The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (28 page)

Nash pressed the smart phone against his ear. “Colton?”

“Yeah?”

“She knows about Pella.  We leave as soon as flights are sorted.”

“Okay, you know what to do.”

Nash ended the call and sat on the edge of the bathtub.

He stared at the phone before switching it off. 
Yes, I do.

* * *

Distressed staff hurtled to the nearest exits, some in a flurry, others more systematically.  Smoke proliferated through the entire restaurant, descending from the kitchen. 

Terrified women squawked as they hurled to the nearest exits, the men tried not to show any alarm.

Eichel failed to find Mason, and then decided to move steadily behind the horde of evacuees.  Heavy smoke consumed the hallways, leaving an intoxicating dust cloud in its path. 

Eichel increased his pace, hastened to the stairs and started a systematic march down the escape passage.  The exit led through a dark hall, lit by a single bulb, lined with several secured doors.  Eichel followed the frantic crowd, many of whom were coughing. 

A lone door stood at the bottom of the flight of stairs. As employees maneuvered the narrow staircase, Eichel heard a faint knock from within the steel frame of the concealed door.  “Someone is in there!”

Several people scrambled past him impelled by a desperate urge to flee. 

None stopped to help.

“Did you hear that?” he shouted above the commotion.  “Someone is trapped inside!”

He checked the visitor’s badge on his jacket and slid it against the door reader. 

It failed to open the lock, as the banging inside the room intensified. 

Two male security guards scurried past him. 

He seized one by the arm.  “Please, you must open the door.  Someone is in there.”

The first man was galvanized into action and thudded on the door. 

Those inside pounded louder.

“Okay, stand back,” he told Eichel.

Eichel drew back as the first security officer swiped his card against the reader. 

The steel door clicked open and the three men threw their combined weight against its resistance, forcing it open. 

Three distressed women, paralyzed with fear, filed out coughing as their tear-stung eyes tried to gain focus. 

“Thank you!” said the first. 

The guards marched them out to safety and pointed them in the direction of the evacuating crowds. 

Eichel intuitively scurried into the room to find stragglers.  He took note of a fourth woman, benumbed on the floor. 

He darted to her and checked her pulse. 

She was alive, but must have fainted in shock.

 He flung her over his shoulder and trudged with heavy feet towards the door.  As he heaved their weights forward, he caught sight of a sign.

CLASSIFIED FILE ROOM

Eichel tried to move his feet, but somehow they wouldn’t obey him. He glimpsed back. 

Tattered and dusted files in brown, labeled boxes piled to one side of the room.  The far end of the room stored a row of dated computer systems. 
Must be the room where they digitize classified files.

He picked up his pace, heaving the hundred and thirty pounds or so on his back to the main getaway route. When he stepped into the escape passage, a security guard patrolled the halls directing fleers.

Eichel forced himself to follow steadily, then glimpsed back.  “Please.  Please.  Take her out! She’s unconscious and needs attention.  I’ll see if anybody else is hurt.”

The security guard hesitated a moment and scrutinized Eichel from head to foot, his eyes falling on Eichel’s visitor’s badge before nodding.  “Okay, hurry!”

Eichel shifted the woman onto the guard’s shoulders and waited until he was out of sight before returning to the room.  The smoke had decelerated as he glimpsed back in the hallway to make sure he was alone.

He padded the piles of boxes and continued to the shelves that stood next to the computer systems. 

He settled at a machine and pressed down the ‘on’ button.

The screens failed to respond.
“Mensch!  
Must’ve been automatically shut down as a security measure.”

 Nothing leapt out at him. He paced back to the boxes and checked each one, until his investigative eye glanced at the top box on the second pile, and its clear label.

D

  Bingo!

“This must be it!”

He hoisted the unwieldy box. 

It collapsed under its weight and spilled its contents over his boots. With his pulse threatening to set to charging, he knelt on the floor and salvaged the stacks of bound documents. Soon, his eyes rested on an intriguing file.

TOP SECRET:

The Deveron Manuscript

He debated whether to take the whole thing.  The decision that followed went against his conscience and every training he possessed. He considered the severity of escaping with it from the building, given the mania caused by the fire. 

Eichel spotted two copiers by the door and wondered if they too had been shut off.

Seizing the files, he hastened to the first copier and checked it. 

Its functioning mechanics roared into operation.

He unbound the Deveron papers and one by one, loaded as many as he could through the feeder. Quiet footsteps thudded the floor by the door, startling him.

He pulled himself together and braced himself for an intrusion.

None.

The feeder swallowed more sheets, one paper at a time.

Mensch!  There’s no time.

The sirens had stopped.

He had to get out.

Eichel had managed to copy close to half the twenty-page or so file. He retrieved the originals and bound them, before returning the folder to the discarded stack on the floor.  The collapsed boxes would not be questioned given the evacuation.

He placed the copies underneath his shirt and buttoned his jacket.  Satisfied with his loot, he re-joined the last evacuees out to the assembly area. 

Once outside, he breathed in the fresh air, having ignored the amount of toxic smoke his lungs had inhaled during his thievery. 

He collapsed into a crossed-legged heap on the ground and leaned his head in his hands. A young, Asian woman set a hand on his shoulder.  “You all right?”

He glared up.  “Yes. What happened in there?”

“The fire started in the restaurant and spread quite quickly.  We’ve been told that no one has been hurt.”

 Sixty agonizing minutes followed before the emergency authorities declared the premises fire and smoke free. Eichel moved purposefully towards the exit. He kept a steady pace as he removed his spectacles and wiped the smoke off with his handkerchief.

A bitter discomfort settled in his gut. 

In his haste, he’d lost his visitor’s badge.

He dabbed a distressed brow.
Possibly on the concrete by the collapsed boxes!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

2:00 P.M.

Pella, Macedonia

Calla stood on the balcony of her room at the Athina Villa Hotel overlooking the aqua shores of Istron Bay.  Her eyes took in the mystical beauty of the beach, brimming with jagged coastlines, miles of archaeological interests and the home of the kings of Macedonia.

Alexander, tell me your secret.

Her curator eyes were pleased, as the mythical surrounding burst with history. Rays of afternoon sun fell on her skin, giving it a warm tingle.  She felt hopeful. 

Dressed in a white tank-top and khaki cargo shorts, she tore off her light jacket and wrapped it around her waist. 

She took in the smell of barbecuing seafood from the patio as lunch preparations commenced on the villa grounds.  Calla stepped back inside the room, picked up her bag from the bed and made a move for the door.  She locked the room behind her and hastened to the lobby.

Jack and Nash were already downstairs.  With Jack dabbling with assorted, electronic equipment, mostly gadgets, Calla dropped her bag on the lobby chair.

 “Are we ready?” she asked.

“Yes, except for this little baby that refuses to cooperate,” said Jack as he fiddled with a miniature coil camera.

Nash set down the article he was reading in the American Journal of Archeology and raised his chin.  He looked up.  “Yup, all set.  I’ve arranged for us to visit the archaeological site. Says here it was once the thriving capital of ancient Macedonia.  We’ve got a private driver.”

The concierge approached.  “Your cab service will be her in about twenty minutes.”

“Okay guys,” said Calla.  “Let’s meet here in ten minutes.  I’m going over to the gift shop.  I need to find a local paper.”

Nash slowly eased himself out of the chair.  “Do you want me to come with you?”

“That’s okay, I just want a phrase book,” she said.  “We may need some help out there.”

“You sure?”

“I’ll just be a moment, Nash.”

Calla meant what she’d said.  Even as a linguist, Greek was not Calla’s strongest language.  She could get by comfortably, but if truth were revealed, ever since Jack had returned the stone to her, she’d been feeling nauseous and needed a remedy. 

In the last hour, any movement towards the carbonado sent her heart pounding followed by horror chills.

She meandered into the small gift shop.  Magazines and newspapers stood on a stand near the cashiers till.  The walls were adorned with memorabilia, exhibiting a cluttered feel.  Local attire, posters, picture frames, beachwear and tacky statues lined the narrow shelves, all giving the shop a somewhat peculiar charm.  The hospitable shop assistant extended her a smile, followed by a local greeting. 

Calla approached the counter.  “Hi.  I’m looking for something for a headache.”

The woman reached for a box on a lower shelf behind her counter.  “Yes, I think I have some Ibuprofen or Aspirin that may help.”

“Aspirin will do.”

Calla waited patiently, her attention drawn towards the towering newspaper rack.  She picked up the
Dnevnik
local newspaper and added it to her shopping.  “How much do I owe you?”

“Three euros, twenty.”

She handed the woman the exact change, collected her goods, and slotted them in her bag.  She turned to the exit, hardly noticing a lone woman who’d slipped into the shop.  Thick, black kohl lined her eyelids and she wore a gold and olive, sequin headscarf above her peering eyes. 

Calla stepped aside, assuming she stood in the woman’s path, but the Gypsy woman did not move, nor blink.  Her stare tore into Calla. Conscious of the piercing eyes that were focused on her, Calla managed a smile. 

She shuffled closer and spoke in a tongue Calla had never heard before. Gypsies in Macedonia had their own Balkan Romani language, but the words that fell off the woman’s lips didn’t make any sense to Calla. 

Calla glanced helplessly at the cashier who, annoyed, swore at the woman. 

The Gypsy woman’s stare was unwavering as she leaned lightly into her.

Calla leaned back.  “I’m sorry.  But I don’t understand what you are saying.”

A flicker of surprise appeared on the Gypsy woman who set a hand over her heart as if to express a pardon.  She switched to thick, accented English.  “Excuse me,” she said.  “I was so excited to see you, I just had to say, I didn’t realize you would be a woman.  And a fine-looking one at that.”

Calla’s eyes narrowed as she took a step backward, troubled by the woman’s forward approach.  “Excuse me?”

The woman dropped her hand.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’ve waited all my life to meet you.  Many of us have.”

“What do you mean many of us?  Who are you?”

The woman reached for Calla’s hands.  “I’m Aishe.  May I look at your hands?” she said as she trailed a lanky finger along the lines of Calla’s palm, preventing her from any sort of reaction. 

Without warning, she dropped Calla’s palms and stared at her ankle.  The woman squinted and read the marking on the visible birthmark.  To this day, it still resembled a tattoo.  “Yes, you are the one.  Be brave my little one, the path you tread is not easy. “

“So I’ve been told.”

“But you’ll succeed.”

Calla took a few staggering steps backwards, shying from the woman. She suddenly sensed ease within the woman’s stare, whose eyes exuded passion, vigor and determination.

Calla wanted to know more. 

She opened her mouth to speak.

“Calla, the driver is here.”

Nash appeared at the entrance of the tiny shop, and his eyes moved to the Gypsy women. He analyzed the confounding encounter.  “We need to get going.  There’s just enough daylight left for a visit to the archaeological site.”