The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (59 page)

All tense emotions smoothed from Allegra’s face as she managed a weak smile. “You mean—”

Calla didn’t have to articulate what she meant. Allegra knew.

“Thank you, Calla.

“Now, let’s get that carbonado.”

They descended further into the shadowy trench.  As they ducked under a low crevice, murmurs in the shadier corners of the mineshaft caught their ears. 

“I know those voices,” Calla mouthed.

They concealed themselves within the darkness of the curved partition. 

Calla peered round a boulder that stood in their path.  “It’s Mason!” she whispered. She grasped Allegra’s green jacket, shifting her closer for a clearer glimpse.  They watched the activity ahead in silence. 

Mason and several of his men, sporting drilling gear, clutched shovels and rock drills. 

About twenty of them grunted as they chiseled at one corner of the mine surface.

“They can’t find it like that.  The carbonado finds its way to the rightful owner,” whispered Allegra.

They studied the excavators, some local, some foreign, digging with chip hammers, paving breakers and other heavy equipment in an insane attempt to break through any rock or shaft wall.

Calla made a guess. They’d either bribed the archaeologists or imposed their way into the mine.  The lack of care with which some of the diggers handled the drills and break-hammers suggested that they were mere amateurs.

Calla leaned back gently and whispered in Allegra’s ear. “We need to stop them. They’ll destroy this historical site.”

Movement from a dark corner drew her eye.  She propped forward and saw a face she thought she would never see again. 

Nash!

Nash’s hands were tied across his waist with cords of natural hemp rope.

So primitive, Mason!

Mason shoved the manuscript’s pages in his face.

“You’re wasting your time,” they heard Nash say.  “Only she could translate this document with accuracy. I don’t believe that level of precision falls within yours or my skill set.”

“Rubbish!  Operation Carbonado recruited you as the American arm, because you too are versed in these ancient manuscripts and cryptology.”

A shabby man held a gun to the back of Nash’s head.

I’ve got to do something.

Nash glared at Mason.  “You don’t intimidate me.” 

As her thought failed to materialize into action, Nash hunched forwards and booted the thug behind him in the groin. 

The man collided with the uneven wall and doubled over in pain.

Nash raised his wrists to his mouth.

What’s he doing?

As she watched in paralysis, with his hands free, relief settled in her gut knowing he’d clenched a sharp instrument between his teeth.  His hands loosened and in one swift movement, he seized the gun that had dropped from the thug’s hand. 

Several attackers surrounded him.

He paused.

It came from directly above.

The mine walls shook like thunder, loosened by careless drilling. Missiles of debris shot down from the shaft ceiling sending rubble smashing into those who stood underneath.

Nash took refuge in an undersized cavern off to one side of the main mine passage. 

Allegra and Calla shifted backwards and broke away towards the exit.

Flickering headlights dazzled in the darkness as the trapped men tried to break free from under the showering boulders.

Resolute and glowering, Mason’s body flattened under the weight of shelling rubble.

“Nash!”

He turned his head.

Calla coursed towards him, dodging debris and a shower of collapsing, rock fragments.

Nash saw her and angled in her direction over boulders and rubble as the cave crumbled behind him.

“Cal!” He reached for her dusty hand, gripped it and they moved hastily towards Allegra.

“This way!” Allegra cried, her voice muffled by rumbling.

Through the dust storm, Nash and Calla caught sight of the exit ladder, suspended over the twenty-foot wall. 

They hurtled towards it, their boots thudding the dirt and clambered up the flimsy wood towards the surface. 

They surfaced into open air, gasping for fresh air.

First Allegra.

Then Nash.

Calla got a grip of the rock and lifted her head a few inches above ground level.  She reached for Nash’s hand as he hung over the edge of the ancient wall, stretching for her sooty hand.

“Nash, my foot’s caught.”

She glimpsed down and towed at her boot. 

It would not budge.

CHAPTER FORTY

8:30 P.M.

Calla arched down to check her boot.

“Calla!”

The voice came from within the mine. 

“This way!”

Nash and Allegra glanced back down. “Who’s that?” Nash said.

Her foot slid, sending her back down several feet.  She receded to the mine floor and glared up at a leering face.  “Taiven?” She wiped an arm across her sooty eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

“Keeping this from Mason.”  He raised his arm out clasping a black container.  “I believe you could use this.”

“You’ve had the carbonado all along?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Why didn’t you give it to me?”

A veiled woman stepped in from the shadows.  “You weren’t ready.”

Calla struggled to see the owner of the voice through dust that had fogged her vision.  “Mila?”

Mila stepped into the light. Piercing eyes, full lips and a strong jaw, just like in Pella.  She’d discarded her kohl eyeliner for a more natural look and wore no frills, laces or bangles. As she came into full view, Calla took in her white body uniform, much like those that Calla had seen in the Cove, donned under an Arabian veil.

Allegra and Nash dropped down and observed curiously, behind Calla.

“This whole time, Taiven,” blurted Allegra as she admired the ornate container in his hand. 

“I wanted to tell you so many times, but it wasn’t my place.  My mission was and is Calla Cress.”

He placed the wooden box in Calla’s hand.  “You need to go now and reunite the black diamonds.  You only have until dawn London time.”

“Mason has the other stone,” Nash said.

Taiven’s jaw hardened. “The carbonados run on a time clock that was set by a chemical reaction when they exploded into space.  Merovec calculated that eight days was probably the greatest amount of time it would take to allow effective use of the combined energies of the diamonds.”

Calla started to speak.

Her hand jerked violently to her lips as the box crashed to the floor.  The carbonado rolled onto the gravel glistening its various shades of amber, crimson and ebony.

Their attention was drawn to a thin yet accurate steel cable trailing, attached to a steel net. 

Mason’s dusty head surfaced from darkness.  “Give that here!”

He tossed an accurate net over the black diamond and hauled the rock towards him.

Nash stretched for the carbonado as it hung suspended in the net.

Mason swung a clenched fist at him.

Nash dodged out of reach and the blow flew past him, missing his nose by millimeters. He reached with his free hand and seized Calla’s bag from Mason’s shoulder.  He tossed the items to Calla.

Abhorrence bred on Mason’s face and he padded for his shotgun. 

Alert with instinct, Nash booted it swiftly out of his fumbling hand.  “Go Cal!  You don’t have much time!”

Mason took hold of Nash’s neck and flung him to the ground.  He wrapped a wire cord around Nash’s resilient neck.  He tugged tight at the cord until Nash’s air supply deteriorated under Mason’s grip. 

Nash convulsed and gasped for oxygen, thrashing and kicking his legs until his struggling body limped like a fragmented puppet.

Taiven darted forward.  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mason.”

“You again!  After all these years, you now show your face?”

Taiven eyes blazed like fire.  “Release him!”

“Out of my way!” retorted Mason.

The cave wall shot furious debris that loosened the ground around Mason’s feet. 

It came from beneath.

A wide gap cracked open.

Mason lost his footing and broke through a widening rift in the ground as it split, pulling Nash down with him.

No!

The onlookers shoved to the edge of the torn ground. Shudders of pelting debris kept them from any rescue activity.

Taiven set a hand on Calla’s shoulder.  “You need to bring together the carbonados now, or we are all spent.”

* * *

DAY 17

0:20 A.M.

The Cove,
London Branch

“Have they found the carbonados?”

Vortigern marched into the room brimming with bustling operatives. 

“We’ve just heard from Allegra, retorted one commander.  “They’re here in London.”

Vortigern remembered the day he’d been entrusted with delivering the stones to the caretakers.  He’d been given strict instructions not to fail.  The search for the right keepers had been at his sole discretion all those years ago.

He peered down at the three-holed pallet, contained within a wooden case, from which he’d once removed the stones. 

He forced shut the ornate container and admired its exterior.  Carved out of mahogany, its borders were encrusted with pure gold.  It rested on his desk, no bigger than a tissue box. 

 “They have to make it in time.  Those carbonado diamonds have never been in one place since I separated them.”

* * *

2:56 A.M.

The Shard

London Skyline

Calla spied through the glass façade of the glimmering Shard skyscraper. 

Mason conferenced with a number of members of ISTF and a few she did not recognize.  It didn’t surprise her that several hours ago, her companions had thought him gone, crushed. 

Mason had mastered covertness and warfare like most men master the art of breathing. She did not know what craft he used, but he was effective.

Ingenious.

She leered at him as he strolled from chair to chair, clutching a wireless remote control, no bigger than a mobile phone. 

Come to think of it, he always carried it with him.  She’d seen him handle it the day they’d first met at the ISTF Technology Museum.  It had to have been instrumental in assisting him, and possibly Nash, out of the rubble. 

Upon leaving Jordan, she’d contacted Vortigern about that phone, hoping its global, positioning tracking ID would surface on the operatives’ databases and help them get to Nash.

Vortigern performed a covert search on ISTF’s satellite tracking site and discovered that, not only was the tracking device sending a signal from London, but even more peculiar, from the Shard.  Vortigern’s intelligence revealed that Mason had communicated for assistance while in Jordan.  

Additional data prowling revealed that Mason had recently purchased a few office floors in the skyscraper.  Possibly the reason her Range Rover pursuer had been so eager to dart in there a few days ago.  Though uncertain about Nash’s wellbeing, she guessed that Mason intended to take Nash with him wherever he would go.  Possibly to use him as barter for the manuscript and the carbonados. 

She took her eyes off the remote control.  Invisible to the naked eye, she fluttered like a hawking tigress on the tilted front of the fiftieth floor.

The conference participants listened attentively as Mason spoke and others joined via video-conference. The man Calla presumed was Kumar was full of praise and his musical voice broke the discussion. 

Calla listened.

“Having personally verified the delivery of your blueprints, Mason, I’m impressed,” said the good-humored man.

Mason captivated the room with his overbearing presence.  “We’re ready to proceed.”

“We’re pleased with what we see, Mason,” said Milan. 

Mason frowned at the screen broadcasting from the largest metropolitan area in Israel.

“So, you still don’t have the diamonds?” mocked Tel Aviv.

Mason’s eyes were distracted by a screen at the foot of the table. His negotiating card. 

“I’ve got the next best thing.  This is worth more to Cress than the carbonados.”

Mongrel!

Using heightened vision, Calla scrutinized the floors for the exact spot Mason’s screen had tuned in. Nash sat on the floor with his head in his hands, imprisoned in a secured room on the fifty-second floor.  Calla soared round to the other side of the building and coasted to his window.  She shut her eyes searching for Nash’s exact window. The reunited carbonado diamonds had advanced her ability to see through and manipulate opaque objects.