The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (36 page)

Even though Calla was popular with teachers and peers alike, she was actually a very reserved girl, who’d rarely put herself forward for anything.  This had made her an easy target.  Eva giggled remembering some tragic gimmicks she’d pulled in the day. 

Yes, now it was all flooding back.

Eva jumped to her feet, found her electronic tablet and ran her finger over the luminous screen.  She searched the Internet and found the high school’s, alumni office number.

“Yes?” said a raspy voice. “Beacon Abbey alumni office.”

“Yes, hello.  My name is Eva Riche, a former student of Beacon Abbey.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Riche. It’s Saturday and I shouldn’t be answering the phone. Could you call back during our opening hours on Monday?”

Eva reclined on the bed, staring above at her wooden-carved, custom-made ceiling.

“This’ll only take a minute. I’m looking for the correct contact details of a fellow student.  Would you be able to help me?”

The woman hesitated before surrendering. “Who are you looking for?”

“Calla Iris Cress.”

“I'm sorry Miss Riche; I would have to gain her permission first.  Perhaps if you drop us an email, we can forward your request onto her.  That is, if she is registered with the alumni office.”

“Is she registered?”

“I'm afraid I can’t give out that information.”

Damn!

Eva hung up, rolled off the bed and set her electronic tablet on the side table.  She took a sip from her bedside, water glass and attempted another search online.  After several endeavors scanning through alumni lists and newsletters, she concluded that Calla was probably not registered. 

Well, neither was she.

She made one more attempt on the ‘Cyter Link’ website, including its paid, restricted arm, ‘Cyter Link Professional’.

I wonder if there are any third degree contacts here that may help.

One name surfaced.

Nash Shields.

How charming!

She rolled back onto her bed and rested her back on the mounds of delicate pillows, a grin forming on her lips.  “Hmm…let me see, the last time I saw Nash, he was a marine at the US Embassy in London.”

Eva bit her bottom lip recalling the strained rapport that had ended before it had started.

* * *

2:07 A.M.

St. Giles’s Villa

West London

Calla trudged up to her room, her muscles aching with tension.  She hadn’t managed to sleep the whole flight back from Rome. 

She hauled her bags upstairs and discarded them on the bed.  Pearl had drawn the shades and turned down the bed. Grateful to have someone like Pearl, who always carried about her duties with grace, Calla eased onto the bed.

Needing a moment or two to rest her muscles, she reached to turn on the bedside lamp in the turquoise themed room, a calming shade.  Oddly, she’d not noticed much of the décor until now.  Allegra’s impeccable taste did not disappoint. Her mark resonated from every corner. Everything from the hand-carved, king-sized bed, to the Art Deco paintings of musicians strumming instruments, to the custom-made stationary on the writing desk.

Calla removed her phone from the bag and charged it by the work desk.  Her thoughts reeled back to her combat with the gladiator and the words he’d said to her. 

He’d seen her parents. 

It had to have been after her birth. But, she was not certain. 

Could government sources track their flights, tickets and names that they used to get to Rome?

She groaned, overwhelmed by the thought of the monstrous task.  It would be impossible without an actual name to use.
How did the gladiator know they were my parents? 

She took these thoughts with her to the bathroom.  Even as she threw cool water over her burning cheeks, all she remembered was her five-foot-eleven, slinky frame, single-handedly pinning down a seven-foot titan.
How long did he say he’d been there?  

She massaged her neck and muttered to herself.  “Must be my imagination.”

She glanced at the second box she’d secured in Rome. 
No one will ever believe me. 

She took a deep breath.
What’s happening to me?

Rummaging through a duffel bag she’d salvaged from her defaced apartment, she found a burgundy, filing book.  Within its delicate pages, she’d started to gather some notes.  She also seized the memory stick with a copy of Allegra’s birth certificate, as well as her personal journal.  Grabbing a pen, she jotted down statements the watcher, gladiator, and the Gypsy woman had told her.  It was her way of documenting the surreal events, should she need to recall them later.  Calla re-read the notes, while toying with the memory device in her hand, trying to piece events and facts together. 

Nothing made sense.

Too tired to think, she shot up and shrugged off her clothes, stripping down to shower.  She paused to examine her lanky, yet well-toned frame in the full-length mirror by the dressing table.  Her body seemed fitter than she remembered.  She could not recollect the last time she’d been to the gym even though Calla had always aimed to maintain her fitness, having been very athletic most of her life.

She slid a hand over her calves, her abdomen, and her arm muscles. Her body was transforming to the physique of a powerful athlete on a vigorous training program.

She pulled on her bathrobe and settled onto the stool by the dressing table.  In a wearied daze, she reached for a cotton ball and removed the minimal eyeliner and mascara she wore, carefully sliding her fingers over her eyelids and cheekbones.
Where do you come from, Calla?

Her eyes blinked from the mirror bulbs as she focused on her slightly narrow nose in the reflection.

What the—

She focused straight through the mirror, her vision piercing through the glass, then the solid wall and right through to the bedroom. 

She blinked twice, realizing she could essentially decide on which item to focus on and which to magnify.  She slid her dressing stool back, screeching the white tiles in the process.

Can I?

She held her breath and peered down at her feet, allowing her vision to penetrate them, the bathroom rug, the chandelier on the ceiling beneath her bathroom, until she could focus all the way to the basement of the house.

Lightheaded, she felt difficulty swallowing and shut her eyes. She refocused on the immediate items in front of her and paced towards the bathroom cabinet above the sink. She found an Aspirin box, sensing an oncoming, monumental headache. She threw her eyes open realizing she’d sensed her way through the room.

Eyes shut.

Exposure to the carbonados!

Brain damage?

Calla took the pills in one swallow. “I’ll call Dr. Olivier in the morning.  No use worrying about this now.”

She tore her robe open and stepped under the shower stream. She allowed the soothing spray to calm her heightened emotions.  Water spurts massaged her stiff muscles and within minutes, she’d left the bathroom and collapsed beneath her bed covers.

The alarm on her phone startled her and she shot upright. 

Awake in an instant, one glance at the time.

6:45A.M.

Within fifteen minutes, she glided down the stairs and strolled into the kitchen, dressed in tan pants and a flattering, mauve T-shirt.  Her locks, tied in a neat ponytail, swung with her stride.

“Breakfast, Miss Cress?” asked Pearl.

“Just some orange juice, please.”

Jack had spread some notes on the table and was in deep conversation with Nash.  Calla grabbed a fresh red apple from the fruit basket and settled onto a kitchen stool.

“Someone is onto us,” Jack said.

Calla knit her eyebrows.  “Who?”

“I’m not sure.  I’m more concerned about how.  We’ve been followed each step of the way,” Jack said.

“I secured all our equipment and our phones,” Nash said, a troubled look crossing his face.

Jack took a bite of his toast and chewed as he spoke.  “I know.  I also double-checked them myself before we set off for Greece.”

Calla bit into the juicy apple.  “Whoever is tailing us would have surfaced by now? No?”

“But don’t you see,” Jack said.  “They have.  How did that sniper find you in Oxford?  This is really getting dangerous.  We can’t afford any tag-alongs.  We barely made it out from Rome alive.  God only knows what convinced the assassin at the Colosseum not to kill us.  Who was he?”

Nash glimpsed over at Calla.  “At this point I’ve resolved to believe anything.”

Calla chewed quietly.  “Wait a minute.”

The pair watched her as she left the room and returned a few minutes later cradling the smart phone Mason had given her in her hands.  She switched it off and held it up to Jack.  “Could you check this?”

Jack eased it out of her hand.  “Hey, I know this phone.  I had this one wired especially for Mason.  He had me manufacture a few of these for special missions.  Where did you get this?”

Jack knew the answer even before Calla could respond. “I can only imagine.”

She slumped back onto the stool and glanced first at Jack and then at Nash.  “Mason gave it to me.  He said I needed an electronic diary in Berlin.  I forgot I had it.”

Jack set an index finger to his lips cautioning the two not to speak.  He removed the back cover of the smart phone and detached the battery.  Underneath, he disconnected a tracking device that he had planted himself.

Nash took the dismantled device from Jack.  “I’ve seen these bugs before.  The durable microchips sustain fire, water, and impact.” His eyes shifted to Calla.  “Why would Mason bug you?  Do you think he knows you have the manuscript or even the stones?”

She shrugged her shoulders.  “I’m not sure.”

Calla lifted her head as Pearl served her orange juice and a slice of fresh grapefruit.  She accepted the breakfast gratefully, and waited until Pearl had left the kitchen before speaking.  “Mason seemed more concerned about me making notes on Allegra’s findings in Berlin than anything else when he gave me that phone.”

“Why?” asked Nash.

Calla tried to recall her last encounter with Mason.  “I don’t know.  He’s a strange pickle.  I must admit, I hadn’t really thought much about it until now.  I was preoccupied with other things.”

Nash enfolded Calla with one arm.  “Hey, you didn’t know.”

Jack cast them an inquiring look. “I’ll get rid of this permanently,” he said as he sprang off the stool.

When Jack left the room, Nash tightened his arm around her, his touch making Calla quiver.  She drew into his hold and her eyes moved up to his.  It was then that her restraint fell.  He pulled her closer and brushed his lips over hers.

She responded without resolve as his hand snailed up her back, to her slender neck, before stroking the back of her head.  For several seconds, she rested in the sensation, her heart racing. 

Her body suddenly stiffened, realizing he’d liquefied the iron lock she kept shackled around her heart.  She opened her eyes and pulled away.  “Sorry, Nash, I can’t.”

He drew back.  “Calla.” His eyes glinted with pained emotion. “Just because your parents left, doesn’t mean, no one will ever love you. I—”

“Nash. No.”  The words left her lips, but she didn’t mean any of them.  “Can’t we just keep things the way they are?”

She glanced away from him, knowing she was the only barrier to the devotion she desperately longed for.  
You’re my best friend.
 
What’s wrong with me?

 In all the time she’d known Nash, she had not felt as vulnerable around him as she had in the last few days.  Was it only now that she was awakening to the feelings she had for him?  With the quest surrounding her identity and her parents, she was not ready to deal with new emotions.  Not when it came to Nash.  He was a friend she
never
wanted to lose.

Nash released her. “I don’t mean to take advantage of the strenuous situation we’ve both been under in the last couple days.” He bore deep into her eyes and held her gaze for several seconds.  “I won’t do that again.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but as she searched for the right words, he withdrew, edging away to the kitchen counter with his back to her. He dug his hands in his pockets, before turning back to face her.

Her tongue weighed down. 

It was too late.

She’d pushed him away. The only person who cared for her, more than life itself.

Jack gravitated back into the room.  “Okay.  That’s taken care of.  We should be fine now.”  He stopped in his tracks and calculated the silence between Nash and Calla.

 When Nash spoke, he broke the awkwardness as the words filtered out in low tones.  “We can’t trust anyone, not even anyone at ISTF.  Isn’t that what the note said to you, Calla?  I think Mason wants this manuscript.  Otherwise, why would he bug one of his workers?  Either that or he has something on Allegra. 
And
, he wants you to get that evidence.”