Chapter 36

 

 

9:43 a.m.

Murchison Falls Valley

 

Allegra reached out and grazed her hand over Calla’s wounded ankle. The pain subsided a little. “We need to move now.”

Allegra hoisted Calla’s arm onto her shoulder. The pain eased and Calla hopped alongside and stopped to glare at her. “We can’t go. Jack and Nash were—” She paused to inhale. “We can’t leave yet. I took this thing too far, Allegra. They were all I had.”

Allegra’s calm face saddened but she continued walking, supporting Calla along toward a waiting Land Rover Jeep. Allegra helped her onto the front passenger seat. “What happened to them?”

Calla carefully placed her injured ankle on the floor. “I’ve so much to tell you. It all started with the Berlin trip. What happened to you in Berlin?”

Allegra didn’t respond. Calla shifted in her seat for comfort. “Then came the carbonados and now there’s this thing Mason’s done.”

Allegra’s eyes lit up. “The carbonados? Did you find them?”

Calla relaxed her head against the headrest, glad to be able to recline comfortably after the incredible run in the wilderness. She glanced over at Allegra’s expectant face. “You know about the rocks?”

Allegra nodded.

“We found two,” Calla said. “I used several of your notes and the black journal we found at the British Library to translate the Deveron.”

“The journal was there?” Allegra asked.

Allegra closed the door on Calla’s side and glared through the open window. “Tell me on the way. We’re running out of time. If you only have two of the stones time is running out to find the third.”

“I don’t have the stones,” Calla said.

“But you said you found them.”

“Yes but I didn’t get to the part where—” Her tone lowered. “Nash and Jack are gone, Allegra. Mason… His thugs took the stones.”

Allegra frowned and hurtled round to the driver’s seat, her laced braids swirling behind her. She jumped in the car and started the engine. “Well, at least we have the manuscript.”

Calla glanced ahead. “No. That’s gone too.”

“This is worse than I thought.”

 

 

 

 

4:20 p.m.

 

“Who are you? You kids should stop playing around my property!” bellowed the man in a monotone drawl.

“I was just—” Eva said.

“You seem a little old for a teenager.”

He glimpsed over at her tattered shoe. “Then again judging from your shoes and car you’ve spent a few years out of college. Or is it a gift from daddy or a doting boyfriend?”

Eva frowned, her foot aching from the abrupt slip. “I…I’m looking for someone.”

“French, I see. Are you a tourist?”

“No.”

“Can’t you read the sign? I would imagine anyone who drives a Bentley Continental GTC would have some sort of literacy level. Get out!”

Eva leaped safely onto the ground with a hand on her pounding foot. Though his words were aggressive Eva detected his nature was anything but hostile.

His rifle marked her petrified face. “What’re you doing on my property?” he demanded.

He could aim an accurate shot from the twenty-foot distance. She was sure of it.

Eva didn’t shift a muscle. “As I said, I’m looking for someone, sir.”

“Who?”

“I don’t have a name, just a code. Agent SILVER X3.”

The man glanced away from the ocular lens of his gun and hesitated. “Do you think I’m an idiot? How dare you come here with such rubbish! I’m tired of you kids treating my property like it was your own spring break retreat.”

Eva lost all fear. “Are you agent SILVER X3?”

The man prepped his firearm and advanced forward. Eva swallowed. He won’t hesitate to fire that gun. She took one step closer, her eyes firmly fixed on his. “I’m a journalist investigating the Deveron Manuscript.” She gaped at his lime-colored eyes. “Tell me if you’re SILVER X3? The agent who worked on this case for the Secret Intelligence Service. Maybe thirty-some years ago?”

The man didn’t answer.

Eva took another quivering step. “Can you help me?”

The man raised his rifle and fired a shot in the air. “If you don’t leave in five seconds I’ll do more damage to your shoes than that wall did.”

He leveled his gun to her feet.

She delayed.

“One!”

She took a step back.

“Two!”

And another.

“Three!”

She bolted to her car and fidgeted with the door handle until she jerked it open. Eva dared not look back. She dove into her seat, imagining his eyes were firmly fixed on her, and they would be until she left his property.

The engine throttled and she let her window down. “Have it your way,” she said. “Whatever you’re hiding, I’ll find out! Here!” She flung a set of papers out the window that landed on the gravel. “In case you change your mind.”

The iconic car sped off, screeching as it spun its tires, tossing the grit of the pebbled courtyard.

 

The man waited until the convertible sports car had disappeared. He advanced toward the discarded pile and retrieved the papers.

He filed through them cussing. “The last damn thing I need!”

 

 

 

 

11:27 a.m.

Northern Uganda

 

 

Two goons waited at the bottom of the Murchison Falls. They’d held onto a net for hours suspended halfway down the waterfall.

“That’s him,” said the first man.

They hustled to the netted lump and fished it out of the water. Gallons of water drenched their faces but they managed to lug the mass. Nash moaned from a bruise on his arm within the mesh and coughed up water. The sturdy African men cut him loose from the mangled fibers and hauled him to a waiting pickup truck.

Shivering, Nash opened one eye, catching a glimpse of his captors. Unaware he was conscious, in one precise heave, they threw him head first in the back of the pickup. One of the men pitched a thin blanket over his wet frame before scuttling to the front of the vehicle. The truck started a slow drive up the road, slugging the mud as it veered into a dense forest.

Where were they headed? All he could see were the wide range of different flowering plants, fungi, gaping chimpanzees, and lanky, ironwood trees. Other species of primates unfamiliar to him lurked within the mahogany trees. Along parts of their journey, severe overgrowth made it difficult to travel without the thugs halting to use cutting tools.

Nash’s head clouted against the rigid steel edge of the pickup. He raised his neck. His hands had been tied behind his back and his mouth gagged. He scanned the back windshield of the two-seater pickup not recognizing the thugs. The truck advanced down the hill, swaying from one side of the road to the other in an attempt to evade deep potholes.

A dense fog had settled after the rain covered the widespread area, reduced visibility to a quarter of mile or less. Light drizzle started a descent over them. Nash shivered and only hoped he wouldn’t catch pneumonia in these morning hours in the savannah grasslands. What had happened to Calla?

Was she out alone in the wilderness? Had Mason killed her? He was capable of it. An involuntary grunt left his gagged lips. They’d been so close and it infuriated him that he had failed her.

Several hours later the truck stopped within a humid, forested area. One of the hoodlums came round the back and pitched Nash a bottle of water. The beefy man untied his hands and legs and removed the mouth strip. “Get out!” he said.

Nash gravitated upward and threw the blanket to the ground. He swigged the still, bottled water and observed what looked like an orderly military camp of scattered khaki tents. Four-wheel drive vehicles lined up along the edge of the camp and several men dressed in camouflage gear paraded the area.

“Nice of you to join us.”

Nash swung his head round as Mason turned toward the pickup. Two armed men from the Acholi tribe paced alongside him, towering Mason like corn stalks. Nash had read about the peoples of Sub-Saharan Africa. They were a Luo people, said to have come to northern Uganda from Southern Sudan. Skilled hunters identified by their use of nets, spears and long, narrow shields of giraffe or ox hide in war.

Nash rose and proceeded toward Mason with a violent distaste nagging his conscience. “What did you do to Calla?”

Mason raised an eyebrow. “She was responsible for her own fate.”

Nash could feel himself shaking with anger. “You won’t get away with this.” He took one step forward.

The Acholi man fisted his hand.

Nash hesitated. “Interesting company you keep. Will I need a spear?”

 

 

 

11:22 a.m.

 

Allegra’s Land Rover jerked along the potholed road and swerved into a dense forest, home to numerous species of gawking monkeys and chimpanzees. Several minutes later they emerged onto a flat terrain on the other side of the tropical forest.

Calla’s ankle throbbed with immeasurable pain. “I need to see a doctor about this injury.”

Allegra glimpsed over and smiled. “Where we are going we don’t need doctors. I just hope we’ve not run out of time.” Her eyes glistened with understanding. “Get some rest. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

Allegra’s voice had always consoled her and now, as always, it exuded with prudence and acumen. Calla tried to sleep, her eyes settling on the dashboard where they caught sight of a folded newspaper, Riche Media Times. It looked like a regional paper and she reached for it and spread it open. The front page carried her photograph. A doubtful snap taken at Heathrow airport only days ago. Her jaw sagged as she read the headline.

 

 

Theft Of Priam’s Treasure:

Is This Europe’s Hunted Woman?

 

European police are on the hunt for a runaway British Museum curator, Calla Cress. Could her flight be connected to the theft of Priam’s Treasure?

 

Eva Riche of Riche Media

 

 

Calla set the paper back on the dashboard. She kept her hand on its folds as she processed the report.

Allegra had fallen silent, fixing her eyes on the jerky road. “That’s why we need to hurry.”