Chapter 12
10:00 p.m.
St. Giles Square
West London
“Let me get you something to eat. I take it you’ve not had a bite all day.”
Taiven threw open the door to the estate. He was right. Calla hadn’t eaten since the flight home. She’d not even had a moment to speak to Nash or Jack. Must think I’m still in Berlin. They would have called by now.
She stole a quick glance at her cell phone.
12 missed calls
Taiven settled Calla in the kitchen. His hands worked with ease pulling cabinets open and whipping up a whole wheat club sandwich, garnished with a generous portion of Roman lettuce and baby cherry tomatoes bathed with Caesar dressing.
Taiven moved toward the refrigerator and produced what looked like a platter of Camembert mousse and smoked pule cheese. “You’ve had an ordeal. Perhaps an explanation can help you with some of the puzzles. Eat now. You can’t do this on an empty stomach.”
He left her to eat in solitude. Though hunger had been suppressed by the day’s events, she was grateful for the nourishment. Several minutes later Calla leaned against the steel of the kitchen stool. It was the first moment she’d settled since returning from Berlin. She rose and grabbed a travel size bottle of Perrier water from the fridge and found Taiven in the den flipping through a book by the shelves.
“Has Pearl settled for the night?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Taiven, are you an MI5 agent?”
He closed the book he was reading and strolled to the window, flicking a switch to close all the shades. “This is your home now, Calla. Ms. Driscoll wanted it this way.”
Didn’t hear me?
Aware that he wouldn’t answer directly Calla skimmed her mind for the most important questions she wanted answered. The manuscript? Allegra’s disappearance? Or Taiven’s alleged employment by Intelligence Services?
He asked her to sit in the chair at the desk and took a seat across from her. “Please hand me the manuscript.”
Calla pulled the papers from the diplomatic bag. Did Taiven know about the note? Initially she’d assumed it had come from Allegra. Calla pursued the matter. “Why did you send me the diplomatic bag?”
“It was the only way to get the manuscript out of Berlin. We can’t risk it landing anywhere?”
Calla grimaced. “We?”
“Yes, we.”
“But isn’t that suspicious in itself? I’m already a suspect in Allegra’s disappearance. Why else would the police want me?”
“You’re safe for now. But not for long.”
Calla glared at the manuscript cradled in Taiven’s hands. A wide smile grew on his lips as if the document meant more to him than anything he owned. “It’s very detailed. Not what I expected.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes.”
She threw her hands in the air landing them on her thighs. She stood up. “I should just hand over the manuscript to ISTF. You seem to be one of their agents anyway, or even the government. Why shouldn’t I?”
Taiven studied her face that must’ve revealed traces of fatigue. “I’m afraid ISTF isn’t as trustworthy as we would like it to be. There are many non-compliant folks.”
“Why was the manuscript left with me and who sent it? You? Allegra?”
Taiven’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps this can help.”
He came over to her side of the desk. “Allow me.”
From the top left drawer he pulled out a notebook. Calla had seen this earlier in her search around the den but had completely ignored it assuming it was a private diary of some sort. He flipped through a few pages before handing it to her. “Here are some notes Allegra gathered. The last time anyone knew of the manuscript’s whereabouts your parents were its guardians.”
“Guardians?”
Taiven continued. “Allegra tracked them down many years ago when she investigated the disappearance of the manuscript. She later found them, though I’m not sure how or where.”
Calla’s eyes lit up. No one had ever spoken of her real parents. “Allegra knew my parents? Why has she never told me?”
“I don’t know.”
Taiven shuffled back to his seat. “When Allegra found them they wanted to know where you were. She’d traced you down through the orphanage, and then through your adoptive parents. She watched you for several years before recommending you for assignments with ISTF. However, when she was about to let your parents know about you they vanished without a trace.”
Calla’s eyes followed his every movement, watching his lips to make sure nothing fell on tired ears.
Taiven’s eyes softened. “Allegra established that this manuscript isn’t what it seems.”
“How do you mean?”
“Its purpose is more profound. Many have lost their lives, or even vanished, while trying to find its true nature.”
“I didn’t know people had lost their lives? Who are these people?”
“Contrary to popular knowledge this document has passed through several hands. It’s a lot older than you think.”
“How do you know that?”
“For one, your grandparents were able to keep it safe during the Second World War and thereafter your parents did as well, before they vanished while on a secret service mission to Russia during the Cold War.”
“Are you saying they worked for MI6?”
“They had a special understanding of cryptic languages, even those alien to most people. Periodically they contributed to the unsolved cases division.”
“Why?”
“Our government likes to be in the know of intelligence and happenings beyond normal realms. It’s not only the Americans.”
Calla grabbed hold of every sentence he dropped about her parents. Her eyes welled, sparkling in the reflection of the recessed lighting above her. She shifted in her seat and, wiping an intrusive tear away, she edged forward. “Taiven, are they alive?”
“I'm not sure.”
“Do you know where I can find them? I’d hoped to speak to Allegra about them in Berlin.”
Taiven shifted to the other side of the room in thought and his voice clogged with emotion. “All Ms. Driscoll knew about them was that they served at MI6. I’m so sorry, Miss Cress.”
“Oh,” she said.
“Back to the manuscript. You see, members of your family have been the custodians of this manuscript for centuries. The treasure isn’t in the manuscript itself but what it guards.”
Taiven’s hands slid across the ancient papers spread across the table. He pulled out a magnifying glass from the desk. “Let’s take a closer look.”
Calla turned her attention back to the manuscript. “What language is this, Taiven?”
“I’m not entirely sure but let me see if this might help. Allegra collected a number of cryptography systems. I’m not sure if it's truly a language or merely a cryptogram. Maybe we can find out.”
What was it the note had said? She reached for it in the back pocket of her jeans and scanned it again word for word. “Taiven, this doesn’t help much. Did you see this?”
Taiven took the note from her hand. “Ms. Driscoll’s instructions were to place it in the diplomatic bag. She must’ve written it herself.”
“Does it mean anything to you?”
Taiven studied the note again before shrugging. “I don’t understand the language. All I can say is that guardians are all within the same family lineage.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Look here.” He showed her a cryptographic system he’d pulled from one of Allegra’s shelves. “Some of these might help.”
Calla examined it. She headed over to the full library and surveyed a handful of cryptography systems. They were cataloged in chronological order, possibly by Allegra herself. Many were ancient, some newer.
“Taiven, I’ve never studied these methods. I really don’t know where to begin. I’m not familiar with these ancient cryptographs.”
“Therein lies your task.”
Calla hoisted herself on the edge of a large couch, adjacent to the shelves. How does he know all of this?
She still didn’t know who he really was. Butler, agent or—? Instinct told her she could trust him. “Is Allegra alive?”
“I don’t know. But I’m certain she meant for you to have this manuscript. She really believed in you from the moment she met you.”
Calla chuckled. “We met in a grocery store.”
“Call it chance, call it destiny. It is what it is.”
Calla smiled though her amusement was short-lived. “What about the police? Won’t they be back?”
“The police aren’t your main problem.”
How could he guarantee that? Nevertheless, she had the feeling he was right.
He reached for an envelope from his pocket. “Allegra left this for you.”
She grasped the short note and paced the room reading it carefully. “Says here that if Allegra doesn’t leave Berlin with me that I should consider her gone. This is her will. I don’t understand. She’s left everything to me.”
“That would explain the Maserati. It was ordered for you a month ago,” said Taiven. “Welcome home.”
Calla refused to digest this new piece of information. Nothing made sense. Perhaps it would by morning. “It’s really late. I’m tired and have a long day ahead tomorrow. I need to get a head start,” she said.
Taiven nodded. “There’s something else.”
Calla couldn’t imagine what other hidden revelation he’d failed to pull out for the night. He left the room for a few minutes and returned with a document. “Ms. Driscoll also had this prepared for you.”
Calla took the document from Taiven.
“It’s a diplomatic passport. You now have diplomatic status when you travel. It’ll help with the police situation. Just sign here and I’ll have all of this notarized before the morning is out.”
Too tired to argue she nodded. “Thank you, Taiven.”
“You should find everything you need in there.”
He turned to the oak door and gave her one last glance. “You’re safe here, Calla. Good night.”
Without looking up Calla responded. “Good night, Taiven.” The door remained ajar, swinging lightly. “Taiven?”
The chief inspector of police cursed under his breath. They’d left in such an upheaval. He hated being overpowered by these government types. The station was quiet now. Most officers had left except for two or three on the night shift. He fumed at his prisoner’s hasty departure and rose aiming to get a good glimpse of the station floor. The cubicles were empty. He continued to the door, separating the main floor and his private office. He gave the space one more look and closed it behind him, locking himself in the solace of the warm space.
Picking up the secure phone he dialed a number from memory.
“Yes,” said a grumbling voice.
“Mr. Laskfell. I arrested her.”
“And?”
“I was interrupted.”
“She mustn’t begin any translation work on that manuscript.”
“What should I do when I get her?”
Mason’s silence stretched on the line. “Where’s she now?” he said.
“A government agent, probably from MI5, picked her up.”
“Follow them.”
“Can I use my discretion?”
“Yes!”
The phone disconnected and the line shrilled. He replaced the receiver and collected a few things, turning the lights off before stealthily unlocking the door of the office. A giant man by many standards he left the office walking with swift movements through the open seating workplace, scattered with messy desks, cluttered to the brim with files.
How anyone does this job day in day out he didn’t know. At the end of the room, the inspector turned into the dark corridor that led to the lifts. Clasping his coat and briefcase he pressed for the ground floor. The double doors dragged open, and he stepped inside the isolated chamber.
As the doors began to pull shut a man stood mid-stride staring at him from the corridor. The man glared at the inspector and shuffled toward the elevators, not once easing his gaze off the police inspector. The brisk walk turned into a sprint stopping short of the closing doors as the steel frames nearly slammed his nose. It was just enough time to catch the inspector’s despicable smirk.
The man stood in the hallway questioning what he’d seen. There was no mistaking it. He’d witnessed an extraordinary resemblance of himself. A body double and a remarkable reflection of his own frame, only the likeness refused to surrender to his command.
His identity had been stolen.
Literally.
The quiet elevator sailed downward as Slate whistled. He clasped his hands to his chest as the elevator advanced to the ground floor.
Then silence.
DAY 6
6:46 a.m.
West London
Calla woke in a cold sweat. At first she couldn’t piece together her environs as she focused her eyes in the dark room. Had she slept in her clothes? When she’d entered the room the night before she’d collapsed on the bed, poring over Allegra’s notes and must’ve drifted off to sleep. The bedside clock blinked red, the only sign of movement in an otherwise still room. She could just make out the numbers.
6:46 a.m.
She scrambled off the master bed, upholstered in baby blue and white, matching the rest of the furnishings. Grateful for the few hours’ sleep, even with so much still processing in her mind, her stomach rumbled with hunger. She traipsed to the adjacent bathroom before sliding under the shower and dragging on some underclothes, a spare pair of jeans, and a light green sweater. She headed downstairs for breakfast.
When she drifted into the kitchen Calla found Pearl rigorously working at a lamb dish. Pearl seasoned the meat and glimpsed up from her work when she saw Calla approach. “Good morning, Calla. I remembered you like a honey roast lamb. I’ll have this ready for dinner. What would you like for breakfast?”
Calla attempted a smile as she settled onto a kitchen stool. “I’ll just have a green tea for now.”
“All right. I’ll get one for you.”
Pearl, a bright Brazilian woman, moved around the kitchen with duteous ease as she brewed a pot of steaming tea. Calla spoke above the clamor of the boiling kettle. “Is Taiven up yet, Pearl?”
Shock flashed upon Pearl’s face as she stopped what she was doing. Her ebullient Brazilian accent rose to a high pitch signaling nervousness. “Taiven hasn’t worked for the Driscoll family for decades. In fact he left years ago in pursuit of employment elsewhere. We haven’t heard from him since, at least not since I started work here. Santo Deus! He’d be an old man by now.”