The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (37 page)

The discussion on what had just taken place between her and Nash was done and buried. She responded with discomfort.  “How did he know we had the manuscript?”

Nash shrugged his shoulders.  “The bug. Mason is also a key orchestrator of Operation Carbonado, which is what kick-started the hunt for the Deveron document in the first place.  My hunch is he’s got a personal agenda too.”

Jack edged in.  “It’s not just government related. I have him bugged as well.” He paused and cast Calla a concerned look. “He wants Calla to do
his
dirty work.”

“What dirty work?” she asked.

Nash interjected.  “To get the carbonados for him.  Otherwise, he’d easily have had you surrender the Deveron Manuscript to him.”

“He’s mad.”

 Nash folded his arms over his chest. “I’m still wondering why he sent an assassin after you.”

Calla rose to her feet.  “What assassin?”

Nash realized he’d revealed more than he intended. He unfolded his arms, crossed to the table and set his palms on the kitchen table.  “Calla, the night you were arrested, I came to your apartment.  I’d not heard from you since you’d left for Berlin.”

He paused for her reaction, but she stared on.

“Your house was vandalized by an assassin.  He came looking for what I now think is this document.  We have to assume that Mason is seriously onto you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

7:00 A.M.

Chelsea, London

Eva searched her memory for the lacking pieces as anguish gripped her confused mind.  With purposeful intent, she reached for the last drawer on the low dressing table beside her bed and pulled it open.  For several minutes, she fumbled through its contents until her fingers slid across a shabby business card from a club in Soho, London’s West End district. 

On the flip side, she’d scribbled Nash’s contact details. And as she stared at the number, the memories resurfaced.

Twenty months ago, Alex had hurried into her office offering her the opportunity to interview the US First Lady, Beverly Westbrook, on her dazzling fashion style.  The interview was to take place shortly before a state dinner arranged for the US President’s official visit to the United Kingdom. 

Alex was thrilled they had received clearance for the coveted interview.  “We need a good glamour story on the front page, Riche.  Westbrook is a well-respected fashion icon in this country.”

Eva arrived at the US Embassy in Grosvenor Square, the home of official American presence in London since John Adams’ presidency.  Situated in the heart of the exclusive Mayfair district, the building was notable for its crystalline cube design, adjacent to a semi-circular pond on one side. 

She strutted past the waters towards the security gate with a jittery, fashion photographer who fumbled with his equipment as he kept stride with her. 

Upon arrival at the heavily safeguarded, admissions gate, Eva placed her bag on the revolving belt whilst the security staff scanned her items and prepared visitor badges.  Once past the security scanners, they proceeded through a double-door, glass entrance and up a grand spiral staircase.

Then, she saw him. 

In full uniform, Nash, a detachment commander operationally responsible for the safety of the ambassador and appointed delegates stood at the entrance of the state ballroom discoursing with two lower-grade marines. 

Eva’s knees floundered a little, quite taken by his lean build and strikingly handsome face, as she studied every inch of his six-foot-three build. 

Oblivious to her brash interest, Nash escorted her through the security procedure required for her to meet the U.S. First Lady.  Eva’s coy conduct came off as direct as she slithered up to him and whispered something mischievous in his ear. 

To this day, she wondered how she’d managed to get a private number from a marine on duty.

They went out on a date two days later in Covent Garden.  Thereafter, he refused to return her calls, until she proposed a trip to Paris, the city of her childhood and true home.  “Why don’t you just widen your horizons,
Chéri
.  You’ll see Paris from a whole new perspective.”

His positive response took her by surprise.

Their second date was on the weekend following the state visit.  Eva sought to win his every affection hoping Paris’s appeal would coerce him into lowering his guard and provide the ideal backdrop for her flirtatious pursuit. 

And then, the marine released his ammunition, wanting to break it off before it had even begun.  Nash made that very clear the night they visited
Le Miroir
, a quaint bistro she knew in the northern Paris quarter of Montmartre.  A small, casual place, adorned with red and black abstracts, and numerous mirrors, its original atmosphere was the backdrop of a very sublime squabble.

“Don’t kid yourself, Eva. This isn’t going anywhere.  Don’t you think?”

Not one to accept loss, she clutched his collar, and draped herself across his lap.  The movement knocked their wine gasses over, as Eva moved in for a forced kiss.

Recoiling, he heaved her off his thighs and shot to his feet. “You’re an interesting one, Eva.”

“Is there someone else?”

“Maybe,” he said, pity surfacing in his eyes.

She did not believe him.  Half embarrassed, she retreated.  “You on the other hand are a strange one, marine.”

He tightened his jacket ready to make a move for the exit. “Eva, I went on a date and came to Paris only because the First Lady asked me to.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“She doesn’t trust the way you’ll handle her responses from your interview.”

Eva did not take the rejection well.  Men never said ‘no’ to her, especially those that she sought after.  Nash did not fit into the class of men she was accustomed to dating.  The latter were all ambitious, pretentious types.  Nash was different, the kind of man she wanted to be associated with, mysterious, adventurous and incredibly attractive.

Angered by rejection, she struck him across the jaw and cursed with words more foul-mouthed than she’d intended. 

None of it was gracious. 

She’d not seen or spoken to him since that weekend.

The sound of her bedroom phone startled her, causing her restless fingers to drop the business card on the floor.

She recognized the number.  “What is it, Mark?”

“I’m sorry Miss Riche, but Raphael Leadstone has been calling for you.”

She cut him off.  “What does he want?”

“He says— ”

It was not important enough.  “Tell him I’m on a business trip.”

“He’s called several times already.”

“Mark, I can’t speak to him now.
 
Tell him I’ll call him!”

She would not allow Raphael to badger her. 
That’s my specialty.

“All right,” Mark said.

“
I’ll deal with Leadstone later.”

Eva hung up and jumped off the bed.  She retrieved the card from the floor and reached for her cell phone.  Even at the early hour of 7:15A.M., she recalled Nash was active in the mornings, training first and with any luck, he’d be out and about.

The phone rang a few times before he picked up. 

“Shields.”

“Hi, Nash.  It’s Eva.”

“Eva?”

“Come on, Nash you used to call me
Eveeee
.”

A minor silence kept Eva in eager anticipation.

“I seriously doubt that?” he said.

“Chéri.”
  She fashioned the most appetizing voice she could muster.  “Could I meet you somewhere today?”

Nash did not respond.

She winced recognizing she would need to lure him in slowly.  “I’ve really missed you.  I just wanted to apologize for how I behaved in Paris.”

“I think you already have.  Listen, now’s not a good time.  I’m traveling this week.  How about we catch up when I return?”

She could not wait that long.  “Nash.  How do you know Calla Cress?”

“Excuse me?”

“Calla Cress.  Calla and I went to school together and sadly, we lost contact.  Do you know how I can contact her?  I know you two are first degree contacts on ‘Cyter Link’.”

Nash flinched as he held the phone.  He slipped out of the kitchen onto the rear, outdoor terrace, leaving Calla and Jack in constructive debate over Deveron translation concepts.  He closed the door behind him as his protective nature over Calla surfaced to his lips.  “What do you want with Calla?”

“I just want to reconnect.  We were old friends in school.”

“I’m sorry, Eva.  I can’t help you.”

“Nash, please.”

He would ward her off.  “Okay. I can meet you at a café along the Serpentine in Hyde Park.”

He checked the time.  “In one hour.”

* * *

7:32 A.M.

Central London

Nash hopped into a cab on King’s Road, a major street stretching through the localities of Chelsea and Fulham in West London.  The boulevard was infested with early morning rush-hour traffic.  He’d assumed it would be the best way to slip out of Allegra’s undetected.

“Serpentine Road, Hyde Park, please,” he told the cab driver.
This should only take an hour.  

He had no time for a narcissistic woman whose only ambition was to progress herself above her peers. 

What does she want with Calla?
 Eva was trouble.  The difficult kind that persisted at the risk of losing all work ethic and appeal.

The taxi halted near Hyde Park Corner Underground station.  The trip had gone quicker than he’d anticipated.  He put forty pounds in the driver’s hand and sprang onto the pavement, soaking in the brisk morning air. 

City workers commuted along the hustling sidewalk.  He crossed the street and strolled into Hyde Park, past the ostentatious Wellington Museum. 

His feet moved briskly, hoping to reach the bar in less than five minutes, not wishing to waste any time.

When he arrived at the café, a handful of tourists and Londoners were savoring the early morning sun on the outside terrace, while others leisurely sipped coffees and sat at breakfast.  He scanned the room for a free table to no avail.

“Nash?”

Behind him, he took in the approach of a familiar face.  Neil Stone, the refined café owner.  He was a very tall man, with a narrow build that always made Nash think of a clever stage magician.  Neil’s extreme sensitivity to customers made him a remarkable café owner, although he managed to conceal this aspect of his personality with a trivial smile in the corner of his mouth.

“Neil, looks like business is good.”

“Nash, my friend, let me get you table.”

“Thanks.”

“Will that be one or two?”

“Two.”

Several seconds later, Neil seated him on the deck overlooking the recreational lake.  Nash ordered a black coffee and placed his phone on the table.

 “Nash!”

He zipped round. 
I never thought I’d see you again.

Eva beamed a wide smile and floated to his table.  She was taller than he remembered. Beaming a wide smile, she wrapped her long arms round his neck.

He turned in time to avoid the rouged rims of her mouth.  Disguising his irritation, he grasped her arms and brought them down to her side.  “You’ve not changed.”

She’d dressed for the occasion, sporting an elegant gold and cream, cocktail dress.

“Nice dress.  A little early for drinks, though.”

“Thank you,
Chéri.
  Just something I found at Valentino.  How good to see you!”

Nash pulled out a chair for her, expecting to be lied to with every sentence.  “Are you well, Eva?”

“I’m doing really well!  I’ve just started my own media company.”

“So, you’re no longer at the Guardian?”

She observed him with coquettish eyes.  “They didn’t deserve me.”

“I’m sure.”

She leaned forward and seized his hand.  “Why did I ever let you go?”

Nash repossessed his hand.  “I was never yours to have.”

Caution kept him aloof as he changed the subject.  “Why do you want to contact Calla Cress?”

A fidgety waiter came to the table to take their orders.  Eva retreated slightly.  “What’re we having,
Chéri? 
Let’s have some champagne.  I feel like celebrating.  I've not seen you in a long time.”

“No thank you.”

“All right.  Waiter, I’ll have a glass of fresh orange juice.”

As the waiter left them to fulfill the order, Nash’s jaw tightened. 

He wanted this over with.