against his erection. ‘I don’t totally believe you, Professor.’

‘Well, please you, please me.’

After a quick kiss, Olympia rolled onto her back. Lourds gently followed her over, grateful for the spacious bed. He watched as she hooked her panties and slid them off.

‘Come on,’ she urged, opening her legs to receive him.

Lourds moved above her, supporting his own weight, then he teased her, rubbing his slick length against her desire-thickened centre without penetrating her. She squirmed against him in an attempt to find the proper angle to capture him within her.

‘You… you really aren’t playing… nice,’ Olympia protested.

‘As nice as you were earlier.’ Lourds leaned down and nuzzled her neck, licking right below her ear and sending her into a paroxysm of jangled nerves. He knew she loved and hated the sensation equally. Before she could admonish him, though, he adjusted and sheathed himself in her hot flesh. Whatever complaint she might have intended to lodge died as she gasped in pleasure.

Lourds moved against her, amazed at how familiar and how different everything seemed. He had missed her, and knew he would miss her again in the near future. But for now he gave himself to her and took what she had to offer.

It was over far quicker than he thought it should be. For a time, he lay atop her, stroked and held her, basking in their shared delight. Then she nudged him off politely, and he lay beside her.

‘Wow,’ Olympia said quietly as she snuggled into the crook of his arm.

‘Likewise,’ Lourds gasped.

She ran a forefinger over his lips. ‘Why don’t you sleep for a little while and later, when you wake up, we’ll go to dinner.’

‘I may sleep through dinner.’ Lourds felt himself already fading.

‘I won’t let you. You’ll need to eat. You’re going to need your strength.’

‘Is that a threat?’ Lourds grinned.

‘It’s a promise.’

He closed his eyes and let his senses go away, but in the back of his mind, that part of him that never slept, the lizard brain that kept heart and respiration cycling, still worked on the book’s contents.

Washington Dulles International Airport

Washington D. C.

United States of America

17 March, 2010

Vicky DeAngelo was from old money, earned the old-fashioned way. Her great-great-grandfather had been infamous, the head of an organized crime family that got rich during the Prohibition era. Francis DeAngelo had dreamed of being a respectable man, though. While his contemporaries had continued to toil in illegal industries, DeAngelo had gone legit. Not only that, he’d been smart about it, and ruthless. He had battled and blackmailed his way into the ranks of the major capitalists who hung out with the Rockefellers and other captains of industry.

Francis DeAngelo had been inventive about making his money. He had sunk his criminal profits into Hollywood, radio and television. Those risky investments had proven themselves successful and he had managed to gain leverage in other businesses in the health and electronics industries. Today, the DeAngelo television network maintained a prominent presence in news and entertainment. Vicky had been friends with Webster even before his wife’s death, and it had been Vicky who had produced Vanessa Webster’s show.

The DeAngelo communications empire had also been a major player in President Waggoner’s campaigns, publicly and behind the scenes.

Vicky smoothed Webster’s coat lapel into place.

‘If my great-great-grandfather could see me now, hobnobbing with the vice-president of the United States, I know he’d be pleased,’ she said. ‘Not everyone gets to hang with the Veep.’

‘Trust me, my dear, not everyone would want to.’ Webster took her hands in his and squeezed.