The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (29 page)

“All right, I’ll be right there.”

She turned to finish her conversation with the unconventional woman, who escaped through the south exit.

“Wait!”

She set off at a run after the woman who trotted precipitously at a speedy pace, past the shops, then through the main lobby, before fleeing through the revolving doors. 

Calla reached the main doors and turned both ways.

She’s gone.

Calla glanced both ways once more.

The woman stood a few meters away with her back to Calla, hailing a cab. Soon, Calla caught up and set a hand on her shoulder.  “Please, wait!”

The woman zipped her head round.

“What is it?” asked a perplexed Greek woman.

Calla stuttered her words.  “I’m sorry.  I thought you were someone else.”

Jack and Nash moved to her side.

“Someone you know?” muttered Jack.

Calla fixed her eyes on the woman as she stepped into the cab.  “No, not at all.”

Nash pointed to a four-wheel drive, Grand Cherokee parked behind the taxi.  “This is our ride.”

Calla gazed after the disappearing cab for several seconds before taking a step towards the vehicle.

They climbed into the Jeep and drove off through the center of Pella and out towards Áno Koufália.  With the windows down, cool winds wafted through the vehicle.  Seated in the back with Nash, Calla leaned her arm against the open window, her mind engrossed in her surroundings.

The ride to the archaeological site was swift and the ancient settlement, preserved as an archaeological site, housed the remains of an ancient palace, mosaics, tombs as well as a museum.  Here lay the residues of the prosperous capital of ancient Macedonia. Though relatively intact, little reminded them of its former glory. 

They stepped out of the car and advanced towards the timeworn ruins.  The museum was situated at the southeast foot of the hill where the palace of the Macedonian dynasty was once located.  Calla glimpsed at the display of pottery, jewelry, and mosaics, her mind questioning if she would locate more symbols as those in Oxford. 

Outside within the ruins, Jack pulled out a radioisotope identifier, an instrument designed to detect, quantify and identify radioactive sources on the spot.  “If we find anything like your first rock here, this little guy will let me know.”

Nash tread past the damaged pillars followed by a pensive Calla.  He carefully absorbed every inch of the site with his trained eye as Calla noticed his slight distance.  

Jack appeared more amused with his gadget than the actual hunt they were on, as beads of sweat streamed down his forehead, triggered by the blazoning sun. 

He approached Calla, fidgeting with yet another device.  “I’ve not used this camera before.  It’s hooked up to a discrete spot on NovaSAR, a new government satellite.  It gives me quicker access to information with any correlation to other materials of similar compositions in nature - anywhere in the world.”

Intrigued by Jack’s devices, Nash re-joined them.  “By the way Jack, did you get clearance for use of that satellite space?”

“Of course not,” Jack said.

The scalding sun beat on the back of Calla’s neck.  This was not how this trip was supposed to go. She rested on a nearby stone and pulled a bottle of chilled water from her bag.  The cool stream quenched her thirst as it slid down her parched throat.  As she set her bottle down, she noticed a group of Japanese tourists approaching, led by an over-enthusiastic tour guide.

The guide’s voice spoke in musical tones full of enthusiasm and craft, completely contradicting Calla’s state of mind.  She pretended not to listen as they moseyed past her. 

The guide expounded his knowledge with expertise, his heavily accented voice projecting clearly as he enunciated.  “One of the legends about Alexander the Great is that when he was in Gordium, in Turkey in 333 b.c., he was able to untie the Gordian knot.  The knot is rumored to have been tied by the legendary King Midas.”

“What is this knot?” asked a heat-distressed tourist.

“An ancient prophecy stated that the person who untied the Gordian Knot would rule all of Asia.  Alexander the Great is believed to have undone the knot.”

He paused with the skill of a learned professor, giving his audience time to digest the information.  “It’s believed he cut the knot with a sword.”

Awestruck, some tourists started snapping pictures of just about anything in the surroundings, while others, obviously intrigued, tailed the guide hurling many questions at him.

It was then that it dawned on Calla.  “Why didn’t I think of this before?  We’re searching in the wrong place.”

 Nash and Jack shot her quizzical looks. 

 She shot up.  “Alexander the Great did fulfill that prophesy and went on to conquer Asia.  His seat of power is not here.  What we seek is not here. I think I have unloosed our Gordian knot.  We’re in the wrong place!”

* * *

3:00 P.M.

Hertfordshire, England

Mason peered out the window.  Samuel Riche’s Mercedes journeyed up the driveway to the main house.  The mogul’s opportunist nature impressed Mason; his greed composing the basic ingredient with which Mason sought to conduct business.

Samuel, a sharp-witted businessman, had made his fortune modestly.  Born the son of a civil engineer and a mother who ran a local bakery in Lyon, his family had struggled most of his infant and adolescent years.  His patriotic father Pierre-Louis Riche, had fought in the French Resistance during World War II and always instilled in him the vitality of self-sustenance:  “Never depend on anybody.”

The words still echoed in Samuel’s ears.  As a pupil, he attended the Lycée Georges Pompidou in the suburbs of Lyon before graduating with a Master of Law degree from Université Paris X Nanterre.  Riche went on to start his career as an investment bank trainee at Edmond de Rothschild.  After several attempts, he co-founded Riche Enterprises, along with his father and brother.  Riche Enterprises later merged with Louvel, a luxury goods conglomerate and Samuel remained the principal shareholder. 

Over the years, he’d profited by taking large stakes in French listed companies, in particular a building and construction group.

Samuel was canny.  That’s why Mason needed him. 

Easy bait!

Mason thought back to his telepathic days, when he could control a man’s thoughts and actions by just looking at them.  He was out of practice, but that would all end once he had the carbonados.  Few knew what they were capable of.
But he was ready.  Only one thing stood in his way.

Cress. 

Just a detail. 

Right now, he would attend to Samuel Riche.  He’d put Samuel on his radar as one of the three most influential people he would target.  Greedy for more influence, Mason knew how to give it to Samuel.  At the same time, Mason could benefit from Samuel’s control and reach.  All he needed was the manuscript that would point him to the carbonados. 

The limousine pulled up in front of his grand estate, and the moderately dressed, French man emerged, escorted by an army of bodyguards.
 

Samuel’s heavyset bodyguard rang the doorbell.

“Mr. Riche,” greeted Mrs. Hawke. “We’re expecting you.”

Samuel stepped in, exposing a pair of gleaming, polished shoes and his square face revealed sincere, smiling eyes.  One could tell he used to be quite athletic, with his relatively strong build; possibly acquired playing a business sport like tennis.  For a man of his abundant wealth, style eluded him even though not a thread or a hair on him was out of place.  Infamous for blending uncoordinated tones and hues, his dark hair, though clean and sculpted, was long overdue for a haircut.

Two of his emotionless bodyguards scuttled in after him while the other two remained outside by the car.  Clad in dark clothing, those inside took cues from him and stayed in the hallway. 

Samuel followed Mrs. Hawke to the neoclassical drawing room. She made her way to the bar and busied herself, mixing a Sambuca con la Mosca.  “I believe this is how you like it.  Mr. Laskfell will be down in a moment.”

Samuel jeered at the glass in her hand, second-guessing her for several seconds, before accepting the chilled drink.

Mrs. Hawke stole out of the drawing room just as Mason descended the staircase.  He nodded to her and reached into his pocket, fingering the microchips Jack had couriered that morning.  Nestled deep inside his jacket’s lining, a thin film of transparent, nano microchips reposed. 

He slipped the custom-made, bugging device onto his hand.  Undetectable to the naked eye, it was going to be an easy plant. 

Once secured, it was permanent and practically irreversible; a distinctive feature Mason had added himself.  With the device safely in his palm, he stepped inside the exquisite salon.  “Samuel,
mon ami
. You grace my humble estate with your presence, please sit down.”

Mason shook Samuel’s hand. 
Done!

Egomaniac by many standards, Samuel remained inquisitive as to how Mason had risen through the ranks.  He eyed him cautiously, before taking a seat in a vintage armchair.  “I like to know the people I deal with, but in your case, I’ve made an exception, Monsieur Laskfell.  Your reputation precedes you,” said Samuel, his upper-class English ringing with a sophisticated, French twang.

Mason took a seat opposite him.  “I can see we’ve a lot in common.  Thank you for your trouble in coming out here.”

“I was curious.  Your proposal on paper sounded too good to be true.  I had to meet you in person and hear it straight from you.”

Mason observed him with a meticulous air, identifying that trust between them was questionable.

Samuel crossed his legs.  “I like your proposal. Can you really expand my global and political influence? I need to take a larger vote in the EU.”

“I’m aware of your application for nomination as EU Commissioner for Economic & Monetary Affairs.”

“That’s where you come in. It’s a steep bid.”

 “This fail-proof deal would guarantee not only a nomination, but possible election.”

“How will you achieve that?” Samuel said.

“Leave that to me.  So far, an EU accolade is missing from your resume.  I know how to gain the votes you require, including access to diplomatic immunity.”

“I assume you’re well connected in global political realms.”

“Call it a gift, Samuel.  That’s what I’m good at.”

Samuel sipped his cocktail.  “I’ve been very impressed with your brief, so I’m willing to give you a chance.”

Mason braced himself against the seat and dusted his immaculate suit, removing a hair that had escaped his brush.  “I’m flattered.”

He opened a box of Gurkha Black Dragon cigars, offering Samuel one.

“Isn’t it a bit premature for celebrations?” Samuel asked.

“I think we more or less agree on the proposal.”

Samuel accepted a cigar from the hand-carved case and tapped it on the edge of the seat.  “What interests me is the fine print.”

Mason offered to guillotine his guest’s cigar and lit it before handing it back.  “Not sure what you mean.”

Samuel puffed and blew the smoke away from him, sneering as Mason returned to his seat.  “What am I missing here?”

“Let me worry about that, Samuel.  This contract will enable you not only to expand your enterprise within the EU, but you can monopolize the US as well.  You’ll be able to conduct business, or politics for that matter, on your terms.  You would be richer and more influential than you’ve ever imagined.”

Samuel glared at him for a moment.  “Money I have, what I lack is influence and appreciation.  The economic weight the European Union has worldwide shouldn’t be undermined.” He tapped his cigar in a provided ashtray.  “But what do you get out of this?”

“You read the terms of agreement, I want you to employ one thousand employees of my choice across your businesses, no questions asked.”

“Is that all?”

Mason extinguished his cigar.  “Mind you, they’ll be qualified for whatever job they’re given.”

“It sounds like a family favor.  But, even I know you have no living family.  Or am I wrong?”

Mason ignored his prying.  “Have you signed the documents?”

Samuel shifted in his seat.  “I have to be sure.  Before I sign, I’ll only ask one more time.  What’s the catch?”

“There’s none.  If you don’t sign, I can easily find someone else.”

Samuel abhorred being cornered, accustomed to negotiating the terms in any business affair.  Mason was the only man who could provide him the opportunity to become a global business influence, capable of implementing structural reforms, including the Single Market, which would serve Riche Enterprises well.  “Nothing is free, or comes that easily.”

“It’s your call,
mon ami
.”

Samuel straightened his shoulders and rose, picking up the contract papers from the coffee table.  He took his drink with him to the window overlooking the exuberant gardens.