Blood Sun by David Gilman Read Free Book Online

strand of coarse string had several other pieces tied on to it, like a small skirt. Each of the dangling strings had knots tied in it at various places along the strand. A few turns in the string were dyed red.
    Max rubbed the rough strands in his hand. Was this what Danny Maguire had died for? A handful of string?
    He pressed a button to bring his laptop out of hibernation, then keyed in “string messages.” Google said there were 877,000 bits of information and started with string messages in Java computer language.
    “You think there’s any link between this and computer code?” Max asked Sayid.
    Sayid watched as Max scrolled down. The links continued in the same vein: protocol and error messages. “Maybe. This might be something you’re supposed to decipher. Y’know—one knot means something in the binary of a specific string that he’s laid in somewhere. Has he sent you anything by email that we could look at?”
    Max shook his head. “Only that he was coming to London and he’d be in touch. That was a month ago.”
    “Well, this is going to take some kind of genius to work it out. I’m happy to have a go at it.”
    “Nothing like modesty, Sayid. Who appointed you chief scientific officer?”
    “Someone’s got to try.”
    “This hasn’t got anything to do with computers; I’m sure of it. He was doing field studies in South America. This has something to do with where he was. What is it he’s trying to tell me?”
    Max scrolled down the screen. There was nothing apparent. String instruments of South America, shoestring holidays … nothing that indicated what he was looking for.
    The door burst open. Max slammed the laptop’s lid down. It was Baskins, as subtle as a bull in a china shop. “Hey, Max, I need one more for seven-a-side. Be great in the snow, yeah? Oh, hi, Sayid. You up for it, Max? Come on, it’ll be raining again soon, and where’s the fun in that?”
    “No, thanks. I’m busy.”
    “Ah, come on! I need some speed and muscle on my team. Look, I’m sorry for what I said, OK? No hard feelings—you caught me a good one. My ears are still ringing. Why’ve you got a khipu?” Baskins rattled on, never drawing breath as he picked up the tassels of string.
    “A what?” Max said.
    “Khipu.”
    “How would you know what this is?” Max said.
    “We did a whole thing on South America with Mr.Peterson last year. Hoggart called ’em kippers when the bloke came down from the university and told us about them. Hoggart’s such a prat at times. It was all about ancient stuff. It was so boring except for the sacrificial bits. That was cool. They used to disembowel their victims and—”
    Max took the strings back and cut short Baskins’s gory recounting of blood sacrifices. “What’s it for?”
    “Apparently, Incas used them for keeping tabs on things. Y’know, how many bags of corn they had, information and stuff, shorthand or something. Look, I dunno. Are you coming or what?”
    Max eased him out the door. “I can’t right now. Thanks, you’ve been a great help.”
    Baskins had never been a great help to anyone before, so the compliment needed some thought. By the time he’d reached the top of the stairs, he still had no idea what he’d said that was so useful, but he remembered someone else as a replacement for Max. He pounded down the corridor to press-gang the boy.
    Max tapped another query into the computer: “k-e-e-p-u.” That made no sense at all. He reached for his dictionary. He couldn’t see anything that spelled what Baskins had said.
    “Let’s try Incas,” Sayid said as his fingers quickly touched the keys. “Here we go!”
    They scrolled down the information bars. Incas: pre-Columbian tribes, distinct language, located in Peru, Ecuador and Chile.
    Max clicked on one of the links: British Museum: Sun God Exhibition . A series of photographs spread themselves acrossthe screen. Figures carved into stone tablets, double-headed snakes made of jade, burial masks,