Lemuria by Burt Clinchandhill (epub e ink reader TXT) 📕

“So, what do we do know?” Bishop asked.

“Now we wait,” Monroe answered. “So, tell me, where did you leave Lindsey and Ignatowski?”

“They’ve gone home to see their families, I guess. I told them I was going to see you for help with the image and had to promise to let them know if we found anything.”

“A promise you intend to keep?” Monroe asked, listening to the tone of Bishop’s voice.

“Of course. It’s just a matter of timing, isn’t it?” Bishop smiled.

“What do you think happened to her?”

“To be honest, I have no idea. I hope she’s okay.”

“I’m glad you came to me for help. I really like her.” Monroe looked at the laptop screen. “The first results are in. Let’s see.” He read, “‘Looks like a waterfall to me,’ ‘Is it Saint Martin who gave half his robe away to a beggar?’ ’Take a look at the vofoundation,’ ‘a racetrack.’”

“What’s that one,” Bishop asked.

“The race track?”

“No, the one before that. A foundation?”

“The vofoundation? Do you recognize it?”

“Not really, no, but what is it?”

Monroe typed it in Google and pressed enter.

“Vatican observatory foundation,” he said, clicking the link.

“Here.” Bishop pointed at the top right of the screen.

“That’s it. The curved lines, five stars, and a cross on top.” Bishop sounded ecstatic. “You see there? The lines represent an observatory.”

“I think you’re right,” Monroe confirmed. “Here it says: The Specola Vaticana, or Vatican Observatory, is an astronomical research and educational institution overseen by the Holy See. Their headquarters is based in Castel Gandolfo, Italy, and they also have a telescope here in the U.S. at the Mount Graham International Observatory.”

“But what does Jennifer have to do with the Vatican or astronomy?” Bishop asked.

“No idea. Could it have something to do with her work on evolution?”

“Well, we know, of course, that the church is not a big fan of evolution, but I’m not aware of any contact between Jennifer and the Vatican on the subject.”

“Here,” Monroe pointed out on the bottom of the screen at a number. “You should call them.”

“Why not,” Bishop said, taking out his phone. “What’s that number?

Monroe read from the screen while Bishop dialed.

Bishop put the phone to his ear. The call was answered within seconds.

“Castel Gandolfo, Frate Orsino Matteo, pronto.”

“Um,” Bishop stammered. In his enthusiasm, he forgot they would probably answer the phone in Italian. Although he had visited the country several times, he had a hard time picking up the language. The only Italian that came to him was an introduction. “Mio nome è Matthew Bishop. Um, do you speak English?”

“I do, sir,” the man said in fluent English.

“Oh, thank God,” Bishop said. “Let me put you on speaker.”

“I hope you can thank the Lord for more than my English,” Brother Matteo answered astutely.

“I’m sorry, forgive me,” Bishop said.

“Not a problem,” the priest said. “You’re not the first and won’t be the last. How can I help you?”

“Thank you. I’m not sure,” Bishop spoke. “As I said, my name is Matthew Bishop, and I’m a professor of mathematics and philosophy at Yale University in the United States. This, um... might sound strange, but Walker Monroe, a colleague and professor, and I are looking for another coworker and friend of ours who disappeared abroad.”

“What do you mean, disappeared?” Brother Matteo asked.

“We’re not sure,” Bishop replied. “But on the place where we think she disappeared, she left a written note that pointed to your institution.”

“Pointed to the Specola Vaticana?”

Bishop thought for a split second. If he were to tell the brother the truth, that someone carved a sign on a holy stone in Indonesia, he figured he probably wouldn’t believe him. “On the note, she wrote we should contact the Vatican Observatory, but the note wasn’t finished, so she didn’t write why.”

For a long moment, the line stayed quiet before brother Matteo responded. “What is the name of your friend?”

“Porter, Jennifer Porter.”

Again, the line went silent for a moment. “Doesn’t ring a bell,” Brother Matteo said.

“Maybe you could ask around your institution?” Bishop asked.

“Is there any way I can confirm your identity?” Brother Matteo asked.

“Uh, you can look me up on the Internet or call the university and ask to be forwarded to Professor Matthew Bishop.”

“All right, do you also have a picture of your friend you can send me?”

“Of course. Do you have an email address for me?”

“Sure,” he replied, and recited his email address. “When I receive your email, I will relay the question to the small staff we have here. If anyone knows anything, we will know soon.”

“Please contact me as soon as you learn anything.”

“I’ll contact you via the university as soon as I hear something.”

“Thank you,” Bishop replied. “Hope to hear from you soon.” Bishop pushed the red button on his screen.

Monroe forcefully tapped the enter key on his laptop. “Done,” he spoke. “I’ve sent a message and added Jennifer’s picture.”

“Thanks.”

“You lied to the Vatican,” Monroe pointed out, smiling.

“A little white lie, so to say.” Bishop folded his hands. “So, what do we know? Do we have any other options?”

“We could travel to Italy,” Monroe suggested. “Never been there, so....”

Bishop turned the laptop toward him. “It keeps running through my mind what the Vatican’s connection to Jennifer could possibly be. Did you even know the Vatican ran an observatory?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. I saw a documentary on it once. They do serious business, as I recall.”

“Who would believe it? Science and religion united.” Bishop rubbed his eyes.

“Maybe you should go home and take a shower,” Monroe suggested.

Bishop looked at the other side of the hall, where people exited the building. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost six. We’re closing up the place. If there is a reply from Rome, it will be tomorrow. It’s almost midnight there now.”

“Time flies. Maybe you’re right.” Bishop rose from his chair. “Maybe I’ll just hop by the office before going home.” Bishop’s office—the home of the Department of Comparative Literature and Department of Religious Studies—was just around the corner. He picked up his