The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (54 page)

The iconic car sped off, screeching as it spun its tires, tossing the grit of the pebbled courtyard.

The man waited until the convertible sports car had disappeared out of sight.  He minced towards the discarded pile and retrieved the papers. 

Cussing under his breath, he filed through them.  “The last damn thing I need!”

* * *

11:27 A.M.

Northern Uganda

Two goons waited at the bottom of the Murchison Falls.  They’d held onto a net for hours suspended halfway down the waterfall.

“That’s him,” said the first man.

They hustled to the netted lump and fished it out of the water.  Gallons of water drenched their faces, but they managed to lug the mass. 

Nash moaned from a bruise on his arm within the mesh and coughed up water.  The sturdy, African men cut him loose from the mangled fibers and hauled him to a waiting pickup truck. 

Shivering, Nash opened one eye, catching a glimpse of his captors.  Unaware he was conscious, in one precise heave, they threw him head first in the back of the pickup.  One of the men pitched a thin blanket over his wet frame, before scuttling to the front of the vehicle.  The truck started a slow drive up the road, slugging the mud as it veered into a dense forest. 

Where were they headed?  All he could see were the wide range of different flowering plants, fungi, gaping chimpanzees and lanky, ironwood trees.  Other species of primates unfamiliar to him lurked within the mahogany trees.  Along parts of their journey, severe overgrowth made it difficult to travel without the thugs halting to use cutting tools.

Nash’s head clouted against the rigid, steel edge of the pickup.

He raised his neck.  His hands had been tied behind his back and his mouth gagged.  He scanned the back windshield of the two-seater pickup and realized he did not recognize the thugs.  The van advanced down the hill, swaying from one side of the road to the other in an attempt to evade deep potholes. 

A dense fog had settled after the rain covered the widespread area, reduced visibility to a quarter of mile or less.  Light drizzle started a descent over them.  Nash shivered and only hoped he would not catch pneumonia in these morning hours in the savannah grasslands. 
What had happened to Calla?
 

Was she out alone in the wilderness?  Had Mason killed her?

He was capable of it. 

An involuntary grunt left his gagged lips.  They had been so close, and it infuriated him that he had failed her.

Several hours later, the truck stopped within a humid, forested area.  One of the hoodlums came round the back and pitched him a bottle of water.  The beefy man untied his hands and legs and removed the mouth strip.  “Get out!” he said.

Nash gravitated upward and threw the blanket to the ground.  He swigged the still, bottled water, and observed what looked like an orderly, military camp of scattered khaki tents.  Four-wheel drive vehicles lined up along the edge of the camp and several men dressed in camouflage gear paraded the area.

“Nice of you to join us.”

Nash swung his head round as Mason turned towards the pickup.  Two armed, men from the
Acholi
tribe paced alongside him, towering Mason him like corn stalks. 

Nash had read about the peoples of Sub-Saharan Africa.  They were a
Luo
people, said to have come to northern Uganda from Southern Sudan; skilled hunters, identified by their use of nets, spears and long, narrow shields of giraffe or ox hide in war.

Nash rose and proceeded towards Mason with a violent distaste nagging his conscience.  “What did you do to Calla?”

Mason raised an eyebrow. “She was responsible for her own fate.”

Nash could feel himself shaking with anger. “You won’t get away with this.” He took one step forward.

The
Acholi
man fisted his hand.

Nash hesitated. “Interesting company you keep.  Will I need a spear?”

* * *

11:20 A.M.

Allegra’s Land Rover jerked along the potholed road and swerved into a dense forest, home to numerous species of gawking monkeys and chimpanzees.  Several minutes later, they emerged onto a flat terrain on the other side of the tropical forest. 

Calla’s ankle throbbed with immeasurable pain.  “I need to see a doctor about this injury.”

Allegra glimpsed over and smiled.  “Where we are going, we don’t need doctors.  I just hope we’ve not run out of time.”  Her eyes glistened with understanding.  “Get some rest.  You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

Allegra’s voice had always consoled her and now, as always, it exuded with prudence and acumen. Calla tried to sleep, her eyes settling on the dashboard where they caught sight of a folded newspaper.

Riche Media Times. 

Assuming it was a regional paper, she reached for it and spread it open. 

The front page carried her photograph. A doubtful snap taken at Heathrow airport only days ago.

Her jaw sagged as she read the headline. 

THEFT OF PRIAM’S TREASURE:

IS THIS EUROPE’S HUNTED WOMAN?

European police are on the hunt for a runaway British Museum curator, Calla Cress.  Could her flight be connected to the theft of Priam’s Treasure?

Eva Riche of Riche Media

Calla set the paper back on the dashboard.  She kept her hand on its folds as she processed the report.

Allegra had fallen silent, fixing her eyes on the jerky road.  “That’s why we need to hurry.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

10:13 A.M.

Undisclosed Location, Uganda

 
Calla stared ahead in silence as Allegra sped the four-wheel drive through uninhabited terrain.  The sun scorched her arm as it rested on the window’s edge.  Calla refused to think about the news report and Eva’s cunning tactics.  Other preoccupations dogged her mind.

The ride sustained in strained silence, as Calla’s mind tossed around unanswered questions she hoped Allegra could address.  How had Allegra found her?

“Allegra, where’ve you been?  I thought you were dead.”

Allegra tapped her pointed fingernails on the padded steering wheel, as if hunting for the best way to phrase her answer.  “There’s so much I need to tell you, but let’s wait until we get to the Cove.”

“To
the Cove
?”

The Jeep stopped by a large terrain overlooking a well-maintained, corn and banana plantation.  A herd of giraffes lined the otherwise deserted land, while a handful of water antelopes scurried raucously in the remote distance.  Calla turned her head when she heard laughing hyenas cross the terrain with their young.  “What is this place?”

Allegra sprang out of the Jeep and onto the sweltering, dusty earth.  She found a smooth stone and aimed it high towards the center of the fifty-foot space. 

She returned to the car and waited.

Within seconds, the car started a decent into the ground as if suspended on a natural elevator.  At first, Calla presumed it was another attack, but Allegra’s calm face reassured her. 

The car descended down further into the ground, at an increased speed until it came to a sudden halt.  For a moment or two, the two women sat in the dark. 

Without forewarning, sharp fluorescent lights flooded the view ahead of them with blinding force.  Due to the number and variety of vehicles parked ahead of them, Calla supposed the Cove to be a sizeable, underground garage.  Yet, nothing here resembled any garage she’d been in. 

Bathed in white light, the gleaming floors extended for what seemed like miles.  Cars neatly lined the edges of the room, leading to what appeared to be a glass door.

Allegra clambered out of the car and advanced towards two uniformed men walking towards them.  Their white uniforms dazzled with a hint of silver in the glaring lights.

The first man greeted Allegra with a firm shake and a smile.  “Do we have the manuscript?”

Allegra shook her head.

“The carbonados?”

“No.”

The men continued past her and gently helped Calla out of the car.  The first man strapped Calla’s arm over his neck allowing her to hop alongside with him on her good foot.  Both men wore short crew cuts, one blond and the other seemed to be from the Far East, possibly Korean.

At the end of the garage, the Asian man pressed a button along the wall.  “This injury will need immediate attention.” 

His gentle conduct calmed Calla, and she instantly relaxed with the two strangers helping her through the glass door.

They took the cut-glass elevator when it dipped down a long visible shaft.  The elevator had no numbers, just various shapes of all forms and lights.  She recognized a few of the symbols similar to those on the Deveron document.  “What is this place?” she asked again.

No one responded.

Allegra threw her an exquisite, knowing smile and glared up, in anticipation of arrival at their destination.  “This is the Cove, a sort of headquarters.  Actually we have a few littered across the continent. Each continent.”

Calla’s attention was captured.  “Who is...
we
?  Are they all underground?”

The men laughed casually, as Allegra set a warm hand on Calla’s arm.  “Not really, they are where we need them to be.”

The glass doors dragged open and they came out into a wide hallway.  The floor glowered with bright shades, bearing resemblance to an office, with contemporary fittings of various shades of cream, pearl, and white. 

Calla gaped at the spectacular interiors.  Even at several feet below ground, they were inundated in natural light. 
How’s that possible?

It was one of the most beautiful interiors she’d ever seen.  Calla imagined the natural plants and vegetation displayed around the place benefitted from the spectacular light, giving the rooms the only hint of color.

Allegra led the group down the corridor.  “The Cove, or Coves if you include the others, are probably history’s best-kept secrets.  This place has been here for years.”

Calla fired Allegra a bewildered glance and followed her leading.  “Really?”

“Yes.”

They came to the end of the passageway.  One of the men led them through a bustling workroom reminiscent of an industrious, design and development office.  Several more uniformed people bustled behind electronic tablets that were at the cutting-edge of computing technology. 

The room rang with modernity, the latest technology and several office accessories Calla had never seen.  The computers and gadgets looked like they were at least fifteen years ahead of their time, putting to shame some of the developments in the R&D labs at ISTF and if she had to guess, the NSA and the Government Communications Headquarters put together. 

They ambled past various cubicles with people of every race and tribe chatting in huddles.

Calla admired the ceiling, decorated with dazzling crystals.  “Are those real?” she asked Allegra.

“Of course!  They power this place.  All the energy used to manage this place runs in those natural crystals.  Those are similar to photonic crystals.  Crystals have puzzled the world for years.  We’ve actually learned to engineer them for industrial purposes.  Crystals, rocks and minerals are at the heart of most of our exclusive capabilities.”

Calla was not sure she understood.  She anticipated a logical explanation at some point, although right now the view made for deep contemplation.

At the end of the main workspace stood a glass office.  How long had it taken to perfect such an establishment?
Years and lots of money.  NASA’s workstations don’t hold a candle to the technology in this place!

The blond man pressed a square button, opening the door to another white office space.  Seated at the desk was a tall snow-haired man sporting a distinguished goatee. His wide forehead, and thin eyebrows furnished him with sophistication as he spoke with someone on what Calla could only imagine was an ultramodern, wireless phone.  It put the ISTF smart phone Mason had given her to shame. 

Calla noticed his lean, elegant build and gray eyes that exuded wisdom.

He turned when he saw them walk in and came around the desk.  “Allegra.  How’d it go?” asked the man.  Though he spoke English, Calla was surprised she could not place the accent.

“We found her,” Allegra said. “Meet Calla Cress.”

The man shifted his eyes towards Calla narrowing them slightly.  “Welcome.  I’ve waited many years for this occasion.”

Calla examined him and quizzed him with her stare.  “How so?”

The men helped her down onto the chaise lounge across from the white marble desk.  She hoisted her bad ankle onto a waiting cushion at the end of the upholstered sofa.  “Thank you, but who are you?”