Chapter 13

 

 

9:15 a.m.

British Library

St. Pancras, London

 

Calla cruised out of West London steering the Maserati into the busy city streets. What was Taiven? And, now, his disappearance… Was Pearl right? Had Taiven really been some sort of phantom or was he shrewd enough to go in and out unnoticed.

Is he a piece of my imagination like my bruised chin in Berlin? Yes, he seemed young for a butler. Nevertheless, Calla still felt she could trust him. He’d given her renewed appetite in her quest. Her parents could be alive and he’d supplied her with more information than any archive or document she’d come across. Calla decided there and then she would decipher the coded Deveron Manuscript.

She steered into St. Pancras International and parked in the provided parking garage on Goods Way. She paced the short, three-minute trek to the British Library, the largest public building constructed in the UK in the twentieth century. Designed by architect, Professor Sir Colin St. John Wilson, it mimicked a cruise liner ship.

She moved swiftly. Her instincts had been right. If the computer hadn’t timed out at the National Archives she would have discovered more about her parent’s work with the Secret Intelligence Service. The manuscript they guarded and possibly deciphered was now her only clue and rested securely in her shoulder bag. She had to start with the facts. ISTF believed that part of the Deveron document had been deciphered even though the details were sketchy.

Her cell phone rang and she answered it. “Hello?”

“Calla?”

“Nash.”

“Where are you? You okay?”

Calla closed her eyes, sighing deeply. She trusted Nash with her life and needed help. Could she tell him? She’d not been ready to disclose any of her recent discoveries to anyone, still trying to make sense of it all. “I’m at the British Library. At St. Pancras.”

Nash’s voice bathed her ear, a hint of concern touching it. “When did you get back?”

Calla moved rapidly through the main entrance. “Yesterday afternoon.”

“The commotion here is all about Allegra’s disappearance. Operation Carbonado is on hold.”

Calla relaxed whenever she spoke to Nash. He had a way of making her feel unpretentious and capable. She shoved a hand in her pocket and paced the floor nestling the phone to her ear. “Really.”

“Please tell me you’re okay,” he said.

“I could use a friend.”

“I’ll be right over.”

His involvement was a risk for him yet she needed Nash’s heightened sense of judgment evident in perilous situations. He was resourceful, a trained field man, an intelligence analyst and a brilliant linguist. Most importantly, he alone understood her complexities, yet never questioned them. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

Forty-five minutes later Nash strode through the main entrance of the British Library as Calla sat in the lobby flipping through some notes. She raised her head when she saw him.

He approached with a sure stride and enveloped her in a secure embrace. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

She sank into his chest and exhaled, his enticing scent washing over her. She shut her eyes as he stroked the dark locks of her lengthy ponytail. Will he understand? He could be trusted and they could cover more ground together. When she tilted her head upward and gazed into his persuasive eyes, his shoulders curled forward. Nash pulled back from the embrace and cupped her cheekbones. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I was worried about you.”

The library was filling up with intrigued scholars, students and the odd tourists. Still caught in Nash’s arms she pulled away. “We need to find somewhere quiet to talk.”

“Let’s go to one of the reading rooms. There must be a quiet corner in there somewhere.”

Nash led the way with Calla tailing behind. Though a regular at the library Calla glared upward, admiring the glass tower of gold-tooled, leather-bound books known as the King’s Library. They passed tables of engaged conversationalists who went about their business on the floor of the main reading room, surrounded by an astounding 67,000 books.

“I’d like to go to the Manuscripts Reading Room,” said Calla.

“First tell me what this is all about.”

He navigated through to the main seating area under the panoramic domed roof with Calla keeping pace. Rows of desks and benches lined the main floor with dimly lit lampshades. They secured an isolated spot in the corner, close to some bookcases. Nash pulled out a seat for her and settled into the opposite chair. “Okay, so what are we doing here?”

Calla leaned forward and whispered. “I have something from Berlin that I need help with.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why the secrecy?”

She hesitated and then surrendered. “It’s to do with the Deveron Manuscript.”

 

 

 

 

10:12 a.m.

 

Nash propped closer. “The manuscript’s gone. Don’t you know that?”

Calla slouched down like a fugitive deer in hiding. She was searching her soul for a decision on whether to tell him everything and her revelation would require his every commitment. He peered into her eyes ready for whatever she had to say.

“I need your help with something. Can you keep a secret?” she said.

“Try me.”

“We can’t involve our governments or any authorities.”

Nash puckered his lips and edged in, glaring into her deep-seated, emerald eyes. “I’ll always be here if you need me and will keep any secret you want me to keep as long as you promise to trust me.”

Calla grinned and contracted her eyebrows. She then produced the manuscript, all seven pages neatly held together with a metallic paper clip. “The vaults here contain some cryptographic systems that may help me translate this.”

Nash’s forehead wrinkled. “How did you get the manuscript?”

She shushed him, grasping his right hand and peered around to see if anyone had overheard. “We really don’t have much time. We need to do this before they come after us. I’ll explain but we need to get going.”

So this is the mess she’s in. With his protective nature alerted he decided to cooperate. “Now that you have this. Oh yes! Somebody’s bound to be after us.” He inhaled deeply. “Who’s coming and what are we looking for?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out for the last forty-eight hours. I don’t know. Can we move now?”

She made little sense yet Nash obliged, hoping an explanation would surface sooner rather than later. He shadowed her lead back the way they’d come. Should he reveal that he’d seen a prowler at her house? It was probably best to wait until he knew the full context of her story.

Their ISTF credentials allowed them access to the Manuscripts Reading Room, situated a short walk from the main reading rooms. They entered what Nash believed was the quintessence of the entire facility. He knew Calla came here from time to time. Only seven months ago she’d worked on deciphering first century Greek texts from the city of Oxyrhynchus, the so-called City of the Sharp-Nosed Fish, written on fragments of papyrus found in Egypt. Naturally she’d succeeded, a talent of hers he’d always found enlightening.

The main room was discreet, quiet and a handful of inaudible readers and staff, some gloved and relentlessly cautious, pored over rare books, manuscripts and other documents. Calla whisked her head round and set a hand on his shoulder. “We want the cryptology section.”

She approached a short dark-skinned woman with wide chestnut eyes, a strong chin and noticeably large hands. Her midnight-black hair was worn in a tight bun as she sat operating the information desk. “Can I help you?” she said, her lips stretching into a courteous smile.

 “Hi. I’m Calla Cress, a curator at the British Museum doing some research on ancient, cryptographic systems.” She glanced over at Nash, and then back at the woman. “I need to look at some cryptography systems you have here. Can you help me locate the right section?”

“Please sign in here. I’ll need to see your passes.”

They drew out their badges and she nodded. “What you’re seeking isn’t on these main floors. We’ve had some recent renovation work and various manuscripts have been moved to a temporary, cryptology section. Can I ask which cryptology system you’re looking for in particular?”

Calla eyed Nash briefly as he faithfully tried to hide his curiosity about the same thing.

“Ancient cryptology,” she answered.

“I see.” The woman pulled out two electronic, visitors’ cards. “You’ll need to go down to the underground tower block in the library storage space. There are four floors. You’re looking for the last floor down.”

“How do we get there?” asked Nash.

“Take the stairs behind you. It may be easier but make sure you avoid the water tank system on the same floor. There’s some major work on it at the moment. Present these to the security guard when you arrive and they should be able to help you.”

The woman drew a rough sketch of the location on a small piece of paper. “You’ll have one hour from the time you scan these cards.”

They thanked her and headed for the stairs. Nash had watched the exchange quietly. As soon as they were out of earshot his interest plagued him. “What cryptology systems do you have in mind?”

“Let’s go down and see.”

“I’m with you all the way on this Calla but what are you doing with the Deveron Manuscript?”

They reached the stairs and Calla stepped two steps ahead of him. “The manuscript belonged to my family and I want to know why.”

“What? You sure?”

“I found out that my family was in possession of the Deveron Manuscript decades ago. I think it has something to do with my adoption.”

“How’ll the Deveron help you learn more about your family’s past?”

“I've reason to believe it is connected to their disappearance. If I find out what they knew about it then maybe I can find them.” She paused. “Dead or alive.”

So that’s it. Nash acknowledged her conviction. “How do you know your parents were connected to all of this?”

Calla fell silent, struggling for the right words, something that didn’t happen often. “Nash, are you a man of instinct or blind faith like me?”

What’s she getting at?

“Allegra told me she knew them,” Calla said.

He accepted the statement but believed it to be a white lie. Nonetheless, he had to go along with whatever she surrendered. It was the most he’d ever heard her talk about her personal life. Calla marched ahead leading their descent onto the lower floors. “I’ve been reading some of her files. Operation Carbonado believes the manuscript is a cryptograph, leading to the secret locations of meteorite activity that NASA confirms fell on Earth centuries ago. The meteorite brought unknown, valuable elements to Earth. That’s why our governments want the manuscript so badly. The elements, similar to carbonado diamonds, supposedly contain chemical compositions not found or known on Earth. They possess implausible energies. Enough to make our nuclear plants combined seem like a child’s science project.”

“So ISTF may be right after all. And what do you believe?”

She played with her bopping ponytail. “I actually believe it. The explanation seems scientific enough.”

“Enough to ignite greed from five superpowers.”

She took another eager step. “I also think our governments’ intent for the diamonds isn’t entirely honorable.”

He glanced down at her. “I agree with you on that one. But what makes you so certain?”

“Let’s just say that I think my parents found the diamonds, or at least one.”

That revelation he wasn’t expecting. Calla glanced back at him and raised an eyebrow as Nash’s eyes quizzed her face. “Are you telling me your parents found what we're all busting our energies to find?”

“I don’t have all the answers, Nash. But if I can hang onto this document long enough to find them then that’s what I’ll do. Allegra has also done some incredible research on the Deveron. The hieroglyphics, like the Voynich, don’t exist in any known human language. And in her notes she references something here that may help us.”

“Is the writing authentic?”

Calla resumed her haste down the last few steps. When they reached the bottom of the staircase, she rested a hand on the side bar. “I don’t know what I think. All I know is that my parents were responsible for the Deveron Manuscript. If cracking its code draws me closer to finding them then that’s the risk I’m willing to take.”

It was a massive milestone for her as the subject of her parents had always been a sensitive matter. He knew he had to tread lightly. “Did you find out who they are?”

She lowered her head. “No.”

They gravitated through to the fourth, lower ground hallway, following the temporary signs to the cryptology department as the woman had directed. Within seconds they found the door she’d indicated. At the entrance Calla handed the cards they’d been given to the nonchalant security guard. He scanned them and repeated some clearly memorized reading room procedures. He then placed the cards in Calla’s hands. “You can’t take any large items into the reading room and can make a maximum of twenty copies with the copiers provided.”

Calla glanced at Nash. “Thank you.”

The man sank into his seat. “Do you have any questions?”

Nash responded. “No.”

“In that case, you have one hour from now. Please put on these gloves.”

 

Two minutes later, wearing cotton gloves, they inched through the dark, woody room. The humidity was kept to a minimum and the dry temperature helped preserve the more mature texts. The interiors produced smooth timber odors as books stood piled as high as the ceiling, mostly as an afterthought rather than by design.

Calla picked up a chocolate-cover volume entitled Polygraphiae by Johannes Trithemius, a 1518 rare volume and the first printed book on cryptology. She avoided handling the book with rough movements and, instead, held it from underneath. Using two hands she supported it by placing a provided mat beneath it for easier lifting and moving. She turned to Nash. “Should we split up? We’ll find it faster.”

Nash scrutinized the cramped room. “Gladly, but what are we looking for exactly?”

“A very small book.”

“What kind of book?”

“A small handwritten book.”

“That doesn’t help me, beautiful.”

Her cheeks flushed yet she kept her focus. “Allegra’s notes say that my parents translated part of the Deveron Manuscript. They transcribed the cryptographic system they discovered in a small book. At the same time she believes that they discarded the Deveron Manuscript in Priam’s Treasure while on a mission to Saint Petersburg. It’s as if they wanted nothing to do with it.”

Nash crossed his arms. “You know more than was revealed at the meeting last Friday. I watched you across the room as you counted the minutes while the archivist spoke.”

Calla offered him a mischievous smile, a trace of haste ringing in her voice as she spoke. “Back to my parents. They wanted the book to be as far away from the Deveron as possible. But also secure enough to be found. I think they hid it in the rare books section in this library.”

“Okay. So it’s a journal of some sort?”

“I wish I knew. I’ve never seen it. I only went by Allegra’s notes.”

“Why did Allegra keep all of this from you? She must’ve known you were looking for your real parents all these years.”

Calla shrugged. “I don’t really know, Nash. She was probably being cautious.”

The duo split, scrolling row after row for anything that resembled a journal. They searched different shelves. Manuscripts tired and worn and rare books lined several rows with some volumes carelessly abandoned along the bookcases. Calla continued past cryptographic systems that were used during the war as well as ones more ancient.

Nash squinted his eyes. This wasn’t a frequented room. Calla drew toward a Polybius checkerboard, a device invented by the ancient Greek historian and scholar of the same name. Known as a knock code it was used to signal messages between prison cells. She then crossed over to an Atbash, a simple substitution cipher for the Hebrew alphabet. The row ended there.

They stopped mid-stride as footsteps moved at the door.

“Your time is up. I’m sorry, you have to leave now.”

The security guard peered at them as his frame filled the door’s entrance. A vacant look arrested Calla’s face and she turned to Nash.

 

 

 

 

11:07 a.m.

British Library

Rare Books & Cryptology Reading Room

 

“Nash, I’m not leaving without that book.”

Nash leaned into her. “We’ll find it. We just need to think. Where would someone hide it?” He surveyed the room. “Let’s check the rare books again.”

In one forward movement, Calla began a nervous pace up and down the aisle. “You’re right. If this book wasn’t meant to be found then it would be tucked away among rare books. If a book isn’t checked out for a period of thirty years, or possibly a generation, it is written off. Eventually it is boxed off to some warehouse or destroyed.”

“Maybe that’s what your parents intended,” Nash said.

“But why not just destroy it. Why place it here?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “That way there’s no blood on their hands, so to speak. Or they just needed it to be found by…just you.”

Calla smiled, grateful for Nash’s support. She imagined she’d made no sense since meeting him at the library. Yet, here he was encouraging her ambitious pursuits. The rare books area comprised of one short section tucked away in the back, lined along two shelves. They each took one shelf and scoured for anything resembling a journal, notebook or even a scroll.

Calla rested her hand on the top row of the shelf. It shook and without warning, one leg collapsed. The heavy steel tipped, plummeting hundreds of volumes in her direction.

 

 

Nash threw a hand on the top of the shelf, balancing the edges with his weight. He tilted the collapsing shelf and swiftly placed a fallen book where the leg had broken. Pulling his hand away, his thumb fell of the spine of a book the size of a cell phone, bound in plum velvet. He drew it off the tight shelf where it had been camouflaged by shadows cast by the shelf’s edges.

He secured the shelf firmly against the wall. Calla breathed in a sigh of relief and set her gaze on the book barely larger than the palm of Nash’s hand. She eased it out of his hands. Its velvet cover felt smooth under her touch and not a speck of dust rested on its engraved exterior.

“Nash, it has the same symbol as the one on the manuscript.”

An exact replica of the hieroglyphic she’d seen on the first page of the Deveron Manuscript rested in the bottom corner of its extravagant cover. For several moments they inspected the furtive symbol, which was beginning to feel more proverbial now. Without warning the door swung open. This time, another security member shot her head through and cast them a patronizing glare. “Your time is up!”

Nash’s grin broke into a cocky smirk. “We’ll be right out. Thanks for your fantastic help.”

She stood still and for all of five seconds they thought she’d escort them out. Instead, she hesitated a few more seconds before striding back to the door. “Start moving, please,” she said and marched out of the room.

Calla placed the miniature journal in the back pocket of her jeans. “We’re taking this,” she whispered.

Nash lowered his voice. “Calla…what? Why?”

She laid a persuasive hand on his shoulder. “If you observed carefully it doesn’t have any bar codes or chips. This book isn’t part of the main collection. Trust me, I work with artifacts all day.”

 She drew it from her pocket and flipped through its pages. “It even has the key we need. I’ll bet the library doesn’t have it listed as inventory.”

Nash’s jaw dropped slightly, unable to disguise his astonishment. In all the months he’d known Calla, he’d never seen her so determined. He watched her dauntlessness confidence with amusement. “After you, Miss Cress.”

 

 

They shot the security woman wide grins as they coasted out of the room. When they crossed over to the main entrance, Calla gripped Nash’s arm in warning. “Here goes.”

He shook his head in slight amusement curious whether she’d really do it. “Still with you, beautiful.”

They inched toward the revolving gate. A uniformed staff member watched as library visitors made their exits and entrances. Heavily secured with cameras the exit stood only a few feet from where they waited for their turn through the turnstiles. Calla fumbled for their passes. She handed Nash his and took note of two security systems in front of the exit. Standard for commercial retail and library environments they’d not paid attention to the protective system on the way in. Nash glided through the security barriers tapping his pass on the indicated reader without interruption. Calla placed her pass on the reader and traipsed through the bars. Okay, here goes nothing.

“Step back, please!”

She flipped her head round only to face a stout security member. With shoulders curling forward, anguish settled in her gut. Nash made his way back toward her.

The guard eyed her for several seconds. “Miss Cress. It says here that your pass is due for renewal. Make sure you get it renewed if you want to keep using the facilities.”

With a curt bow he rounded on her and turned to the person next in line.

 

They found Calla’s Maserati in the garage and Nash surveyed the dimmed, parking area before giving the all clear. Calla sank into the driver’s seat and, by tacit consent, they flipped the book open.

 

 

 

 

Two streets over an obscure figure lurked from behind the wall. It made its way toward the library entrance. With his face concealed by shadows cast by a black baseball cap he sailed with brisk steps, determined to see it for himself. He disappeared into the British Library. There was no need to take the stairs or the elevators. He simply sauntered through doors and walls until he reached his destination. He stood outside the Manuscripts Reading Room and then pushed his head through the door, defying nature and physics. He floated into the room, scouring each shelf and looking over the shoulders of quiet readers. None ascertained his presence.

He found the fourth floor below ground and pranced upon the cryptology shelves. The area had been deserted and, with no one loitering about, he took a seat on a table facing the shelves. Closing his eyes he stretched his robust arms above his head. He wore all black but there was no obscurity in him.

Crack!

He opened his eyes in time to see a swift, shadowed man hold a knife to his neck. The aggressor didn’t speak but kept the glistening blade at his Adam’s apple. In one rapid movement he hoisted the attacker’s hand from his throat and launched him to the floor. The attacker turned and gawked at him, pulled out a firearm and aimed its barrel at the looming figure’s chest.

Still seated at the table the figure clamped his hand on the gun in one sharp maneuver. The firearm disintegrated into ash and settled like powdered flakes at his feet. The weapon had been no match.

 

Slate recovered from the loss of his weapon. With only his knife to defend himself he stood back bewildered by defeat. No one had ever crushed him in combat. Would this be a first?

He stared blankly. “Who are you?”

The figure rose, all of seven feet in height. Was it possible? Slate turned to flee as the man moved one step toward him, cutting him off at the door with a swift neck strike. The impact slammed Slate against the door frame and, gathering his wits, he scrambled toward the exit. Stumbling over his feet Slate plummeted to the ground, rose abruptly and fled out of the room. He glanced back once, and then no more.

 

The towering man retreated, reverted to his modest six-foot-three and turned to the shelves muttering. “Good girl. You got here before he did.”

He came out from under the shadow of his dark baseball cap. His face was now visible.