The salon had a cluster of sofas, a bar with a minifridge—well stocked with Yaguár—and a large television. But the room’s main attraction was its tall bank of windows that offered a breathtaking view of the Trinity Lavra.
Only a hundred yards away, the monastery’s towering white walls glowed in the morning light. A dozen watchtowers, roofed in green slate, dotted its mile-long circumference. Within the grounds itself, bell towers, domes, and onion-topped spires—shining in gold or painted in bright blue—protruded into the sky. It all looked like something out of a fairytale, ethereal and majestic.
Yet, somewhere in those sixty acres awaited a greater wonder still to be discovered.
Hopefully...
Jason turned his back on the view and crossed to the salon’s dining table. He was surprised to find only Monk and Father Bailey, along with the two Russian clergy—Bishop Yelagin and Sister Anna—in attendance. Focused on his work, he hadn’t even noticed that the others had left on their own assignment, to search for those taken by Valya.
Jason grimaced. Worry for Kowalski and Elle, even Marco, had plagued his concentration. He read the same anxiety in Monk’s and Gray’s faces. Guilt flared through him.
They’re all stuck here, waiting on me to come up with a solution.
Gray waved to the table. “Show the others your work.”
“It’s not much,” Jason admitted. “I was able to clean up that front page and bring out more of the faded writing.”
He showed them the result.
The group gathered for a closer look.
“What do you make of it?” Monk asked, leaning on the table.
Jason sighed. “Either it’s all gibberish, intentionally written to mislead, or it’s too complicated for me to figure out.”
Anna gave him a consoling look. “Or it might take someone from the eighteenth century to even understand its intent. We may be missing the context here.”
Gray turned to Jason. “What’s your assessment? Is what’s written here nonsense? Could we be spinning our wheels?”
Jason swallowed, knowing the others were counting on him. “No. I don’t believe so. All these scribbles must be clues to the location of the library. I’m sure of it. It’s just an exceptionallyhardpuzzle. Plus, we may be missing clues that have faded into obscurity.”
“If so, then we’re never going to solve it,” Monk groused.
Gray ignored him and focused on Jason. “Have you come to any other conclusions after working all night?”
“Maybe.” Jason took a deep breath, hoping his assessment wasn’t about to lead everyone down a rabbit hole. “During the night, I got to wonderingwhysections of this page were blocked out by the golden book and the sketch of the Lavra. Why would they do that? It took all my skills—and Kat’s back in D.C.—to strip away those layers to reveal what was obviously hidden on purpose.”
Gray’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have any guesses? About why that compass and other pieces were overwritten?”
“I have a theory.” Jason pointed to the compass rose. “I think that’s the answer to the puzzle, to the location of the Golden Library. It’s right there. Or at least a simplified version of it.” With growing certainty, he straightened his back. “I believe someone drew that compass, one that points to the library’s location—then got cold feet.”
Father Bailey glanced at him. “What do you mean by cold feet?”
“I think someone—someone likely brilliant—concluded that this first encryption was tooeasyto solve, so they covered it up, and constructed a more convoluted puzzle around it, one that would challenge all but the greatest minds.”
Jason stared around the table, daring anyone to discount his theory.
Gazes returned to the screen as everyone considered his words.
Gray simply picked up one of the tablets and tapped at its screen.
Monk shook his head. “This compass is theeasyversion of the puzzle?”
Jason shrugged and glanced at Anna. “Maybe for someone in the eighteenth century.”
The nun leaned close to the screen, squinting at the page, as if struggling with something.
What is she doing?
