The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (34 page)

Room 245. 

Second floor was her guess.

Eva rode the elevator to the second floor.  Soft glowing light fell gently on the relatively isolated hallway, except for a uniformed chamber woman. 

“Good afternoon,” the woman said.

Eva maintained a straight face as the stocky woman resumed inventorying her cart items. 

“Could you please open my room? My husband has our key downstairs and I really have a bad migraine.  I need to lie down.”

They paced a few meters to Room 245 and the housekeeper slotted her master key through the latch.

The door clicked open.

 Eva took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

It was empty, already tidied with the curtains drawn. Eva turned to the nonchalant woman.  “You can go now.”

The woman twisted her bottom lip. “Do you want me to get you something for your headache?”

“Oh, no thank you.  I have some pills in my bag.”

The woman lingered for a few seconds before maneuvering towards her cart.

Eva pulled the door shut and stepped into the room, spying around for a travel or work bag.  Moving with the stealth of hungry cat, her eyes fell on a Rimona brief case on the far end of the bed.  She hurried towards it, knelt on the floor beside the silver case and checked the lock. 

Open.

She checked all compartments. 

Nothing of use seized her interest, just some travel documents, itineraries and crime photographs.

She shot up, her head swimming with anxiety and meandered towards the somewhat small bathroom near the main door.  Turning on the light in the windowless room, her reflection on the far mirror startled her.  Caught off guard, she inhaled a short breath, ignored the reflection and searched for any stashed overnight bags.

Three minutes later, Eva was wrestling with luck and she knew it.  Lastly, she decided to check his closet opposite the bathroom door.  Inside the dark space hung a Hugo Boss jacket and a couple of trendy slacks.

“Nice, Mr. Eichel.  More style than I imagined for a cop.”

As she set her hand on the tweed threads, the room phone telephone seethed with a piercing classic ring tone.

Startling her to the core, her heart skipped to her throat. 

Someone was calling for Eichel.

She considered her options for all of three seconds.

The front door was only an arm’s length away.  She turned towards it, and before she could reach the doorknob, her eyes fell on a wad of papers jetting out of a long coat in the closet.

“What have we got here?”

She reached for the rolled papers that poked out of the inside pocket.  Eva seized them and carefully unraveled the find, scanning the contents with interest. 

She almost dismissed the documents entirely, until her eyes read yellow highlighted words:

TOP SECRET:

The Deveron Manuscript

Classified documents from the British government!

 Along the margins, several handwritten notes had been scribbled.  Eva could not understand the language. 

Must be German.

She scrambled for her work camera from her shoulder bag and photographed page after page.

Footsteps plodding in the hall, caused alarm to surface to her face as a shadowed silhouette fell across the floor, formed by the lights in the corridor.

Damn!

She heard someone rattle on the door knob and sprang back, holding her stomach with a nauseating pain shooting through her abdomen.

* * *

8:00 P.M.

Waldorf Astoria Hotel

New York City

 
The campaign was in full swing in Wisconsin, Maryland and the District of Columbia.  Margot Arlington, Governor of Indiana could hardly have spared this distraction at a crucial point in her presidential campaign.  These were important rallies.

The Arlington camp believed that the results in Wisconsin could help boost Margot to victory in the popular vote in the elections, now only eight months away.  This would deliver a crushing blow to her opponent.

Margot stood observing the New York skyline from the imposing height of the landmark Waldorf Astoria Hotel.  She could not afford this break in New York, but it was worth it.  She’d come too far.  Not too long ago, she’d been flipping hamburgers and running from one beauty pageant to another in an attempt to please her insufferable mother.  Frustrated with this charade, Margot wanted what she called ‘a real job’.  At eighteen, she enrolled for her bachelors in political science at Indiana State University and later graduated with a Juris Doctor from Notre Dame Law School.  Her determination and austere persistence were rewarded with admission to the Bar of the state of Indiana.  She astounded her mother all the way to her election as Governor of Indiana, a vital triumph for Margot.  Now, her eyes were set on an even higher trophy - the President of the United States.

Job creation across the country and the economy were to be the focus of her campaign.  Margot hoped that her background would not betray her.  Her frequent appearances before conservative groups and in the news media had given Margot opportunities to woo crucial support after her unsuccessful campaign for the Republican nomination four years earlier.  Many though, had been doubtful of her convictions. 

Margot cantered to the lounge chair and cranked her neck muscles.  She ran her hands through her short black locks.  Even now, she wondered which part of her mixed race background was dominant, the Polish roots of her mother or her Zimbabwean ancestry on her father’s side.  Had birth on US soil overridden both? She would never know, given the premature death of her immigrant parents.

It had been a hard week. 

“Malcolm?” she said.

Malcolm, her faithful aid, barely out of graduate school, poked his balding head through the door.

“Mr.  Laskfell will be arriving any minute.  Do you have the tickets?”

Malcolm nodded and slipped back into the office part of the suite.

He’d been given strict instructions.  The Republican party had been kept on a need to know basis about her dealings with Mason.  She’d instructed Malcolm to keep her communications with Mason confidential and lied, claiming he was a distant relative.  “No one in the party is to know of Mason’s proposal,” she had told the ambitious aid.  With a hard determination to rise within the ranks of the Republican Party, the aid had succumbed to her wishes.

How hard could it be? If Mason helped her get elected, all she needed to do was make sure one thousand of his people were employed in America.  She really did not care who these people were.

Malcolm reappeared.  “Mrs. Arlington, Mr. Laskfell is downstairs in the lobby.  Are you sure you don’t want me to come along?”

“No, this is just a social call.  You can retire for the evening,” Margot said.

“Here are the Met Opera tickets you requested.  Two tickets for Richard Wagner’s
Der Ring Des Nibelungen
. Sounds promising.”

Margot smirked.  It didn’t really matter what they were going to see.  She had picked this place for its anonymity.  She needed more support and money for the rallies.  Mason could provide that, incognito.

She wandered into the grand elevators on her floor whose doors were cast in nickel and plated with bronze.  On the ground floor, she rambled past the prominent murals in the Park Avenue lobby dating back to 1929 before spotting Mason smoking a cigar in a lazy armchair. 

He sported an impressive Bottega Veneta tuxedo and held out a hand to lead her to his Rolls-Royce Phantom limousine. 

They exited the building into New York’s early evening, as the driver pulled the car door open, allowing them to settle in the lavish seats of the superlative automobile.

“Driver, please lower the divider window,” Mason said.

He obliged and drove the limousine out of 49
th
Street, cruising down Park Avenue.

Mason pressed down a button in the armrest between them, which slid open a closed chamber behind the front street, housing a bar filled to the brim, proposing a wealth of liqueur including a bottle of Armand de Brignac champagne. 

He lifted two glasses from the glass compartment.

“A hefty price.  Celebrating already, Mr. Laskfell?” Her mid-western twang sizzled with nasality when she spoke.

He smiled.  “For a splendid lady.”

She took the offered glass and raised a toast.  “Welcome to the USA.”

Mason chinked her glass.  “I admire a woman who has resolve and ambition.  You’ll stop at nothing to get that seat in the White House.”

She raised her glass slightly.  “You don’t know me that well.”

He sneered.  “I’m sorry to bother you at a time when your campaign needs you most, but time is running out for your decision with regards to my proposal.”

“I in turn revere a man who comes straight to the point.  With regards to your proposal, there’s no decision to make.”

She took a sip of the champagne, leaving a lipstick mark on the chilled glass.  “I’ve already signed the documents.”

Mason smiled.  “Well then, this will be a lot easier than I thought.”

“How’ll this work?” Margot said.  “The deal does not take effect until I’m in office. Right?”

“Correct.  There’s nothing to fear.  You have a solid lead over all of your competitors.”

“Yes, but how’ll you make sure I receive the votes I need?”

“Let me worry about that, as long as I deliver on my end of the bargain.  A guarantee is even tied to the agreement.  It’s for your own security.”

The limousine steered to the curb in front of the Metropolitan Opera.  Margot cradled her champagne glass and tapped it with a scarlet nail.  “You’re a crude man.  I would hate to be your enemy.”

She unlatched her beaded evening purse and drew out the folded papers. Margot unraveled and extended the crucial papers towards him.  “Signed and now, delivered.”

Mason reached for them. 

She held on tight.

He examined her frown.  “I assure you, you have nothing to lose.”

She released the papers.  “Let’s hope not.”

He stashed the documents in his breast pocket and waited for the driver to open the door. “If there’s nothing more to discuss, shall we?” 

“On to Wagner now.”

They disappeared into the vibrant New York opera house.

Hours later, the couple emerged exploding with laughter like old friends. Margot beamed, her arm secure within Mason’s charmed by his suave nature.  “The Ring is one of the most ruthless musical projects ever.  I so thoroughly enjoyed that,” Margot said.

“Allow me to drop you off at your hotel,” Mason offered.

Back at the Waldorf Astoria, Margot shook his hand and let herself out of the grand limousine.

Mason held her hand and brushed a gentle kiss over it.  “It’s been good doing business with you.  Good luck with the rest of your campaign.”

Exhibiting loquacity, he gave her an approving wink before settling back in the leathered seat. His limousine sidled out towards Manhattan. “To the airport, driver.”

He reached for the car phone.  “Slate, turn on the signal.”

Margot bit her lip as she watched Mason’s car steer off.  She glanced at her watch.  “Time to move, I guess.”

Within the hotel lobby, she peered towards the two-ton, nine foot, Goldsmith clock.

Twelve past midnight.

She made her way back to her suite.  The lights were on when she dragged her aching feet into the lavish interior. The adjacent office bustled with energetic activity. 

Malcolm strode in her direction.  “You ready for your other guest?”

“As ready as I'll ever be.”

She followed him in the adjoining room.

Nash emerged carrying some documents in his hand.  “Governor Arlington.  Are you all right?

She nodded.

Nash shot her a severe look, disguising his disapproval of her choice of company. He raked a chair across the floor to her table.  “We managed to swap the documents. And with Mason on US soil, we’ve started the process of infiltrating his private computer networks.”

“Do you have what you need?” she asked.

He slid onto the seat. “Yes, thanks for your cooperation.”

Margot slumped into the seat next to him, thwarted. 

Nash watched her disenchanted reaction, convinced she was puzzled as to how the NSA had apprehended her plan. He eased her discomfort with a smile.  “Don’t feel bad.  We’ve had reason to suspect much of Mason’s behavior.  I wasn’t as successful in busting his movements with Samuel Riche as I would have liked, but I managed to prevent the signing of the deal.”

“Malcolm.  Got a cigarette?” she said tilting her head to the side.

“You really shouldn’t smoke,” Malcom said.