The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) (5 page)

A close look depicted a striking warrior, resembling a lieutenant in Napoleon’s army rather than the expert cryptographer and highly capable intelligence analyst he had become. 

He’d risen to the ranks of chief of ISTF’s research, signals intelligence, and linguistics divisions.  Mason had also served in the military as commander in the British army, although that was several years ago.

He’d developed a passion for cryptology.  It must’ve started as a boy, when he was introduced to the subject in a short story that he read, ‘The Golden Bug’ by Edgar Allan Poe.  His other obsession was researching ancient documents such as the secret messages supposedly hidden in various texts during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I and James I, and those of William Shakespeare.

The minuscule spotlights above his head illuminated the museum pieces.  They bothered his dark eyes.  Dressed in a new chocolate suit, and a magenta Armani shirt, Mason cared about his appearance.  He judged people by what they wore. 

In his boutonniere, he sported a jeweled, dragonfly charm, sparkling in the overhead lights with priceless rubies, amber, sapphires, and mini diamonds.  He never left the house without it. 

His hand slid judiciously over its bumpy edge, caressing every inch of it, almost to remind himself of its existence.

He mused over the enviable position that he had with the government.  A fanatical workaholic, he thrived at deciphering puzzling codes, languages, accents and handwriting.  He had once taken on the challenge of decrypting the coded Voynich manuscript - and like others before him, to no avail. 

Upon joining ISTF several years ago, he designed and maintained government systems that kept sensitive data safe from outside threats including imposters, identity thieves and those willing to cause cyber havoc.  With ISTF’s current focus on cyber criminals, a year ago, he investigated the Stuxvet virus that targeted Iranian computer systems in an attempt to disrupt the country’s uranium enrichment program.  It was still a case he intended to wrap up.

Rumor had it he could read minds - a reason many chose to avoid him.  This was his main investigative procedure.  He had once scrutinized a criminal who had beaten the lie detector machine.  The criminal was no match for Mason’s telepathic mind; Mason had managed to draw a confession from him.  To this day, many wondered how he’d known the criminal’s thoughts.  He meticulously predicted and second-guessed his every move.

Today will be a difficult day.  I need more time!

The Prime Minister’s office needed his service for a brief that afternoon, but his mind drifted elsewhere.  He tapped the glass window in front of him displaying an ancient cryptography system. 
Why has the Deveron Manuscript resurfaced now?
 
Is this the manuscript?  Is my search over?

He was not ready.

The cell phone buzzer in his pocket startled him.

It was his secretary.  “Calla Cress is here.’

 “Send her down to the museum section,” he said with refined English pronunciation.

Five minutes later, Calla peered through the door into the small gallery.  As she inched into the room, sensors lit up above and flooded the stone-tiled floors with artificial light.  Her step wavered, yet she strode with a fixed gaze straight up to Mason, her sweaty palms clutching her electronic tablet. 

“I’m Calla Cress.  You asked to see me?”

Mason drew away from the glass and watched the athletic, yet awkward individual walk into the room. 
She may just be the bait I need to follow Allegra.

He would even overlook the fact that she was untried for the task he required her to perform.  Youth and ignorance were what he desired. 

She was close to Allegra he’d been told.  He motioned towards her.  “I understand you’ll be joining Allegra in Berlin.”

Her eyes squinted.  “Is that what you want to see me about?”

Mason ignored her question.  He slotted the cell phone in his pocket, not once shifting his eyes from her.  “Are you going to Berlin then?”

She nodded.

He let out a light laugh.  “It’ll expose you firsthand to some crucial intelligence work.  Allegra is one of the best.  Her suave, diplomatic approach will be vital in Germany.  She has named you as her right-hand person on Taskforce Carbonado.”

Calla kept her eyes on him.  “I’m honored - naturally.”

Mason stroked his chin.
She must despise that I know more than she’s shared. 

He watched her take a step back, shifting her quiet feet and distancing herself from his probing manner.  Perhaps she believed the rumors about his alleged telepathic abilities. 

Good!
 

He could use fear.  Intimidation always produced the results he desired.  Mason examined her posture, straight and no nonsense.  “Your work in Berlin is confidential, even to those within ISTF.”

He stared right into her being. 

She tore her eyes away from his, shifting them towards the glass display case and hesitated.  “Why’s that?”

“Has Allegra not told you?”

The lights overhead dimmed again.  Neither had moved in the last several minutes. 

Her lips quavered.  “She left yesterday for Berlin.  I haven’t spoken to her.  But I’ll join her shortly.”

Mason studied her.  He moved an inch closer shortening the comfortable distance between them.  The motion switched the sensor lights back on.  “Good.  Allegra is a great resource to ISTF.”

Calla could not help but notice the dragonfly on his suit.  Every so often, he would rub the jewels with his fingers.  “Was there something else you wanted to see me about?”

Mason turned his back to her and quietly strolled to the other side of the small room.  His shadow followed behind like an obedient mutt.  After a few steps, he gazed at the glass display on the opposite side showcasing communication systems that went back as far as the First World War. 

He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out an electronic device.  In the dim light, Calla caught sight of a mobile, communications instrument.  The model number was not visible.

Mason searched for clues in her expression as he handed her the sleek gadget.  “Do you know what this is?”

“It looks like a cell phone.”

“It’s a prototype from our research labs.  I’ve been looking for an opportunity to test this device.  My chance has come.  You’ll test it for me.”

Calla delayed a few seconds, then took the phone.  Similar to most smart phones, it was the size of two credit cards fused together, thin and transparent with dual-side, touchscreen capabilities.  Its laser lights lit up in blue when stroked, exhibiting an elaborate keypad and various functions. 

She slid her finger across its smooth surface. 

It recognized her in an instant as the screen produced the words.

Morning, Calla Cress.

Your device will now be configured.

Mason’s phone buzzed again.  This time, he ignored its nudging.  He cast Calla an authoritative glance.  “I want to be informed of anything Allegra discovers in Berlin.  Keep a diary.  This phone will help you collect information and analyze situations.  It’s different from most smart phones being water, light and motion resistant.  It’s got a high definition screen, layered menus, touch events, offline caching, and best of all, it’s embedded with video and location awareness.”

“I see.”

“I’m sure you’ll discover more as you use it.  I hear you are quite techy.”

“I get by,” Calla said investigating the impressive phone.  “I’ve heard of the ISTF technology labs developing communication devices.  This is an incredible milestone.”

I knew the high-tech angle would get her
.

Calla ceased her examination.  She switched the phone off.  “Is this really necessary?  Surely, Allegra will share the Berlin report.  What sort of information do you need me to document?”

Not easily fooled. 

He persisted with care.  “Just note your observations.  We’ll determine later whether the information is useful or not.  This could be momentous for your career.”

Calla pocketed the phone.  “I’ll do my best.  I need to go now.  Was that all?”

Mason gave her an abrupt nod.  “Have a good trip.”

She tipped her head and stole out of the room without turning back. 

He waited a few seconds after her exit and then reached for his secure cell phone. 

He pressed speed dial.  “Slate?  Is it working?”

A husky, Italian-accented voice spoke in low tones.  “No.  She needs to have it turned on.  Did you activate the function?”

“Damn right, I did.”

CHAPTER THREE

DAY 3

10:03 A.M.

Berlin, Germany

Calla gazed out her window as Air Berlin started its descent over the overcast city.  The vibrant metropolis, built over centuries on the banks of the Spree River, was home to more bridges than Venice.  Strewn with cultural paradoxes and markers of science, the arts, politics, and media, Calla had known she would return to Berlin when she visited ten years ago.  Berlin seemed different then, perhaps not as fast paced and tourist infested.

The plane landed smoothly after the ninety minute flight from Gatwick.  She reached for her overnight carry-on and stepped off the aircraft. 

Outside the main arrival terminal, Calla waited her turn in the long queue for one of the yellow Mercedes cabs.  Several minutes later, one rolled towards her and a Turkish cab driver sprang out, hopping to the curb with a buoyant spring.  “
Wohin, Fräulein?
  Where to?”

Calla grabbed her carry-on that rested on the ground.  The sun peered through the scattered clouds, lightening her anguish.  “To the Pergamon Museum.”

He smiled, revealing a grin littered with gold teeth.  His head was covered with a woolen winter cap despite the warm temperature.  “Any suitcases, Fräulein?”

His English was thick accented, but understandable.  Calla stepped into the car.  “No, I travel light.”

They meandered through the center of the city.  By the time they navigated past Adenauer Platz, in the heart of former West Berlin, Calla was running late.  Traffic crawled by blissfully, a stark contrast to Central London.

She settled in the leather seat and glanced over her shoulder. 

Was it the constant smirks she received from the driver?  They seemed to come every five minutes. 
Am I being watched?
 

Every few minutes he would beam his gold teeth looking back in the rear-view mirror.  Though good-humored enough, he did not converse much of the journey.

Calla glimpsed back every time the car turned into a new street.  The nagging sensation crept in and out the entire trip.  It had started at Gatwick Airport, then through customs.  She now sensed it here as she peeked once more in the rear window.  Nothing was out of the ordinary. 

She shrugged her shoulders and settled into thoughts of raising the topic of her parent search with Allegra. 
It’s probably nothing. 

At sixty-seven, Allegra, an imaginative extrovert, lived for new and exciting experiences.  She enjoyed contact and interaction with just about everyone.  Age did not deter Allegra.  Her insight and wisdom always fascinated Calla.  From the moment she met Allegra all those years ago, Calla knew theirs was a special bond. Perhaps, it had been the love of history. 

They’d been neighborhood friends for over seven years. 

How much could she share with Allegra?  She’d never raised the subject of her adoption.

Calla wished she knew more about her.  They had spent several evenings together over the years challenging each other over code deciphering board games.  They would debate global events and seek out thought-provoking documentaries. 

Allegra possessed remarkable insight into world affairs, culture, and history.  The intrinsic details she used to describe certain opinions made one think she had lived them. 

No wonder she’d won that Nobel Literature prize for her treatment of lost languages, focusing on those at the risk of extinction. 

Her appetite for life and travel was infectious.  Allegra had visited just about every country in existence; not surprising, since she’d also served as a diplomat for over forty years. 

She had witnessed most of modern day history first-hand, given her diplomatic seats at international negotiating tables. 

History and artifacts also fascinated Allegra.  This was evident from her abundant collection in her West London villa.

Several decades ago, Allegra inherited a vast fortune.  Calla never once questioned the origins of this wealth.  The media speculated about family wealth from mining. 

Did it really matter?  Allegra was no snob.

Calla glanced at her watch.  It was 10:55 A.M.  Her appointment began in five minutes.  Surely Allegra would wait.  “How much further, driver?”