Chapter 16

 

 

4:55 p.m.

North London

 

 The cymbals clashed. The trumpets made their discernible entrance and engulfed the humble room. The string section floated in the background like vapor seizing time and space. As the trumpets burst into dominant allegro they imprisoned the heart, escalating to a terrifying crescendo. The pace of Gustav Holst’s Planets continued in a tumultuous jumble, floating through the top floor apartment where Slate reclined on a sofa, his feet resting on the coffee table.

His eyes were closed and his hands nestled behind his head. He took in every note and bar of the tantalizing symphony. What was on Holst’s mind when he composed this piece? The blinking vibration of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. He reached for the remote control and silenced the music that had infatuated his mind. He glared at the phone. It lit up blue whenever there was movement from Cress’ handheld device, a prime indicator as to whether she was using the application he had bugged on her smartphone. He slid open the top cover to check for activity.

She couldn’t have survived that bullet. He closed his eyes and turned the music back on, reflecting on his last encounter with Cress. What was that thing that had followed her to the library?

Whatever expertise it employed had been extraordinary. He wasn’t moved by the unexplainable. To him, everything could be justified logically and rationally. He believed in technology and science. This person had plenty of it. What was it Mason had said? “Cress should be quite easy to eliminate.”

One down, one to go.

Why had Mason not let him just kill her in Berlin? Easy and fast. That was simple enough.

A simple curator with a linguist gift. A gift that he knew Mason coveted more than life itself. What was so special about her gift? Slate really didn’t care. It didn’t really matter now did it?

The phone buzzed again. He checked it once more. There was movement on his tracking device. He silenced the music again and scrambled to his feet. Damn it!

From the voices on the recorder he could hear a man talking. He was plotting something. Must be the soldier type she had been with earlier. Another man’s voice sounded. Had they taken her phone? His receptor had been slightly damaged at the library. Slate listened intently but all he could gather was Cress was in trouble. Hurt?

She should be dead!

Impossible.

He shrugged it off. The bullet had gone straight into her heart. No one could have survived his accurate shot. Slate never missed or wasted a bullet. He would check again in an hour. Right now he had better things to attend to. Slate owed his life to Mason, the only father figure or family for that matter that he’d ever known. Somehow, he couldn’t help but conclude Mason was a self-seeking, egocentric man who used and abused whomever he pleased.

Over the years Slate had made quite an affluent living serving Mason’s dishonest assignments. It all sat in box 6207 in an offshore bank account in the Cayman Islands, mounting up interest.

He’d done enough and wouldn’t be Mason’s errand boy any longer. How many years had it been? Too many to count. Most of his life it seemed. He had sacrificed his own dreams for Mason’s and essentially turned into the one thing his mother would wince at, a common-place criminal. The sacrifice had come at a price, too, but wasn’t entirely wasted. He had seen the master in action and had learned a few things along the way.

He reached for a steel ring wrapped around his right middle finger. Nothing about it spoke of elegance or beauty. But to Slate it was of more value than anything he owned. He pulled it off his finger and placed it on the table near him. Locating his electronic tablet he reached for the Swiss Army knife lying on the table. With the corkscrew tip he stabbed at a black point on the ring. The top shell slid off revealing a series of microscopic, electronic chips.

He forced out one chip, no bigger than a baby’s fingernail, and found the custom-made memory device he’d ordered from a foreign supplier. He slid the chip inside and placed the memory stick within the electronic tablet. It lit up and the application he sought loaded. He scrolled through a list of classified names, a list of all the clients Mason secretly concocted with. These weren’t in the interest of the ISTF. He should know since he’d helped do most of the clandestine work himself. But it was his bargaining chip, should he ever need it.

The afternoon when Slate had left Mason’s office he had seen three new names on Mason’s screen. Unfamiliar with any of them he flinched. Slate was always privy to everything concerning Mason. Still, Mason had never mentioned these three names to him. A day would come when Mason would no longer need him. He wouldn’t to be caught off guard. Slate memorized the names. Samuel Riche, a name he’d seen in the newspapers, Margot Arlington and Rupert Kumar.

What did Mason want with them? The blue light on the phone flashed in rapid blinks. He shut the program and replaced the chip in his ring. His attention turned to the phone. “What’s wrong with this damn thing?” His marksmanship had never let him down. There’s no way Cress could’ve survived that bullet.

 

 

 

 

5:03 p.m.

Shoreditch, East London

 

Calla gripped her arms, digging her shattered nails in her bare skin. Where had the cold come from? The immense fatigue? She rubbed her arms, yearning for warmth. Her bare feet soaked in a pool of blood. An ice-cold sensation began a slow agonizing decent through her veins, close to sub-zero temperatures. She tried to stand but her legs resisted. Her immobile knees, now weakened, locked together, stiffening with a chill as the wind swept over her drenched skin. Snowflakes caressed her cheeks, perhaps the only upside in the gloom. Her thoughts spun round and round, trying to arrest any recognizable memory.

The cold eased and heat seeped into her aching muscles. She slowly opened her eyes, making out undetectable images and movement in the near distance as more voices sounded. What happened? Where am I?

Her hazy vision became clearer until she could make out decipherable forms. Meanwhile, the voices around her grew louder and more distinct. She lifted her head and glared upward. Jack and Nash sat across the room in debate over an item resting on a cluttered table.

“I can’t believe you guys found this!” Jack said.

“Well, actually, it was given to Calla,” Nash said.

“Do you know how many people are looking for this?”

“I'm not really sure. Could you examine it? I don’t think it's like any carbonado diamond we have on file.”

Calla turned her head toward the discussion. A movement stirred behind him. “Calla. Thank God you’ve come to.”

Her chest still heaved with ferocious pain. But as she moved her limbs the stiffness and discomfort eased. She could scarcely recall what had led to such a substantial headache. She placed a hand on her chest. Slowly the pieces started to form in her mind. They’d been in a field or was it a valley? No, it was Oxford. She remembered a tall warrior-like man?

The thing!

Watcher!

He had fought her until she’d overpowered him. How had she managed to do that?

And then.

Blank.

She couldn’t recall any more. Nash paced to her side and knelt on the floor by the couch. His eyebrows arched and his lips tightened, revealing a single dimple on the right side of his cheek.

“You just escaped a nasty bullet,” Nash said.

“Bullet?”

Relief flooded his eyes. “Yes, a bullet.”

Calla fought to make her heavy limps move. She lumbered upward and relaxed her shoulders. “How?”

Nash settled in a seat beside her. “The bullet knocked you senseless, but—”

He stopped, waiting for a response.

“And?”

“You held the rock to your heart,” he said glancing at the carbonado.

Calla’s eyes begged for more information. “Yes?”

He hesitated once more and set a calm hand over hers. “You then…disappeared for a good several seconds. The next thing I knew I caught you before you hit the ground with the stone still held to your heart.”

Calla took in every word of his story, trying to connect them with the pieces that were still hazy in her memory. Nash managed an encouraging smile. “I think it saved you. You were gone, outta sight with enough time for the bullet to steal right past you? You actually disappeared into thin air.”

Could it be true?

Jack joined them, standing a few feet away. She’d forgotten he’d been at arm’s length the entire time.

Calla glanced round the cramped room. “Where are we?”

Nash rose slowly. “I called Jack. We need his help.”

Jack held a peculiar stone in his hand, balancing it between his two hands.

“After I saw what the stone had done by shielding you from that bullet and changing the chemistry of your body, I knew we weren’t dealing with an ordinary carbonado. Jack can help us find out what this thing is,” Nash said.

Nash was right. Jack could probably conduct geology experiments to see where the stone had come from. But, most importantly, what will science tell us? Is the stone a danger to us?

Jack threw Calla a grin as he slid off a mini torch from his head. He wore a white lab coat and latex gloves. “Welcome to my humble abode. This is my private lab. I come here to work on things I don't wish others to know about.”

Calla scanned the room. “Impressive, Jack. It takes a bullet to my heart to get an invitation here.”

Jack smirked. “I’ve done a few initial tests on the stone.”

“What have you found?” Calla asked.

“Carbonados, or black diamonds, have always been a mystery, even to the scientific mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some researchers have a theory about their origin.”

Nash interposed. “It’s literally…out of this world.”

Calla’s shoulders slouched. “I’m listening.”

“Researchers are still trying to figure out where they came from. Normal diamonds, such as the ones jewelers work with, come from deep within the earth.”

Calla’s eyes lit up. “Yes, and they came to the surface through two volcano eruptions that happened about one billion years ago,” she said.

“That’s right. What we have here is different,” Jack said. “Carbonados are older than three and a half billion years. They must’ve come to Earth in a non-conventional way.”

“What way?”

“Also,” he added. “Most diamonds can be found all over the world. Carbonados are only found in Brazil and Africa, with the exception of this one.”

Nash took the stone in his hand. “One theory is that black diamonds came to Earth during an asteroid event that struck when the two continents were still one.”

Calla wrestled the theory. “Isn’t that what ISTF documents as well as the NASA reports?”

“Correct. The only difference is they don’t have studies on this stone,” Nash added.

Jack’s eyes lit. “Not only is it bulletproof but, so far from what I've seen, the compositions aren’t present on our planet. It’s quite remarkable.”

“Is there more?” she said.

Nash interjected. “Carbonados have hydrogen in them, suggesting the diamonds formed in a unique environment, like a star.”

Calla tilted her head. “So this stone isn’t from Earth?”

“Nope. If I gather correctly, when examined under infrared radiation, I found a spectrum similar to a type of diamond that exists in space,” Jack said.

“So what are you saying exactly?”

Jack strode the length of the tiny, windowless lab. “From the initial research I've done there’re three explanations we can use. One, this stone is formed from the original solar nebulae, or interstellar dust cloud. Two, its produced by the high temperatures and pressures of the Earth’s mantle or three, it’s the result of an interplanetary impact.”

“Are you serious?” Calla said,

“Yes, and the funny thing is scientists don’t agree on any of the three theories,” Jack said.

Calla peered from Nash to Jack as if to determine if she should believe them. “There must be an explanation.”

She’d regained her senses now and was fully alert. These were her two best friends. They wanted only what was best for her.

They were dead serious.

Jack shook his head. “Not really. Even if the source of carbonados is still not proven I think it’s amazing that portions of a cooled star could survive, travel across billions of miles to Earth and be preserved for us to find.”

“Hmm—”

“They’re literally falling stars!”

Calla threw Jack a wearied smile. “Okay, what else have you discovered?”

“There are significant nuclear materials contained in this rock. But what amazes me is that the materials inherent in the stone are non-toxic and are off the charts,” Jack continued.

“What materials are those?” Nash asked.

“I don’t know yet. This baby has enough juice to power fifty space crafts. My program couldn’t read all of it. I think we could be looking at a substance from the outer galaxies, such as a mineral or a gem.”

Nash thought for a moment. “But isn’t that what Operation Carbonado is all about? The only reason these five governments would get behind this is because of the potential for nuclear energies.”

Jack moved back to a computer screen on the desk in the far corner. “Operation Carbonado is full of holes. First of all the reports say that a star exploded and delivered these gems to Earth by an asteroid. But how come none like this have been found? What are the reports based on?”

Nash gripped the back of his neck. “That’s not entirely true. NASA has a different take on it. According to classified NASA reports a geologist from Iowa International University analyzed chemical compositions of some volcanic stones found in Brazil and the Central African Republic. Similar I guess to this one.”

Their eyes fell on the carbonado.

“Like Jack said, the geologist bounced infrared light off polished slivers of the stone and the resulting scales didn’t match signatures for earthly hydrogen and nitrogen,” added Nash.

“Why’s that?” asked Calla.

 Nash took a deep breath. “Because they mimic those found in intergalactic space.”

 

 

 

 

5:21 p.m.

 

“Whether it’s from space or not, as far as I’m concerned, each is entitled to their opinion. I just want to know what my parents were involved with,” Calla said, twiddling her right ear stud. “The operation reports also say that a similar stone was found in the sixties, but there is no clear evidence of it. No pictures, no lab reports. Where can we find more about the asteroid theory?”

“Probably from the person who compiled the Operation Carbonado report. I mean the original findings,” Nash said.

Jack checked his screen and typed in a few words. “That’s classified and needs higher clearance than I have, all the way up to Mason.”

She hovered for a moment, not having totally regained her equilibrium. “Where’s the Deveron? I want to know more about what Watcher meant when he said he’d waited for me for a long time. Why me?”

Nash handed her the manuscript and the journal. “Calla, you’re lucky to be alive. Are you sure you’re up to this?”

Calla took both items in her hands. “I’m fine.” She tried to ease his anxious look with a weak smirk. “I think there’s a connection between what I learned in Berlin and what this stone and manuscript are leading us to. We need to hang on to these and shouldn’t let anything we learn out of this circle.”

She glanced at both of them. “I need you to swear. This is dangerous for all of us. Can I count on you to see this through to the end?”

Jack glanced at Nash’s pensive face and gave her a cordial wink. “The commander in chief has spoken. We’re with you on this,” he said.

Calla labored over to Jack’s work desk and spread out both the journal and manuscript. “Okay, so why did Watcher give me this stone? He said we only have a few days from now to get the other two and muttered something about their strengths expiring if not reunited. What other carbonados?”

She glared at the porous mass of fine-grained rock, now burrowed in her hands. She rotated it in the light and it gave off a prism of colored beams that fell on her soft face.

Jack eased the stone from her hands. “I want to do some more research on this. I’ll head back to the office labs and see what I can find.”

“Be careful,” Nash said.

“Righto!” Jack said as he paced to the door, slipped on a jacket and a leather flat-cap. “I’ll see you guys later,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

 

 

Nash turned to Calla as she sank into the seat at Jack’s work desk. He watched her silently scrutinize the manuscript, and then the journal, unaware of his stare. He had on several occasions thought about a romantic relationship with her. He leaned slightly toward her as she raised her head.

“I was quite impressed with you in Oxford.” His smile, though with shut lips, spread slowly. “Where did you learn that defensive shoulder crank? That’s some skillful martial arts move.”

Calla backed away from him until she felt the cushion of the chair against her back. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“You held your own, especially with your grip of death on Watcher. You could really handle yourself.”

Calla turned her attention back to the screen.

“Calla?”

She turned to face him. “Yes?”

He set a hand on her chin.

 

 

She winced with a sudden shiver of apprehension. Calla had consistently warded off any romantic approach he’d attempted and as a result, he’d withdrawn his advances allowing her the distance she insisted on having.

Nash edged nearer and pushed back a wisp of hair that had fallen across her eyes. “Calla. I—”

Her skin warmed against his gentle touch as his hand, gently insistent, moved slowly over her forehead and down her temples, before cradling her head in his hands. His face betrayed a hint of infatuation. “I thought I’d lost you.”

She felt herself shrink from the intensity of his affection. “You didn’t.”

His intoxicating touch felt strangely welcome, even though she’d avoided these feelings for as long as she’d known him. When he leaned in to kiss her all he got was a flushed cheek. Unwilling to trust the emotions welling inside, she instinctively reached out and removed his hands. “Thanks for being there for me yesterday.”

 

 

Nash had overstepped an invisible, yet apparent boundary. He swiveled slowly, turned away and an awkward silence engulfed the room only broken by the sound of an incoming mail on Jack’s computer. Calla turned her attention back to the manuscript as Nash slowly lifted his head. “Why’s this so important to you?”

Calla glanced away. “Nash, I've been searching for my parents and my identity for a long time.”

Should she reveal what Taiven had told her? She’d still not registered who or what Taiven was. Nothing seemed logical anymore except the yearning in her to continue the journey she’d begun. She slowly reached for his upper arm. “I can’t tell you how I know but my parents worked on this manuscript and one of them, or both, were employed by British Secret Intelligence.”

Nash’s brows knit. “I thought you were an orphan, Cal. Isn’t that what your whole search has involved? Looking for information on how you came to be adopted?”

“Yes, but I've reason to believe that my real parents may have given me up for a reason or a mission. Then something happened to them.”

“Do you think they’re still alive?”

“I don’t know, Nash, but this is my only lead. They worked with this manuscript years ago. If I locate what the Deveron is hiding perhaps I’ll find out more about them.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I understand.”

“I've been on a lonely journey for a long time. There’s so much agony in not knowing who you’re or where you’re from.”

Nash decided not to pursue the matter any further. Over the months, he’d observed Calla chase every lead that involved a hunt for her parents’ identities, to no avail. “I don’t like what this pursuit is doing to you.” He thought for a second. “But I believe you’ll find the answers.”

 

 

She soaked in the concern that burned in his eyes. Even in the intimate moment she couldn’t tell him what her heart knew. Her chin trembled. “Nash, I’m so grateful for our friendship. Please, let’s not ruin what we have.”

Nash managed a roguish smile and kissed her on the forehead. “I don’t want to lose you. All right, let’s see what else we can find.”

Calla picked up the manuscript and the journal. “We need to find a bigger space.”

They cleared space on the carpet and spread out the ancient papers. Calla focused on the delicate papyrus. “Each of these round shapes, on the outskirts of this circle represents a goal of some sort. We’ve found one, the rock that Jack has.”

Nash sank to the ground beside her. “I read about the Deveron in a classified NSA file published about twenty or so years ago.”

“What file was that?”

Nash went over to Jack’s computer. “Let me see if I can find it.”

Calla rose and followed him. He closed the open application and logged onto a restricted government website.

“How do you have access to these CIA files?” she asked

He shot her a wink. “Many ways.”

He typed in a series of passwords. After moving through a sequence of windows a file-archiving site popped up. He scrolled through numerous files until he reached the one that he was looking for. “It says here the Deveron document was definitely at British Secret Intelligence Service offices years ago. In 1968. The CIA obtained the document through an MI6 source who loaned it to them for twenty-four hours.” He smirked. “Looks like we Americans wanted to run some tests. Perhaps interpret it.”

“Does its show what they found?”

“Not much to help us. A British agent repossessed it before the CIA could investigate or even make a copy.”

“Where did the document come from?”

Nash read a little further. “Ah yes at the ISTF meeting they mentioned the manuscript itself was found by a certain Deveron, a person in the eighteen hundreds. It’s not clear how.”

“So that’s why it’s called the Deveron Manuscript.”

 “CIA believed it was a map. How they came to that conclusion is anyone’s guess.”

Calla shook her head. “I find it ludicrous for the government to be involved in some sort of treasure hunt.”

“Aren’t they all? This report sides with the asteroid belief. According to this there’re supposedly three carbonados in total. The manuscript leads to their locations.”

“That would explain the three circles and the trinity powers on page one of the Deveron.”

“One carbonado diamond was found in 1966.”

Calla leaned toward the screen. “Where? Who found it?”

“It doesn’t say. My guess is if the Deveron belonged to your parents then they probably found it.”

“Why was research on the document never completed when it came back to Britain?”

Nash searched further down the screen. “It doesn’t say.” He turned from the screen. “I’ve done some digging and think it was stolen. This is how it ended up in the Pushkin Museum in St. Petersburg.”

Calla mused over the revelations as her hand landed on her cheek. “Allegra would have known that.”

“We have one stone following our translation. This is what I found.” He showed her the notes he’d scribbled the day before.

 

 

2.

 

Greater power has no more than this.

Courage is the source of my strength.

Here I fought like a lioness, I ate like a bull.

I danced to your praises and they ripped me apart.

Yet overall, I remained.

Though I died, I remained courageous and victorious, I was never defeated.

 

 

Calla re-read his notes quietly for several minutes and ran a hand through her hair. “This next clue in the manuscript is talking of physical power, strength and maybe even influence. The language used is stronger and more aggressive.”

“A power?” Nash asked.

Calla pointed to the circles on the manuscript. “Yes! Look at the main line again.”

Nash obliged.

 

 

In three dominances you rule, move and ensure your being.

 

 

 Calla picked up the first page of the Deveron. “History shows us that there are three things the human race covets most: knowledge, through communication and language; power through strength, and wealth through resources. The first circle of knowledge led us to Watcher and the carbonado in Oxford.”

“Hmm…this second circle here is therefore talking about literal physical power. Like a powerful nation, an army—”

Calla pursed her lips. “Allegra’s notes say that the three carbonados are a great distance from each other, possibly on different continents. They probably can’t co-exist on the same axis, like the north and south poles of a magnet. If the second rock is as powerful as the one we have, whoever hid them didn’t want them to be near each other. We’re definitely looking for a place.”

“But seriously, Cal, this riddle could mean anything. It could be any powerful nation or group throughout history or modern times.”

“Not just any group.” She smiled. “Have you ever been to Greece, Nash?”

He fixed his gaze on her, wondering what her sharp-witted brain had contrived.

She flipped her head back beaming. “We better let Jack know.”

 

 

 

6:01 p.m.

ISTF Laboratories

Geology and Petrology Division

 

“Fascinating!” Jack whispered to himself.

The overhead fluorescent lights flickered off for lack of movement on the floor. He leaned over some documents. With the laptop screen booted Jack made some calculations. He glimpsed behind him. A lone analyst sat three desks from Jack. The man’s ears were covered with a mega-sized headphone, his head bobbing in rhythm to the loud bass of house music that could faintly be heard reverberating. Two others worked on, rows behind him, concealed behind their screens.

Jack had hidden the rock in his leather messenger bag. In about thirty minutes there’d be no one about, just him and the security staff.

On occasion he would work late into the night. This could be one of them. A janitor appeared on the main floor, lugging a cleaning cart behind him. He switched on the noisy vacuum cleaner and started his cleaning shift. Jack finished up and made his way to the microscopy lab on the seventh floor. It had been a controversial move but strong campaigning from the geology staff had enabled the installation of a state of the art lab accessible to all ISTF staff.

Not truly a geologist Jack understood enough about sediment rocks and metallurgical substances to determine the materials he was dealing with. His interest in geology had been a hobby from a young age after finding fascinating rocks on the Indian Ocean shores of his country. He would examine Calla’s stone using the lab’s microscopes.

Jack took a deep breath. Perhaps he was a step closer to being all he desired, not decorated with fame or accolades, but a step ahead of criminal mindsets and behavior. Mindsets he was sure ran in his family.

 

He recalled how embarrassed he’d been when his father was arrested one night for attempting to slice his mother’s lover’s cranium with a broken vodka bottle. Though convicted, his father had walked free after three years in the state penitentiary, leaving a very bitter aftertaste in Jack’s mind.

He later found out that his father had harbored pirates who frequented the Indian Ocean, terrorizing western tourists and lived most of his life on the grimy funds they paid. That was why Jack had been so ready to leave the islands. And thank God, his scholarship had seen to it. Nothing around his upbringing was customary, his parents, his house and even the dreads he wore. He had to achieve something phenomenal in the inventions arena if he were to tame the demons of mediocrity that tailed him.

Tonight could be important. It could be one step in the direction of being the finest technology specialist capable of designing superior systems that apprehend criminals. That’s why he had joined ISTF when he was first head-hunted by Mason, if only to apprehend delinquents like his father. And now that he’d spent some time with Mason zeal was reignited.

Jack saw so much of his father’s mannerism in the man.

 

One by one the night workers on the floor filtered out and the place quieted. Only the night watchman kept him company. The lights flickered again, prompted by movement sensors. The cleaning janitor switched off his appliance and rolled it along with the cart to the next department.

Without hesitation Jack shut off his computer, picked up his bag from underneath his desk, and crossed to the end of the room. He pulled open the door that led into a corridor and shut it behind him. He rode the elevator to the seventh floor. Once outside the lab, he pulled his security card from his pocket that allowed him special clearance.

Seated at a low table a security man leaned forward by the lab door draining a mug of warm coffee as he snacked on a meaty pretzel. His head was buried in a popular car magazine, and as he lifted his head he caught Jack’s approach. “Ah, Jack! It’s always great to have your company up here. It can get pretty lonely.”

Jack approached his desk. “Hey Liam, I need to sign in for a couple of hours.”

Liam set his reading down and passed him the signature tablet. “She’s all yours.”

Jack signed in. “Is there anyone in there?”

Liam shook his head. “Not unless they slipped past me.”

“Will you need the full power at your station?” Liam asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Liam shoved open the lab door and turned on the main lights.

“I can take it from here. You don’t need to stay on. If you need to go I can man the machines myself.”

“Cheers. Don’t forget to lock up. I’ll be leaving in about ten minutes,” he said as he marched away, head high and chest out.

 

The lab was arranged around seven microscopy hubs, each constructed as hexagonal tables. At the back hand specimens, collected over the course of several years, had been stored for various lab exercises. Jack had on occasion used these elements for experiments. He chose the station closest to the back of the room and gently set his bag on the table. Turning to the research-grade microscope fitted with a CCD video camera he switched on the overhead station lamp.

Jack waited a few more moments before turning on the equipment. He gently pulled out the carbonado. As it came into contact with his skin it glowed cerulean and a faint shade of magenta.

He studied the stone. What the heck are you? He switched off the light. The stone continued to gleam with intensity around the room. Jack’s eyes followed the reflections on the wall as they blazed shades of colors he’d never seen. He placed the stone under a microscope. Under the viewing lens the luminosity only intensified. He moved on to another instrument at the table, an alpha particle x-ray spectrometer. Created to measure the abundance of chemical elements in rocks and soils, he placed it in contact with the rock. As he maneuvered, a protective layer started to form around the stone, a force shield. It’s responding to light.

 Jack reached for the hand lens, the lab’s impressive magnifying glass over on the workbench along the wall. A close up view of the minerals, textures and structures in the stone, could reveal much more. He fetched the gadget and placed the rock within its reading saddle. The lens began to calculate. The digital numbers on the small display at the front spun with such rapid intensity that Jack failed to keep up with the speed. Calculation reached apex point and came to an abrupt halt. Had the machine possessed more capacity it would have continued counting. He peeped through the lens. Uh huh. Just as I thought.

He took the stone back to the workstation and set it on the table. Walking to a secured locker he found a radioactive suit. Once suited he breathed hard, recognizing the severity of what he was about to do. Look for traces of uranium.

He had read about ways to safely detect uranium from remote locations. ISTF had started such experiments in this very lab and, now, he would attempt one. The technique was known within scientific circles as near infrared spectroscopy. Jack returned to the station and switched on a spectrometer. Using a fiber optic probe with a powerful light source he scanned the surface of the carbonado to identify the chemical properties of its surface. The test responded positively. How much at this point he couldn’t tell though. The energy levels in this one stone alone could possibly power electricity use for the entire globe for weeks.

What is this thing?

Jack unsuited the research garment, shut off the machines and put the rock in his bag. He turned off the lights and exited the lab. Outside the lab door Liam’s hands were folded across his chest, having nodded off at his station.

“Great!” muttered Jack under his breath. I thought he’d gone.

The coffee mug on the table had spilled over, leaving a brown coffee stain on the closed car magazine.

Jack’s hand nudged him. “Hey! Liam?”

Liam’s body stiffened. He roused, fixing his sleepy eyes on Jack’s face. Liam scanned around him. “What is it? Heck, I didn’t realize. I…must’ve been exhausted.”

Jack helped him up. “You should go home.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Liam set the spilled coffee cup upright and wiped the table surface with some tissues from his pockets. Jack patted Liam on the shoulder as he turned to go. “Okay, good night,” he said as he marched off to the elevators.

 

 

Liam now fully awake, waited several seconds, until Jack had turned the corner. He surveyed the corridor. When he was satisfied that it was all clear, he vigorously rubbed his facial skin. His epidermis shifted revealing a different face, concealed under his meta-material disguise. He wandered to the broom closet, a few doors from the laboratory. Glimpsing around he dropped his used flummoxing device, a custom-made, thin film that integrated signature reduction capabilities for the face and head region. It landed in the waste disposal and shot down the shaft on the wall.

Slate grimaced, glancing down at the body on the broom closet floor. Liam’s lifeless body was still unconscious, gagged more than an hour ago.