The Voynich Cypher by Russell Blake

haven’t seen me for a few days – I’m on vacation until next week in Switzerland, with no way of contacting me until Monday, all right?”
    Gwen didn’t miss a beat. “Have a lovely holiday.”
    They pushed their way out through the rear exit. Steven called Gwen’s cell as they sprinted through the alley behind the building and out onto the larger street a hundred yards away.
    “Gwen. If two men come in looking for me, please be very careful, and very convincing,” he started.
    “Yes, sweetheart, of course I can make lunch today. Say at two o’clock?” Gwen replied, sounding breezy, like she had not a care in the world.
    “Did they show up?” he asked.
    “Yes, of course I can,” she replied.
    “Do you need me to call the police?” Steven responded.
    “No, can’t chat right now. I have some visitors I need to speak with,” she said.
    “So no police?”
    “That won’t be necessary. See you at lunch. Ciao !” Gwen said and hung up.
    Steven glanced at Natalie.
    “You were right. Are my people in any danger?” he demanded.
    “I don’t think so. It’s you they’re after. They’ll want to keep low key until they find us, and not arouse any suspicion. It’s just their bad luck they came to kill you when you were on holiday,” Natalie said.
    Two minutes later the gray sedan pulled up next to them. Steven and Natalie climbed into the back.
    “We’re clean,” she said to the Frederick, and Steven noticed that, even so, the man spent a lot of time studying the rearview mirror as they lost themselves in Florence’s perennial snarl of traffic. “Dr. Cross, this is Frederick. He’s been with the family since I was a child.”
    Frederick nodded at him, eyes still darting from the rearview mirror to the side mirrors between glancing at the road in front of them.
    Steven didn’t get the feeling he was talkative, so he opted for silence.
     
    Ten minutes later, Steven’s cell phone rang as they rode through Florence’s outskirts on the way to the villa. It was Gwen.
    “So, luv, did you rob a bank or chop up some supermodel?” she asked by way of greeting.
    “What are you talking about? Are you okay? Who were those guys and what did they want?” Steven pressed.
    “They were detectives with the Florence police. They were very interested in your whereabouts, but wouldn’t say anything besides that they needed to speak with you as soon as possible, as they put it, to ‘assist them with their inquiries’. I asked them what inquiries and they gave me some line about not being free to discuss it,” Gwen explained.
    “That’s bullshit. I haven’t done anything. Did they show you any ID or leave any contact information?” Steven’s mind was racing over possibilities.
    “One of them flashed a shield, but I didn’t have a lot of time to study it. Could have been a traffic warden’s badge for all I know. The one odd thing was that they had to write down a phone number for me to contact them if I spoke with you. If they were police, you’d think they’d have had printed cards…”
    “I agree. They’re probably private investigators or something like that,” Steven confirmed. He didn’t feel like speculating with Gwen about what he meant by ‘something like that’.
    “Well, they weren’t happy that you’re on holiday for a week, but what can I do about it? I’m just a lowly receptionist. I merely answer phones and clean out rubbish bins, and occasionally bring the high-and-mighty coffee.” Gwen had a typical British dry sense of humor.
    “Do me a favor and e-mail me the number and have the lads run it through the crisscross directory to trace it. Get me any info they come up with,” Steven requested.
    “What’s this all about, Steven? Seriously.” Gwen’s tone had changed.
    “I don’t have any idea, Gwen. That’s what I’m going to try to find out. This morning I was minding my own business, buying bread and coffee, and now I’m darting through back doors…”
    “With