The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (56 page)

The sharpness of Allegra’s tone unnerved her, unimpressed by her words.  “I don’t follow,” said Calla. 

They did not believe the words they spoke, as if they’d been rehearsed several times.  Calla’s mind rang bells of warning. “Why?”

Vortigern laid a hand over Calla’s shoulder.  “We’re your family now.  Let’s just leave it at that.  We need to find the last carbonado before Mason does.”

Calla watched Allegra turn away, frustration rising to her cheeks.  “I’ve known Jack and Nash a long time.  And you, Vortigern, just for two minutes. Why should I believe you?”  Her voice clogged with emotion.  “They’re my closest friends.  How can you judge them and tell me whom I can or can’t trust, or get involved with?”

Vortigern ran a hand through his impeccably groomed hair.  “Operatives can’t associate with non-operatives in such an intimate way.  It has always led to disaster.”

Calla struggled with his authority and glanced away from Vortigern with calculated disdain. How could they cast off Jack and Nash, whose help and resourcefulness she’d relied on to get her as far as she had?  She would have failed to find the first two carbonado diamonds without them.  Her own flesh and blood had abandoned her - her parents.  But, not Jack, not Nash.
 

Allegra interrupted the strained discussion.  “First and foremost let’s find the third diamond.  We can discuss this later.”  She turned to Vortigern with a warning glance.  “The only way Calla can put her friends memories to good rest, is if she acquires the stone and gains confidence in who she is.  It’ll be better for all of us.”

Vortigern retreated.  “You’re right.”

They paced out of the room and turned down the brightly lit corridor. 

“How can we find the next stone?  We don’t have the manuscript, or the journal,” Calla said.

Vortigern directed them back through the main offices.  “If only we could find the replica and Mila.”

“What replica?” Calla asked.

Allegra spoke first.  “Your parents hid a replica of some sort.  In case, they ever lost the Deveron Manuscript.  I think they gave it to a woman called Mila Rembrandt.  She knows how to solve some of the riddles.”

Calla studied them both. How did they know this?  She pulled out a wrapped item from the back pocket of her denims.  “Does it look something like this?”

She held out a photograph.

“Where did you get this?” Vortigern said.

“It’s a photo that never leaves my sides. The only thing I know for sure came from my parents.”

  She ripped open the lamination cover and drew out a thin folded paper.  Unraveling it against the light, it confirmed her inkling.  A replica of three of the seven pages of the Deveron Manuscript.

“I never knew you had this,” Allegra said.

“I’ve always had it.  Mama and Papa Cress gave me the laminated photo on my graduation day.  I always knew there was a note inside, but I never dared rip it open, even though I knew it might have contained the answers I’ve sought for so long.  I guess I was not ready to face whatever it concealed. I’m beginning to realize I’ve feared the truth all my life, yet I’ve always had it with me.” 

“The truth never lies, Calla,” Allegra said.

She sighed deeply.  “Anyway, Mama Cress said it was something to guide me through my adult life.  I’m not really sure they knew what it was either.  They received it from the orphanage.”

Vortigern took the photograph in his hands and studied the inscribed notes on the back.  “These notes meticulously lay out the details of each pattern in your birthmark.  It’s your family emblem.  They mimic the Deveron lettering.  But I wonder why your parents left you with this?”  He handed it back to Calla.  “Keep this well.”

“I always have.  So the headmistress at Beacon Academy was right after all,” she said.  “Who’s Mila, by the way?  Where can we find her?”

“Someone your parents obviously trusted,” Allegra said.  “She must know more about them, and can help solve any last complexities about the Deveron.  She most probably helped them write that journal.”

Calla thought for a minute.  “I know where we can find the third diamond.  The manuscript references King Solomon and resources.  We foolishly trusted an ISTF, recommended tour guide to get us there.  We were looking for King Solomon’s mines and mistakenly assumed they would be in Africa.  We were looking in the wrong place.” Her curator mind set in gear. “King Solomon’s treasures may not have been left in Africa.”

Vortigern’ eyes lit up.  “How so? No place on earth could store the wealth of resources he had. They were left with the African Queen Sheba.”

“We are not looking for his wealth. Not according to the Deveron. We want the carbonado.” She tilted her head with a smirk growing on her lips. Don’t tell me that’s why you planted this Cove here?”

Vortigern forced his operative brain to work. “As you can see, this place needs someone like you.”

“Not so fast.” Calla turned to her hosts, her analytical mind churning through logic, riddles and recent happenings.  “I’m sure a place like this would have an airplane, no?  We’re gonna need it to get to Mila.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

2:15 P.M.

Vortigern, Allegra and Calla proceeded several levels up to a closed hangar, on the upper deck of the Cove.  The trio stepped into the enormous space, housing three Gulf Stream jets, and four helicopters.  Calla glanced upwards.  Above her, she saw the sun attempting to peek through the light-colored ceiling.  The glass structure opened up for planes to taxi onto the ramp at the end of the large hangar, and then outdoor to the runway at the command of very capable operators.

Three doors led off to one side of the ostentatious hangar.  Vortigern set a gentle hand on Calla’s arm.  “This way, we’ll talk in the pilot’s offices.  You need to understand a few things before you and Allegra set off.”

Calla stared blankly; her mind still perplexed by a term Vortigern had used earlier. 
What did he mean by operatives?  A secret society?
  

They sank into two seats that lined one corner of the pilots’ offices.

Vortigern filed through an electronic tablet with the intended flight plan that lay on the table in front of them.  “Calla, you are a brilliant historian and curator.  So none of what I reveal should surprise you.”

She gave him a long and shrewd glance.

Vortigern stroked his goatee as he spoke.  “During the first century A.D., when most of Europe, North Africa and parts of Asia were occupied by the Roman Empire, a prominent sovereign from Tyre and Sidon, which is modern day Lebanon, came to Constantinople, or what we know today as Istanbul, to visit a local teacher by the name of Merovec Cavalerius.  Merovec possessed a charisma that people were drawn to.  Many thought he could even deliver them from the oppression of the Romans.  Merovec was a very wise man, to the point that some of the locals even thought his wisdom far surpassed that seen anywhere in world history.  Anyway, this ruler from Tyre had enjoyed more success than any man and wanted to know what he could do to essentially never die.”

“Are you serious?” asked Calla.

“Yes.  Merovec tested him by asking him what his greatest treasure was.  The man thought for several minutes.  He imagined that his greatest treasure was the price he had to pay to live a long life, say up to even 900 years, like men in ancient times.  I’m sure you have heard of Methuselah—”

Calla shook her head, having never believed in ancient legends, just facts.

Vortigern paused looking for acknowledgment.

He received a blank expression, and then persisted with his account.  “Merovec told the sovereign to get rid of the treasure, whatever it was.  If he could get rid of his greatest possession, it would clear the way for immortality, so to speak.”

“Did he?”

“No, not initially.  The man was probably richer than the equivalent of the top ten people on Forbes list put together.”

“What did he do?”

“For several months, nothing.  He eventually gave his money away and most if it was spent furthering Merovec’s influence.  In time, the Romans, who as you know had an unshakable belief in the fact that Rome was superior to any other country or culture, started watching Merovec carefully.  The more people they conquered, the greater Rome’s influence.  Unfortunately, Merovec was like a thorn in the Empire’s side.  His influence as a leader of wisdom, and considerable might was spreading, so the Romans had him executed.  They feared Merovec and had every reason to.”

“Why?”

“That does not matter as much as what happened after his death.  The world around him went mad.  His execution divided many of his devout followers.  In fact, many took off afraid the Romans would annihilate them.  They had imagined Merovec would be one of the greatest leaders the world had seen - much like Alexander the Great, or even Genghis Khan - a real threat to their unassailable Empire.  To his followers, Merovec’s death was the end of their hopes and cause.”

Calla paid attention.  She blinked her eyes wondering what this had to do with her. 

“Calla, I know you understand this. It’s important you do,” said Allegra.”

Vortigern continued.  “After his death, Merovec was buried near one of the seven hills of the city of Constantinople, a secret location. 

“You mean the ancient city of Byzantium.”

“Yes.”

“I know the myth.  Government officials fiercely guarded this burial place.  They feared his followers would turn him into a martyr.” 

Vortigern edged closer.  “However, something strange happened.  A rebellion took place in Constantinople, and a few scattered places around Turkey, so strong that the country and some surrounding areas shook with an earthquake.”

“You’re not serious. Was Merovec some kind of magician?”

Vortigern raised an eyebrow.  “Merovec, as his followers believed, was different. Though ordinary to most, he possessed exceptional, unknown wisdom, especially when it came to engineering and scientific advancement - to the point that most people perceived his developments as sorcery.  We like to call him the father of technology. He survived the execution, and engineered that earthquake by dropping carbonados in the Mediterranean Sea that invaded the continental, Eurasian plates, just below the earth’s crust.”

“Some of this rings a bell to me.  The myths say that those superstitious enough believed the earth mourned him and retaliated in anger.  While preparing my curatorship at the British Museum for the Roman and Byzantine collections, I heard this story, but since there’s so little known or written on Merovec, I, like many of my colleagues, dismissed it as folklore.” She searched Vortigern’s face.  “What kept Merovec alive?  And, what happened to his followers,
the operatives,
I imagine?”

“Merovec had been executed by poison.  He’d known about the execution plan at the time of his capture, thanks to undercover operatives within the Roman legionary.  And, being an expert at toxicology, he engineered an antidote.  He used some of the same ingredients in the medicines administered to you today.  Eventually, the base drug he used was developed and has been used with operatives for centuries, creating unsurpassed immunity, and if you like, immortality.  In essence, this was what the sovereign had come seeking.”

Calla sighed trying to digest all the information.

Allegra watched her struggle with skepticism.  “Now with regards to the operatives, those who were pessimistic, confused, and disillusioned feared for their lives.  They felt powerless and abandoned everything to do with Merovec.  They resolved to disassociating themselves from the cause of their leader.  They wandered powerless, away from purpose and unity, led by the lead rebel Masonius.”

“Mason Laskfell!”

“Yes,” retorted Vortigern. He seemed unfazed by her shock.  “Masonius and his band of rebels, found themselves amongst average men.  You see, all these operatives were not ordinary men due to the manipulation, modification and recombination of their genes.  They had been trained and equipped by Merovec to perform phenomenal feats in every field of work.  They had special capabilities like you.”

Calla raised an eyebrow.  “Were they—”

He cut her off.  “Nobody really knew what to call them.  We’ve been wandering without proper leadership for centuries.  We operatives stopped using our special abilities for centuries.  The further we drifted away from our identity, the more ineffective we became.  Until one day, we were no different from the average human being in strength, intelligence, and ability.”

Allegra interjected.  “We’re all descended from that rebellion, Calla.  But some of the rebels and operatives date back from the time of the Merovec’s execution.  Some have been able to live that long, like Mason.”

Calla put her hands behind her head and rested her back against her hands. Was it plausible?  “I see.”

“There’s hope for us,” Allegra said.  “Not too long after the rebellion, one operative by the name of Cressidus realized that the rebellion had cost his fellow comrades everything.  You see, three to four days after his execution, Merovec was found alive in Tyre, under a pretense identity.  The Romans heard about it and feared him like the gods.  He acquired several more followers and intended to regroup his special operatives for generations to come.”