The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (50 page)

Eichel blinked as fading sun rays blinded his eyes. He stepped onto African soil for the first time, captivated by the green expanse and vivid colors of the country Winston Churchill had once called the Pearl of Africa.  He approached a local driver who held a misspelled sign with his name.

EISHELL

“I’m Eichel,” he said.

“Welcome to Uganda, Mr.  Eichel.”

They jumped into a waiting white Toyota and sped towards the heart of the country, en route to Murchison Falls.

Eichel stared out the window at the tropical landscape.  Merchants selling produce from neighboring farms lined the gateways into the towns as they crossed town after town heading towards the north-western part of the country.

“How much longer, driver?”

“Not long,” came the reply.

He thought back to the tip from Jack, through Peter, that had yielded much. 

Eichel pulled out an email printout from his travel bag.  It was from Jack addressed to Peter Manuel.

Subject: Africa

Peter,

Mr. Eichel can tag along, but we want no interference.  ISTF will deal with Mason directly.  We need to apprehend him red-handed.  We’ll deliver the Deveron document to Mr. Eichel once it’s secured.  Btw, I found something that Mr. Eichel may have dropped.  Tell him to be careful next time.

Bis bald,

Jack Kleve

Confidence in his clandestine investigation returned. Eichel would keep his distance as instructed.

The ride up the rocky path towards Murchison Falls rocked the car as it ascended towards the waterfall that formed part of the Nile River. 

The Toyota juddered to a halt.

“The place you’re looking for is a few meters past those trees,” said his driver.  “I’ll wait here.”

* * *

10:27 P.M.

“Calla Cress. Don’t scheme the serpent out of me. Give me the artifacts, so we can all go home,” demanded Slate.

His voice was raspy, Italian probably. Calla shook her head slowly and turned round startled by approaching footsteps. 

A dusky shadow emerged from the obscure shrubberies.  “I’ll deal with this, Slate. Get back.”

Nash caught Calla’s eyes, his knuckle whitening around the trigger of his firearm. Mason emerged from the gassy haze as Slate sidled behind him.

“Really, Shields. By my last count you are outnumbered two to one.”

“That’s if you passed math. Your numbers don’t add up, when it comes to her.”

“I’m sure there’s no need for your firing skills. Cress will comply. Won’t you?” His gaze stabbed into her soul as he turned to Calla.  “Give me the manuscript and while you’re at it, the stones as well.”

“How about, I don’t,” muttered Calla.

She studied him furiously.  He’d discarded any trace of his normally alluring persona.  He stepped towards her, staring into her outraged eyes.  “You know that just by possessing it, you’re guilty of theft and transfer of stolen goods.  I could turn you in.”

She bit her lip.  “On my last check, I’m the curator and totally credible when it comes to transferring valuable artifacts across borders. I don’t see that on your resume.”

“Hand it over, or you’ll face the same calamity your parents endured.”

The words came out of Mason’s lips like a steel spear to her side. 

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you,” she said, her tone steady surprising her and those who watched.  “What did you do to the Cress family?”

Nash took a firm step forward to where Calla stood and set a hand on her arm, shielding her from Mason’s outburst.  “Laskfell, that’s a criminal confession.”

Mason paid him no attention, but kept his gaze on Calla.  “This does not concern you.”

Calla took a step forward. 

Was he bluffing?  What did he know about her parents? 

She crushed a fist in his tight jaw.  “Criminal!”

Mason gilded backward and collided with the ground, recovering from the unexpected wallop.  His hand rambled for a folded handkerchief in his hunting attire and sponged oozing blood from his wounded nostrils.

“Don’t unleash the past, Cress. It will haunt you until you’re guts are raw.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

“Your father never had it in him and neither do you.”

Nash came between them shielding her from his menacing approach.  “Enough, Laskfell. You know damn well this manuscript is international property, safer in her hands than yours.”

Mason shot them a malicious sneer and surged upward. He raised his rifle at Nash.  “Back off, Shields. Let the Americans hang onto another agent. My hand may not be as steady as it used to be, so don’t make me stumble. ”

Nash’s hand cramped on the trigger. “Her problem is my problem, Laskfell. Keep that in check for your memos.”

“Oh this is boring me to tears. A bit of
déjà vu
. If I recall, that’s the same thing your father said, Cress.”

Mason crooked the gun in Calla’s direction.  “One last time.  Hand it over!”

Calm.

With all eyes anticipating Calla’s response, Jack rose stealthily. 

Mason’s eyes jerked his way.

Jack shot Nash a deliberate look. 

It came in two seconds.

Nash’s boot slammed into Slates’ shin, flailing him to the grimy path.

The distraction gave Jack several seconds to secure a tranquilizer gun from the inside of his army vest and level it. He detonated it straight at Mason’ heart. 

The dart erupted from its shell and tore towards the giant man’s neck.

Slate lunged forward and trapped the small missile with his bare hands, inches from Mason’s throat.

Mason stomped forward, casting his three opponents a demonic stare.  He aimed his multi-shot, sporting rifle.

A flash of fire exploded from the barrel. 

Rapid motion drew their attention.

The bullet ripped through Jack’s chest. It sent him convulsing backwards as a deadly stench of sulfur contaminated the air, making Calla’s intestines churn and force a gag.

Her mind spun with guilt-ridden emotions and disgust.  Her body stiffened as she watched her best friend plunge in slow motion under the force of the blow.

Nash caught Jack, as he collapsed backward, sending them both strafing to the wet ground.

Mason’s rifle kept aim at Jack’s lifeless form.  “Now, Cress.  Do you still want to hang onto the Deveron?”

Calla grasped her bag, wearied with indecision and moved it round to her back.  She shriveled with hopelessness as she watched her two friends.

Mason’s firearm lowered a few inches, and this time its fury marked for Nash’s head, without any compromise on accuracy.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

11:09 A.M.

Riche Media Enterprises

London

Eva clutched her mini camcorder, scrolling through some video files.  Technology had never been her strongest skill.  Yet, she felt she was onto something.  She would take this evidence to Mason.  Or, had she already done that?  Somehow, she could not really remember the details of the last twenty-four hours.

Did I stumble onto something big?
The only predicament was she could not remember what it was. 

She sprang out of bed and found her work camera on her nightstand, scrolling through the hundreds of images and found some earlier shots she’d taken. 
Are these images of Eichel’s notes?

Eva glanced down at her jump suit. 

Did I sleep in my clothes?

This never happened unless she was utterly intoxicated. 

She returned to the images and noticed Calla’s name scribbled across the margins of a document. 
What is your connection with the Deveron Manuscript?

The last RTL news reports speculated that the manuscript may not be in Germany any more. 

She checked the time on the camera’s bottom right corner. She’d lost forty-eight hours. 
But doing what?

That was plenty of time for any ambitious thief to embezzle the artifact.  She scrolled through the rest of the pictures and videos of her images taken in the city at night.  A shadow plunged from London’s landmark skyscraper. 

She checked the date the photograph was taken. 
Yesterday!

Why was I taking pictures of buildings?

She could not recall taking any of these images and videos.

What have I been drinking?

Her one hunch was to maintain an intense hunt for Calla and if need be she would use her only link to her. 

Nash.

How angry he’d seemed when she kissed him. Eva grinned to herself and headed for the shower.

* * *

10:36 P.M.

Calla spied through obscured eyes as her companions recoiled on the ground.  She gaped at Jack’s lifeless form.  Everything in her wanted to eradicate her opponent, but not at the cost of another friend.  She slowly lifted the tip of the acid-free, foil covering the manuscript out of her bag.

Nash caught her eye as he held Jack’s unresponsive body on the ground.  His voice quivered with courage.  “No, Calla.”  He communicated with a cool, even temper.  “Don’t do it.  Don’t let him take this from you.”

She could not bear the thought of losing him too. 
No!

Nash, I can’t watch you die.

Her core had been tested, and it burnt for Nash
.

Any minute now, the rifle could go off and its hungry mark remained targeted at Nash’s head.

“Get up!” shouted Mason.

Nash carefully lowered Jack’s body to the ground and rose to his feet.  Not an ounce of desire for struggle was evident in him as he glowered at Mason.  With an inflexible glare, he sidled into Mason’s personal space. “Pick on someone your own size, Laskfell. She’s not it.”

Calla opened her mouth to speak. 

Instinctively, Nash raised a hand to shush her protests, his tone firm as the hide on a buffalo’s back.  “Don’t give up on the Deveron, beautiful.  Don’t let him have it.”

Nash turned his focus back on Mason’s towering frame.  “Now boss, where do we begin?”

Mason sneered, amused by his dominance of the moment.  “This is not your battle, Shields.  Conversely, I could use someone like you.  What’s she to you anyway?”

“I know what you are up to, Laskfell.”

“What of it?”

Nash pulled his shoulders back, his gun firm in his right hand. “How about I spare you some billions, take a confession and we call it day?”

Calla watched Mason, her intent gaze piercing his.

Nash galvanized into motion and launched for Mason’s rifle, knocking him to the ground in a wrestle.

The rifle loosened from Mason’s grasp. He catapulted upward and gripped Nash by the collar.  With Mason stamping out in fury, they staggered in a bear-hug struggle that continued for several seconds.

Nash stretched for Mason’s shirt and drove his forehead into Mason’s nose. 

Agonizing with fury, Mason grasped his nostrils as blood leached to his hunting attire.  The taste of his own blood caused spittle to build at his mouth as he weakened in Nash’s grip. 

Mason smeared the blood away with his sleeve.

From the shadows, Slate found his footing, gripped a drooping branch and pulled himself forward tailed by his hoodlums.

“No!” commanded Mason as his hand waved Slate back, warding him off like a disobedient mutt. 

The men retreated.

Calla suppressed an urge to intervene, her hand tugging at her shoulder bag.  Vehement emotions spun through her hammering pulse.

Nash released Mason and thrust a knee into his groin.

With pain shooting through his body, Mason bellowed out a muffled grunt, a stern look crossing his bleeding face.  He cocked his head forward and slammed the top of his head into Nash’s front.

Nash shot down on his back and watched Mason charge at him for another assault.

The struggle prolonged, hurling the two men in a ground wrestle to the edge of the forty-meter drop of the bellowing falls.

As the irate waters smashed their frames, evenly matched in potency and will, Nash’s face registered concern.

Sheens of sweat moistened Calla’s face. 

Nash glanced down below him at the angry showers. 

Sneering with revulsion, Mason’s hand held him loosely by his jacket, inches from the slippery waters’ perimeter.

“No!” roared Calla as she considered the only support that secured Nash from falling to his death - Mason’s sadistic grip.