The Messiah Secret Read Online Free PDF Page B

acres of prime Suffolk real estate and a country house stuffed full of antiques.’
    ‘So who is the beneficiary?’ Bronson asked, sounding puzzled.
    ‘For the house and land, I’ve no idea – but in his final will, or at least the last one that’s turned up so far, the old man gave everything inside the house – the entire contents, that is – to the British Museum.’
    ‘So you’re up there to assess the bequest?’
    ‘Yep.’ Angela drove her fork into the salad and took a mouthful. ‘The Suffolk Police have finally allowed museum staff to go into the house. Until now, it’s been out of bounds as a crime scene.’
    ‘So you’ll be away all week, then?’ Bronson asked.
    ‘Hopefully no longer than that. Until I get there, I really don’t know how much there is to do.’ Angela paused and crossed her fingers surreptitiously under the table. She hoped her next question didn’t make her sound too desperate. ‘We’re staying in a local pub, if you fancy popping up one evening?’

5
    As befitted the founder and major shareholder of NotJustGenetics Inc., JJ Donovan’s office was on the top floor of the building. It occupied most of the top floor, in fact. Two of the walls were almost entirely glass, offering spectacular views of Monterey and the ocean beyond, but these days Donovan rarely bothered looking out in that direction. He’d even had his desk moved closer to one of the inner walls and positioned a couple of couches and several armchairs by the picture windows in its place.
    His desk was a wide expanse of bird’s-eye maple supported by a stainless-steel frame and legs, his chair a futuristic combination of chrome, steel and leather. Opposite the desk, about half of one wall was entirely given over to video displays. Eight digital plasma screens displayed a selection of domestic and international news feeds. In the centre of the desk, a smaller digital screen displayed exactly the same feeds, but was touch-sensitive, so Donovan couldsimply press the tip of his finger on any of the video pictures to select the sound for that particular channel.
    Also on the desk were three telephones and two computer screens, one displaying the logo and the status of the NoJoGen network, and which showed the progress of any of the development programmes being run by the company’s scientists. The other was just a regular PC hitched to a broadband router, which allowed him to surf the web or do anything else he wanted. This machine was an obvious area of vulnerability, so it was separated from the company network, which was shielded behind a physical firewall, and the most powerful software firewall, antivirus and anti-intrusion programs money could buy. Jesse McLeod had stated that even he couldn’t hack his way inside the system and if he couldn’t do it, he’d added modestly, nobody else could.
    The only incongruous note in Donovan’s hi-tech office was a large display cabinet positioned beside the door, containing a collection of old books. Really old books. Or, to be absolutely accurate, old copies of really old books. And in a locked safe set into the same wall, a safe that incorporated sophisticated thermostatic controls and devices to regulate the humidity, lay his most prized possession. It was little more than a scrap of papyrus that he’d privately named the Hyrcania Codex, based upon the single name he’d found in the text.
    In complete contrast to the work his company did, which was arguably beyond the cutting edge of the scienceof genetics, Donovan had long had a fascination with ancient manuscripts and codices. As his business had blossomed, he’d had the finance to indulge his passion, and he’d bought relics at auction and from specialist dealers. He’d even learned a little Hebrew and Aramaic along the way, though he usually employed specialists to produce translations of the works he had purchased.
    Over two years earlier, a single phrase he’d read in the translation of one part of the