Chapter 23
7:00 a.m.
Chelsea, London
Eva searched her memory for the lacking pieces as anguish gripped her confused mind. With purposeful intent she reached for the last drawer on the low dressing table beside her bed and pulled it open. For several minutes she fumbled through its contents until her fingers slid across a shabby business card from a club in Soho, London’s West End district. On the flip side she’d scribbled Nash’s contact details. And as she stared at the number, the memories resurfaced.
Twenty months ago Alex had hurried into her office offering her the opportunity to interview the US First Lady, Beverly Westbrook, on her contemporary fashion style. The interview was to take place shortly before a state dinner arranged for the US President’s official visit to the United Kingdom.
Alex was thrilled they’d received clearance for the coveted interview. “We need a good glamour story on the front page, Riche. Westbrook is a well-respected fashion icon in this country.”
Eva arrived at the US Embassy in Grosvenor Square, the home of official American presence in London since John Adams’ presidency. Situated in the heart of the exclusive Mayfair district the building was notable for its crystalline cube design, adjacent to a semi-circular pond on one side.
She strutted past the waters toward the security gate with a jittery fashion photographer who fumbled with his equipment as he kept stride with her. Upon arrival at the heavily safeguarded, admissions gate Eva placed her bag on the revolving belt while the security staff scanned her items and prepared visitor badges. Once past the security scanners they proceeded through a double-door, glass entrance and up a grand spiral staircase.
Then she saw him. In full uniform, Nash, a detachment commander operationally responsible for the safety of the ambassador and appointed delegates stood at the entrance of the state ballroom discoursing with two lower grade Marines.
Eva’s knees floundered a little, quite taken by his lean build and strikingly handsome face as she studied every inch of his six-foot-three build. Nash escorted her through the security procedure required for her to meet the U.S. First Lady. Eva’s coy conduct came off as direct as she walked up to him and whispered something mischievous in his ear. How had she managed to get a private number from a Marine on duty? They went out on a date two days later in Covent Garden. Thereafter he refused to return her calls until she proposed a trip to Paris, the city of her childhood and true home. “Why don’t you just widen your horizons, Chéri? You’ll see Paris from a whole new perspective.”
His positive response took her by surprise. Their second date was on the weekend following the state visit. Eva sought to win his every affection hoping Paris’s appeal would coerce him into lowering his guard and provide the ideal backdrop for her flirtatious pursuit.
And then the Marine released his ammunition, wanting to break it off before it had even begun. Nash made that very clear the night they visited Le Miroir, a quaint bistro she knew in the northern Paris quarter of Montmartre. A small, casual place, adorned with red and black abstracts and numerous mirrors, its original atmosphere was the backdrop of a very sublime squabble.
“Don’t kid yourself, Eva. This isn’t going anywhere. Don’t you think?”
Not one to accept loss she clutched his collar and draped herself across his lap. The movement knocked their wine gasses over as Eva moved in for a forced kiss.
Recoiling, he heaved her off his thighs and shot to his feet. “You’re an interesting one, Eva.”
“Is there someone else?”
“Maybe,” he said, pity surfacing in his eyes.
She didn’t believe him and stammered. “You on the other hand are a strange one, Marine.”
He tightened his jacket ready to make a move for the exit. “Eva, I went on a date and came to Paris only because the First Lady asked me to.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“She doesn’t trust the way you’ll handle her responses from your interview.”
Eva didn’t take the rejection well. Men never said no to her, especially those that she sought after. Nash didn’t fit into the class of men she was accustomed to dating. The latter were all ambitious, pretentious types. Nash was different, the kind of man she wanted to be associated with, mysterious and incredibly attractive.
She struck him across the jaw and cursed with words more foul-mouthed than she’d intended. None of it was gracious. She’d not seen or spoken to him since that weekend.
She stiffened at the sound of her bedroom phone, causing her fingers to drop the business card on the floor. She recognized the number. “What is it, Mark?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Riche, but Raphael Leadstone has been calling for you.”
She cut him off. “What does he want?”
“He says—”
It wasn’t important enough. “Tell him I’m on a business trip.”
“He’s called several times already.”
“Mark, I can’t speak to him now. Tell him I’ll call him!”
“All right,” Mark said.
“I’ll deal with Leadstone later.”
Eva hung up and jumped off the bed. She retrieved the card from the floor and reached for her cell phone. Even at the early hour of 7:15 a.m. she recalled Nash was active in the mornings, training first and, with any luck, he’d be out and about.
The phone rang a few times before he picked up.
“Shields.”
“Hi, Nash. It’s Eva.”
“Eva?”
“Come on, Nash you used to call me Eveeee.”
A minor silence kept Eva in eager anticipation.
“I seriously doubt that?” he said.
“Chéri.” She fashioned the most appetizing voice she could muster. “Could I meet you somewhere today?”
Nash didn’t respond.
She winced. Eva would need to lure him in slowly. “I’ve really missed you. I just wanted to apologize for how I behaved in Paris.”
“I think you already have. Listen, now’s not a good time. I’m traveling this week. How about we catch up when I return?”
She couldn’t wait that long. “Nash. How do you know Calla Cress?”
“Excuse me?”
“Calla Cress. Calla and I went to school together and sadly we lost contact. Do you know how I can contact her? I know you two are first degree contacts on Cyter Link.”
Nash flinched as he held the phone. He slipped out of the kitchen onto the rear, outdoor terrace, leaving Calla and Jack in constructive debate over Deveron translation concepts. He closed the door behind him. “What do you want with Calla?”
“I just want to reconnect. We were old friends in school.”
“I’m sorry, Eva. I can’t help you.”
“Nash, please.”
He would ward her off. “Okay. I can meet you at a café along the Serpentine in Hyde Park.” He checked the time. “In one hour.”
7:32 a.m.
Central London
Nash hopped into a cab on King’s Road, a major street stretching through the localities of Chelsea and Fulham in West London. The boulevard was infested with early morning rush hour traffic. He’d assumed it would be the best way to slip out of Allegra’s undetected.
“Serpentine Road, Hyde Park, please,” he told the cab driver. This should only take an hour.
He had no time for a narcissistic woman whose only ambition was to progress herself above her peers. What does she want with Calla? Eva was trouble. The difficult kind that persisted at the risk of losing all work ethic and appeal.
The taxi halted near Hyde Park Corner Underground station. The trip had gone quicker than he’d anticipated. He put forty pounds in the driver’s hand and sprang onto the pavement, soaking in the brisk morning air.
City workers commuted along the hustling sidewalk. He crossed the street and strolled into Hyde Park, past the ostentatious Wellington Museum. His feet moved briskly, and he reached the bar in less than five minutes. When he arrived at the café, a handful of tourists and Londoners were savoring the early morning sun on the outside terrace while others leisurely sipped coffees and sat at breakfast. He scanned the room for a free table to no avail.
“Nash?”
Behind him, he took in the approach of a familiar face. Neil Stone, the refined café owner. He was a very tall man with a narrow build that always made Nash think of a clever stage magician. Neil’s extreme sensitivity to customers made him a remarkable café owner, although he managed to conceal this aspect of his personality with a trivial smile in the corner of his mouth.
“Neil, looks like business is good.”
“Nash, my friend, let me get you table.”
“Thanks.”
“Will that be one or two?”
“Two.”
Several seconds later Neil seated him on the deck overlooking the recreational lake. Nash ordered a black coffee and placed his phone on the table.
“Nash!”
He zipped around. I never thought I’d see you again.
Eva beamed a wide smile and floated to his table. She was taller than he remembered. Beaming a wide smile, she wrapped her long arms round his neck.
He turned in time to avoid the rouged rims of her mouth. Disguising his irritation, he grasped her arms and brought them down to her side. “You’ve not changed.”
She’d dressed for the occasion, sporting an elegant gold and cream, cocktail dress.
“Nice dress. A little early for drinks, though.”
“Thank you, Chéri. Just something I found at Valentino. How good to see you!”
Nash pulled out a chair for her, expecting to be lied to with every sentence. “Are you well, Eva?”
“I’m doing really well! I’ve just started my own media company.”
“So you’re no longer at the Guardian?”
She observed him with coquettish eyes. “They didn’t deserve me.”
“I’m sure.”
She leaned forward and seized his hand. “Why did I ever let you go?”
Nash repossessed his hand. “I was never yours to have.” Caution kept him aloof as he changed the subject. “Why do you want to contact Calla Cress?”
A fidgety waiter came to the table to take their orders. Eva retreated slightly. “What’re we having, Chéri? Let’s have some champagne. I feel like celebrating. I've not seen you in a long time.”
“No thank you.”
“All right. Waiter, I’ll have a glass of fresh orange juice.”
As the waiter left them to fulfill the order, Nash’s jaw tightened.
He wanted this over with.
Fast.
Eva reached for a cigarette.
Nash’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t answered my question. What do you want with Calla?”
She lit her cigarette and smiled viciously. “Patience, soldier, she’s just a friend from school. I’ve been trying to catch up with her. Just for old time’s sake.”
With his mind ringing sirens of warning he refused to believe a word she said. “Haven’t you been in touch all these years?”
Eva inhaled her cigarette and blew the smoke away. “You’ve not told me how you know her.”
Nash disliked it when women smoked. As distasteful as it was Eva puffed some more smoke to the side and put out her cigarette as if on cue. “Listen, I understand you’re still upset with me. All I want to do is catch up with Calla. We were good friends in school and we lost touch. That’s all. Why are you so defensive?”
“About what?”
“You don’t trust me, Nash.”
“Does anyone?”
Eva grimaced at his remark. “She your girlfriend? Didn't think you were the brunette type.”
“I know you, Eva. Ambition and destruction are usually tied to each of your quests, and mostly journalistic in nature.”
The waiter returned with a glass of the requested juice for Eva. They waited until he’d gone before Eva pulled out her cell phone. “I’ve came across some top secret information. I’m writing a story on the disappearance of the Deveron Manuscript.”
Nash listened motionless.
Eva paused. She searched his face for a reaction before continuing. “These notes, written by a German investigator, have Calla’s name on them.”
She calculated his lack of emotion. “I presume he connects her in some way to the investigation. I figured if I could just talk to her, maybe even warn her—”
Nash took the phone from her hand. She’d opened a top secret image of an MI6 file. He recognized the emblem even with the questionable resolution of the image. He zoomed in to mentally register the information and scrolled to the next few images.
Eva had gained access to classified information. Whom did she bribe, investigate or seduce to get this?
Sure enough, Calla’s name was on the document. Nash could read most of the handwritten German notes. He stopped at an image displaying a half-photographed page. The words translated read:
Why did Fräuline Cress leave Berlin?
Was Eva’s story credible?
The truth was she was onto a lead. One that could potentially endanger Calla.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
She slowly sipped her juice with an amused grin. “Even I have secrets.”
He would follow his instincts. Eva never hunted anything without motive. He’d learned that in the short time he’d known her. “How do you know this jeopardizes Calla’s life? Do you know what the German says?”
“Not yet.”
The fact that she’d surrendered the information so easily meant she wasn’t aware of its importance. It would only be a matter of time before she would find a German translator. Like it or not the fact remained, the German police were investigating Calla. And just when Calla was incredibly close to finding the answers she needed.
What Eva held in her hands was probably the German police’s entire investigation of the case on the Deveron. He returned the cell phone to her.
“Interesting company you keep these days, Eva.”
She flinched. “You believe me, don’t you? Listen, Calla needs to know this.”
“I can’t help you, Eva. You should try staying in touch with your friends next time. Although I doubt many would want to.”
He rose to leave and reached for his jacket.
“Damn it, Nash!”
She plopped a fast hand over her foul mouth. Nash had expected worse, maybe a whack in the nose like the last time. He’d forgotten how overindulged she was. “Wise up, Eva. I’m sorry but, unlike you, I've principles when it concerns my friends.”
Nash motioned to a passing waiter for the bill. “I need to go. I’m sorry I couldn’t be much help.”
Eva’s voice rose, adopting a twinge of restrained desperation. “Okay, Nash. At least tell her that I asked after her? Please give her my number and ask her to call me.”
Nash had no intention of raising the matter with Calla. He paid the bill and ambled out of the café with Eva tailing with a fierce stomp in her step.
“I’m taking a cab, can I drop you somewhere?” he said.
She raised her haughty chin as she kept pace and flinched. “Please drop me off in Chelsea, near Sloane Square.”
Nash glanced back. She wasn’t done with her investigation. He would have to elude her somehow before she drilled him further. They found a taxi on the busy intersection near Hyde Park Corner. Fifteen minutes later the taxi parked at a hasty angle along the aisle of stationary cars, just a few yards from of Eva’s doorstep.
Nash jumped out of the black cab and swung round to pull open the door for her. “Congratulations, by the way, on your new company.”
She stepped out of the car, tugging at her crumpled dress. “Thanks.”
Nash veered toward the other passenger door. “Stay out of trouble.”
As he moved Eva gripped his jacket. Before he could respond he was caught off guard by her forced, fervent embrace. The sudden confrontation pushed Nash against the car and caused a slight snicker from the on-looking cab driver.
Nash broke the coerced kiss and wiped his mouth, imagining punitive words not suitable in front of any woman. “Eva!”
She chortled, throwing her head back in a rudimentary, girlish giggle. Her infantile tactics had ventured too far for his liking. Nevertheless, he wasn’t livid. “I feel sorry for you. Remember you’re a mother.”
“How do you know that?”
“Intelligence way too classified for your journalistic nose. I hope you’re setting a better example for your son.”
She stopped her uncouth giggle and, with an air of fury at his unwarranted remark, she stepped away from him. “How do you know about Lucas?”
“Just do yourself a favor and wise up. And in case you’re wondering men desire a little mystery in a woman.”
Eva recoiled, scowling. In one turn she swaggered off toward her front door. Nash watched after her, shaking his head. When she’d gone inside he slumped back into the taxi and they wove into traffic. He glanced behind him and for a second was certain he’d seen someone he recognized across the street. He brushed the thought away.
A couple of a hundred meters up the street Calla stole into a gourmet grocery shop. Crouching down she slid to the floor. Only moments before she’d witnessed Nash step out of a taxi.
With her!
Calla exhaled quietly before rising from the floor. She exited the shop, turned right and pressed on a few meters up the street. When she reached her destination—Dr. Olivier’s private clinic in Sloane Square — Calla knew she’d stopped long enough to see Eva and Nash.
She took in a long, drawn-out breath, then she exhaled.
8:25 a.m.
Dr. Olivier’s Private Surgery
Chelsea, London
“Dr. Olivier will see you in five minutes, Miss Cress.”
“Thanks.”
The private waiting room was still. An unobtrusive piano piece, the Sonata 7 in C major, by Mozart filtered through the ceiling speakers. Dr. Olivier had once confessed it was a pacifying effect when Calla asked why he played music in his waiting lounge. “Most patients arrive at a doctor’s office uneasy about everything under the sun. Medical research explains that several diseases are brought on by preventable triggers like stress and worry. Music massages the stress.”
As logical as it had seemed to Calla when she was ten years old, would it soothe her ailing concerns now, including, the scene she’d just witnessed outside Dr. Olivier’s surgery? She never forgot a face. It was rare for Calla not to like anyone and all she could think about were the last words Eva had spoken to her. It had been a pathetic school girl threat but Calla had meant every word. “Don’t muddle with me. It turns ugly.”
A grim look fell on Calla’s face when she strolled into the patients’ waiting lounge. The room had changed with modernization taking the drab out of waiting. The doctor had introduced a contemporary, modular seating system. She slumped into a chair and rested her arms on the movable armrests, leaning with ease against the soft seating pads.
I thought Nash was at the estate with Jack. Calla had escaped, hoping her quick departure wouldn’t distract either him or Jack.
A terrible pain shot through her head. Since Pella, a headache would resurface every so often, creating insurmountable pain in the left side of her head.
A text message came in from Jack.
Calla glanced down and answered Jack’s inquiry.
Jack,
Be back in an hour.
“Calla.”
She lifted her eyes to see Dr. Olivier. He’d not changed at all with his radiant, ebony eyes that were like two spheres of night-black marble. His thick gray hair, worn professionally, was styled back with decent amounts of gel. He was a short man with a broad, masculine build.
“It’s been a long time. I was so happy to get your message. Are you well?”
Calla rose to greet him. “I hope so, doctor.”
Dr. Olivier briskly tilted his head as he took her by the arm and shook her hand. They progressed into his office exchanging small talk about her job at the museum.
“What brings you to see me?”
“Where do I begin?”
“Has something happened?”
Calla plopped on the chair offered. “Dr. Olivier, you have always known how to set my mind at ease even when I was in incredible pain.”
“I’m flattered.”
She considered the best way to explain her recent struggles. “Doctor, I hope this doesn’t sound absurd but I’ve so much…should I say…discomfort in my body. I’m a little scared.”
He took a seat at his desk opposite her. “What’s happening to you? Walk me through the symptoms.”
“Firstly, I seem to be able to see through things.”
The words came out of her mouth before she’d contemplated their meaning.
Without flinching, Olivier threaded his hands. “Explain that.”
He thinks I'm mad!
Not fazed, she elaborated. “Last night, I was able to see through my bathroom wall and floor.”
She cringed as the words escaped her lips. Shut up Calla! Can you hear yourself? She anticipated a perplexed reaction yet Dr. Olivier’s kind face focused on her in the most understanding manner. He said nothing.
Calla continued. “The result is usually a massive headache.”
“When did this start?”
“About a week ago.”
“You mentioned that the changes were taking place in your body. What changes?”
She took a deep breath and clasped her slim fingers around her arms. “Well, it seems to be an increased physical capability, immediately followed by incredible fatigue.”
Dr. Olivier switched on his computer and pulled out a note pad. “Have you been eating and drinking well? Exercising? Sleeping?”
“Yes, I suppose. Doctor Olivier, I know I sound like I’ve lost my marbles, and proposing that I’m some sort of weird mutant, but I wish I was lying.”
His empathetic look reassured her. He typed something on the computer. “Is there anything else you have noticed?”
“Such as?”
Olivier thought for a moment. “Oh, I don’t know, such as were you able to do these things at a young age?”
Calla pursed her lips, thinking for several seconds and shifted in her tight seat. “I’m not sure. You’ve always been my family doctor since Mama and Papa Cress started bringing me here. If anybody, you would have evidence of it.”
He turned the screen toward her. Her medical file stared her in the face. “Look here, Calla, when you were five, Mama and Papa Cress brought you in for a routine checkup. They said you had complained about migraines, quite unusual for a girl your age. They also told me you said you could literally see your neighbors through the walls of your house.”
Calla rose and scanned the screen as she read his medical notes. She turned to face him. “Did you believe them, Doctor? Do you believe me?”
Dr. Olivier rolled his chair back and twitched a little. “Well, at first I didn’t, but then it happened again a year later when you were six and similarly for your seventh year checkup. Each time, it would be something different. Seeing through a cup, a desk—”
“I don’t remember.”
“The day they reported you were able count exactly how much money the woman in the beauty shop had in her purse, they got worried. They started discouraging you, I think and you never mentioned it since.”
“Do you know if it kept happening?”
He edged back. “I’m not certain. I think you scared them. They didn’t want you singled out or even bullied at school. They never mentioned it to me again and, before I knew it, you were off to Beacon Academy.”
Calla advanced toward the window. Her somber face peered down at the slowing traffic and the London skyline above the rooftops. She took in the vivid bird’s eye view of the neighborhood before shifting to face the doctor. “Am I crazy, doctor? Have you ever heard of such ridiculous things?”
His gaze followed her as he rose. He drew toward her and positioned a comforting hand on her tense shoulder. “Actually, yes. Look here.”
He led her back to the computer and they took their seats in front of the screen. He stopped at an article from one of his research files. “When Mama and Papa Cress stopped talking about it I dismissed it as childhood escapism until I found this.”
He turned the screen her way. “You weren’t alone. After this medical paper was published, I heard of three other accounts, one in 1963 and one even earlier. The details are sketchy as they were taken from a doctor’s personal journal in the 1880s.”
Calla skimmed the headline with the eagerness of a hungry wolf while following his narrative. The title read:
Human With X-Ray Eyes
“When was this published?” Calla asked.
“Several years ago, probably a decade now. The patient in question must be older than you.”
“I don’t follow. This reads like a comic book account. What happened to this boy? Here, let me see…he was from Alaska?”
Dr. Olivier rotated the flat screen back toward him and hit a few buttons on the keyboard. “It’s quite an extraordinary tale really. Demyan Matthews was adopted from Kinshasa. His parents imagined he was a boy just like any other as he grew up, yet he was mature for his age. He learned to do things more quickly than other children did, like talking at just seven months. At one he could recite poetry and by three he’d learned the alphabet and mastered how to operate a car.
“When he was ten Demyan went to the hospital with a broken leg. There were complications during surgery and he complained that he could see into his leg and that something had gone wrong with the operation.”
Calla studied Olivier’s face. “What was it?”
“It was discovered that cotton swabs had been left inside him. He then had a second operation to remove the swabs. Several months later, he began to notice that he could see inside people and objects. He told his teacher that he saw what looked like a thick cord, two beans and an orange inside a patient. His mother believed him. Although Demyan didn’t know the correct words he was describing her intestines, kidneys and the heart.”
Calla slumped back against the leather seat, listening intently.
Dr. Olivier leaned forward. “After this happened, on many occasions doctors ran a battery of tests to find out if the little boy really did have x-ray vision. In one case Demyan drew a picture of what he saw inside a doctor’s stomach, apparently marking the exact spot where the doctor had a cyst. He also disagreed with the diagnosis of a cancer patient, saying all she could see was a small swelling and not the colossal tumor they saw. Further tests on the woman seemed to prove Demyan was correct.
“Incredible.”
“Demyan was brought to England by a national newspaper and, allegedly, he spotted all of the fractures and metal pins in a woman who’d recently been in a road accident. The woman was fully clothed and had no visible signs of how or where she’d been injured.”
“That’s implausible!”
“I know. It even baffles my medical mind. Incidentally, the Committee for the Scientific Investigation of Claims of the Paranormal and the affiliated Commission for Scientific Medicine and Mental Health performed more tests on Demyan. They needed to scientifically assess his claims.”
“What did they find?” Calla asked.
“The tests were intended as a first stage. If he could pass this then his claims would merit further research and testing.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know. However, as I said, there were two separate incidents a lot earlier. I can print all of this for you to read more.”
Dumbfounded, Calla knew she didn’t have much time to react to the news. Any minute now they had to leave and find the next carbonado.
“I thought I was losing my mind but now, I’m not sure what I think. What does it mean? What should I do, doctor? Am I like this Demyan?”
“Look, Calla, I don’t want you to worry. You know I discourage anxiety but I have detected some abnormality in your brain tissue and blood cells over the years. The cells appear to be rapidly developing in your brain. I would like you to see a specialist, a friend of mine, Dr. Bertrand in Paris.”
“Who is he?”
“Besides being a distinguished professor in psychiatry, neurosciences and psychology, he is also a Medical Institute investigator on the committees I just mentioned.”
Dr. Olivier reached for the desk phone to locate a number in the directory. “We were fellow students in medical school and he has personal interest in this sort of thing. He’s been studying this phenomenon for years. I think he may shed some light on your condition.” He gave her a consoling look. “Calla, I’m also here to help.”
She sighed.
Do I really want to know more?