The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (41 page)

Dr. Bertrand set a hand behind her head.  “You’ve been under for about an hour, but you should be fine soon.  Please, have something to eat.”

Calla felt herself begin to tremble.

“It’s a normal reaction to the anesthetic,” the doctor said.

Her feet were heavy, as if they no longer belonged to her.  She selected the tempting avocado salad and a glass of berry juice.  Famished, she struggled upright.  “Am I alright?”

Dr. Bertrand helped her stand.  “We won’t have the results for another twenty-four hours, but I'll be in touch as soon as I have them.”

Calla nodded slowly. “Merci. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

The clock on the wall read 3:45P.M.  Her Eurostar train with a direct service to London, would be leaving Gare du Nord train station, just before 6:00P.M. that evening. 

One and a half hours later, sensing her body recover completely from the drugs. Bertrand escorted her to the reception and took her frail hands in his.  “Try not to worry.  I’ll be in touch very soon.”

Calla forced a smile and turned to the receptionist.  “Could you please call a cab for me?”

The rain pelted on the windshield as the taxi made its way to the station.  A tinted Range Rover tailed at a safe pace behind her Parisian cab.  Several minutes later, Calla’s taxi pulled in at Gare du Nord station.  After it shuddered to a halt, Calla descended and shuffled towards the platforms. 

The Range Rover continued past her cab and parked across the street.  A sinister figure emerged and made a phone call.  “She’ll be on the train soon.”

* * *

5:19 P.M.

Wallace Collection Museum

London

“Are you a lover of the fine arts, Miss Riche?”

Eva flipped round.  Mason made his way towards her tall frame.  Her attention had been captured by a terracotta piece by celebrated, Italian sculptor Antonio Canova in the Porphyry Court of the notable Wallace Collection Museum.  There it stood, headless and armless, the ancient goddess of youth, Hebe.  Eva wished she embodied the same amount of freedom and courage.

Mason had agreed to meet her at the national museum situated in a historic, London town house, and home to one of Europe’s finest collections of paintings, furniture, arms, armor and porcelain.

“Mr. Laskfell?” she stammered.  “Good afternoon.”

“What can I do for you?”

Mason had heard of Miss Riche, but never once made her acquaintance.  He acknowledged she was Samuel Riche’s preposterous daughter and for a journalist, the media articles she landed in, far outnumbered those she had written.  Samuel had called in a favor before meeting with Mason.  “Just talk to her.  She’s hard to stop when her mind is set on something.” 

Mason agreed with reservation.  She was a bargaining chip.  This meeting would work in his favor. 

Eva beamed a euphoric smile, more out of courtesy than gratitude.  “Thank you for taking time in your schedule to see me, Mr. Laskfell.  I know you are a busy man, so I’ll keep this short.”

Mason edged closer to the sculpture.  “You still have not told me, if you are a lover of the fine arts?”

She glanced at the sculpture. “Today, I am.”

Mason grimaced.  “Then why choose to meet here?”

She’d done her homework.  “I know you are.”

Mason was no time waster, and he could see, she was not either.  All she needed were a few minutes to get his attention.  Might as well do that here - where he felt at ease, no phones, no distractions, just exquisite art.

Eva took a shaky step towards him, her stilettos scuffing on the polished marble.  “I need some information on an old school friend.  My father said you work for the government and could help me out with information on any soul in this country, living or dead.”  She veered closer and whispered.  “The name is Calla Cress.”

Mason drew his eyebrows together, entertained by her movement around him like a slithery serpent.  Why would she be interested in Calla Cress? 

“What do you need to know about Calla Cress?” he said.

Eva’s eyes lit up, as they moseyed to the next piece on display.  “So you know her?”

“Are you guessing?  She works for me…some of the time.”

He lengthened his stride and fixed her with a contemplating look.  “Miss Riche, if she’s a friend of yours, why are you not in contact?  Why would you need a favor from a governmental organization?”

They stopped by a Rembrandt self-portrait, a canvas coated with heavy application of paint by the Dutch painter.  It suddenly occurred to Mason that Eva felt quite uneasy by Rembrandt’s thick, tone-dead coloring on the monochrome portrait, especially where the light fell boldest.  The painter’s penetrating and personal statement in his stare, irritated Eva, as if he was peering right into her mischievous soul. 

She twitched before she diverted her eyes from the image.

“Mr. Laskfell, I know you need something desperately from my father and I can help you get it.  That’s why I’m cutting to the chase.  I need to know Calla’s involvement with the Deveron document.”

Mason jolted his head back, raising a wriggling eyebrow. He glared into her purposeful eyes, analyzing her dark motives before treading further along the gallery, partly studying Fragonard’s eighteenth-century depiction of a swinging damsel and partly musing over her request.  She certainly was a meddlesome journalist, and not one about to share the details of her exclusive. 

“Before I entertain your query, what is it you intend to do with the information about Cress?  She’s one of the best contributors to ISTF in linguistics and affairs related to history,” he said.

  Eva’s smile wore into a frown.  “That’s my business, but I could make it yours.  I could share whatever I find about the Deveron Manuscript.”

“What makes that valuable to me?”

“I’ve heard of the government’s interest, particularly ISTF’s, in the Deveron.”

“And?”

“Whereas they may not be willing to get their hands dirty in the sullied work of investigative reporting, I am.”

His thoughts exactly.  The two were treading on mutual ground.

Mason’s eyes narrowed, he noted the squirm on her face.  “I can give you something to start with.  In return, I’ll need to approve any copy before publication, or I pull the plug on you.”

She shot him a triumphant look.  “Agreed.”

“Eva.  Can I call you, Eva?  I’ll also help you out, on condition you keep me informed of your progress.”

“So you
do
need my information.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.  Let’s say I just like to know what I’m getting with this bargain.’

She extended her hand to seal the deal.  “Alright.”

Mason glanced down at her prolonged, elegant hand.  “I have one more stipulation.  Your father must sign the documents I sent him.  Their contents are of no consequence to you.  He’ll understand my drift.  I’ll expect them on my desk within twenty-four hours.”

“I can’t guarantee that, Mr. Laskfell.  That’s papa’s affair.”

“Make it yours, Eva.  You came for my help. If you want it, then you’ll give me something in return.  That’s how this little proposition of ours will work.”

Mason was driving a stringent agreement, but this was his last offer, or there would be no deal.

She shook on it.  “Okay.”

Mason fished out his phone and made a couple of calls while strolling through the gallery. 

Eva turned her back, pretending not to eavesdrop.

He toyed with his phone.  “I’m sending you a file now.”

Her eyes lit up as she swerved round. “Oh.  Here’s my number.”

“I already have it.”

Eva’s shifted back a step.  “How do you—”

“It’s my business to know my enemies and—”  He eyed her reaction.  “My friends.”

The files flooded in, one by one keeping her cell phone beeping several times.  She opened one file and eager eyes scanned the information.  Though miniature in font size on the screen, Calla’s employment file stared back at her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

5:56 P.M.

Gare Du Nord

Paris, France

Calla trotted up the Eurostar platform and found her seat in the train car.  She rubbed her sweaty palms along her thighs, trying to wipe off the dampness that had started almost immediately after the nurse had reversed the anesthetic.  The side effects of the medical procedure had left her with mild dizziness, yet she’d managed to navigate her way to the right platform.

Time was running out and whatever was at the end of the manuscript’s enigmatic puzzle, remained her only connection to discovering the truths about her family.

Calla sunk into her seat leaning towards the window.  She debated once more whether to contact Nash. But the image of him and Eva loomed in her mind like an unwanted relative coming to visit. 

She dialed Jack’s number. “Jack, I’m on the train just about ready to depart for London.”

Jack’s voice was comforting.  “You okay?  Why’d you go there?”

“Something I had to do.”

Jack did not pursue the matter.  “I discovered something more regarding the stones.  I’ll show you once you get in.  You want me to pick you up at the station?”

“Thanks, Jack.  I’ve got my car.  See you soon.”

She hung up. 

The train advanced on the tracks.  Calla rose to find the restaurant car.  As she balanced to counter the train’s speed within the narrow aisle space, a man thudded into her right shoulder as he hurried past.

“Hey!” she said.

He kept walking.

Fierce movement drew her eye towards his militaristic frame. 

He zipped round.

She turned instinctively, in time to shield herself from a powerful fist and nearly collapsed into an empty seat as her knees buckled.

She padded the floor for her shoulder bag and read the intent in his eyes.

He wanted the manuscript and reeled with the shudders of the train’s speed as he advanced towards her.

For a moment, Calla struggled to move her body, still in recovery from heavy medication. She took deep breaths until she could raise her head. Before she could move, he gripped her by the neck and shoved her onto the floor.

Her body drew vigor from the violent fall and she launched her heel into his gut.

He collided backward and slammed his nose on the edge of the divider door.

She darted away from him, down the narrow passage to the next car, fighting jolts of trepidation as startled passengers looked on. 

Her assailant shot up, wiped his bloodied nose, and chased after her. 

She staggered forward, gripping headrests for support, battling the whizzing speed of the train as it threatened to throw her over. 

The pursuing man stumbled into several passengers as he chased, taking rapid strides in her direction. 

At the end of the car, she hurtled herself recklessly into the women’s toilet. She slammed the door shut and secured the lock
.
Backpedaling until she hit the wall, she stared at the sinister lock.

Feeling her strength waning, she waited. Calla needed her full tenacity back, and a few minutes would do it.  The look in his beady eyes had threatened spitefulness. He would duel for her hide at all costs. 

She dialed Jack’s number. 

No pick up. 

She tried Nash. 

No answer.

The high-speed train approached the Channel tunnel.  Calla heard the brief announcement even as she calculated her next move in the putrid compartment. Trapped, a sudden jolt at the door set her heart galloping to her throat. 

She placed a hand over the lock. 

There was no place to run. 

Calla took a deep breath, welcoming the violent desire to see his face.  She turned the knob and waited.

No movement.

Creeping out of the compartment like a frazzled rat, she stepped into the corridor and scanned both ways.  She’d half expected another strike. 

None came. 

She took a deep breath and retraced her steps to her seat, peering from passenger to passenger in a frantic effort to locate him.

With no further antagonism, she sank to her seat and stood alert for several seconds, unable to settle, before sinking into the upholstery.  Fear trailed from her veins as she armed herself with determination.  The sudden flickering of the overhead lights set her on alert as her trained eye scanned the compartment once more.

Soon, the bolting train trembled to a halt, jolting her forehead into the head rest of the seat in front of her. 

The lights went out. 

She waited.

He could force his way towards her in no time. 

She curled her fist and gathered more resolve as pitch black arrested the car.