Chapter 92

 

 

“Why did my great grandfather join the Blackhorse Group?” Nash said.

Melun studied Nash like a long-lost son and a smile grew at the corner of his lips. “The Group is the resurrection of the Maltese St. John Knights. From what I know of you, it doesn’t surprise me that you come from a line of protectors. The Blackhorse Group, like many groups after the Maltese Knights, was defeated, and resurrected in the late nineteen hundreds with the intent of keeping the oath of the eight pillars, or some form of it. The group only gained strength though after the Second World War.”

“That’s it,” Calla said. “The eight pillars. Where is the map?”

“This way,” he said leading them to a desk in the quiet den.

He pulled open a drawer and found a flash drive. Melun slotted the drive into the computer and connected the laptop screen to a projector. Symbols that Calla had seen in the prime minister’s home beamed in to the bland wall.

“The prime minister was sent this. I didn’t realize we were looking at a map. We lost the link after the hearing.”

“Indeed,” the count said. “Only seems to me he didn’t have the key. The map is useless without the key.”

Nash edged into Calla. “We’ve decrypted a lot of gibberish you and me. See anything we can go on?”

Calla’s brain scanned the screen, but without a key this might have been the backside of a woven tapestry. She glared up once more, a thought crossing her mind. “Wait a minute,” she said rearranging the codes once more. “May I?” she said with a quick glance at the count.

“Be my guest.”

She took control of the device and concentrated on the characters, their placement and mulled over their origin. She rearranged the symbols into eight strips until they formed a Maltese Cross in her mind. She then reached for the keys on the keyboard to create a copy of the information, saving it on the screen for the men to see.

At the center of the circle they could clearly see the Roman numerals X and DCCXVII.

The Roman numeral 10 and then 717.

“The list of ten,” she said.

“And the room,” Melun said.

Nash’s body stiffened next to her. His gaze frozen in concentration. “The Room?”

“You’re in the NSA. Surely you know about the room. Room 717. A room no one is supposed to know about, in existence or location.”

Nash didn’t respond. “The room is of high interest to the NSA. They have scanned the Internet’s communication systems for its existence.”

“How do the Group control the room and why?” Nash said.

Melun arched a quizzical brow. “They control who goes in and out. Rumor has it those who go in enter at their own risk and rarely come out alive. There are secrets in there that our governments have hidden for years. My guess is that the room has been highjacked by the hacker and whatever is in there is being auctioned back to the Group. You see, even if they supposedly control the room, my guess is none of them know what the room contains, nor its value. That’s why these members are lining up to bid.”

Anger gave a sarcastic curl to Calla’s lips. “So, this is the list?”

Jack’s brow lowered into a harsh frown. “What list?”

“The list the prime minister is so worried about. It is in Room 717. My guess is we’re looking for a database and not a physical list. A database that contains technology and scientific research secrets confiscated from around the globe. All on a hidden data center.”

Calla raised her head. “Count, could we have some time?”

He rose to leave. “Take as much as you need. You’re free to stay here and look around,” the count said, advancing to the door. “I’m sure you’ll make progress.”

When he’d left the room, Calla turned to the men. “Nash, I know this is difficult, but I don’t think I trust this count. He’s not telling us something. As a curator of Roman and Byzantine collections his story doesn’t add up. I don’t know how I know, but restoration science wasn’t that far developed when it supposedly arrived here. If your great-grandfather brought that missing piece to this castle it could have been for another reason.”

“What?”

“Not sure yet.”

“Allegra trusted him and brought us to him,” Nash said. “A lot of what he said about my family is true. I tried to wipe that part of my family for as long as I remember.”

“Nash,” Jack said, “you come from a line of defenders and protectors. That’s a great heritage. Not like the band of thieves I hail from.”

Calla turned to the wall and the map. Baffling thoughts made her doubt herself. “Jack, can you pull up a map of the world on your phone?”

Jack brought up a map. “Now what?”

“Can you beam it behind the cross on the wall?”

Jack found his projector app and beamed the map.

Calla moved to the wall. “Can you pull up an image of the Maltese Cross and stretch it across the world map.”

“Hang on, something is forming here,” Nash said.

“Yes,” Calla said. “The eight points of the cross when stretched around the globe hit a certain coordinate on the world map. Now the problem we have is that there are eight points. We know another auction is possible in less than forty-eight hours. We need to think fast.”

Jack tilted his head to one side. “Are there eight auctions perhaps?”

“It’s possible but we need to find the first one fast, and why this cross is being used by the hacker on the website.”

“The Maltese Cross was adopted by the Knights Hospitallers of St. John in 1126,” Nash said.

“That’s right, Nash,” she said. “And has origins in the crosses used in the crusades, when it was identified as the symbol of the Christian warrior. The hacker has a fascination with it.”

“Perhaps the digital auction takes inspiration from the trails of the crusades,” Nash added.

“Or…” Calla said, “If the eight points stand for the eight obligations of the knights: “to live in truth, have faith, repent one’s sins, give proof of humility, love justice, be merciful, be sincere and whole­hearted, and endure persecution, could that mean eight virtures, locations, artifacts, or even cities? We just need one auction. The next one.”

She hesistated then breathed hard. “If we look at the global coordinates of where each of those dots are and place the center of the cross in Malta.”

Jack put his gadget to work. “Subject to a few proportional issues, I have Iceland to the north, India to the east, New Orleans to the West and then, if I stretch the circle further, the coordinates reveal Stockholm, Seattle, South Korea and Tanzania.”

Calla observed the rotation on the wall. “Where’s Room 717’s position on the digital map? I have another idea? Let’s run the symbol through a World Wide Web map.”

“You mean a real Internet map?” Jack said.

“Yes, but keep both maps up.”

Jack drew up the map. “You may have something here. Like any other map, the Internet map will display an information cluster’s relative position; but unlike normal maps the objects shown on it aren’t arranged on a physical surface.”

“That’s correct,” Calla said. “So, it’s an accurate map of the Internet?”

Jack’s eyes enlarged with excitement. “Yes. Speaking in mathematical terms, the Internet map is a bi-dimensional presentation of links between websites on the Internet. Each site is a round dot on the map, and its size is determined by website traffic.”

Nash interjected. “In essence we’re looking at the most-visited sites on the web. Look here,” he said taking a step forward. “The larger the amount of traffic, the bigger the circle.”

“What we need to find is a cluster in real time,” Calla said.

Calla’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “You mean a similarity cluster.”

“Yes,” Calla said. “Clusters on the map are semantically charged, that means they join websites together according to their content. We can use that logic to find the Blackhorse Internet sites and follow the biggest circles one at a time to locate auction activity on the map.”

Nash faced her straight on. “Users will represent the most niche dots on the map, switching between websites to create links. The stronger the link, the closer the websites tend to arrange themselves to each other and form a circle on the digital grid.”

Jack squared his shoulders. “Let’s just hope it’s not Australia. We couldn’t make it there in the time needed. The auction gets kicking soon.”

“Let’s check where the clusters are. “Look here,” Calla said. “Here’s a vast Internet gaming cluster between Brazil and Japan as well as a great number of minor clusters, of websites like entertainment and retail activity.”

“What do we look for?” Jack said.

A wicked grin spread across Nash’s mouth. “We follow dollar, Euro and pound signs.”

“Exactly, we follow money clusters,” Calla said.

“Where is money being moved the most currently and how does it sit according to our Maltese Cross?”

Jack took a snap of the picture that was emerging before them and whistled. “Heck, yeah. I’ve always fancied a trip to Monaco.”

The Group stared at the wall as the DCCXVII number stood in the position over the Mediterranean haven of Monaco.

“We’re still not out of the woods yet,” Nash said.

“He’s right,” Calla said. “We need a playing card and we don’t have one. We need an invitation … a way in.”

They heard footsteps by the den’s double doors as the count re-entered the room. “Here, take this. These are the credentials you need.”

Their eyes fell on a metal card, the size of a business card with the words:

 

Scorpion Tide

 

“The name’s an inspiration from desert crusaders who had to endure persecution in North African dunes flooded with scorpions. This’ll get you into the first auction and register you for the Blackhorse game. Which is exactly what you’ll be entering and, once in, there’s no coming out until you lose everything, so be careful.”

“What does the card do?” Calla said, her mind reeling over the name that had followed them since they got on her parent’s yacht.

“All the digital data you need is on here. It’s a deadly game. The card was sent to us for your father, Nash.”

Calla shot Nash a quick glance.

Undeterred, Melun continued, unaware of the puzzles rather than answers he was raising. “We believe this was the address he used when he joined the Blackhorse Group. Perhaps briefly. Chances are they wanted him to attend. You can be him for a night.”

Calla wasn’t sure she liked what all this information was doing to Nash, she knew he didn’t agree with his father’s choices and they hadn’t spoken properly in years.

“How long have you waited to give this to me?” Nash said.

“Your father is lost to me too, Nash. We were once very close and then we lost touch. I contacted Allegra Driscoll and told her I could help. You guys can use his credentials and, if you succeed, the group will send you information on the next auction. That way you get closer to either amassing the information they have or stopping them altogether.”

“What’s the catch?” Jack said.

Melun strolled to the window, his gaze taking in the morning garden view. “Once you start playing this digital game and log onto their systems, you have to play till the end. If you miss an auction, you’ve breached contract and signed a death warrant.”

Calla thought of the ransom hack they’d received. They didn’t have a choice. “There must be more we can do than just play along.”

Melun turned to face her. “You can’t stop now. You’re already in the game as Scorpion Tide.”

Amusement left Calla’s eyes and she regarded him with searching gravity. “Why do you want this so badly, Melun?”

Nash closed the distance between him and Melun. “Because he doesn’t want Room 717 opened. The only question is why?”

 

 

 

 

6:00 p.m.

 

Calla and Nash left the back terrace and made their way down the dented stairs to the chateau gardens. The Loire Valley sunset beamed above them as it reddened the distant sky. Nash had carried his backpack with him and when they reached the center of an immense lawn, well laid-out and carefully tended, they stopped to breathe in the night air.

“Do you believe Melun?” Calla said.

A suppressed smile of relief surfaced on Nash’s lips. “I don’t know. But it’s all we have to go on now.”

His hands rested casually on her shoulders causing her flesh to tingle. Nash’s hands were warm and reassuring.

“I’m going to start taking a little more caution with you,” he said.

A breeze caressed Calla’s arm as she held on to Nash’s arm. She scanned the length of the gardens. Rays from the moon grew in front of them as they walked in silence. The garden was a good deal longer than it was broad. She stood enjoying the summer scents and noticed its maze landscape for the first time.

Nash studied Calla, bending down, he lightly pressed his lips to hers. He then drew back. “I won’t lose you, Calla.”

“You won’t.”

Calla could hear nothing but the wild thumping of her heart as Nash ran his hand along her bare arms. She wore a tank top and black slacks. Nash drew out a blindfold from his backpack and set it on the pebbled pathway that wound round the grounds. He slipped behind her. “Close your eyes.”

She did as instructed and a smirk grew on her face. “A little early for this game—”

“Hmm… don’t tempt me, sweetheart.” His arms enfolded her, his breath warm along her neck. “Now… if you won’t carry a gun. I’m going to teach you how to dodge a bullet…with your eyes closed.”

Her chest stuttered and an alarm rang in her mind.

“If I’m correct, your senses react at about one hundred percent faster than the average person.”

“Nash… I don’t think I can—”

“Shh. It’s the only way I can be sure you will be equally equipped in a close gun fight.”

Calla took a deep breath. “Okay, soldier.”

“Right, first you’ll have to sense your way through this garden maze without crashing into the hedges by following my voice. After that, the real danger begins. Dodging anything including a bullet will involve how quickly you sense the stimuli from the trigger’s release and then how quickly your body responds. Your body can respond to danger better than anyone I know. Isn’t that what triggered your mind-reading?”

Her heart thumped. Unable to see the grin growing on his face, she sensed it in his voice. “You afraid I know what you’re thinking?”

“Never, Calla. I’ve never been afraid of you knowing everything about me.”

“I wouldn’t worry. I can only read minds when we are in danger, not at will.”

He drew her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “You ready? I’m going to disappear and you need to find me by sensing me. It’s in the mind, Cal.”

She nodded.

Calla felt a vest come over her head.

“One more thing,” he said. “This is your only defense against my bullet unless you dodge it.” He drew away from her, and soon she heard no sound.

The quiet night ignited her senses as the sweet smells of flower perfumes refused to leave her nose. She couldn’t sense the direction he’d gone. Nash was a trained military man. Fit to the bone, with a high level of physical ability. He was also a martial arts expert, especially Kenjutsu and had an elite level of bodily strength, stamina and endurance.

Nash had once explained that his first training for a government program had required a week’s training on five hours sleep that included a minimum ten minute, thirty-second, mile-and-a-half run and a thirty-second, five-hundred-yard swim as part of “hell week” as the trainees called it.

What on earth did he have planned? He could come in and out of rooms undetected and, as a special ops agent with the NSA, he was going to be hard to beat on this.

She took a deep breath and dug deep into her soul. Come on!

Calla’s line of sight didn’t stop with opaque objects. She closed her eyes and drew on this ability until she could see frames. The silhouettes from the garden became clear until she could see almost as well as without the fold.

Nash was nowhere to be seen. She had to use another sense to track him.

She hesitated and moved her feet backward. In her gut, she found a place of fear. Fear could heighten any of her hidden senses. She hesitated for three seconds and allowed fear to swell within her. She zipped round, her heart thundering in her chest and headed forward zig-zagging through the hedges then stopped.

She zipped round and struck on his shoulder. He’d followed behind her and had been her silent shadow for several minutes.

“You found me. Good.” He pulled her fold off for a few moments and studied her face. Fear gave you courage. Didn’t it?”

“I don’t—”

“Fear creates adrenaline, which creates awareness and, when used correctly, draws in to your inner strength, and boy, do you have a strike.”

He moved back and cocked his M11 9 x 19mm NATO pistol. “Okay, beautiful. This is no game. This gun’s loaded. I need you to develop a connection to the weapon, the sound of the shot, and the sound of the trigger being pulled, the smell of sulfur, everything.”

He turned and fired three shots in the air. A weight settled firmly in the pit of her belly as she caught a look of intensity in his eyes she’d never seen before. “You have a bullet proof vest on.”

Calla’s face turned ashen as she sensed blood draining from her cheek. Nash was an excellent marksman and could collide bullets mid air. She’d seen him collide Mason Laskfell’s bullet mid air, a feat that had saved her life only two months ago. Nash had taken on a new level of seriousness. Though she had the bullet proof vest on, her confidence dwindled when she recalled each of Nash’s skills.

“Nash—”

“I don’t want a single bullet to touch you. You’re the only one who can make that happen. Feel it control, master its direction, then dodge it.”

“I—”

“Defeat the bullet. Master it like you would anything that has come against you in the past.”

“How?”

“There may be physiological limits as to how fast soldiers and agents react. But I know your reaction speed is faster than the average human being. It always has been. Believe that.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can. The average bullet travels at about 750 meters per second. That’s around 1,700 mph? No one can—”

“You’re not anyone. This isn’t about several shots being fired at you. That’s too much to ask. This is about a close gun fight.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, a rebellious tear making its way down her cheek. “Even if I reacted to the sound of the gun going off that requires perhaps point two of a second, then I think, I would need to be at least five-hundred feet away to successfully dodge your bullet.”

“You can do it.”

“I can’t, Nash.”

“You can, because…”

“I’m not like most people.”

“It’s not what I was going to say,” Nash said. “You’re the girl I fell in love with. The girl who can crush me to pieces. You have to trust me.”

“Still, Nash, the problem is that sound travels at around seven- or eight-hundred miles per hour, about half the speed of the bullet. Wouldn’t the bullet hit me before I’ve even heard the gun fire off?

“You’re faster than this bullet, Calla,” he said raising his gun. Now, ready?”

She shook her head.

“We’ll do a trial run.”

She nodded slowly.

“First without the fold and then we blindfold you again. Calla most of the time you won’t know where the sniper is, but you can train your super senses to smell and feel the speed of a bullet miles and meters away. Trust me, Cal.”

“You and Jack are the only people I trust.”

With the bulletproof vest secure, she took a deep breath as Nash progressed to the far end of the maze. “Right I’m coming after you. I’ll chase you. The key is to use your hearing and your instincts, not your eyes. You need to know a bullet is being shot regardless of whether you can see the sniper or not. You need to get behind the mind of the shooter, that’s where your concentration should be.”

Calla knew what he meant. She was going to have to exercise a muscle she wished she didn’t have. A gift she wished she didn’t possess. Nash fired in the air.

Her eyes darted in the direction of the sound.

He fired another shot.

This time she stood still.

How many rounds had been fired?

He shot again.

She whipped round and movement from her right drew her eye. Nash could move quickly, possibly faster than he thought. He was trying to get her to count the magazine rounds. This firearm would fire perhaps thirteen rounds. Was he going to fire them all?

Another shot exploded and Calla riveted back with a thump to her chest. It caught her point blank in her bulletproof vest.

She dropped to the ground, her ears drawing out the drones of the impact. She exhaled a breath of frustration and soon she clamped her lips shut to imprison the sob that threatened to burst free. “I told you I couldn’t, Nash. I was hit.”

He drew the vest above her head. “No, baby, I wouldn’t do that.”

He showed her his gun.

It was a training gun and he’d been shooting blanks but, as clear as day, a shot had been fired to her chest. The force had been so powerful. Calla didn’t know what was worse, the disappointment in his eyes, or the fact that a sniper was lurking.

Worst of all she’d let herself down. Nash scanned the garden path behind them and his eyes narrowed into concentration at a darting figure in the distance.