The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (43 page)

Peter was silent for a couple of seconds. “That’s okay. I want to help with this case and Jack was cooperative. I’ll send you a video he sent me. Take a look at it. You can draw your conclusions from it.”

The video uploaded on Eichel’s phone.

What he saw told him all he needed to know.

He had guessed right.

* * *

9:50 P.M.

Shard Skyscraper, London Bridge

 As her feet left the ledge, time verged into passive motion.  She plummeted, with her head facing the earth. 

Calla’s mind spun with bewilderment begging for anyone, anything to wake her from what seemed like a dream.  Her lips would not move, neither would her lungs as she gasped for air.

Her hands moved to her throat. Although she was free-falling, the placid sensation within her spirit surprised her. 

The city’s clamor drowned out, replaced by the steady thudding of her heart, beating with serene rhythm
.

Calla closed her eyes. 

Will I feel anything?

Her lungs resumed function, and she took a deep breath.  The drop that had started as a blitz to ground level suddenly lost speed.  She decelerated her decent, stalling impact by controlling her momentum and direction at will.  Gravity ceased to exist, giving her the upper hand as she governed motion. 

She’d heard of free-falling, but her speed was nothing like the kinematic equation physics had honed. Her terrified eyes remained shut, yet she named every detail around her.  Cars whisked below her feet like a row of bugs creeping along a beaten path.  London Bridge’s train network straggled underneath like traveling centipedes. 

She governed gravity and in all of a few minutes, she pulled upright in mid-air, until her feet were inches from the sidewalk. 

With determined resolve, she took in deep short breaths, opened her eyes and glimpsed up the summit of the prodigious Shard.

Is this real?

She tilted her head down as her feet hovered inches from the concrete pavement that waited for the landing of her suspended, yet steady feet. 

She examined her body.

Not a scratch. 

Not a broken bone. 

She fingered her skin with trembling hands, merely hung suspended mid-air as if her body density had suddenly dipped below that of vapor.  Calla took a few steps defying gravity’s pull and inertia.

Perplexed by her newfound ability, she focused on the concrete pavement underneath her battered sneakers.  With heightened clout, she lowered herself gently onto the wet ground. 

She’d not even noticed the spits of rain as they moistened her face. With able feet secured, she stood erect and exhaled a deep, grateful sigh of relief. 
What in the world just happened?

She paused on the wet concrete and glared up the craggy pinnacle of the tower, reminding herself of her achievement. 

Raindrops caressed her cheeks. 
Dr. Bertrand will never believe this!

Rushed footsteps on her left, set her on alert as she investigated her surroundings in the open space of the public street in the London Bridge quarter.  Someone could have witnessed her plight and descent when she’d landed on the far side of the Shard on Joiner Street.  

She turned to her left. 

Darkness had crept over London’s eastern end and as she quelled the urge to run, she glanced round for her Maserati.  A few parked cars lined the streets of the customarily, bustling district. 

Calla set off running in search of her car as caution kept her aloof. She darted back to the front of the building, concluding that none had witnessed her aerial escapade. 

The Range Rover was nowhere in sight.

A young couple frolicked on the side of the street.  Perplexed at the sight of her, they halted beside the Maserati.  The heavily perfumed woman gawked at Calla’s cut chin, wet hair and dripping clothes.  The man deliberated, his baffled and inquisitive look suggesting he did not wish to interfere.

“Are you okay?” the woman asked. “You’re all wet.”

Calla ran a dampened hand through her wet locks, tugging away the snarls that had begun to form with the moisture. It was a bothersome characteristic with her hair, when it came in contact with water. 

“I’m alright. I’ve got my car here.”

Calla stepped into her Maserati while the couple took in the formidable sight of the sports ride, now exhibiting a parking ticket. They carried on about their business having given up speculation. 

Within the safety of her car, Calla checked her rear-view mirror.  She replayed the last hour in her mind and pulled down the window to rip the ticket off the windshield wipers.

Calla placed the wet waist bag on the passenger seat and threw it open.  The manuscript and journal were safely nestled inside, along with the two carbonados. 

She fired up the ignition and careened in the direction of West London, longing to get back to the privacy of her new home at Allegra’s.  There would be much to ask Dr. Bertrand when he called her later on that night. 

She hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

* * *

10:35 P.M.

Central London

A hundred meters to the left, off the adjacent corner of St. Thomas Street, a white Bentley parked within the shadows of the city buildings.  An unassuming woman watched within the lavish automobile. 

She sat in silence. 

In her hand, she held a mini HD camcorder, recording images out of her window.

She turned it off.  “What was that?”

At first glance, she thought it was someone who may have ended their life with a suicide jump.  It could be pranksters, known to sneak up Europe’s tallest building.  She’d heard a scream. Even so, in hindsight, there had been no thud or bump, as one would expect of a falling body.  Instead, the form had drifted as light as air. 

She waited a few seconds and then some more, before peering down the deserted street, when a spectral silhouette emerged. 

Eva gripped the steering wheel of her Bentley and contemplated her next move.

Earlier that day, Eva had been to Dr. Olivier’s practice.  She cursed under her breath recalling the unpleasant welcome she’d encountered.

“Miss Rochelle Richards, have we met?” Dr. Olivier asked.

“Not exactly.”

“How did you get my number?  We’re not a listed surgery office; I only take patients by recommendation.”

“I’m actually looking for a patient of yours, a good friend.  Her life may be in danger?”

“Who are you looking for?”

“Calla Cress.”

“What sort of danger is she in?”

“I need her number.”

“I’m sorry Miss Richards, I can’t do that.  In any case, she is in Paris.”

That was all the information the doctor had surrendered.  Eva darted out of the high-class practice, crafting her next move. 

Calla can’t be going to Paris for long. Could she have taken the Eurostar?

It was common knowledge that this was the quickest return trip onto mainland Europe from London, especially for a day’s trip.  Eva took a chance and called Mason.

“Yes?”

“Calla is off to Paris.  Do you know what flight or train she’s on?”

“Let me see.”

He returned her query a couple of minutes later.  “ISTF intelligence has tracked her and estimates she’s on the Eurostar arriving from Paris at 9:04P.M.”

Contacting Mason had paid off.  “Thanks for the tip.”

Eva arrived several minutes before nine at St. Pancras International and spotted Calla leaving the arrival hall.  Even though she’d not seen her in years, Eva remembered Calla’s agile build and long mane. 

She followed, concealing herself behind an advertising panel.  She then tailed outside and witnessed Calla slinking off with a dazzling Maserati. 

Eva pursued on instinct, at a safe distance in her vehicle. She increased her speed, keeping up with the silver Granturismo.  As they left the station, an oversized, four-wheel-drive monster overtook Eva, hungry after Calla’s automobile. 

Eva’s car stopped short of colliding with an oncoming black cab.  She steadied her steering wheel and accelerated after the Range Rover. 

At a traffic light, Eva lost the two vehicles.  She hammered the steering wheel and set the car speeding near St. Paul’s cathedral, as soon as the light turned green. 

Nearing the top of London Bridge, she spotted the Maserati making a sharp turn towards the Shard. 

Eva pursued and arrived at the front of the building only to spot the cars abandoned.  She jumped out of the Bentley and approached the Range Rover with caution.  She gazed at the Shard’s entrance. 
They must have gone inside.

With no other option, Eva decided to wait in her car.  Several moments later, she was startled by the Maserati whizzing past her.  It was enough to catch a glimpse of Calla. 

Half an hour later, she stared ahead of her calculating her next move.

Her eyes caught an image diving meticulously off the Shard, head first and then feet down.  She sprang out of the car and glared up the height of the dynamic high-rise building.
What the—

As the object floated, the news-hungry journalist in her grabbed the camcorder from her dashboard and filmed the entity as it conquered a free fall at a steady speed.

Incroyable!

She saved the image and jumped back into her vehicle.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

DAY 12

1:00 A.M

West London

Calla staggered through Allegra’s front door chilled, wet and famished.  What happened to Jack and Nash?  It had been close to fifteen hours since she’d left.

The phone in the hallway rang. 
Dr. Bertrand.
 

She scampered to pick it up almost tripping over the rug.

“Calla Cress?”

The voice on the other end of the line was foreign, possibly German.  “Yes?”

“Hello, Frau Cress.  I need to speak to you.”

Calla had heard the voice before.  Wasn’t it that German cop?

“Raimund Eichel.  We met in Berlin.”

“How did you get this number?” Calla asked.

“I tried all the numbers you gave me, but they didn’t work.  I then asked your government for Allegra’s number.”

She placed a hand on the bag and held it close to her chest.  The European police must be on a hunt for it by now.  She’d had a couple of nasty surprises with the Metropolitan police. 

Calla decided to play it cool.  She set her back against the wall and sank down to the warm floor.  “What can I do for you, Herr Eichel?”

He sounded matter of fact.  “I’m in London.  Would you have some time to help me with my investigation?  You see, I’ve a few more questions about Allegra Driscoll.”

I don't have time for this.
Calla shifted her feet.  “Herr Eichel, I’ve already told you all I know about Allegra.  I don’t have any additional information.”

“Could we just meet?  Please.”

A discreet beep interrupted the call, signaling a second caller was trying to get through to Calla’s receiver.  She recognized the international country code for France. 

“I’m afraid I can’t talk right now.  I’ve another call coming in.” She would stall him.  “Perhaps we could speak next week.  I have to go.”

She activated call-waiting and scrolled to the redial button to pick up the second caller.  “Hello?”

“Calla.  It’s Doctor Bertrand.  Sorry for the late call, but I know you wanted me to call as soon as I had any news.  Do you have a moment?”

A choking lump skulked down her throat, glad she was already seated.  “Yes, I do have a moment.”

“I wish I could tell you the news in person.”

Her heart sank into her belly. 

She thought for a moment.  “Perhaps I can dial you in via video conference.  Do you have video-conferencing facilities?”

“Yes, we do.”

He confirmed the details as Calla reached for a pencil from the hall table.  “Give me a moment.  I’ll dial you on the video-conferencing unit.”

Within minutes, wrapped in a snug bathrobe, Calla sat face to face in conference with Dr. Bertrand.

She took a deep breath. 

“There’re two things, Miss Cress.  Have you been in contact with any form of radioactive substances in the recent past?  Or even earlier, such as in your adolescent years?”

The carbonados!

“Why, doctor?”

“Your body shows signs of radioactive poisoning.”

A distraught feeling crawled through her veins.  His words had wounded her.  “What do you mean?”