The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (38 page)

Fast. 

Eva reached for a cigarette. 

Nash’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t answered my question. What do you want with Calla?”

She lit her cigarette and smiled viciously.  “Patience, soldier, she’s just a friend from school.  I’ve been trying to catch up with her.  Just for old time’s sake.”

With his mind ringing sirens of warning, he refused to believe a word she said.  “Haven’t you been in touch all these years?”

Eva inhaled her cigarette and blew the smoke away.  “You’ve not told me how
you
know her.”

Nash disliked it when women smoked.  As distasteful as it was, Eva puffed some more smoke to the side and put out her cigarette as if on cue.  “Listen, I understand you are still upset with me.  All I want to do is catch up with Calla.  We were good friends in school and we lost touch.  That’s all.  Why are you so defensive?”

“About what?”

“You don’t trust me, Nash.”

“Does anyone?”

Eva grimaced at his remark.  “She your girlfriend? Didn't think you were the brunette type.”

“I know you, Eva.  Ambition and destruction are usually tied to each of your quests, and mostly journalistic in nature.”

The waiter returned with a glass of the requested juice for Eva.  They waited until he’d gone before Eva pulled out her cell phone.  “I’ve came across some top-secret information.  I’m writing a story on the disappearance of the Deveron Manuscript.”

Nash listened motionless.

Eva paused.  She searched his face for a reaction before continuing.  “These notes, written by a German investigator, have Calla’s name on them.”

She calculated his lack of emotion. “I presume he connects her in some way to the investigation.  I figured if I could just talk to her, maybe even warn her—”

Nash took the phone from her hand.  She’d opened a top-secret image of an MI6 file.  He recognized the emblem, even with the questionable resolution of the image.  He zoomed in to mentally register the information and scrolled to the next few images.

Eva had gained access to classified information. 
Whom did she bribe, investigate, or seduce to get this? 

Sure enough, Calla’s name was on the document.  Nash could read most of the handwritten German notes.  He stopped at an image displaying a half-photographed page.  The words translated read:

Why did Fräuline Cress leave Berlin?

Was Eva’s story credible? 

The truth was she was onto a lead.  One that could potentially endanger Calla.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

She slowly sipped her juice with an amused grin.  “Even I have secrets.”

He would follow his instincts.  Eva never hunted anything without motive.  He had learned that in the short time he’d known her.  “How do you know this jeopardizes Calla’s life?  Do you know what the German says?”

“Not yet.”

The fact that she had surrendered the information so easily meant she was not aware of its importance.  It would only be a matter of time before she would find a German translator.  Like it or not, the fact remained, the German police were investigating Calla.  And just when Calla was incredibly close to finding the answers she needed.

What Eva held in her hands was probably the German police’s entire investigation of the case on the Deveron.  He returned the cell phone to her.

“Interesting company you keep these days, Eva.”

She flinched at him.  “You believe me, don’t you?  Listen, Calla needs to know this.”

“I can’t help you, Eva. You should trying staying in touch with your friends next time. Although I doubt many would want to.”

He rose to leave and reached for his jacket.

“Damn it, Nash!”

She plopped a fast hand over her foul mouth.

Nash had expected worse, maybe a whack in the nose like the last time.  He’d forgotten how overindulged she was.  “Wise up, Eva.  I’m sorry, but unlike you, I've principles when it concerns my friends.”

Nash motioned to a passing waiter for the bill.  “I need to go.  I’m sorry I couldn’t be much help.”

Eva’s voice rose, adopting a twinge of restrained desperation.  “Okay, Nash.  At least tell her that I asked after her?”  She found a pen in her bag and scribbled on a napkin.  “Please give her my number and ask her to call me.”

Nash took the number with no intention of raising the matter with Calla.  He paid the bill and ambled out of the café with Eva tailing with a fierce stomp in her step. 

“I’m taking a cab, can I drop you somewhere?” he said.

She raised her haughty chin as she kept pace. Still thwarted, she flinched, too embarrassed to pursue her quest about Calla.  “Please drop me off in Chelsea, near Sloane Square.”

Nash glanced back. She wasn’t done with her investigation.  He would have to elude her somehow, before she drilled him further. 

They found a taxi on the busy intersection near Hyde Park Corner.  Fifteen minutes later, the taxi parked at a hasty angle along the aisle of stationary cars, just a few yards from of Eva’s doorstep. 

Nash jumped out of the black cab and swung round to pull open the door for her.  “Congratulations, by the way, on your new company.”

She stepped out of the car, tugging at her crumpled dress.  “Thanks.”

In an attempt to escape the blundering nature of their separation, Nash veered towards the other passenger door.  “Stay out of trouble.”

 As he moved, Eva gripped his jacket.  Before he could respond, he was caught off guard by her forced, fervent embrace.  The sudden confrontation pushed Nash against the car and caused a slight snicker from the on-looking cab driver.

Nash broke the coerced kiss and wiped his mouth, imagining punitive words not suitable in front of any woman.  “Eva!”

She chortled, throwing her head back in a rudimentary, girlish giggle.  Her infantile tactics had ventured too far for his liking.  Nevertheless, he was not livid.  “I feel sorry for you.  Remember you’re a mother.”

“How do you know that?”

“Intelligence way too classified for your journalistic nose. I hope you’re setting a better example for your son.”

She stopped her uncouth giggle and with an air of fury at his unwarranted remark, she stepped away from him.  “How do you know about Lucas?”

“Just do yourself a favor and wise up.  And in case you’re wondering, men desire a little mystery in a woman.”

Eva recoiled, scowling. In one turn, she swaggered off towards her front door. 

Nash watched after her, shaking his head.  When she’d gone inside, he slumped back into the taxi and they wove into traffic.  He glanced behind him and for a second was certain he’d seen someone he recognized across the street. 

He brushed the thought away.

A couple of a hundred meters up the street, Calla stole into a gourmet grocery shop.  Crouching down, she slid to the floor in disbelief.  Only moments before, she’d witnessed Nash step out of a taxi.

With her!

She wanted to be sure. 

Calla exhaled quietly, before rising from the floor. She exited the shop, turned right and minced a few meters up the street.  When she reached her destination - Dr. Olivier’s private clinic in Sloane Square - Calla knew she’d stopped long enough to see Eva
and
Nash.

She took in a long, drawn-out breath.

Then exhaled.

* * *

8:25 A.M.

Dr. Olivier’s Private Surgery

Chelsea, London

“Dr. Olivier will see you in five minutes, Miss Cress.”

“Thanks, Ms. Watson.”

The private waiting room was still.  An unobtrusive piano piece, the Sonata 7 in C major, by Mozart, filtered through the ceiling speakers.  Dr. Olivier had once confessed it was a pacifying effect, when Calla asked why he played music in his waiting lounge.  “Most patients arrive at a doctor’s office uneasy about everything under the sun.  Medical research explains that several diseases are brought on by preventable triggers like stress and worry. Music massages the stress.”

As logical as it had seemed to Calla when she was ten years old, she hoped today it would soothe her ailing concerns, including, the scene she’d just witnessed outside Dr. Olivier’s surgery.

She never forgot a face.  It was rare for Calla not to like anyone, but Eva was spiteful.  Calla remembered the last words she’d spoken to her.  It had been a pathetic school girl threat, but Calla had meant every word.  “Don’t muddle with me.  It turns ugly.”

A grim look fell on Calla’s face when she strolled into the patients’ waiting lounge.  The room had changed with modernization taking the drab out of waiting. The doctor had introduced a contemporary, modular seating system.  She slumped into a chair and rested her arms on the movable armrests, leaning with ease against the soft seating pads. 

I thought Nash was at the estate with Jack.
Calla had slithered out, hoping her quick departure would not distract either him or Jack. 

A terrible pain shot through her head.  Since Pella, a headache would resurface every so often, creating insurmountable pain in the left side of her head.

A text message came in from Jack.

 Calla glanced down and answered Jack’s inquiry.

Jack,

Be back in an hour.

“Calla.”

She lifted her eyes to see Dr. Olivier.  He’d not changed at all with his radiant, ebony eyes that were like two spheres of night-black marble.  His thick, gray hair worn professionally was styled back with decent amounts of gel.  He was a short man with a broad, masculine build.

“It’s been a long time.  I was so happy to get your message.  Are you well?”

Calla rose to greet him.  “I hope so, Doctor.”

Dr. Olivier briskly tilted his head as he took her by the arm and shook her hand.  They moseyed into his office exchanging small talk about her job at the museum.

“What brings you to see me?”

“Where do I begin?”

“Has something happened?”

Calla plopped on the chair offered.  “Dr. Olivier, you have always known how to set my mind at ease even when I was in incredible pain.”

“I’m flattered.”

She considered the best way to explain her recent struggles.  “Doctor, I hope this doesn’t sound absurd, but I’ve so much…should I say…discomfort in my body.  I’m a little scared.”

He took a seat at his desk opposite her.  “What’s happening to you?  Walk me through the symptoms.”

“Firstly, I seem to be able to see through things.”

The words came out of her mouth before she’d contemplated their meaning.

Without flinching, Olivier threaded his hands. “Explain that.”

He thinks I'm mad! 

Not fazed, she elaborated.
“Last night, I was able to see through my bathroom wall and floor.”

She cringed as the words escaped her lips.
Shut up Calla!  Can you hear yourself?

She anticipated a perplexed reaction, yet Dr. Olivier’s kind face focused on her in the most understanding manner.  He said nothing.

Calla continued.  “The result is usually a massive headache.”

“When did this start?”

“About a week ago.”

“You mentioned that the changes were taking place in your physical body.  What changes?”

She took a deep breath and clasped her slim fingers around her arms.  “Well, it seems to be an increased, physical capability, immediately followed by incredible fatigue.”

Dr. Olivier switched on his computer and pulled out a note pad.  “Have you been eating and drinking well?  Exercising?  Sleeping?”

“Yes, I suppose.  Doctor Olivier, I know I sound like I’ve lost my marbles, and proposing that I’m some sort of weird mutant, but I wish I was lying.”

His empathetic look reassured her.  He typed something on the computer.  “Is there anything else you have noticed?”

“Such as?”

Olivier thought for a moment.  “Oh, I don’t know, such as were you able to do these things at a young age?”

Calla pursed her lips, thinking for several seconds and shifted in her tight seat.  “I’m not sure.  You’ve always been my family doctor since Mama and Papa Cress started bringing me here.  If anybody, you would have evidence of it.”

He turned the screen towards her.  Her medical file stared her in the face.  “Look here, Calla, when you were five, Mama and Papa Cress brought you in for a routine check-up.  They said you had complained about migraines - quite unusual for a girl your age.  They also told me you said you could literally see your neighbors through the walls of your house.”

Calla rose and scanned the screen as she read his medical notes.  She turned to face him.  “Did you believe them, Doctor?  Do you believe me?”

Dr. Olivier rolled his chair back and twitched a little.  “Well, at first I didn’t, but then it happened again a year later when you were six and similarly for your seventh year check-up.  Each time, it would be something different.  Seeing through a cup, a desk—”