Chapter 82

 

 

Castle Rock, Colorado

 

Friday, June 7, 12:05 p.m.

 

Damn it. He didn’t want to be here.

Nash took a deep breath drawing a lungful of air into his chest. He glared at his mother’s Rocky Mountain retreat towering on the next hill. Streams of caterers and service people shuffled tirelessly in preparation for the fundraising dinner she was hosting that night, her annual fundraising gala for educating unprivileged children in science and technology including sponsoring internships at NASA.

The trail beneath his feet stretched along the west side of the alpine landscape of the Rockies, gently meandering in the sloping foothills of Denver’s stone pathways that wound through 300-million-year-old red sandstone. The Colorado climate allowed for outdoor dining for most of the year, and a dinner party thrown by his divorced mother was the last thing he needed. He asked her to keep the list short and local. People he never saw. Calla needed to feel at ease.

He’d brought her here after she’d returned from London only thirty-six hours ago.

With Colorado’s continuous sunshine and the imposing views of the dense Rocky Mountains, his mother’s place was the obvious choice. His only home in the United States had been blown to dust while he was undercover. He looked back down on his jogging path and caught a glimpse of the villa again. The operable glass walls reflected in the mirroring sun.

His feet pounded the familiar path, his shoes crunching the pebbled gravel. Jogging took his mind off things and frankly it beat punching a bag for now. He wished Calla hadn’t been so guarded about London. She paced steadily alongside him. Agent or not, pregnancy suited her as they laced downhill in silence.

He stopped and checked his digital watch.

She turned. “What is it?”

Silence.

“We usually do more miles than this?”

His eyes gazed into her. He loved watching her and the way she squirmed when she was nervous. She usually bit her lower lip when he paid her attention with his gaze. He couldn’t stop looking at her, never could. His eyes once again memorized her emerald eyes, her beautiful symmetrical face, down to her long ebony tresses held loosely in a plait.

He drew her near taking in her scent, a scent he’d grown to love. She was out of her comfort zone and pregnancy scared her. At five weeks, her body had not changed much, and he stared at her hourglass athletic frame.

Damn, she was beautiful in her red hoodie tracksuit that didn’t do any justice to her toned body. He put his hands on her shoulders drawing her to him, placed a hand on her chin and turned her toward him. He reached across to kiss her lips then pulled back.

“You okay, beautiful? You’ve been silent a long time.”

A trace of a smile appeared on her lips. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me about London.”

“I guess now is as good a time as any to discuss it. I know you’ll tell me what I need to know.”

It was a lie. He’d wanted to know the minute she’d come back to him. He’d sighed with relief that she’d not tried to get rid of their child. Something she possibly would’ve done four months ago. The baby had scared her from the moment they got together. How could he blame her? Her own parents had left her at an East London orphanage as a baby. Probing her wasn’t going to do it. He had to tread lightly. She was in a very delicate time of her life... And his.

“Nash?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever heard of the Blackhorse Group?”

“What’s this about?”

“A list.”

“A list?”

“And a digital auction. I went to London because the prime minister asked for me. I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d stop me. And a part of me wanted to not think about the baby.”

He understood. She’d been abandoned years ago and it scared her, that she could take on responsibility for a small child’s life.

“Calla, you know we’ll do this together.”

“I know. Anyway, I got to number 10.”

He was conscious suddenly of the silence, punctuated by rustling leaves of the Bristlecone pines.

“You didn’t let him talk you into leading ISTF?”

“The prime minister’s private files were hacked using a phishing email. They are blackmailing the prime minister not only with exposure of his private and government secrets but also for payment for a lost piece of artwork they acquired for him, the Bayeux Tapestry.”

Nash was very knowledgeable about art having been assigned the FBI art list to catch cyber criminals. “I didn’t know it had been found.”

“Well, the hacker got a hold of it. But the worrying part is that whether the prime minister pays or not the threat of government exposure is at large.”

“Why won’t he pay?”

“Don’t know yet. The hacker is in desperate need of money I find. They will do it by selling this or any other thing they may have, circulating it via an organization called the Blackhorse Group.”

Nash’s eyes drew together. “I can check what the NSA has on this. Have you tried ISTF?”

“You and I know, ISTF can only act if our governments are involved and agree.”

“What else is the hacker offering?”

“That’s just it, Nash. My mind could decrypt the first email but when I got stumped we went onto the dark net.”

“Calla, you’re still new to that ability and the strain it puts you through. Does it still give you headaches?” He threw her a cocky smile. “Perhaps it was just hormones from pregnancy.”

“I’ve only had the headaches recently, and before that only when I was in school.”

“You’ll do it, Mrs. Shields.” He’d never called her that. Mostly because no one could know they’d eloped seven months ago. He caressed her cheek. “Is that all that happened in London?”

“On their dark net site, all I could get is that there’s a digital auction of a list of artworks. The locations and times will be communicated via this dark net they are calling the Vault. We need to stop that list being sold.”

“Why Calla? Why now? Why when we have a first shot at just being us.”

His heart hitched at the radiance of the smile she gave him.

“Because we’re best at this together,” she said.

He pursed his lips and drew her in his arms.

“We were ambushed at number 10,” she said.

Anger crossed his eyes. “Somebody attacked you? You should have told me. How many?”

“One.”

“Snipers?”

“No. My guess, an operative. I fought one and they could grip walls, much like me but using a suit and military technology classified to the operatives.”

“There doesn’t seem to be a way to get away from the operatives. You sure?”

“They had special weapons.”

“Damn it, Calla. Are you okay?”

“I handled them, Nash. But this one gave the prime minister a warning and took off. I didn’t like the look of them. A masked look to be exact and I’m still deciding if they were male or female.”

“Calla much is happening to you as you discover things about your body and genetics. Perhaps we need to slow down.”

Damn it. Somebody had hurt her? Which meant she’d fought them off physically. He knew she could, but things were different now. What kind of moron hits a woman?

“Did they look or sound familiar?”

“They used an encrypted voice.”

With her mind-reading ability, intelligence that came to her when in danger, he had no idea why she hadn’t been able to read her attacker’s intent. He had to keep her from it all. He’d taken her from London and her curator job at the British Museum. She lay awake most nights, her mind racing with activity. He’d yet to understand everything about her abilities, but she was short of the world’s most fascinating phenomena, bred from genes light years ahead of modern science and technology. Operative genes to be exact and a breed of people he was still trying to understand.

“We’ll figure it out together, Calla.” He smiled. “I know exercise is great in pregnancy but let’s be careful. I’ll make a few calls. Let’s see what we come up with.”

She nodded, her expression became tight with strain.

“I know it’s not ideal, but this weekend with my mother wasn’t entirely planned. She’s been curious about you, the only woman I’ve ever … Anyway, we’ll head to London tomorrow. I just need you to stomach my mother and her idea of a fundraising evening. Look, I asked Jack to come so the attention won’t be on you. She can be—”

“Calculating? Look, my parents aren’t the greatest either. If you can endure their unorthodox ways I’m sure I can put up with your mother for a day or two.”

They jogged down to the house and Calla set a hand on his arm when they reached the kitchen-side entrance. The soft fullness of her lips touched the edge of his mouth and she spoke softly. “Nash, you don’t need to worry too much about me.”

A quiet noise inside the front entrance alerted them, as they caught a glimpse of Winter Shields. Her walk commanding, she dragged open the kitchen door. A bitter taste of regret clogged Nash’s throat as Calla smiled at Winter and made a move toward the stairs.

He edged toward the kitchen counter for a cool glass of water and Winter followed him. The sound behind him of a second pair of footsteps alerted him and he set the glass down.

“Nash Shields.”

Every tendon in his body grew taut.

What the heck was she doing here?

Who’d invited her? Invitations had been sent to close acquaintances and celebrity fund-raisers. His mother usually complained she never saw her son thanks to his overseas assignments. Why would she invite someone he knew briefly in high school and then later at the NSA? Did she think he needed female company?

Granted, he couldn’t hide Calla from Winter Shields forever, but surely his mother knew he had someone in his life. This intrusion was the last thing he needed.

“What are you doing here?” Nash said turning to the bright face of a woman who’d always reminded him of a mysterious manta ray. She had wide eyes the color of cold ashes. Her straight, blond hair was held back from her face. Her clothes had always been designed to do one thing, attract the opposite sex, and oddly with a lot of green.

Winter reached for his arm. “Nash, you remember Haven?”

Haven Weldon to be exact. An impostor and someone who’d always stayed around a little longer than welcome. Winter’s stare was bold as she leaned into the blue counter top of the kitchen.

“I said keep the list small and local,” Nash said.

“Well she is local, or was,” Winter said.

Haven was what most men would call attractive. She wore a pleated beach dress and swaggered to the kitchen island sipping a blood-red Manhattan cocktail.

“Thought you might need an old friend to cheer you up, Nash,” Haven said.

“I don’t need cheering up.”

“I know you, Nash. Something is bothering you. You haven’t answered my calls or texts in months, so I came to you. It wasn’t easy finding the NSA’s most valuable agent. I had to use your father’s resources.” She shot Winter a look. “And Mrs. Shields’s.”

That couldn’t have been easy. His parents didn’t talk.

Nash glared at both women.“Haven, what exactly brings you here? I wasn’t aware of your interest in fund raising.” He grabbed her purse and handed it to her. “I’ll expect you to be gone once I’m out of the shower,” He said heading for the door.

“You’re going to want to hear this,” she said narrowing the distance between him and his exit. “Your father is involved with a group called the Blackhorse Group, one of the most-scrutinized groups on the NSA’s watch list. He needs your help.”

 

 

 

 

Calla studied the encryptions she’d transmitted from the prime minister’s laptop and Natalie’s tablet. It was the tenth time she’d studied the symbols. She left her tablet on the table and stripped to shower. It was the first time in a few days that she felt her energy return. The short trip to London and then back here had been to take her mind off things. Pregnancy had caught her off guard.

Calla welcomed the streams of the warm shower current that moistened her bare skin. Her mind seesawed back and forth. After hours of searching she was no closer to a solution. But something in the back of her head nagged her.

She turned off the shower and reached for a towel. She wrapped its threads around her and walked back to the bed. Calla calculated the symbols but this time she did them in reverse. As clear as day, she’d once seen that digital emblem, one not to be mistaken.

Nash pushed through the door. His tousled, sandy-brown hair was still wet from his shower. He shot her a warm nod and the scent of his mild aftershave drifted up to tease her nose. Nash wore a black t-shirt that hung above his faded jeans. Well-built behind the loose clothes that he wore, he liked to stay comfortable. At six-foot-three his lean build and posture spoke of years of military discipline, and Calla admired that his past life in service didn’t rob him of the sparkle in his engaging and deep gray eyes.

As a former US Embassy marine in London currently employed by the NSA within human intelligence, he mainly specialized in matters relating to the Middle East and, most recently, Europe. He’d served the US embassies of Kuwait and Syria as a marine. Before that, his first post-marine training assignment was at the US Army Rhein-Main Air Base near Frankfurt. There he learned first-hand the tactics of military intelligence. Occasionally, although he only told those close to him, he acted as a security adviser to the government and several senior directors in US security and intelligence agencies. Fluent in Arabic he’d been in London on and off in the last three years helping with classified ISTF’s intelligence analysis.

“What is it?” Nash said.

His standard American vernacular charmed Calla. Nash never failed to astound her. Handsome, intelligent and athletic, it was enough to make her self-conscious by looking at him. With a quiet confidence that dazzled from the intent look of his stimulating eyes and a sharp sense of humor, she found him extremely attractive.

“This,” she said.

Nash took the tablet from her hand. “What am I looking at?”

“The emblem of the Knights of St. John. The Maltese Cross. That’s the digital signature that’s been baffling me all day. The auctioneer seems to have a connection to them.”

“Why is that?”

“The knights stayed for close to three hundred years in Malta.”

“That’s right. They transformed what they called merely a ‘rock of soft sandstone’ into a flourishing island with mighty defenses and a capital city, Valletta.”

“Glad to know you keep up with European history, Nash.”

“It’s hard not to when you live with a curator. But how does that help us?”

“Not everyone can carry this emblem. I wonder if our auctioneer is a direct descendant of the knights or has an affinity with the group that she or he felt they had to bear it.”

“But do these knights still exist?”

“Not to the public, but some were reborn in secret. I don’t even think it’s particularly associated with them. Just a spin-off.”

“You still haven’t explained how that helps us. Anybody could carry that emblem.”

“I suppose you are right but—”

She shot up and found her phone. “Jack, you downstairs? Could you come up for a second and bring your best hacking equipment.”

 

Jack’s childlike eyes smiled at Calla as he burst into the room three minutes later. He glanced at her towel and almost stepped back. “Am I interrupting?”

Calla had always been comfortable with her body round acquaintances. Like Nash, Jack was her closest friend. Calla recalled first meeting him at the TED conference in Edinburgh. At thirty-one, Jack was the most jovial person she knew. Worn Converse shoes, Levi’s jeans and an Adidas sports jacket were his uniform, not to mention the shoulder length dreadlocks that he had tied back from his charming face.

He commanded attention when he was in a room with his sturdy frame, long arms and wide shoulders. Always on the go, he was one of the most innovative entrepreneurs listed on the TED website, a series of global conferences properly known as Technology, Entertainment, Design.

Jack was one of two technology inventors who’d recently participated in the development of responsive aerial robots. The flying, aluminum rotors were minute and could swarm, sensing one another in flight. Their build allowed them to form random teams capable of surveying disasters zones. Such technology was crucial for swift response where humans weren’t able to act fast enough, such as in earthquake disaster relief or a biological leak.

Jack had once confided in her, explaining that the technology was under bid by the US, Russian and French governments. As a well-honed technology specialist, Jack could command any fee and any place of employment. With an impressive client list of government agencies, private corporations and security firms, he’d made quite a name for himself using wit and brains. Qualities Calla admired.

“Listen, Jack, can you hack into the security systems of the Valletta Palace?”

“The palace of the Knights of St. John in Malta?”

“I need to eliminate something.”

“Any particular programming language you want me to use.”

“Start simple and take it from there?”

Jack booted his laptop and logged an application in Ruby, a high-level, powerful scripting language used to automate a multitude of tasks. He secured his machine and used his ISTF credentials which gave him license to hack any system on the planet in the name of international security. He set a up a virtual laboratory with his machine, then reached the remote servers on the main Maltese island.

“You’re in luck, Calla. The servers are active.”

“Well it is tourist season, early June.”

Jack ran a scan on the ports and operating systems to see which were open and to determine what type of firewall or router they were using. “I think I have what you need now,” he said when he found an open port left unattended, possibly used for gaming by some inattentive security guard.

Jack cracked the security passwords by rooting a tablet he’d brought in and installing a scan. When he got a signal, he uploaded it to ISTF’s secure site.

Calla considered his expertise. “We’re in?”

“Yup,” Jack said. “The IP address is open and now I see their password on our proxy.”

Calla stopped him as he scrolled through data. They started with the security guard’s login pages and then went on to the archiving data of the museum’s treasures. “That’s it.”

“What?” I just wanted to eliminate the possibility that we were looking at the official digital signature from the palace. It’s what I suspected.”

Jack eyed her and then his tablet. “There are two signals coming from the palace. One seems to be weaker than the other but sure enough it is there.”

He focused on Calla.

She adjusted the tablet toward her. “The building and fortification of Valletta, named for Grand Master la Valette, started in 1566. It soon became the home port of one of the Mediterranean’s most powerful navies. This hacker has taken inspiration from the Grand Master. After the knights lost their hold of Malta through the years, mimic organizations have led to scores of other self-styled orders.”

Nash interjected. “This could be one of them and they are hidden right in the heart of it all.”