One year later

Today marks one year after the Audacity to yes we can train rode to victory on the backs of progressives. I tweeted my thoughts earlier. overall I gave them a D. When you try to walk down the middle of the road you end up as the "dead skunk, stinking to high heaven" my apologies to Mr. Lennon.
As I have Said less politics and more better fiction for November so here is a little update of The Socrates Code

Chapter 1

The woman rolled beige stockings over her supple calf. The dark seams stood in stark contrast to her alabaster thighs. J. Alan Dunbar rolled over on one elbow to watch. Anna’s legs were short but perfectly shaped, and surprisingly strong . He absently rubbed at a fresh bruise on his hip.
“About time you came to life” She gently chided him. “If you are gonna wear out this fast I will have to start looking for a newer model” A crooked smile crossed her lips as she clipped garters to stockings.
“Just hitting my stride miss Foucault.” J. said swinging his legs over the side of the bed and grimacing a bit as his feet hit the cold stone floor. “Besides it’s the jet lag, tomorrow it will be my age.” he laughed stumbling toward the shower. With the speed inherent in her fluid movements she was already dressed and heading for the door. “Order the coffee my dear. I will be down in a jiff.”
“No need to rush, The holiday and all.” she shot him that crooked smile again framed with soft honey blond hair and then she was gone.
All Saints Day in Vatican City, that, “No need to rush.”, would be an understatement. On a good day service was slow in the little shop downstairs, on these feast days it was an accomplishment to get breakfast by supper time. Waiting for the water to warm up he thought that their were worse things in life than waiting for one meal in a café with Dr. Anna Foucault .
One would think a historian would appreciate the antiquity of the city but the chemist in him kept thinking about the lead poisoning theory for the collapse of the Roman Empire so he showered quickly. Easily beating the
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tiny water heater in the two room flat. He slipped into some jeans and headed for the stairs.
Amazingly a pentagonal metal pot sat on the table beside a tray of croissants and butter. Anna glanced over the top of her paper batting her lashes behind the dark frames of her glasses. She was in an awfully good mood, that meant she new something.
He sat down and spooned sugar into a cup of strong dark liquid allowing the woman her moment. The tables were empty of patrons but most had not been cleared. The waiter sat at the bar smoking a cigarette and eyeing Anna’s legs. Dunbar suspected it was a daily ritual for the young man. “OK spill it.”
“You’re no fun.” She remarked pursing her lips in a mock pout. “Just goes to show there is no rest for the wicked.” She pointed to an envelope on the table with the words, “God is Dead” printed in bold script, the Fred Society motto after it‘s namesakes most famous quote. “We’ve been summoned” she said then went back to reading the calendar page of L’Osservatore Romano.
Italian coffee and his stomach tended to quarrel on the best of days and on short sleep he was never at his best. He opened the envelope and withdrew the single sheet. Room 222 at 1pm local was printed in block type followed by another quotation. “Be careful when you fight the monsters, lest you become one.” “At least they allowed plenty of time to eat” Dunbar said buttering one of the flakey rolls while casting his eyes about for some marmalade.
He ate and wondered what the hurry was. The case that brought him here had been in the works for years. He didn’t see how authenticating a few documents could lead to a settlement now. He dismissed the question as he would know in an hour and turned his attention to Anna. She looked even better this morning than she had picking him up at the gate last night. A smart black skirt with a matching blazer worn over teal silk blouse. The color set her eyes a blaze behind the black glasses she had chosen.
“Any shot at catching a cab?” he asked finishing a second cup of coffee.
“Afraid it’s shanks mare today luv.” a hint of sympathy in her voice. “It is a lovely fall day for it though.” She wrapped a scarf over her shoulder length blond coiffeur before changing to sunglasses and heading for the counter.
J. held the door for her and they set out for the Vatican City office of
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the Friedrich Nietzsche Society, commonly referred to as the FRED.
They knocked on the open door to room 222 and a nondescript man in the nondescript charcoal suit looked up and gave them a noncommittal smile.
“Mr. Dunbar, Miss Foucault please come in. Thank you for being so prompt.” The older man gestured from his desk toward the two chairs. “Please sit down wont you?” Sorry to call you in on the holiday but something has come up and we felt it shouldn’t wait.”
The man offered no name. It occurred to Dunbar that they never said exactly who we were, he was however sure that we did not include him. In FRED circles people without names popped up from time to time. Those times tended to be bad times.
“When you meet with the cardinal tomorrow he will be trying to prove that these documents or should I say the original documents from which these copies were made are not what they appear to be. What they appear to be is a detailed outline of certain crimes being covered up.” The man paused momentarily as if gauging their expressions. “These crimes are of a rather distasteful nature and the individual is high ranking. The victims compensation has already been paid so money is no longer an issue. We have been asked by the victims attorneys to find a way for criminal penalties that would not involve the victims having to testify.”
Dunbar listened with one ear waiting for the shoe to drop with the other. The two of them new all this yesterday so what was all this mystery?
The nondescript man in the nondescript charcoal suit opened the folder and placed three documents on the desk. The odd sized pages
“Those look like orbital diagrams, you know the arrangement of electrons in an atom.” The words were out before he could stop them. “That doesn’t seem likely but this is Sodium and that one is Argon. It would make for a bit of an odd coincidence. How old did you say these are supposed to be?”
“The paper dates back to around 410 CE. Plus or minus 10 years. The backside ink that’s bleeding through is different from that on the front,
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much older We just aren’t sure how much.”
Dunbar looked at the man a huge question mark on his face. “It can’t be that much older, the chemistry is only a hundred years or so old.” He looked to Anna for her opinion.
“You’re right and wrong from what I can tell from this.” Her tone was hesitant. “The ink is old but we don’t know for sure when it was applied.” She smiled. Quite the conundrum.
“This is a very delicate situation, If these are authentic we can finally get these folks the justice they deserve. But the real find here would be on the other side so to speak.” The nondescript man looked at each of them in turn. The church is fighting tooth and nail to keep this quiet. These weird symbols just gum up the works but what if they are authentic?” He let the question dangle in the air.
“We were just apprized of this information and didn’t want it distracting you at a key moment.” He stood up.
The interview was apparently over.
“Feel free to stay and read these but they must be locked up before you leave. Jessup can handle that for you.” And with that the nondescript man in the nondescript charcoal suit left them.
What indeed Dunbar thought? Working in the debunking business he encountered fantastic claims often and they had always failed to withstand scientific scrutiny. He only hoped that at least the confession would turn out to be true. He supposed this time would be no different but the idea was indeed tantalizing. What if some bronze age mathematician had stumbled upon Quanta? Would they have struggled with the implications drive many in the present day physicists crazy? Later that night the same whimsical thought followed him down into sleep a contented Anna cradled in his arms. all looked to contain writing by the same hand. He looked them over making a preliminary assessment. The originals were old or had been made to look old. The fiber patterns, discolorations and some bleeding of the inks. Much older than the dates appended to the instructions. There was what appeared to be a Papal signature and most curious to J. was a series of circles and arrows from the writing on the other side visible on the margins.