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“So he lied about the discovery?”
“No, he never claimed credit for it. And Blaylock, being a mathematician, would have known that. I’m starting to wonder if the line was meant as a reminder to himself.”
“Go on.”
“According to my research, the sequence is most often attributed to a twelfth-century Indian mathematician named Hemachandra who—surprise, surprise—also authored an epic poem entitled Lives of Sixty-three Great Men.”
“Another line from Blaylock’s journal.”
“Which was placed directly across from the Leonardo the Liar quote.”
“Certainly sounds intentional,” Remi said. “But what’s it add up to?”
“I’m not sure. I need to see that page again.”
BACK IN THE WORKROOM, Sam told Wendy, “I just need to see the area around the ‘Sixty-three Great Men’ line.”
“Can do. Hold on a moment.” At one of the workstations, Wendy opened the image in Photoshop, made some adjustments, then said, “Done. It should be on your screen . . . now.”
Sam studied the image. “Can you isolate and enlarge the area around the Sixty-three?” Thirty seconds later, the new image appeared. Sam scrutinized it for a moment. “Too fuzzy. I’m mostly interested in the tiny marks above and below the Sixty-three.”
Wendy went back to work. A few minutes later Wendy said, “Try this one.”
The new image resolved on the screen:
“I had to do a little color replacement, but I’m pretty sure the marks are—”
“It’s perfect,” Sam murmured, eyes fixed on the screen.
“Care to share with the rest of the class?” Remi said.
“We’ve been assuming Blaylock used the Fibonacci spiral as some kind of encoding tool on the inside of the bell. The problem is, at what scale? The spiral’s starting grid size can be anything. That’s the piece we were missing. Now we have it.”
“Explain,” said Selma.
“Blaylock’s line
about Leonardo was meant as a pointer to the ‘Sixty-three Great Men’ line. Look above and just to the right of the number three.”
“It’s a quote mark,” Wendy said.
“Or the symbol for inches,” replied Pete.
“Bingo. Now look at the dash directly below the Sixty-three. It’s a minus sign. If you move the inches symbol down and the minus sign up, you get this . . .” Sam grabbed a pad, scribbled something, and turned it around for everyone to see:
6 ? - 3 ? = 3 ?
“Blaylock is telling us the starting square in his spiral is three inches.”
THEY QUICKLY REALIZED the mathematics needed to re-create the spiral were beyond their grasp. Blaylock had devised his bell-spiral combination based on his expertise in topology. To solve it, the Fargos needed an expert of their own, so Sam took a page from Remi’s book and called one of his former professors at Caltech. As it happened, George Milhaupt was now retired and living just seventy miles away on Mount Palomar, where he’d been playing amateur astronomer at the observatory since leaving the institute.
Sam’s brief explanation of the problem so intrigued Milhaupt that he drove immediately to La Jolla, arriving two hours after Sam’s call.
Milhaupt, a short man in his mid-seventies with a monk’s fringe of white hair, followed Sam into the work space carrying an old leather valise. Milhaupt looked around, said, “Splendid,” then shook everyone’s hands. “Where is it?” he asked. “Where is this mystery?”
Not wanting to muddy the waters, Sam restricted his briefing to the Shenandoah, the bell, and the relevant portions of Blaylock’s journal. When he finished, Milhaupt was silent for thirty seconds, pursing his lips and nodding thoughtfully to himself. Finally: “I can’t argue with your conclusions, Sam. You were right to call me. You were a good math student, but topology was never your strong suit. If you’ll bring me the bell, your Fibonacci calculations, and a large sketch pad, then leave me alone, I’ll lock horns with Mr. Blaylock and see what I come up with.”
NINETY MINUTES LATER, Milhaupt’s scratchy voice came over the house’s intercom system. “Hello . . . ? I’m done.”