The Magdalene Cipher Read Online Free PDF

silent hinges .
    The moment it closed behind him, Dunphy felt worse. He was in an anechoic chamber, or “dead room”—a windowless, fluorescently lighted cube that rested on unseen, but enormous, springs. Impossible to bug, it amounted to a thickly carpeted vault of conical foam baffles deployed in such a way that they absorbed and neutralized every disturbance of the air. Not a signal, resonance, or echo left the area, whether its origins were human, mechanical, or electronic .
    Because the room was entirely without resonance, everything that was said within it sounded empty, hollow, and false . Flat . It was a place in which even Mother Teresa would have come off as a phony. Dunphy had never been in a room like this before, but he had heard about them. Most embassies had one, and Moscow had three. He’d been told that it was impossible to play music in such a room. The Juilliard String Quartet had tried in a test at the Bureau of Standards; within seconds, the musicians had fallen, laughing, into dissonance .
    But Dunphy didn’t feel like laughing. In fact, a wave of nausea surged through him as he stood in the room, looking at his interrogators .
    Seated at a long conference table, they were curiously, unpleasantly alike. Improbably tall, and equally gaunt, they shared the same unhealthy gray complexion, as if they’d been camping in a mine shaft. They combed their hair into low pompadours, short on the sides, and were dressed in shiny black suits, white polyester shirts, black wing tips, and string ties with turquoise bolos. Each of them carried a large catalog case packed with kraft-colored file folders. They seemed to Dunphy like a malignant version of the Blues Brothers. His stomach heaved, and he felt light-headed .
    â€œMr. Dunphy,” said one .
    â€œMr. Thornley,” said the other .
    Fuck all, Dunphy thought. I’ve had it .
    Esterhazy and Rhinegold removed various items from their briefcases, arranging them with care on the table: two legal pads, two ballpoint pens, a package of Virginia Slims, and a Bic lighter. Each .
    Despite the way he felt, Dunphy chuckled at the choreography. “You guys have a lot in common, y’know that?”
    They looked at him, blankly .
    â€œExcuse me?” said the older man .
    â€œHow do you mean?” asked the younger guy. They seemed perplexed, as if the idea had never occurred to them .
    Dunphy began to explain, but their humorless expressions made him change his mind. “Never mind,” he said. He was irritated that they didn’t introduce themselves—though he could tell by the monogram on the younger guy’s cuff links that he was Rhinegold .
    He assumed that they knew everything, but everything , about him: who he was, who he’d pretended to be, and more. That was what all the files were about, or so Dunphy supposed. They had a need to know. And he didn’t. Those were the rules .
    Esterhazy removed his wristwatch and placed it on the table so that it would be in sight throughout the interview. This done, he and his partner lighted cigarettes, exhaled thoughtfully, and looked at Dunphy with a sense of expectation .
    Dunphy sighed. I am, he reflected, in the presence of
    Two .
    Major .
    Geeks .
    â€œLet’s start with your alias, Mr. Dunphy.”
    â€œWhich one?”
    â€œThe Irish cover. Can you tell us to what extent Mr. Thornley’s identity was backstopped?”
    Dunphy began to talk, and as he did, he listened to himself, and to the sound of his words in the peculiar room. It seemed to him that his voice originated from a point just outside his body, the words forming an inch or two in front of his lips. From the other side of the table, questions floated toward him, curiously empty of inflection, and impossible to read .
    It was a strange, informational waltz, and Dunphy tired of it very quickly .
    â€œSo,” Tweedledum said, “your principal responsibility was to establish