The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (16 page)

Though Elizabethan, the house had a classical Roman feel to it, but Jack’s trained eyes warned him that nothing here was old fashioned.  The systems rivaled those he had seen at the ISTF offices. 
Why does Mason need so much security? 

Who’s he watching? 

Who’s watching him?

Jack’s text message alert signaled in his pocket. 

He fished it out. 

It was Nash. 

He pressed his finger down to answer it and in the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Mason approaching.

“Ah, Jack.  Thank you for coming at such short notice.  Please join me for a light supper.”

Jack shut down the phone and rose slowly. 

Mason’s entrance was short of extravagant.  He wore loose-fitting, white robes, resembling those worn in what Jack could only picture was an Arabian Nights tragedy.  He also donned more jewelry than Jack thought was allowable for a man of his stature, including a dragonfly brooch and a thin ring on his right hand. 

Jack finally understood who possessed the dragonfly obsession.

* * *

Empress State Building,

Metropolitan Police, West London

They arrived within fifteen minutes.  It might as well have been an eternity, Calla sat across from the heavyset female cop donning an open-necked uniform.  She sported an attached belt, rank badges on the epaulettes of her shirts and had removed her Private Constable bowler hat.

The police van shuddered to a halt directly in front of a skyscraper she’d driven past several times, the Empress State Building.  Constructed initially as a hotel, it was mostly occupied by the Metropolitan Police of West London. 

After a trek up two flights of stairs, she found herself across the desk of a chief inspector. A rather austere, middle-aged man.

The day had been mild and with the sun’s disappearance, the temperature had dropped significantly to single digits.  Inside the station, it was several degrees warmer.  The chief inspector gave Calla the impression he was sterner than the officers who’d driven her here in a rapid commotion.

“Can I remove my jacket?” asked Calla.

His nod was brief and indifferent, as he continued reading a stapled document, marking it up.  Possibly a police report. 
More important than my being here.

 The last hour had been a series of alarming events for Calla.  A drama, had it not been for the unforgiving inspector opposite her.  Calla read the name marker on the inspector’s desk:

CHIEF INSPECTOR RIDGES
.

Her mind battled between what she’d discovered at Allegra’s house, and what she feared the police would discover in her possession.  As dire as her current predicament, she retraced her discovery of Allegra’s birth certificate.

The date 1881 baffled her. Calla had taken out her smart phone and carefully photographed the certificate before replacing it and leaving everything intact.  Her sprint down the stairs was a near collision with Taiven, who was on his way up.

“Miss Cress.  Did you find everything you needed?”

Startled, Calla held her step, nearly tripping on the stairs.  Her stare was one of evasion.  “Yeee…ss, thank you.”

Taiven meticulously stepped out of the way and let her proceed.  He said nothing regarding her activities on Allegra’s residence floor. 

She hustled back to her apartment confounded.  Upon entry, she caught sight of her coats and day pashminas on the floor, a few inches from her feet.  Her eyes then moved through the studio apartment, landing on her living room area.  Cushions had been stabbed on the couch.  The phone hung off its cradle.  Several books had made their way from well-ordered shelves onto the floor, creating piles of hurdles between her and the stairs.  She stepped over the vandalized heap and continued to the kitchen.  Having wrecked the items there, the culprit had left an unsightly scribbling on her pristine wall.  Even in the subdued light, the paint, in shades of orange, red, and violet still crept down, in hideous streaks to the foot of the kitchen wall.

The manuscript! 

She mounted up the stairs, taking two strides with each step, to check on the artifacts.  Relieved, she pulled the bundled papers from the diplomatic bag and inspected them.  She would leave the objects there until she had made sense of the chaos.  That was when the doors had thudded.

The inspector finished his reading and imprinted the documents with a formal seal.  The sudden noise brought Calla back to her present predicament.

“Calla Cress?”

Play this cool!
“Yes, sir?”

The inspector straightened a few files on his desk.  “Have you been informed of your rights?”

Calla nodded.

“You’re entitled to free legal advice.  Do you know why you are here?”

“Not exactly.  Your officers were not entirely the articulating types.”

His eyes focused on her with intent, giving away no emotion.  “Please sign this custody agreement.”

Calla stared at the paper, refusing to comply.

“Would you like to contact someone?”

She shook her head.

He folded his arms, leaning back ever so slightly and studied her from a more focused angle.  “Do you confirm or deny the knowledge of a woman by the name of Allegra Driscoll?”

Straight to the point, I see. 
“Why am I here?”

No reply left his lips.

Calla placed her hands gently on the impeccably neat table.  “I believe you need to tell me what this is all about.”

He unfolded his arms.  “Do you know Allegra Driscoll?”

“You don’t need to repeat yourself, inspector.” She thought for a second. “What if I do?”

“Don’t try me, Cress.”

Calla clutched her arms to her chest. “We’re colleagues in many respects.”

He eased up.  “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Here in London, a couple of weeks ago.”

“You didn’t see her in Berlin?”

He’s prying now. 
She tilted her head to one side.  “How did you know I was in Berlin?”

“We make it our business to know everything of a criminal nature.”

Calla didn’t believe a word of his statement for a second. 
Give me more information if you want my cooperation, chief.
“You still haven’t told me why I’m here.”

“We’re following up on a lead.  Earlier today, the German police informed us that you had left Berlin, when they asked you not to.”

Calla shrugged her shoulders.  “I don’t believe that was a crime.  Was it?”

“Ms. Driscoll possesses information regarding a theft from a Berlin museum.  You were her last contact.”

Calla rested her back against the abrasive chair.  “What exactly am I supposed to know?”

The inspector ignored her question.  “What was your business with Allegra in Berlin?”

Should she repeat the same story she’d laid out in Berlin?  The German police would have given them some sort of report.  Besides, without a formal charge or accusation they could not hold her here.

Calla opened her mouth to interject.  She stopped mid-sentence as the door flung open with a thud. 

She turned her head.

Taiven burst in, his lips pinched in a scowl.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Taiven’s steps were commanding.  Fully clad in a navy trench coat over a very sharp suit, he strode with an authoritative air towards the chief inspector’s desk.  “Miss Cress is not required to answer anything at all.  You’ll release her at once!”

The inspector rose to speak, his nostrils flaring.  Any attempts at a protest were overridden by Taiven’s determined hand on his shoulders, forcing him back in his chair.  “Higher authorities are handling the disappearance of Allegra Driscoll, and I believe the matter is way above your pay grade.”

Taiven drew a badge from his coat pocket. 

Calla attempted a glimpse at it.  Judging from the reaction of the inspector, she guessed that it carried authentic weight. 

“This is out of your jurisdiction,” Taiven said as the inspector fell silent, his cheeks flushed with rage. 

Calla observed as the two men sized each other’s command, each swearing inaudible threats with everything in their being. 

All these years, she’d known Taiven to be a butler. 
What did I miss?
 

Should she thank him or fear his influence?

Taiven finally broke the awkward stares and turned to Calla.  His manner with her was not as nearly overwrought as with the inspector.  He drew his eyebrows together.  “After you, Miss Cress.”

Calla rose instinctively and paced to the door followed by Taiven.

No words were exchanged between departing the inspector’s office and the short walk up to the car park. 

“Is this our ride?” she said.

Taiven stopped by a silver Maserati Gran Turismo.  “Yes.”

Probably the latest creation from the manufacturer. She grazed her finger along the metallic polish. “I didn’t know you owned a Maserati, Taiven.”

Taiven popped open the driver’s door.  “It’s not mine.”

“Oh.”

“It’s yours.”

A beauty no less, decked with modern accessories and excellent artistry, a contemptuous smile played on her lips. “Not on my salary, thank you.”

“Please get in the car,” insisted Taiven.

She slid into the passenger seat and they headed back to her apartment. 

The swift journey was marked with intense quietness, as Calla purposed to let him speak first. 

He did not.

“You’ve just unleashed a skeleton in your closet,” she began.

Taiven responded with a quiet smile.

They eased into her soundless street in West London.  The neighbors had settled in, leaving the streets free of the spring day’s outdoor commotion. 

Taiven switched off the dynamic engine.

Calla paused several seconds before opening the door on her side.

Sensing her hesitation , Taiven reached for her arm.  “It’s time you and I had a chat.  But before that happens, please go and get the manuscript.”

Calla shrunk back into the leather and pulled the door shut. 

She’d not breathed a word to anyone.  The note had forbidden it, and yet here was a dual-identity, government official
,
whom she’d always known to be a butler, bailing her out of mayhem.

She opened her mouth, searching for a refutation.

Taiven laid a hand over hers.  “Calla, you can trust me.  I was the one who sent you the diplomatic bag to get the manuscript out of Berlin.”

Denial was the easiest option. 
But, what would I do next?

She needed help.

Calla resigned her will.  “Okay.”

He rested his head on the back of the seat.  “By the way, you now no longer live here.  Before Allegra left, she asked me to let you have access to her estate and research.”

“Why?”

He checked the time on the car clock.  “It’s not safe here for you anymore.  Your belongings have been transported to her estate.  “Please hurry.”

Once in her apartment, Calla ran up the flight of stairs.  All her essential, personal belongings had been removed.  Signs of the evening’s earlier events remained, even when much had been removed in such a short space of time.

At the top of the mezzanine stairs, she reached for a button and released the trap door under the bed. 

She’d almost forgotten about the birth certificate.  Fishing down the dark panel, she found the blue diplomatic bag and opened the carrier.  The Deveron Manuscript and the gold goblet were still there.  She added the memory stick, some notes she’d gathered over the years regarding her adoption and zipped up the bag. 
Right, I think everything I need is here.

Downstairs, Calla found her carry-on and her passport and paused at the front door, inhaling the night air.

I hope you know what you’re doing!

* * *

“Evening, Mason.”

Mason took the head seat next to Jack. Within minutes, the housekeeper served an exquisite vintage wine, a seafood platter of oysters, crab, lobster, mussels and giant shrimps on a bed of ice and lemon.

Though he’d been raised by the ocean most of his life, Jack was not a fan of seafood, particularly cold seafood.  When the meal had been set, he ate politely, washing down each bite with iced water and an occasional sip of exquisite, Meursault white wine.  By the second course of sautéed foie gras, garnished with a crispy, cinnamon-flavored, duck pancake, Mason begun to engage in small talk about, travel, art and history.

 “You like dragonflies?” Jack said.

Mason finished chewing.  “In Japan, dragonflies symbolize strength, courage and happiness.”