“Enochian?” Matt snorted softly. “I must see it.”

Tania said, “Oh, please. That’s bullshit.”

Abrams stepped closer, glaring at Tania. “I think we need to know everything; then we can decide what’s bullshit. I agree with the Doctor; these are all pieces of the puzzle, and we need to hear them all.”

“Enochian.” Matt rubbed his chin. “Well, no one is even sure if it’s real. It’s supposed to be the language of the angels as recorded in the private journals of the Englishman John Dee in the 1500s.”

“Matt.” Tania shook her head. “Historians and linguists have studied the Enochian symbol strings, and not one of them can decide if it’s a real language or something just made up by Dee as a joke.”

“They can’t decide…but they never ruled it out.” Matt shrugged. “Over the years, I’ve seen enough to know that some legends are real. It sort of fits; according to the story, Dee’s journal was actually a transcript of an earlier work…much, much earlier – maybe it was drawn from the translated Al Azif. Enochian is also called Celestial Speech, taught to Adam by God himself.”

“Language taught to the first man, by God.” Albadi nodded. “But now the question is, which God, hmm, Professor Kearns?” He rubbed his hands together as if washing them of any traces of the Book. “And whether it is Enochian or the fevered scribbling of a madman is yet to be seen.” He grinned. “But ‘The earth shall fall’ is a fairly accurate prediction for a madman to make, yes, Professor?”

“‘And the earth shall fall’,” Matt repeated, startled. The phrase had occurred to him as soon as he read about the sinkholes. “I know that quote. From an old Arabic saying, or so I always thought.”

Albadi smiled broadened. “The words of the Al Azif are everywhere, we just don’t realize it.” He looked from Matt to Abrams. “And now to another piece of the elephant, hmm?”

Major Abrams scowled impatiently, and Tania folded her arms tightly across her chest.

“The Al Azif – I do not have the original, but I believe I have located fragments of the first ever copy made. A copy in native Syriac and Arabic, and far more descriptive than the one the American author, Mr Lovecraft, possessed.”

“And you’ve read it?” Tania asked.

“Yes, and I think it is mostly safe to read. But a copy is nothing like the original. According to notes in the text, the simple act of even reading the original work is dangerous. The author, Alhazred, vanished without a trace. Some said he met with a terrible end. The man claimed in his tome to have discovered the secrets of a race far older than mankind, and far older than life as we know it on this planet. He had found the path to the Old One, Cthulhu, and their servants, the loathsome Shoggoths – and I believe it was one of these creatures that took him.”

“Cthulhu, the Old One,” Tania said, folding her arms, her brow now deeply furrowed.