Chapter 85
Gendarmenmarkt Berlin, Germany
11:00 a.m.
Alexandra Sisley peered through the window as eager chocoholics gave their orders at the counter. The display of a sculptured chocolate cathedral drew her attention. It mirrored the Gendarmenmarkt Square and she glared back at the landmarks bordering the plaza.
The architectural trio, the Deutscher and Französischer churches, and Schinkel’s Konzerthaus, framed against the pre-noon sunshine. She matched the buildings to their model replicas in the window display.
Alex pushed the glass door open and scanned the room for her contact. Eager cafe goers waited to be seated. More models retailed for prices gawking tourists were happy to pay. She studied one chocolate sculpture, the Brandenburger Gate; it was the most expensive model and centerpiece of the displays.
Alex twitched and checked her phone. Her image shone back at her from the device she’d secured in the cafe only ten hours ago. Breaking in had been easy. Cafes like these needed to upgrade to modern security features, even if they were national treasures and had been built several decades ago. The cafe told a story like most corners in Berlin. What she needed to know was why had her contact picked this place?
“Your table is ready, Fraulein Sisley,” a waiter said.
He led her to the quiet corner as the smell of chocolates and caramels drifted past her nose. A nagging thought refused to depart.
Who would they send?
She was ten million dollars short. If only she’d been as good as Nash Shields.
He was one of three people in the NSA who could clash bullets midair. It was extremely difficult to hit a bullet or arrow midair, to the point of impossible. A skill many had trained at and many had failed. But this one man, call it concentrated skill in weaponry and combat, he could. The key was to wait until the bullet reached the top of its trajectory and fire when the force of air resistance equaled the force of gravity. Nash wasn’t only a skilled shooter, he had everything she wanted.
Nash had been one of three men out of ten who’d been selected to train in the special skill at ISTF. Only three could time the precision of a fired bullet, based on a combination of body language from the attacker and the type of gun.
Alex had never been able to do it. She checked her watch.
Her contact used different communication each time; never the same person, never the same place, never the same technology and this time she’d come armed with the camera in the chocolate model of the Brandenburg Gate, perfectly aimed at the entrance and the busiest position of the cafe. Sometimes they would send a person, other times her contractor would communicate by encrypted voicemail to her phone.
She waited.
This was the meeting point. It had been decided the day before when her cellphone had lit up with a flashing text. A detail she’d waited for all week.
Meeting point:
Gendarmenmarkt, Berlin
Wait for me.
11:00 a.m.
Alex waited some more. She picked up the chocolate biscuit served with her cappuccino and nibbled at its edge. She checked the thin contact lens in her left eye, a database recognition tracker.
Her ears caught the sirens of a fire alarm and the panic that followed made her heave to her feet.
Diners reached for their belongings as an orderly evacuation began.
The shove was all-too swift and it sent her spiraling back into her seat. One glance upward and she locked eyes with a stranger. Hooded gray eyes, half-concealed within their sockets, gave her an intense stare. Alex edged from him. Tall with an athletic build, his prominent cheekbones defined his face.
He took a seat in the chair opposite and drew a silver micro-pistol. He pressed a fore finger to his lips, his right hand firmly on the weapon.
His left hand dropped to her abdomen, then to her thigh frisking for her weapon. The gloved hand enclosed around her own concealed pistol and tore it out of her waist holster.
The sound of the sirens echoed until the last evacuees made it through the exit.
Alex studied him as the chaos around them dissipated. When he was satisfied they were alone, he yanked her to her feet. The force of the shiver from his hand dug into her shoulder muscle.
Protruding eyes, shadowed by their hooded eyelids, narrowed. “The fee is set at four billion dollars. Your clock is ticking.”
“What if I can’t get it?”
“What if I can’t control my trigger?”
Her rubbery legs nearly buckled as the siren came to an abrupt stop. The silence was deafening and he swallowed hard. “I need more time.”
The tendons in his neck tensed. She scanned his features as her contact lens connected to an NSA facial scan database.
No match.
“You have ten days. Pay the four billion pounds in whatever form you want and we’ll all be happy. Also return the weapon we sent you. Talon needs it back.” He shoved her into the seat and the back of her head collided with the steel of the back of the chair. “Don’t make me come after you.”
The man drilled the gun deep into her forehead as the first emergency services started to appear outside the cafe. Alex held her breath and a bead of sweat trickled down her cheek. She slowly drew the weapon he meant from her bag and set it on the table.
He snatched it and slotted it in his shoulder bag.
Her eyes shifted to the door as boots approached.
The man engaged his cellphone and tapped in a code. He dropped three coin-sized chips in three areas of the room that smoked as soon as they bounced off the tiled floor. Gas rose to Alex’s eyes and she coughed, her eyes stinging from the fumes. When she opened them, he’d vanished.
Alex reached for her cell phone and shuffled for the exit her eyes fighting the sting of the gas and the smoke cloud. She charged past emergency staff in a haste. Once outside and at a safe distance from the cafe, she dialed a number.
A low voice picked up. “Yes?”
“Do you have the information on Nash Shields?”
“What are you willing to pay? And I don’t want money.”
“I’ll give you the next best thing and the only thing that’ll hold him hostage, Calla Cress and she’ll beg for her life.”
“What will it cost me?”
“Everything.”
Gibraltar
Day 2
Tuesday July 8,11:36 a.m.
Dr. Bertrand’s face appeared at the door as Maple, a housekeeper, set down a pot of coffee, cream and sugar and a basket selection of breads and fruits. Calla walked almost reluctantly toward him. Science was this man’s life and he’d dedicated the greater part of it to going where others chose not to venture, by investigating abnormal genetic cases. Most importantly, he’d given Calla more answers about her abilities than any other doctor.
Nash stepped in behind him.
“I’ve done more tests and you and Nash will want to hear this.”
Nash made his way to her side. For what she’d endured in the last four weeks, her body felt more energetic than she’d felt in weeks. She knew it wasn’t normal. But nothing had ever been normal with her.
Nash considered for a moment. “What did your results show, doctor?”
Calla led the doctor to the den and watched him draw his tablet from his case. For a shrinking moment, he paused, his face becoming a cocktail of mixed emotions. “Someone is curious about Calla in the worst possible way.”
Nash picked up a buttered bagel and nibbled on the edge of it. “I thought you said the miscarriage was non-evasive.”
Bertrand’s jaw clenched, his eyes slightly narrowed.
“Calla, when I examined you the other day, I found a slight swelling below your abdomen and a small mark on your leg. Do you know what could have happened?”
Nash gave up all pretense of eating. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure what I mean. The swelling seemed to be calculated, and quite a wound. Like the kind a tranquilizer gun would make on the skin’s epidermis after impact. I didn’t alert you then because I wanted to make sure I knew what I was looking at.”
Nash’s mouth straightened into a hard line. “You saying she was forced to somehow abort?”
“There has been some development of these traction drugs in secrecy. I sat on a committee about nine years ago where we were asked to test the early models. Most of us on the committee rejected the technology, mostly for ethical reasons.”
“How does it work?” Calla said.
“The pistol shoots a dart, which can cause the body to abort once it enters the bloodstream of its victims. It can pierce through clothing and leaves no signs of impact on the skin except a tiny red dot. The technology exits on the black market. It hasn’t been approved by most governments but, yes, it was developed as a non-traceable method of aborting. Women in the military who find themselves in situations … well let’s just say some mad scientist has made a buck.”
Calla closed her eyes and took a calming breath. “You serious?”
“The aborting poison is frozen into some sort of dart and then is shot at high speed into the person. I can’t confirm yet, if this was what was used. But look at this.” He showed them his tablet. “This is Misprint. When used in conjunction with a second drug Mifepristone, it induces a medical abortion. That explains the termination administered by some sort of prick to her skin. In the ultrasound yesterday I studied something puzzling. It was microscopic but, somehow, it seems pregnancy tissue was removed. They took a sample with them.”
Calla sensed an anger thundering through Nash, yet his voice remained calm.
“A sample?” he said.
“Yes, a sample.”
“Are you saying someone’s removed a sample from Calla’s body.”
“Knowing what Calla can do and her capabilities, that scientific knowledge is worth a lot.”
His brisk voice caused her to flinch. “How much?” Calla said.
“Your guess is as good as mine, but if it’s the difference between being ahead of the science and tech game, I would assume a lot,”
“You certain, doctor?” Nash said.
“You and I know very well what scientific knowledge regarding comprehensive genes and DNA could be worth. Think of what could be accomplished in genetic engineering research and development, through gene targeting, nuclear transplantation, transfer of those genes into another cell of genetic material, synthetic chromosomes or viral insertion. Now imagine it is with a superior gene like Calla’s or that of your child. Think of the governments and interested third parties lining up to own that science. If that sample or knowledge gets out on the black market … any group wishing to create havoc will do so.”
He turned to Calla. “I studied these concepts for years and it wasn’t until your file came to me eight months ago that we had breakthrough.”
Nash worked off his anger by pacing the room. A cold shiver skirted up Calla’s spine. This had hit home. Who would dare do such a thing and how had they known about the pregnancy? Or was it a guess? They’d been so careful to conceal their relationship within government circles and their families. Not even Nash’s mother knew about his real relationship with Calla, or her parents for that matter.
Calla drew a deep breath and forbade herself to tremble. “Are you saying what I think you are saying, doctor?”
“Yes. Your own genes are out on the black market, and it seems so are your child’s.”
Nash’s lips quivered in unspoken fury. He stared at Bertrand for a moment.”
Bertrand scratched the edge of his nose. “I want to investigate this further with both your permission.”
Nash had hardly considered Calla’s intake of the news. He could barely look at her. The news felt like a knife to his heart as his body felt laden. Calla made a move toward the doctor. “Can I speak to Nash alone?”
Bertrand set his eyes on her and put away his tablet. “Of course, but we still need to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’ll be fine doctor. Don’t worry.”
He left the house with a promise to stay in Gibraltar for as long as he was needed. Calla set a hand on Nash’s cheek and he sank his face into her palm for several moments. “Nash…?”
He raised his head. “Remember Merovec?”
“I remember his words.”
“After he left us in Baie Rouge was when you told me you were pregnant. We were so happy. Don’t you remember?”
Calla’s gaze bore deeply into his, a tear draining from her left eye.
“Nash, I want to know who the heck messed with me. They won’t get away with it.”
“You think it has to do with what Merovec said? But Cal, nobody knew. We barely breathed the words to each other. Our house is more secure than the interior of the NSA after what Jack and I did to it.”
“I know.”
“Someone’s seriously after knowledge of you and what you can do. It’s been that way since you were born and your parents hid you.”
A slight tremor of anger tainted her voice. “It’s possible it was just the accident.”
“No, something else’s going on. You heard the doctor.”
“Nash, I’m sorry I took that jump in Malta, but we were ambushed and surrounded without anywhere to go. It was the only thing I could think of to save the people I already have…”
“As opposed to your unborn child?”
“You don’t mean that, Nash.”
He didn’t, but he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. It had always been this way. Had she wanted that child or was she doing it for him? She hadn’t been exactly in favor of starting a family the first time he’d drawn courage to even speak to her about it. She’d only recently come round to the idea since he’d married her in secret in Colorado.
They’d always been right together, inseparable. The minute he’d laid eyes on her after her MI6 father had asked him to protect her. Five months before he’d met her he’d been intrigued with the little her father had told him back then. And he loved her perhaps more than he’d ever imagined today.
Her case had first drawn his curiosity with the puzzles around her birth, her knowledge of languages, cryptology, code systems and much more. It had everything he wanted, mystery and a cause larger than those he’d worked on. It needed his expertise not only as a trained field agent, but his human intelligence skills.
The impact the Cresses had on the future of technology and science would always continue to astound him. He’d never once imagined how far a case would impact him personally. How could they continue like this and for it not to affect their lives? Nash wasn’t convinced of what Merovec had warned them. What was so dangerous about a little child? His child?
Besides, who was Merovec? Why would anyone do this? Is that why Calla was barely left alive in Malta? Had been hidden in an orphanage by her parents? What was she really capable of?
The pit of his stomach fell. Here she was fighting for her life. Could he and Calla really fight against an enemy they couldn’t identify?