Newton Cipher—Excerpt #3

For the next week or so, at the request of the publisher, I'll be posting short excerpts from my new supernatural thriller, The Newton Cipher. Enjoy! And if they whet your appetite an you want to read the entire book, you can find it here: The Newton Cipher
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Excerpt #3

ESPRESSO
University of Notre Dame South Bend, Indiana
...
“Please, Ekaterina, sit!” the old professor said, indicating the chair she just abandoned, even as most of the 1985s tumbled onto the floor.
“I’m good,” Trina said, raising the cup to her mouth. The smell was incredible, rich and earthy. And the first sip, despite the bitterness, was thick and warm—almost chewy—and sweet enough for her to down in two gulps.
“Just like Italians,” Edelstein said, downing his as quickly, pipe still dangling from one corner of his mouth.
“So,” Trina said, setting her empty cup down next to the grinder. “Inviting me for espresso usually means you’ve something to discuss.”
Edelstein took it upon himself to remove the remaining journals from Trina’s chair and then settled into his own chair behind the large desk—she was sure there was still a desk under there somewhere—in the center of the room.
“How’s life, Ekaterina? You’re enjoying teaching my old seminar here in the Institute?”
“Absolutely. Most of the kids are just in it for the credits, but as always, there are a few who make it worthwhile.”
“Indeed, indeed. You’re still with that boy? Gary? It’s going well?”
“Gavin,” she said. Edelstein never forgot names. And she and Gavin weren’t fine. What was with all the small talk? “We’re fine.”
“I understand you are still working as a forensic document analyst?” He plowed ahead, clearly aiming at something. “How’s that going?”
“Fine,” she said again. And this time she meant it. “The past year I became a member of the International Questioned Document Examiners Association. Really helped me land more gigs, especially with my subspecialty.”
“Ah, the IQDEA,” he said, pronouncing it eye-queue-dee-ah. “A mouthful, that one. What kind of temporary employments have you landed?”
She laughed. It was a mouthful. “Mostly giving my professional opinion on forged documents. In court, or depositions, for cases like divorces and inheritances. Haven’t had much proper historical work, unfortunately. The few I did get mostly involved disputed nineteenth- century land contracts. Not quite the jet-setting lifestyle I’d hoped. My passport is just collecting dust. The most exotic place I’ve been to all year was Paris.”
“France?”
“Texas.”
“Intoxicating!”
“It pays the bills. Until I can find a proper archivist position, or
maybe a full-time teaching job somewhere, that is.”
“Ah, well,” he paused. Here we go. “Speaking of jobs ...”
“Yes?”
“You know I’ve authenticated a fair share of historical documents
in my time.”
“Of course. You’ve been my role model in more ways than one. I
still want to be you when I grow up.”
“Well, you’d best get started, then. Unlike me, you’re not getting any
younger.”
“Ha,” she said. “You don’t look a day over seventy-five.”
“You’re too kind, Ekaterina. Add ten years, give or take, and you’re
not far off.”
“You look great for your age, Alasdair.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. But looking good and feeling good are not
the same thing. Milan was nice, but I’m not going back. Italy, Europe, anywhere. The travel, the flights, the trains ... too much. I have my little house here, above the river. It needs a good cleaning. And paint. And come spring, the garden will need some serious work.”
“You deserve a quiet retirement, Alasdair.”
“And I intend to have one. But,” he waved his pipe around, “as you can see, I hate leaving things so ... untidy.”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“Don’t mock me. I’m not talking about my office. I’m talking about the past.”
“Huh?”
“The past is a messy place. I did what I could to tidy it up, but I’m afraid there is work yet to be done.”
“I guess so,” Trina said. “Scholarship is a lifetime vocation.”
“Oh, I’m not referring to scholarship or teaching or publishing. Academia has enough damn journals full of articles nobody reads written by assistant professors so they can get tenure and end up with an office like mine. Look around, is this really such a prize? I’m talking about protecting the past, Ekaterina.”
“I’m afraid you lost me.”
He tented his fingers and rested his chin on the tips. Then he looked her in the eye.
“Do you really want to have a career like mine?”
“Didn’t I just say I did?”
His fingers separated, the pipe came out, and he leaned forward. “I
received a message from England today. Seems the British Library has need of an outside expert who does what I do—what we do. To look at some very important, very sensitive, documents. The gentleman who called got my name from an old friend of mine at Cambridge, Fiona McFee, who told him I was in Italy. He was disappointed to learn I had already flown home.”
“And?”
“And? Oh, yes. He asked if I could recommend anyone else.” “And ...?”
“I said I could.”
Trina hoped this was going where she thought it was going. “Me?” Please, oh please.
He paused ... then nodded.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, jumping out of her chair. “Thank you, Alasdair! The British Library ... I can’t believe it. Whose documents am I looking at?”
“Newton.”
She gasped. “You mean Sir Isaac Newton?”
“The same. If legitimate, these documents will be the first Newton
papers discovered in over a century. But there’s one caveat.” “What is it?” Trina was positively buzzing now.
“They appear to be written in some kind of code.”