Chapter 11

 

 

Taiven’s eyes darted toward Calla. Fully clad in a navy trench coat over a very sharp suit, he strode with an authoritative air toward the chief inspector’s desk. “Miss Cress isn’t required to answer anything at all. You’ll release her at once.”

The inspector rose to speak, his nostrils flaring. Any attempts at a protest were overridden by Taiven’s determined hand on his shoulders, forcing him back in his chair. “Higher authorities are handling the disappearance of Allegra Driscoll and I believe the matter is way above your pay grade.”

Taiven drew a badge from his coat pocket and Calla attempted a glimpse at it. From the reaction of the inspector she guessed that it carried authentic weight. “This is out of your jurisdiction,” Taiven said as the inspector fell silent, his cheeks flushed. Calla observed as the two men sized each other’s command, each swearing inaudible threats with everything in their being. All these years she’d known Taiven to be a butler. Should she thank him or fear his influence? Taiven finally broke the stares and turned to Calla. He drew his eyebrows together. “After you, Miss Cress.”

Calla rose instinctively and paced to the door followed by Taiven. No words were exchanged between departing the inspector’s office and the short walk up to the car park.

“Is this our ride?” she said.

Taiven stopped by a silver Maserati Gran Turismo. “Yes.”

Probably the latest creation from the manufacturer. She grazed her finger along the metallic polish. “I didn’t know you owned a Maserati.”

Taiven popped open the driver’s door. “It’s not mine.”

“Oh.”

“It’s yours.”

A beauty no less, decked with modern accessories and excellent artistry, a contemptuous smile played on her lips. “Not on my salary, thank you.”

“Please get in the car,” insisted Taiven.

She slid into the passenger seat and they headed back to her apartment. The swift journey was marked with intense quietness as Calla purposed to let him speak first.

He didn’t.

“You’ve just unleashed a skeleton in your closet,” she began.

Taiven responded with a quiet smile as they eased into her street in West London. The neighbors had settled in, leaving the streets free of the spring day’s outdoor commotion. Taiven switched off the dynamic engine and Calla paused several seconds before opening the door on her side. He reached for her arm. “It’s time you and I had a chat. But before that happens please go and get the manuscript.”

Calla shrunk back into the leather and pulled the door shut. She’d not breathed a word to anyone. The note had forbidden it and yet here was a dual-identity government official whom she’d always known to be a butler, bailing her out of mayhem. She opened her mouth, searching for a refutation.

Taiven laid a hand over hers. “Calla, you can trust me. I was the one who sent you the diplomatic bag to get the manuscript out of Berlin.”

Denial was the easiest option. But, what would I do next? She needed help.

Calla resigned her will. “Okay.”

He rested his head on the back of the seat. “By the way you no longer live here. Before Allegra left she asked me to let you have access to her estate and research.”

“Why?”

He checked the time on the car clock. “It’s not safe here for you anymore. Your belongings have been transported to her estate. Please hurry.”

 

Once in her apartment Calla ran up the flight of stairs. All her essential personal belongings had been removed. Signs of the evening’s earlier events remained even when much had been removed in such a short space of time.

At the top of the mezzanine stairs she reached for a button and released the trap door under the bed.

She’d almost forgotten about the birth certificate. Fishing down the dark panel she found the blue diplomatic bag and opened the carrier. The Deveron Manuscript and the gold artifact were still there. She added the memory stick, some notes she’d gathered over the years regarding her adoption, and zipped up the bag. Right, I think everything I need is here.

Downstairs Calla found her carry-on and her passport and paused at the front door, inhaling the night air.

I hope you know what you’re doing.

 

 

 

 

“Evening, Mason.”

Mason took the head seat next to Jack. Within minutes the housekeeper served a vintage wine, a seafood platter of oysters, crab, lobster, mussels and giant shrimps on a bed of ice and lemon.

Though he’d been raised by the ocean most of his life Jack wasn’t a fan of seafood, particularly cold seafood. When the meal had been set he ate politely, washing down each bite with iced water and an occasional sip of Meursault white wine. By the second course of sautéed foie gras, garnished with a crispy, cinnamon-flavored, duck pancake, Mason begun to engage in small talk about, travel, art and history.

 “You like dragonflies?” Jack said.

Mason finished chewing. “In Japan dragonflies symbolize strength, courage and happiness.”

“Are those things you aspire to have?”

Mason wiped his mouth with a serviette. “Who doesn’t?”

Once the meal was over the housekeeper cleaned the table. Jack studied Mason as he took his time wiping his lips with a napkin. Mason rose from the table, taking his glass of wine with him. “Let’s have some drinks in the den. Mrs. Hawke, thank you for a lovely meal.”

She nodded and cleared the dirty plates.

Jack called out to her, “I won’t have any more drinks, Mrs. Hawke. I’m driving.”

“In that case bring me a brandy, Mrs. Hawke. Mr. Kleve and I’ll have some cigars,” Mason said.

“I don't smoke.”

“A man conscious of his health. This way please.”

They proceeded through the landing to the salon opposite the dining room. Its decor and set-up mirrored the former room. When the housekeeper had finally left them Mason returned to the subject at hand.

He handed Jack a cigar.

Jack shook his head.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Mason lit his cigar. “I need you to create a program. A discrete surveillance program. It’s a matter of national security.”

Jack had always been a little skeptical of the man’s behavior, since he took over ISTF two years ago. He squinted an eye. “Who’s the target? Surely we have enough systems in existence that could do the task.”

“I need something a little more custom-made. Nothing that can be traced to us, or ISTF. A science project if you like.”

What does he mean “us”? Jack shifted into the seat across from the fireplace. “How so?”

Mason stood gazing into the fire. He flicked cigar ashes in the smoldering furnace, the placid flames reflecting in his face. “I need intelligence on three enterprises. Three people to be exact: Rupert Kumar, Margot Arlington the Republican governor, and Samuel Riche.”

Jack knew these names. They were already under surveillance at ISTF but on a low priority level.

“Aren’t we following these people already?”

Mason now turned away from the fire. “I need something more, deeper surveillance into their private affairs. This matter requires the utmost confidentiality. Jack Kleve, you’re the most intelligent asset we have at ISTF. I know your file well. You’re a seasoned graduate of a top university with a sharp technological and entrepreneurial mind. I’ve seen some of the developments you’ve presented at the TED shows. I know you’re on loan to us, choosing to work temporarily on Operation Carbonado. We need people like you.” He flicked his cigar again. “Drop everything you’re doing and make this your number one priority.”

Jack’s voice choked with caution. “I understand.”

“You’re to speak to no one about this.”

“What may I ask are we hoping to find? Is this anyway related to Operation Carbonado? These people pose no threat to us.”

Mason drew back from the fire and took a seat next to Jack. His eyes pierced into his soul as Mason provided no encouragement “I know but trust me, this is crucial.”

Jack’s phone buzzed on silent and moved his eyes from Mason’s glare. “Okay. I think I’ve an idea what you may want. The system I have in mind requires personal contact with the targets. Can that method of contact be arranged?”

Mason’s mood eased. “You mean someone will need to be in personal contact with each of them. I can arrange that provided it’s easy to plant.”

Jack shot to his feet. “I should have the devices up and ready for trial in a day or two.”

Jack’s phone beeped again. Another text message from Nash. He ignored it. “I’m sorry but I need to leave now. Was there anything else you wanted?”

Mason escorted him to the front entrance, turning one last time toward Jack with his chin held high. “This could work in your favor. I know you applied for the international technology award and for NASA’s exclusive technology program.”

Not even my mother knows that!

Jack despised the rigorous background checks and security measures that he’d endured to be part of Operation Carbonado. After all, ISTF had scouted him and not the other way around. The closer Jack stood next to Mason, the more disdain he felt. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint where it came from but he needed to tread with caution and cover his back.

Mason held out a hand. “This project could help you achieve that.”

Jack responded to the offered gesture and shook Mason’s firm hand. “I’ll keep you informed of my progress.”

Once outside the residence Jack progressed to his car, cussing under his breath. He’d failed to plant the very bug that Mason wanted. On Mason.

It sat on the front seat of his car.