The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (32 page)

Mason frowned. 
As if you would know!

He tried to keep up with Kumar’s cadenced pace, who though short, promenaded with a purposefully swift pace.

“Where exactly are we going?” Mason asked.

A toothless beggar slouched towards them with his scrawny, outstretched arms. 

Mason waved him away. 

The beggar turned to Kumar, soliciting money or anything that he would part with.  Kumar spoke a few Urdu words to the panhandler and handed him enough rupees for bread and probably a meal at the local roadside
Dhaba
.  In gratitude, the vagabond blessed him with a musical chant.

Mason disapproved.  “Why do you fuel overt crime, Rupert?  You know he’s going to spend it on worthless drugs or alcohol.”

Kumar’s scrutinizing eyes pored into Mason.  “You miss the point.  It’s the principle.  What he does is his affair, but wouldn’t it be a tragedy to just walk by.”

Mason sneered. 
No, it would not!

Kumar astounded him.  He’d always supposed him shrewd and greedy like the rest of them.  He hoped his plan would not fail with this lenient temperament.

They reached the end of the bazaar where two men met them and directed the pair through a dappled alley.  Mason peered back trying to retrace his steps. 

As if apprehending his thoughts, Kumar assured him.  “Don’t worry, you’ll find your way back.”

Mason puckered his brow and kept pace. 

They came to a gated, marble court that secured a colossal, red-bricked estate - a modest home by Mason’s standards.  Within its multi-cusped, open veranda, a number of gaunt cows lurked in peace - escorted by a few cautious servants.  Unlike the youngsters he’d seen in the streets, the children here were well nourished.  They romped in the court, jesting with commercial water pistols.  When they saw the men approach, they greeted them with reverence and carried about their games.  Mason imagined most of the people around were family members, perhaps household attendants. 

Kumar steered Mason through the court and up the ornate, arched entrance.  “Please remove your shoes; it’s a tradition in my home.”

Mason was already scantily dressed by his measure.
What will he ask me next?

They strolled into an ethnic-decor salon, with its floor-level, seating arrangement.  The room was embellished with sheesham wood. Low furniture and vibrant, silk cushions adorned the seats.  Mason scanned the room with an approving eye, admiring the multi-colored curtains, the only shield to the invading sun rays. 

Kumar hitched himself in a crossed-legged position on one of the floor cushions.  “Please, take a seat.”

Mason followed suit. 

In streams of two, traditionally clothed servants attended to them.  One balanced a silver washbasin and towel for them to wash their hands.  Several minutes later, they served flavorsome, vegetarian samosas and
Gulab Jamuns
- local, dulcet dumplings.

“
Gulab Jamuns
are traditionally made with thickened milk, soaked in rose-flavored sugar syrup,” Kumar said picking up another sweet. “You should try these also.  These are delicacies in our country.”

Mason recognized the sweets, having sampled some in London.  He reached for one and set his teeth into its stickiness.

Kumar turned to the attentive servants.  “Please leave us.”

They scuttled out of the room. 

The prompt obedience impressed Mason as he eased into the silk cushion, grateful for the chilled house, which made the high temperatures bearable.  Without an air conditioner, it intrigued him that the interiors remained cool, thanks to smooth marble floors.

“Mason, I like your proposal,” said Kumar.  “I understand that you can provide the intelligence and technology to construct sophisticated rigs for my three plants.  You see I may own the land with the oil, but it’s worth nothing unless it’s properly extracted.”

Mason took in his stare. “I’ve had my own ISTF consultants evaluate the area, and yes, there’s a lot of oil there, especially in Kenya.  My people have even drafted the blueprints for your rigs - making sure the latest technologies will be employed for extraction.”

“Tell me more.”

“My oil drillers have pioneered yet another new technology.  Spindle, ACCO Drilling group that manages drilling in several oil fields has completed four successful rotary, drilled wells.  That’ll be more than suitable for your purposes.”

Kumar reached for another sweet.  He edged forward.  “What’s your real price, Mr. Laskfell?”  He glanced down at a stock of carefully worded documents.  “It says here you only wish for me to employ one thousand of your people in exchange for your services.”

Those people had to settle within Kumar’s empire before the end of the month. 
Why does the fool care what I get? 

Mason reached for a napkin and wiped his gummy hands.  “That’s right.  They’ll be qualified.”

“I can’t imagine anyone giving away something so valuable for such a ridiculous bargain.”  He fingered the papers and shoved them in front of Mason.  “Here are the signed papers, with one condition.”  Kumar leaned back on the soft cushions.  “The deal is only valid after my rigs have been built.”

Damn fool!

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Colosseum

Rome, Italy

It came swiftly.

An over-sized outline skulked from behind a pillar in the shadowy hallway. 

Nash vaulted back, evading an abrupt knockout from the attacker’s left hand. He lunged forward, caught the attacker’s arm and shoved him backward with a violent heave.

The impact threw their attacker to the ground briefly. Undeterred he sprang to his feet and wrenched forward with a weapon.

Calla examined the dolch brass. A short, gladiator stabbing sword, perfectly suited for brutal, close combat. She broke away from his forceful strike only to grasp that whoever he was, he’d armed himself with weapons she’d only housed in museum vaults.

Had Watcher followed them to Rome?

When their assailant surfaced in the shady light, negotiating calculated steps, she observed his eccentric attire as they stood cornered in the far end of the room. Their eyes followed his heavy paces. He veered towards them, his face covered with a brass visor helmet, matched with a round shield and metal shoulder pieces.

His attire was completed with both leather, elbow and wristbands and metal greaves shielding his shins.

What the heck?

Nash pushed his way past Calla and set himself in front of her. “Stand back!”

Like hers, Nash’s eyes scrutinized the heavy armor suggesting the attacker was a
Gallus. A gladiator!

The gladiator took a protesting lunge forward, bending his massive knees as he reached for Calla. He moved his large hands to her throat, catching wrists instead and clamped them above her head while his free hand thrust his sword at Nash.

In an evasive motion, Nash was knocked of his feet. In all of three seconds, he flailed forward for the gladiator’s bicep. Throwing his entire weight in the attack. Nash clamped the weakened arm and gnarled it under the gladiator’s backbone.

The movement freed Calla, who gasped for breath and staggered a few steps away with a quick shiver of apprehension. Glancing upward, the man’s height overwhelmed her, standing at all of seven feet.

The gladiator dropped his sword, tugged his arms out of Nash’s grasp and spun round. He pounced to one side, reaching for his discarded sword and swung its double-edge, charging once more at Nash, who stood positioned in analysis of the gladiator’s techniques.

Nash’s eyes narrowed into the assailant’s approach without an ounce of fear or hesitation evident in his stance.

The gladiator heaved forward.

Nash sidestepped as the gladiator swept past him and collided into the wall behind him.

Calla glanced over at Nash, the shudder in her veins welling into determination. She made a visible effort to pull herself together and with every ounce of courage took a violent step forward, only to witness the heavy man rise, grip Nash by the neck and knee him with a thud that propelled him senseless.

Nash slammed against the rear wall of the cage, and slithered to the floor unconscious.

Forcing herself to remain calm, Calla darted towards Nash’s limp body and held back a choking cry. 

The giant warrior threaded towards her with a grin of amusement as she hunched over Nash’s wearied body. 

With an instinct to run, she fought fear on all fronts and calculated her options.

Fight him!

She could not tear her eyes off the double-edged sword and the menacing injury it could cause.  She sprang up and retreated, her gaze fixed on the silhouette inching in her direction. 

Calla failed to see his face and as the ancient warrior cornered her at one end of the cage, the action gave her no passage for escape. 

He stood a mere three feet from her, sliding his fingers up and down the threatening blade.

A ray of light from the arched doorway hit his face and for the first time, she caught a glimpse of dilating pupils through slanted eye holes. His excessive breathing and muffled grunts clouded her eyes, tuning out every sound around her. 

Is this it? 

The gladiator stepped back and drew a second sword from behind his shield. 

Calla shut her eyes.
No! 

When no movement followed, she threw them open and observed him as he held out a second sword to her.

“Come on! Fight back.” 

His grunted command stunned her and the weighty sword fell at her feet. 

He took a step back and with flat feet, braced himself for attack.

She reached for the ancient weapon and studied the pommel, adorned with gold and silver.  Its weight alone astounded her and almost pulled her down. 

With no alternative, a new level of adrenaline shot through her charged veins.  She raised the weighty metal, drawing it back in her outstretched arms. She startled herself with her newly acquired craft. Calla had never held a sword in her life and had also never fought a man, let alone an seven-foot one.

He stomped forward with burdened steps and pointed his weapon at her throat.

Calla’s arms and legs moved with confident skill.  She stood perpendicular to her opponent and thrust the sword directly at his chest. 

The swords met in perfect match. 

Close to two and half feet shorter, she booted him in the groin, causing him to lose his grip on his shield.

He staggered backwards and broke out of the cramped cage.

“Coward!” she said.  “Ever fight a girl?”

She pursued. 

Clashing swords, they continued to the bridge levels above the underground rooms in the main auditorium space. 

Not knowing with what power she battled, he was no threat to her as she stretched a high kick to his midriff.

He dropped back to the cobbled turf. 

She leaped onto his chest with her vicious steel pointed at his neck. 

Heaving and gasping for air, the gladiator tore off his helmet as a sign of surrender. 

Calla wanted to see his face, and with what audacity he dared interfere with their research.

As the helmet slid off, the first thing she noticed were his piercing eyes, then his white beard and cropped white hair, yet his face showed little sign of aging.

“You finally made it back?” he smirked.

He had used the Roman vernacular.

Latin.

Calla squinted, attempting to understand his drift.  She recoiled, tossing the cumbersome sword to the ground. “Who are you?” she said in fluent Latin.

He angled upward.  “You’re the true proprietor of the carbonado you’ve come for.  You must be the one the rock has waited for all these years.  Don’t you remember me?”

Calla slowly shook her head.

“Come with me.  I have something you need,” he said as he pulled himself upright.

Calla glimpsed behind her, her thoughts on her companions. 

The gladiator read her mind.  “They’ll be fine.  We don’t kill. It’s not our purpose. We train.  Come with me.”

Calla let him lead the way as she stalked with caution. They proceeded back to the caged room.

“I remember you,” she said. “You were that tour guide!”

He spun around having now minimized to her five-foot-eleven height. 

Calla wondered how on earth he had shrunk and bit her lip.  They crossed three hundred yards to get back to the room, before reaching the iron gate. 

Jack lay still, but breathing on cold stone.  The gladiator stepped over him, crossing over to the back wall where Nash also lay still, but inhaled steadily.

So it exists?
The door stood visible in the middle of the back wall.  It swung back as Calla made her approach.