The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (40 page)

Pity, she must have been an exceptional agent.  He crosschecked with SILVER X3’s details.

SILVER X3

Legal name
: Unknown

Special skills
: Knowledge of 18 languages and 6 ancient dialects.  Field agent.

Experience/Skills:
Involved in the work of code breakers and collecting vital enemy information. Carrying out and reporting on covert
intelligence gathering operations overseas.  Gathering secret intelligence the government needs to promote and defend UK national interests.

Other
: Resigned.  Whereabouts unknown.

File closed
September 29, 1968

Too many secrets.  He found his phone and dialed his office in Berlin. 

A man picked up the call.  “
Ja
, Peter
hier
.”

“
Gruess dich
, Peter.  I need you to scan a British agent’s name for me.  It goes back to 1964.”

He paused, knowing he was venturing into unchartered territory.  “Could you use your contact in British intelligence?  You know…the one in ISTF?’

“Are you sure you want to go down this route?”  Peter did not wait for an answer, aware of the dilemma Eichel faced.  “What is the name?

“It’s a code name.  SILVER X3.  Call me when you have something.  Thanks Peter.”

An agitated gaze arrested his face as Eichel hung up.  Was he breaking the rules again? 
It needs to be done.
 

He thought for a moment.

This may come to haunt him one day.

* * *

DAY 11

8:39 A.M.

“I’ll be back tonight.”

Jack shot Calla a concerned look.  “Sure?  Why now?  You know we’re on a tight schedule.  Nash has also disappeared.”

Calla bit her lip.  “I know, Jack.” 

She battled whether to tell him about her conversation with Dr. Olivier.  She decided against it as she gave him a peck on the cheek.  “I’ll see you later tonight.”

Forty minutes later, Calla glanced out the window of the Eurostar as it set off from St. Pancras International station.  The train zipped past green fields and small villages along its high-speed route to the French capital.  About twenty-five minutes into the journey, the intercom on the train blurted out a garbled message about submerging under the Channel. 

With her hand cradling her cell phone, Calla thought about calling Nash.  One last chance, before leaving English soil she reasoned.  With the image of him and Eva still fresh in her mind, she fought back the thought.

Within minutes, her signal was gone.  She slouched into her seat, hoping not to remember the pivotal embrace.

It’s my fault.
She had dissuaded Nash for months.  Every part of her screamed with regret and with heavy arms and shoulders pulled low, her drowsy eyes fell shut.

“
Mademoiselle
?”

Calla stirred.

“
Mademoiselle
, we’ve arrived in Paris.  Didn’t you hear the announcement?” the on-board ticket conductor asked.

“
Merci
.”

Calla sprang out of her seat. How long had she slept?

She reached for her belongings and ambled for the exit.  She marched up the frantic, Gare du Nord platform, towards the hectic exit of the imposing, nineteenth-century structure, hoping to grab a quick cab.  Stepping onto the sidewalk, she took in the impressionable and culturally diverse ambiance of the bustling 18
th
district of Paris. 

Calla inhaled.  Spring in the French capital had never disappointed her.  She waited patiently in the monstrous, cab line and eventually settled in a cigarette, smoke-infested Volkswagen.

“14 rue de Jean-Richepin.”

The taxi driver nodded, recognizing the street in Paris’ sixteenth
district and worked his way into traffic. 

The ride took approximately fifteen minutes.

“We’re here,
mademoiselle
.”

She paid him and paced towards the address Dr. Olivier had given her.  She hesitated a moment outside the six-story, Art Nouveau building. Calla breathed heavily, fighting the feeling of turning back. 
Do I really want to know more? 

Willing every muscle to relax, she rang the doorbell.

“
Oui
?” came a blasé female voice.

“
Calla Cress
de Londres pour Dr. Bertrand
,” she said, asking to see the doctor.

A buzzer blared and she pushed open the iron gates. She advanced through a cobblestone courtyard towards the main building.  At the end of the inner court, the intercom by a second entrance indicated that Dr. Bertrand was on the sixth floor of the limestone building.  It took her all of two minutes to ascend the ornate, sandstone staircases.

When she set foot on the top of the stairs, an elegant, receptionist sat in the lobby working behind her sleek monitor.  Calla crossed the few meters from the top of the staircase towards the door and continued to the reception desk.  A pine wood scent enveloped the room, giving it a fine, calm luster. 

She dragged her feet along the lavender, carpeted floor and made a stop at the receptionist’s desk.  “
Bonjour
.  Dr. Bertrand is expecting me.”

“
Bonjour, Mademoiselle
.  What’s your name?”

“Calla.  Calla Cress.”

“
Un instant, s’il vous plait
.  Please, take a seat for a moment.”

The woman left her station and disappeared through the handcrafted French doors.  Calla sank into a snug armchair against the wall.  Above her hung a colossal impressionist painting.  She turned her head to consider its fine brush stroke and then scanned the rest of the exquisite room.  Feeling more like a hotel lobby than a doctor’s waiting room, she fought the urge to explore the rest of the artwork in the lobby.  The sound of approaching pumps signaled that the receptionist had returned in the company of an energetic, French-Caribbean man who donned a white coat over a smart suit.

“Hello, Calla. 
Enchanté
,” he said, extending a hand.  “I’m Dr. Bertrand.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.  Please come this way.”

Dr. Bertrand’s voice rang with joy and a trace of an Antillean island drawl.  Calla rose and received his warm, firm handshake. 

“I hope you had a good journey from London.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Calla tailed behind him wondering how an accomplished academic like Dr. Bertrand could be so tranquil when he faced perplexing cases almost every day and according to Dr. Olivier most remained inexplicable. 

He led her through the establishment. 

Unlike most doctors she knew, who impatiently clocked the next patient through, while trying to make the day’s quota, Dr. Bertrand felt more conversational, considerate, and witty.  

She felt her shoulders unloosen and meandered down the hall with him. He turned to her as she walked a couple of paces behind. “I know you are on a tight schedule.  Dr. Olivier filled me in and sent me your file,” he said.

“Is there anything you can tell me, based on the information?” Calla said.

“Not until we have done some tests.  I appreciate your coming in at short notice.  Sometimes it’s better to catch the symptoms of a condition while it persists.”

“Thanks, doctor.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder.  “Today, I’ll only perform some routine scans and tests.  I’ll have to administer a general anesthetic though.  Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, by all means, doctor.”

They stopped outside a closed door.  “You can change in here.  The nurse will assist you with anything you need.  I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Calla undressed in the changing room.  She slid on a clinic robe and noticed that the blood veins in her arms and legs were raised more than normal.  She’d not eaten or had a drink in the last several hours as Dr. Bertrand had instructed over the phone.

A knock sounded at the door.  “Ready, Calla?”

She placed her belongings in the provided locker and clanked it shut.  “Yes.”

Dr. Bertrand led her to an examination room, a few doors down from the changing room.  The room boasted the latest medical equipment, most of which she’d never seen in her life, a few reading monitors and a large scanning, recliner bed.  Calla felt herself begin to tremble, imagining the worst. 
Will they find that I’m not normal? 

Am I dying?

“Try to relax,” said Bertrand sensing her paranoia.  “Please lie down here on the examination table.  We’ll put you under for an hour or so.”

As two nurses performed the general anesthetic, Calla’s body responded and her eyes drifted out of focus as the drugs took effect, sending her into a profound, thoughtless sleep.  The last thing she remembered before drifting, was Dr. Bertrand’s instructions to his assistants.

Calla floated and floated, a weightless flight above the ecosphere.  The clouds brushed her cheeks, some gently, some with a moist, steamy punch.  She navigated above mountains, over fields, through distant cities, across calm lakes, over rough oceans and past wild savannahs, with her omniscient mind controlling her direction and speed towards her desired destination.  She soared above planet Earth.  Even in her wandering, she knew there was a purpose, a task she had to fulfill.  Her mind told her that she was on a journey - to visit three places and her flight scooped her to the northern hemisphere of the Earth, hovering above England.

Nothing about the architecture, the roads, and the fields she saw acknowledged this century.  It had to be several centuries’ back.  She landed outside an unassuming cottage, perhaps a shack.  Night had fallen, and she traversed the walls floating into a candlelit room.  Though crammed with men and women talking, and some laughing, jovial children scribbling on the dusty, dirt floors including a delicious stew in a boiling pot, no one acknowledged her presence.  As she listened to two men talking by the fire, she saw Watcher.  Unable to hear the dialog, there by the fire, Watcher received a box from a white, hooded man in long, flowing robes.  The minute Watcher had the box; he held it close to his heart and bowed to the hooded man.  He then turned to leave and glided right through Calla.

His sudden exit through her core caused her to stumble backward and she drifted through space.  Her next destination took her through the Tuscan hills of Italy.  She flew above the resplendent fields and then advanced over a zigzagging, cypress, tree-lined road that edged towards a picturesque Tuscan villa.  Roman women gathered lavender and poppies in the meadows.  Their elated and gleeful giggles filled the late summer’s day.  Like her last destination, these women did not see her.  She glided around them freely smelling the robust bouquets they collected.  In the distance, she saw two men walking in the meadows ahead.  Their voices were deep in conversation.  One strutted adroit in elegant pace - a gladiator it would seem.  His white-hooded companion traipsed alongside, his face shielded from the world.  The hooded man placed a small, black box in the gladiator’s enormous palms.  The box resembled the former one. 

As she hovered by the men, they did not see her curious gaze at the container.  She could almost reach it.  She stretched her hand to touch it.  A drop of rain landed on her cold cheek, and dark clouds covered the sky.

The droplets pelted first in faint streams and then in showers of hail.  She hoped to fly above the raging storm.  Even with the thunder and lightning, she braised through the clouds unharmed to a third destination.  It was unknown to her.  All she saw were rows of huts, mud houses, banana plantations and palm trees.  Soaring above what she thought was the most beautiful beach she’d ever seen, with its sandy white terrain, she descended and landed on the soft sand.  With each step she took as she strolled on the shore, the warm sand massaged her feet.  This time the hooded man in white clutched a third box, walking a few feet in front of her.  Where was he going?  She followed him as he left the beach and entered the rain forest land.  Heat scorched the island.  Without warning, a strong wind pulled her with a mighty force.  She ascended further and further away from the hooded man and into the heavens.  Her vision was blurred.

“Calla,” said a French-accented, male voice.  “Calla, wake up!”

Calla came to and focused first on Dr. Bertrand’s perched face, then the nurse’s.  She slowly turned her head, facing the window across from the examination bed. 

She regained consciousness. 

A doctor’s torch gleamed into her eyes. “How do you feel, Calla?” Dr. Bertrand asked.

Her voice stammered as she spoke.  “Fine, mostly drugged.”

All she could think about was the hooded man and what she had seen.