The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (45 page)

Thirty minutes earlier, Taiven had tailed Mason into the exclusive restaurant as the chestnut-haired socialite greeted him.  Even with the passing of the years, Taiven remembered her artful tactics.  The girl had always been a tormentor.  She’d been Calla’s adversary from the moment Calla stepped into Beacon Academy.  Taiven had always remained fervent in his duty, a mission that he alone knew and to accomplish it, he’d had to shadow Calla and all that pertained to the brilliant child.

Calla arrived at Beacon Academy similar to most new students, reserved and curious, yet eager to learn.  The academy was a rocky place for those who joined mid-year.  Friends had been made and enemies named too.  Pretty soon, it became clear who dominated the independent school grounds.

Eva was the one most girls dreaded, wanted to be and the tougher ones despised. Those who sided with her had no inch of self-esteem. 

Calla spared no time for her infantile mannerisms.  In fact, because Calla did not entertain anything Eva did, it irritated the pretentious elitist.  The full extent of Eva’s aggravation surfaced when Beacon Academy was invited to go on an inter-varsity school debate against Wycombe Girls Academy.  Calla was given the coveted leadership spot and Eva, a natural darer, had intimidated the whole faculty, beseeching fair playoffs for the role.

The deciding match took place in front of the entire student body and staff.  No effort at all had been required from Calla.  Eva, on the other hand, struggled to keep her history straight, name facts and deliver a credible presentation on US politics during the Watergate scandal.  Calla’s giftedness and sheer genius overwhelmed Eva, who battled visibly to match the natural academic.

From that day, Eva had made it her life’s ambition to torment not only Calla but anyone who patronized her ambitions.  Taiven later found out that much of Eva’s behavior had spiraled out of control after her mother had mysteriously been institutionalized. 

Taiven’s face surfaced above a local newspaper.  He surveyed Eva with a cautious glare and summoned a server for the bill.  He waited until the waitress approached and placed two, fifty-pound notes in her grateful hand.  “Thanks for the coffee.  Keep the change.”

The waitress took the more than generous amount and stashed the bills in her shirt pocket, glancing around for spying eyes.  Satisfied that the predetermined monetary exchange had gone well, she busied herself at the bar refilling Eva’s water glass. 

Taiven rose to leave.  As he slid past the bar, he dropped a transparent tablet, no bigger than a pinch of salt, into the waiting, ice-cold glass.

Taiven stole out of the restaurant by the back door.

The waitress picked up the glass and served it to Eva.

* * *

1:00 P.M.

Calla changed into a warm, magenta, cashmere top, a pair of snug jeans and black boots.  She proceeded back downstairs with the manuscript. 

With her hand over the banister, Pearl stood at the foot of the stairs conversing with Jack and Nash who’d just made their way through the front door.

Nash studied Calla as she eased her step over the stairs, his eyes lighting up.  “You’re back?”

Calla stepped to the bottom of the stairs, endeavoring to change her mood.  She threw him a corner smile.  “And glad to be.”

“Jack said you were in Paris yesterday.  Was it to do with the manuscript?”

She shook her head. 

He edged closer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She took a deep breath.  “Not really.  Perhaps some other time.”

Nash retreated as an expression of wounded tolerance crossed his face. He narrowed his eyes turning to Jack. “You need to see this report Jack has compiled.  His research on the stones is astounding.”

She inched closer refusing to look Nash in the eyes.  “Really? What else did you find?”

Pearl took her leave as Jack held out a document in his hand.  “The carbonados respond to light and I can confirm the minerals they possess are not present on Earth.”

Calla took the report from his hands.  “Are these minerals toxic?  I hope you were careful, Jack.”

“Don’t worry.  We’d all be affected by now, I imagine.”

Calla shot them both a worried glance.  Only now did she realize the contamination risk they might be in as well.  If both Jack and Nash were unaffected by the carbonados, then perhaps her interaction with the stones had begun a rapid escalation of a genetic disorder.

Was this why her parents had put her away?  It made sense now. If they knew of the genetic disorder, then they would have thought it best to keep her away from the Deveron Manuscript they were working on, and the stones.

Jack moseyed into the quiet den with Calla and Nash close behind.  “This is exciting stuff.  We need to find the next stone.”

“It would make sense to have all three,” Nash said.

Jack set a hand on Calla’s shoulder.  “This could put all those questions about your parents and these artifacts to rest.”

Calla managed a feeble smile.  “Let’s check the third and last clue.”  She reached for her notes and the Deveron tucked away in her waist bag as she marched to the mahogany desk.

She set the items on the table.  Her voice shook as she read her notes. “Here’s my take on the third dominance.”

Jack shot her a quizzical look. “Are you okay, C?”

She swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Nash’s jaw tightened. “What happened in Paris?”

She shook her head, a miserable attempt at denial. “Nothing, really. Let’s get back to the dominance.”

Even as she read the words, she knew they did not believe her.

The notes read:

3.

You may steal my soul, but you cannot possess me.

I replant.  I replenish, I survive and have stood the times of history.

You covet my sparkle, you covet my value,

yet you can take none of me with you with your last breath!

I am everywhere.  I am everyone.

I make men rich, I make men poor.

Yet here, I lie in my dark grave, where I will remain all my days.

Jack reached for the loose sheet of paper.  “What the heck does this mean?  Whoever wrote this must’ve been smoking some of my grandfather’s crack.”

Calla snickered, appreciative of Jack’s well timed humor.  “I thought about this on the train to Paris.  This passage is talking about wealth and resources. Don’t you think? You know, one of the things the human race craves”

“How do you figure that?” Jack asked.  “Your imagination impresses me.”

“As yours mine, tech and science genius.”

She tugged at a dreadlock of his, her cheeks puckering into an acute smile.  “My hunch is oil and other natural resources.  Earlier today, it hit me that, the richest continent in terms of resources is Africa.  This has always been the case throughout history.  Perhaps that’s what is meant here by ‘my dark grave’.”

“Where in Africa do we begin?” Nash asked.

She pointed to a set of notes she’d gathered earlier. “Look, here are the details of the known natural resources in Africa from Alexandria to the Cape. Everything from oil and gas in Egypt, Libya and Algeria, to diamonds in the Congo, Angola and the Central African Republic, uranium in South Africa, Somalia and Niger and copper in Uganda, Zambia and Zimbabwe.”

Nash’s expression remained grim as he watched her, concern crossing his eyes. “It still doesn’t isolate any one place.”

 “Africa has ‘stood the times of history’,” as the Deveron puts it.  Her resources don’t run out,” Calla said.

Nash was distracted by something on her face.  He advanced and surveyed her jaw. 

She drifted back a little, her head perking upward.

“How did you get that bruise?” he asked.

Calla had not even noticed.  She checked her face in the mirror above the fireplace, “Oh. It’s just a scratch.  Must’ve been from Rome.”

She skirted away from his touch, his attention lingering on her evasiveness. Calla refocused on her notes.  “Before we go, I need to pick up a few things.  I checked the flights to Rabat, none suit us.”

Jack’s eyebrow arched. “Rabat?”

“Yeah. We’re to begin in Morocco,” she added.

“Dare I ask why?” said Nash amused by the new destination.

“I’ll explain it all at the airport.”

“If we get a flight,” he said.

A mischievous smile frolicked on Calla’s lips. “I was thinking something a little more private.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Allegra’s private jet. I spoke with her pilot about an hour ago.  Time of departure, 11:00P.M.”

Jack whistled, impressed by the mode of transportation.  “Count me in. Like my buddy here, I’ll wait for the low down on why we’re heading to North Africa. Right now, drinks on the house sound like my cup of tea.”

She headed to the door.  “I’m darting out now for the rest of the afternoon.  We can meet at Heathrow – say, ten-ish.”

Nash followed her into the hall. His face tightened with burden as he spoke.  “Where’re you going?  Here—” He reached for his coat. “I’ll come with you.”

She placed a gentle hand over his heart and raised reluctant eyes to his with everything in her screaming ‘yes’.  “No.” She managed a smile. “Don’t worry.  I’ll be back soon.”

“Calla, why won’t you let me help you?  You’ve got to let me in.”

“I can’t, Nash.”

“Listen. Whatever we find or don’t find, know that I’ll always be here for you.”

He meant it. She could tell from the way his dimple contracted.  Her hand slid to his face and he covered it with his as she stepped closer. “Nash, I know. Without you, I would be—”

“Just let me help you.”

“I promise to tell you what this is all about, but not now.” She hesitated. “I have to do this alone.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

2:20 P.M.

Hertfordshire, England

Mason’s face broke into a grin as he sipped a glass of whiskey on the rocks.  He liked his astute plan.  He set the cold glass on a coaster by the video-conferencing system and pressed down the start button that powered the unit.  “Are you there, Milan?” he asked.

The left screen lit up, displaying a head shot of a silver-haired, heavyset Italian.  “Here.”

“Let’s check for Sydney,” Mason said.

The second screen lit up.  “Sydney is on the line,” said a woman’s voice.

One by one, the screens lit up until five monitors representing five time zones were online - Milan, Tel Aviv, Sydney, Johannesburg and San Francisco.

Mason greeted the conference participants and loaded a file onto the system as each participant followed the presentation on their individual monitors.

“Good afternoon from London, ladies and gentlemen.  As you can see from the first slide, we’re right on track.  Each one of these influential figures was chosen carefully.” He observed each glaring associate individually before proceeding.  “Once the hosts are within their targeted positions, they’ll proceed with the following orders.  Unknown to the organizations we’ve chosen, the hosts, or hackers should I say, will infiltrate the US government computer systems and the world’s largest corporations starting with the aforementioned firms, Riche Enterprises and The Kumar Oil Corporation.  The hacking viruses will find a home in the RC2 Cloud systems of these institutions.”

Tel Aviv eyed his plan with awe and distaste all at the same time.  “How does it work?” he asked.

Mason leered at him, detesting the presumptuous idiot.  “The hackers steal access to these organizations.  They’ll penetrate the infrastructures by first embedding into a website hosted on each individual server and then covertly install a command and control infrastructure.  Quite simple really.  Once these organizations are hacked, it will give us access to eighty percent of the world’s technology infrastructure.”

“Excellent,” beamed Sydney.

Pride dripped off Mason’s lips as he spoke.  “Once the system is in place, it's a hundred percent undetectable by the organizations’ substructures.  They’ll never be able to trace our hackers’ activity.  The companies will undergo failures, outages and transactions they’ve not approved, but will never know how to stop the havoc.  I have handpicked each one of the three thousand hosts myself.”

“That must have taken a while.  Will they just follow orders?” Johannesburg asked.

Mason circled the room.  “They’ll not even know they are hackers.”

* * *

3:00 P.M.

Blackmore, Essex

England

Calla pounded her fist on the freshly painted, blue door of the two-story cottage.  She knit her eyebrows as she stood on the narrow entrance porch of the secluded farmhouse.

“Hello?”

No answer.