The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (44 page)

“The results showed that you have significant amount of radionuclide Polonium 210 in your blood stream.”

“What’s that?”

Dr. Bertrand frowned, compassion not once escaping his eyes.  “A few years ago, Polonium was identified only after the death of a Russian government spy.”

“What sort of element is it?”

“There’s been much misinformation in the news and other media about what amount constitutes a lethal intake of Polonium 210.  Nevertheless, Polonium 210 is one of more than twenty-four known Polonium isotopes, all of which are radioactive.  It’s a very rare element in nature and is present in uranium ores.”

“How does one come in contact with it?”

“Doctors on both sides of the Atlantic have begun to seriously consider the possibility of nuclear terrorism.  Many were unable to detect Polonium earlier, because it does not emit gamma rays.  Gamma rays are encountered with most radioactive isotopes.”

Calla’s heart broke.  “I’m not sure I follow, doctor.”

Bertrand continued.  “Unlike most known radiation sources, Polonium 210 emits only alpha particles, which don’t pierce even a sheet of paper or the epidermis of human skin.  They’re essentially invisible to normal radiation detectors.  Have you had any injections, intakes of substances, recent or previous, that you may deem questionable?”

“I don’t know doctor.  So, it’s administered orally?”

Bertrand’s lips pressed together in a slight grimace.  “Gamma and alpha rays are classified as ionizing radiation.  If you have inhaled or ingested any such substance, Calla, it can cause significant radiation poisoning.”

“I do remember the reports in the media about that case.  From what I recall, most hospitals can’t even detect alpha particles,” Calla said.

“My research has been extensive and led me along many thought-provoking cases.  Your case is rather unusual.  You are right, most hospitals only have equipment to detect gamma rays, but I’ve invested in newer technologies.”

That would it explain the peculiar looking equipment she’d seen in his offices.  Calla questioned him further, digging her bare toes into the carpet.  “Does that also explain the escalation of my vision and physical changes?”

“I can’t say.  I still need to study your results more carefully to see if we can find a quick remedy to reduce the Polonium and what level of danger you could be in.”

The doctor would not use the word
danger
lightly.  “I see.”

“I don’t want to alarm you.  The results are not completely conclusive.  If you want, we can continue to perform more tests,” said Bertrand.

The thought of being a lab rat did not intrigue Calla.  “Can I have a couple of days?  I just need to digest all this information.”

“Of course.  There’s one other possibility regarding your symptoms.”

Calla held her breath.  “What’s that?”

“You could also have a genetic abnormality or disorder.”

* * *

1:30 A.M.

Chelsea, London

The shaky video played on the mini screen.  Fluttering noises and muffled sounds resounded through the gadget’s minuscule speakers.

“
Zut alors
!  Must’ve had my finger in the way.”

Eva spent the good part of the early hours of the night scouring through the film.  The light on her work desk reflected off the mini video screen.  Not really sure what she was looking at, she played the film several times, rewinding and zooming in for better observation.

Mason will love this.

He was not giving away much, but his position at ISTF was no secret to her father.  She’d eavesdropped on several conversations between the two.

Right now, her interest was in the falling shadow.

At first glance it could be anyone. 
This must be her!
“Mason knows something about this.”

With his help, she contemplated getting the images in front of professionals.

Eva reached for her phone and when Mason picked up, she shrilled with the excitement of a playful child. “You’re gonna love this!”

“Your clock is ticking,” Mason said.

“I’ve something you’ll find interesting, but I can’t discuss this on the phone.”

* * *

12:20 P.M.

Maxim’s Restaurant

Kensington, London

Eva observed steady traffic from a quiet table in Maxim’s private dining area.  She peered at the door hoping to catch Mason’s attention as soon as he came in.  Several minutes later, a waiter ambled in her direction followed by Mason.

As he settled into the seat opposite her, her pulses set to pounding conscious of the scornful eyes that were focused on her. Mason glared at her.  “You have ten minutes.”

Eva frowned.  “Are we back to
Miss Riche
?”

Mason clasped his hands on the set table and sent an arctic stare through her.  “I’m waiting for your contribution from your end of our deal.”

The waiter returned with a glass of chilled water.  Mason arched his squared shoulders, his scrutinizing eyes unsettling Eva as she welcomed a flicker of warning in her gut. 

For the first time since meeting him, she averted his gaze, slouching in her chair and lowering her eyes. “Take a look at this,” she said.  “What kind of training programs are you conducting within ISTF?”

Mason kept his focus on her squirming face.  “What’s your drift?”

She shoved the shaky video in front of his uncompromising face.  “Something commissioned by ISTF?”

He took a quick look.  “What’s this?”

Eva leaned forward, her unsteady voice lowering.  “What are you intelligence people cooking up?”

Mason scanned the room as busy waiters went about their chores in anticipation of lunch crowds.  He refused to entertain her curiosity and shifted his gaze back to her face.  “I thought your story was on the Deveron Manuscript?”

Her finger flipped through some video files, scrolling the side dial of the miniature device.  She thrust it once more in his direction.  “Look again.  Explain this?”

Mason skimmed the video - unmoved.  He leaned closer, and re-scanned the material.  Shaky and noisy at best, he made out a falling object from a skyscraper.  The amateur shot had been filmed from the ground looking up.  He recognized what looked like a human being, gracefully dropping from the Shard. 

Eva observed Mason’s face as she took him through the footage. His professionalism kept him guarded and indifferent.

She toyed with the gadget’s features and stopped the video, zooming into its pixelated glow.  “Do you recognize this person?”

Mason held his gaze, but gave away no emotion.  He grasped the camera for a closer look and then handed it back to Eva.  “It amazes me that you have time for this sort of thing.  I thought you were a serious journalist.”

Anger began to well in her. “But—”

“Listen, my advice is that you resolve to astute investigating by charting factual evidence.”

Dignified and demure as a royal, she pursed her full lips.  “You and I know that I’m onto something.”

“What exactly?”

“This is Calla Cress.  Just before I filmed this last night, she was involved in a high-speed chase that nearly wrecked my car along with several others.”

“Time is of essence here.” He narrowed his dark eyes. “Where’s this going?”

“I followed behind them.”

 “Highly unlikely. But even if what you say has the slightest accuracy, which I seriously doubt, how does that help you?”

“Calla has found something to do with the Deveron Manuscript.”  She tossed her hands in the air.  “Come on!  The rumor on the street is that the Deveron is no ordinary document.  In fact, many looking for it believe it leads to new sources of nuclear or other energies!  I've done my homework, Mason!”

Eva leaned forward waiting for a response. 

He did not twitch.

Something grew coldly resolute inside of her. “You guys at ISTF have found that nuclear source and used whatever you’ve found to develop some wicked stuff.  At least that’s the story I’ll print, unless you tell me otherwise.”

Mason inclined his head, a menacing frown descending upon his face.  “Don’t play with fire if you are covered in flint.  Your video is very incomprehensible, my dear.  My advice to you is, stick to the gossip columns.”

“Not likely—”

“I forbid you to publish any of this nonsense.”

“I don’t think the invention of human flight is nonsense,” said Eva.  She lowered her voice.  “To follow your analogy, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.  My take on it is that ISTF has been using Calla to test some of the nuclear materials the Deveron document has produced.  I’m no fool, Mr. Laskfell.  I know when I have a story.”

“And what story is that exactly?  That the government is testing human flight equipment.  Every journalist knows that.  Any prankster today can create android-powered, mechanically assisted flying techniques.”

“What’s keeping her afloat?  Either ISTF is onto a new technology that governments would kill for, or I’m a raving idiot.”

“I beg to differ.”

Touché!

Eva’s head swung in a slow, side to side motion, realizing she would need to take a different approach. 

She leaned her back against the padded chair and placed the camcorder in her bag.  “I too have heard of the mysteries surrounding that manuscript.  Maybe our own government has uncovered a secret so deep that they have no intention of revealing it to the public.  Isn’t that how ISTF plays?”  She mused a little.  “Is it even safe?  Tested?”

He hunched forward.  “Your ten minutes are up.”

He threw several bills on the seamless tablecloth and pushed himself up from his chair.  “Good day, Eva.”

She gripped his arm with both her hands, and dug her nails into his tailored suit - her manner ruthless and firm.  “Just verify my story, and I’ll publish it.  I need the full backing support of ISTF.  Think of the publicity it will give you.  Your discovery.”

“Miss Riche, whereas your number one quest is to dominate the limelight, keep in mind that craftier people have more imperative things to attend to.”

He filched his arm from her manicured grip and tipped his head before threading his way towards the exit.

She brought a hard fist down on the table that sent her glass hurtling to the tiles
. “Imbécile!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

12:40 P.M.

West London

Calla threw her eyes open and switched off the conferencing unit.  She’d left it on all night and fallen into a deep sleep until the late hours of the morning.  She folded her arms around her as if to cower from the news she’d registered from Dr. Bertrand.

Even though he had not said it, Dr. Bertrand’s anguished face had revealed much.

Her mind refused to accept the severity of his words. The news of the Russian agent in the London papers had been a dominant topic at the time.  As far as she remembered, the spy had died shortly after his hospitalization. 

Calla had purposely avoided revealing to Bertrand the details of her plunge from the Shard. 
Why should brilliance be classified abnormal? 

Perhaps science can’t explain it all
.

If she were to die soon, had her life held any purpose? Calla flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling.  Though she tried to fight them, the tears began a steady trickle, wetting her paled face.  Thoughts of defeat imprisoned her mind.

She made an effort to pull herself out of bed and set her feet on the carpet.  As Bertrand’s words haunted her, an epiphany crept into her mind.  There was one thing that she had not tried.  It wouldn’t be easy, but it was worth a try.

Without any more thought or regard for life, she resolved to follow it through.  She could at least find who the heck her parents were.

The last stone would make it clear. If she had all three, the answers would surface.

If only she could live that long. 

* * *

12:53 P.M.

Maxim’s Restaurant

Taiven slouched behind a divider at a small table by the door.  He followed every word, movement and threat in the room, perched over his coffee cup like a hunting bird.  He’d witnessed the dainty glass leave Eva’s table and shatter on the tiles only moments ago.

A waitress scrambled to salvage the wreckage while Eva shifted to another table with a dejected look enveloping her. 

He sipped his coffee and glared at Eva from behind dark glasses.  Infuriated, she tapped her nails on the tablecloth contemplating.  The sharp-witted, troublemaker had made it quite clear to those impolite enough to eavesdrop on the intense argument, that she wasn’t one who would back down.