Three known copies, an unholy Trinity, are all that exist of the vile Bei’myu-seh Bor’aan, written by Rabbinical scholar and Ashkenazic Jew, Abdiel Hoenig, who secretly rejected his natural-born faith, instead choosing to worship the cosmic entity, he knew as Zaa-q’ran. The ancient 200-page document he penned and hand-painted, predates the enigmatic Voynich manuscript by more than 11-hundred years as well as Abdul Alhazred’s famed book, Kitab al-Azif, by nearly 900-years, with many sources claiming that both draw heavily from the fallen teacher’s work.
One edition, housed in an arcane governmental ziggurat is rarely viewed and never placed on loan. How it came to reside in the Silver State is a history that has never been recorded, though many believe the answer lies with one of the many visits that Adolph Sutro made to San Francisco while others labored on his never-finished tunnel, meant to drain the effervescing waters of the many failing mines of Virginia City.
It is said that should the wrong hand come into possession of the nearly forgotten booklet, all Hell could be raised and great apocryphal destruction will be visited in manifold on all of mankind. E. Brexley Greaves did not believe in such things and the self-learned man, a one-time college professor, purveyor of artifacts out-of-time, and current government agent heard of the item stored away in safety and decided that he must see this awful thing for himself.
It took him numerous meetings with varying bureaucratic officials within a multitude of state departments, one in Elko, another in Las Vegas, and the third in Reno, before he was summarily given permission to visit the hidden room below a nondescript building in the state’s capital, Carson City. Security was tighter than a requested visit to speak to President Eisenhower in private, so Greaves quickly came to realize that the book must be of even greater importance than he first thought.
Greaves, while having secured very little knowledge of the content of the eldritch tome, knew enough that he wished to read all of its content and not merely view it. To do so, he secreted a newly developed camera in his wristwatch in order to photograph the entire holding.
His escort, a petite, dark-haired, and a not unattractive woman led him deep below the foundation level of the stone building, where they were met by two security officers. There, Greaves was subjected to a cursory pat-down by one officer, while the other unlocked the steeled doors of the multi-pinned, blast-resistant vault.
Greaves entered the chilled chamber. Near the middle of the buffed-steel room, on a lone mahogany pedestal, under bright, yellowish light, rest the most famous but widely unknown codex beheld by man.
After donning white cotton gloves, Greaves began the careful task of leafing through the manuscript. He was dazzled by the bright pigments of the childlike artistry that adorned the many pages and puzzled by the unknown script that lay before him.
Quietly, and methodically, he regarded each page, adjusting himself so his watchband angled appropriately enough to capture images of each panel’s surface. Finished, Greaves slowly thumbed through the leather-bound track, a second, followed by a third time, as he did not want to arouse any suspicion.
Thanking his female escort and the two security officers, Greaves coolly made his way to the surface street some floors above and without haste walked to his car. There he sat for a minute revisiting his secretive actions, before finally turning the engine over and pulling out onto a crowded Highway 40, heading north through the city.
Once back in downtown Sparks office, he developed the film, printed the multiple black-and-white images, creating a singular opus for himself, before sitting down with a half-dozen cryptography books to start the tedium of translating the words, symbols, and pre-Mesopotamian artwork. The entire process would take Greaves 19-days before discovering an ordinary key, a substitution cipher based on the nameless and vulgar Roswellian tongue, thus unlocking the exotic penmanship.
The forward came first: ‘Yug-jeoc meg’koln-yug yug’corh geh’vo-louja,’ and once translated, read, ‘It does not permit itself to be read.’ An elated Greaves had no understanding of the sentence as he continued to delve deeper into the dark script.
What he learned, left the otherwise steely-nerved Greaves frightened and highly agitated. Quickly, Greaves lit a match and burned each photograph, the every negative and all of his research, knowing that the perverse danger he found contained among the nefarious pages of the Bei’myu-seh Bor’aan were too much for a single man and perhaps even for an entire government to evenly descry.
In the end, the former U.S. Army paratrooper, code-breaker, spy, now a current member of the Central Intelligence Agency, refused to discuss his visit to the secret vault, understanding that to do so, could cost him his life and the lives of anyone near him. Instead, E. Brexley Greaves would spend the remainder of his life quietly monitoring from his official position, the baleful actions of the federal government, knowing it wouldn’t be long before another agent, one less scrupulous that he, would come to relieve the state of Nevada of its blasphemous holding.