Chapter 56

 

 

1057 hrs.

 

“That’s in the hands of the British Metropolitan police. My duties in London are with ISTF and the recent cyber threats to NASA and the UK Space Agency,” Nash said.

“I had you checked out with the NSA, myself. They view you so highly and that’s why I need you.”

“To do what exactly, your excellency?” Nash smirked, his stress on ‘excellency’ sounding more sarcastic than intended.

“If you sit, I’ll tell you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much time. I need to get back to my duties.”

“Then why are you here?”

How would he disguise that one? No one had ever questioned his movement about the Embassy, not even an ambassador. There were new players now, and if Margot was sore about his investigation of her personal files, she showed it. Arlington was doubtless sour at his last encounter with her. After all, he’d caught her dealing with Mason in matters that could incriminate her for life. Ready to pay a high price to enter the White House. By his standards, the FBI had let her off easy. If she’d resurfaced as an ambassador to a high post like London, she certainly had friends in higher places than he’d climbed. The fact that she was the ex-Republican candidate meant she was someone Americans cared about.

Not many, but some. And influential ones. People who threw around dollars hoping it could buy them the influence they needed, revolted him. He was not sure how, but Margot’s influence had paid off and won her a station in the US Embassy in London.

The Republicans needed her.

“What do you want from me, Ms. Arlington?” he said.

Arlington rose from her seat and coasted toward him. Not his style of woman nevertheless, many would consider her attractive. In her late forties, she was young for her political achievements. She placed a finely manicured hand on his shoulder. “We Americans need to stick together. I need a favor.”

The scent of her floral-fragranced perfume crossed his nostrils. He turned his head slightly and removed her hand from his coat. “What sort of favor?”

She studied his build from head to boots. He sensed Arlington had anything but diplomatic affairs on her mind. She caught his disapproving eye before gravitating to the window. She glanced down for several seconds at the Roosevelt Memorial fountain that stood outside the Embassy grounds. “You may not know this, but Mason and I had an affair.”

And there it is.

“Does that surprise you?”

Nothing about Mason surprises me.

“It’s none of my business,” he said.

“I have no misgivings about it.” She turned to face him again. “I need you to find Mason for me.”

“As I said, the British are handling this.”

She tossed a lock of ebony hair from her face. “I need you to find him . . . because, if you don’t, he’ll come after me.”

“Why?”

“I stole something from him, and he needs it back. Desperately.” She waited for a response from him.

He gave none.

“I need you to come back and protect me.”

“You have enough protection here from the Bureau of Diplomatic Security. And besides, why me?”

“Because Mason will not touch you, or Cress. At least for now.” She held her head back arrogantly as though sniffing something. “So long as you still hold his secret. . . you know, the one you used against him in Belmarsh.”

How could she know that? She’s not kidding! They were lovers!

He inclined his head. “I’m not sure I follow?”

“I can help you ISTF people stop Mason’s attack on information technology. He told me himself where the holes were.”

“Why would he tell you?”

“Let’s just say it slipped out of him, when he could barely remember his name.”

Nash didn’t care for the details. Their love affair was her business. She was bluffing. He knew it. Not a single soul knew of the transaction he’d had with Mason. And Mason wasn’t one to repeat his affairs to a lax woman like Margot. Mason trusts no one, not even his own mother.

Nash inched a few steps in her direction, his eyes studying her behavior. As a trained marine, and a confident analyst, he knew what signs to watch for. She was unduly concerned what others thought of her. Her values and opinions floated and morphed, depending on whom she was with. It was all in her files. Liar!

“Why do you want to get Mason so bad? I doubt he’s about to launch an attack on the US Embassy.”

“Because he used me. He used my influence, made me look like a fool!”

And broke your heart.

Nash had investigated Mason’s criminal file and knew it like his mother’s birthday, but he’d never contemplated the magnetism Mason had, or lack of it, with members of the opposite sex. Something she’d said made him stop and consider. The woman didn’t want to launch a premeditated war on an international criminal. She was nursing something more dear to her than her country. A bruised heart.

Arlington sighed. “If you protect me from him, I in turn will protect Calla Cress’s affairs.”

“Come again.”

“Mason told me about her and you.”

It was blackmail at its best, but only if she were telling the truth. Perhaps Mason had surrendered something to her while he was vulnerable. Or had he? She could not only ruin him with what she knew, she could also hurt Calla in the process.

Is she lying?

 

 

 

1112 hrs.

 

Jack raised his head. “Mr. Rand.”

Orson’s face rearranged itself into a frown. “I’m calling security.”

“No wait! A hacker has full-functional control of your systems. I was trying to isolate the problem.”

“I don’t believe you!”

Orson seized Jack’s tablet. The three engineers in the room glanced up from their work. Jack wasn’t sure whether they knew what had transpired. The woman shook her head at the rude interruption and set back about her programming. The other two engineers jerked their heads forward anticipating a considerable dispute. Orson’s tone was even. “You don’t leave my sight.”

He flung Jack in the direction of the door. Blood drained from Jack’s face as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. His one thought was on retrieving the tablet. Damn it, he’d almost had the logs.

Jack debated. He could run. No, too risky, too guilty!

Fight? No! The beefy astronaut was probably at the gym more times than he was.

He longed to seize the tablet from Orson’s giant hands. Orson held onto it tightly, sensing his intent. They reached the door. Jack turned with a quick snap of his shoulders.

Damn!

 

“Hey, Orson, come in here. The system is acting up again.” The voice came from the engineer seated in the front row.

Jack shot Orson a knowing glance. What’s he going to do?

Torn between turning him in and examining the imminent, system problem, Orson eased his frown and held tightly on to Jack’s arm. He pulled him back into the room. “This better not be your mess.”

The engineer spoke in hurried tones. “The hacker is at work. Look here. There’s more activity, Orson. We can’t contain the destruction and its gaining speed.”

Orson released Jack’s arm and leaned over the terminal. His eyebrows knit in a frown. “We can’t identify the Internet Protocol addresses. They move from one location to another. I’ve never seen this before.”

Jack drew in a deep breath and strode to where the two men stood. He hunched over the monitor. “Here, let me see.”

“Hey!” yelled Orson.

“Do you want to isolate the hack before it eats up the entire backbone of UKSA’s systems, or not?” Jack said.

Orson moved back muttering punitive curses under his breath. The engineer eyed Orson, waiting for instructions.

“Trust me, Orson. I built part of the program you guys use,” Jack said.

The engineer shot Jack a quick look without comment, his face carefully neutral. He slid out of his seat allowing Jack to proceed with his analysis. Jack straightened his shoulders to relive an ache that had surfaced on apprehension. “She’s a nasty one. These hackers are not just testing their skills at breaking into UKSA’s systems; they’re attempting to shut it down completely.”

He asked Orson to key in a series of passwords before he could penetrate the program’s computing system. “I need to implement security improvement,” Jack said as his fingers flashed against the keys, scripting language the two engineers tried to follow.

He hit the enter key.

The keyboard failed to respond to his commands.

He bypassed the system lock with a few more directions. This time, the system responded, allowing him to isolate several commands being written remotely by an invisible hand from heaven knows where. He overrode the commands, and placed a shield that reversed the hack, implementing a lock over UKSA's two main systems and IT infrastructure. “Okay, looks like it’s contained for now.”

The engineer sneered at his work. “How did you do that?”

“As I said, I built your programs. I’m with ISTF. It’s only a temporary fix. I would need to analyze the data more concretely to completely isolate the problem.”

Orson dropped into a chair next to him, not sure which way to look.

Jack shot him a sideways glance for several seconds before rising from the engineer’s seat. “I wouldn’t feel too bad, Orson. This is the first breakthrough we’ve had in forty-eight hours and we’ve been working at it for several days.”

“I knew you weren’t an ordinary graduate.”

Jack clasped his hands together. “Now, do you want my full help or not?”

 

 

 

BRITISH MUSEUM, GROUND FLOOR

ROSETTA STONE DISPLAY

EGYPTIAN SCULPTURE ROOM 4, 0001 hrs.

 

“It has to be the Rosetta Stone,” Calla said.

She eyed Stan, her face lighting up. His glare focused on her, then back at the stone, with its dark gray-pinkish tone and a coral streak running through it.

Calla fingered the lettering and traced it over the reddish-brown undertones that adorned the front side of the stone. The Rosetta Stone, a basalt slab with three languages carved on it, Greek, demotic and hieroglyphs, covered its surface with ancient decrees. It stood among various Egyptian sculptures on level zero of the British Museum. Encased behind protective glass, it was one of the aspired stops by Museum visitors and on any single day, they would channel their way close enough to glimpse its gradient surface.

Calla’s determined stance set her circling the famous stone that had been in the Museum since 1802. She’d chosen this hour specifically, when cleaning was done and Lester the security guard and an admirer she’d once given a private tour of Roman collections not on display, allowed her access to the cases in this part of the museum. Later, they’d worked on ISTF security at the museum and now, Lester had looked the other way.

“We need to move it,” Calla said.

“You’re joking, right?” Stan said.

“No.”

“Darling girl, why are we moving the stone?”

“I want to examine every inch of it.”

“This is an important historic artifact.”

She slid on her latex gloves and tossed him a pair. “Exactly, and I’m quite qualified to handle it.”

“Has it ever been moved? It must weigh a ton.”

She sneered at him with a skeptical eye. “Seven-hundred and sixty kilograms to be exact. It was moved three times, once toward the end of the First World War in 1917, and when the Museum was concerned about heavy bombing in the Second World War. They moved it to safety with other important artifacts. The third time was in 1999, to be cleaned for an exhibition called ‘Cracking Codes’. And that’s what I’m here to do.”

“Yes and I’m sure it took more than you and I.”

“Father, when has lifting weights been a problem for your operative genes. Remember, I get it from you. Listen, this is important. Mother must’ve hidden a clue here?”

“What clue?”

“That’s what we need to find. A clue to her whereabouts.”

Stan watched mesmerized. “It’s remarkable how much you remind me of her—determined, stubborn and intelligent.”

Calla smiled and surveyed the gallery floor. She took a deep breath. “Are you ready?”

He nodded slowly.

“Okay, let’s move it. I’ve disengaged the alarms. This time, at my own accord. I still need to discharge the lighting diffuser and the magnetic contacts fitted to its opening panels. Otherwise, we’ll wake the magistrates and possibly . . . her Majesty,” she said with a sneer.

“Can you do all that from the central security room?”

“As an employee, no. As an ISTF agent, I can do anything. As an operative . . .who knows?”

He could not argue with that.

Calla decoded the magnetic contacts, disengaging the display light altogether and shed darkness on the Stone. She slid the nonstandard panel glass open and with socked feet covered with plastic bags, she slid into the case like a slithering cat. Stan followed suit and together they cramped into the small space. She curved her arms over the tablet. He edged to the other side butting his head on the top section of the glass and stretched his arms over the celebrated rock.

It felt sharp under her touch, nestled on a slab of concrete that held it in place. Calla glanced at Stan. “Ready.”

She closed her eyes and in her mind, she pictured the stone moving. If I can will it, I can move it.

That’s what she’d learned about her physical strength. Vortigern had described it like that of Shimshon the Nazarite, or Samson. ‘Man of the sun’. She’d been compelled to research that particular detail, being slightly less familiar with theological history. Shimshon she’d learned was a Nazarite granted supernatural strength by God to combat his enemies and perform heroic feats. Her research revealed he’d wrestled a lion, massacred an entire army with only the jawbone of an ass and destroyed a pagan temple with his bare hands.

Eight months ago, it would have all been a passionate myth to weave into some museum tour. Now she was not so sure. Was there truth in it? Shimson’s strength and weakness was in his hair. Where was hers? Did she have one? An Achilles’ heel? Did anyone know of it?

Stan’s own strength mirrored Calla’s, sharing a gene that operatives had engineered in his family line decades ago.

“Perhaps, her message is in the lettering of her note and not physically here,” Stan said.

“No, that’s too simple, don’t you think? I think she left something physical.”

Calla inhaled a breath and together they heaved the stone an inch. It slithered readily in their capable arms with tenacity beyond ordinary strength, beyond science.

Nothing. Not a clue.

They replaced the stone with the might of two wild buffaloes towing a boulder.

“Why would she choose this stone, father?”

They carefully withdrew from the cramped case and Calla reinstated the alarms. Stan stood stunned, watching her. “So it’s true? You do have the Cress strength like that of Shimshon, the ancient Nazarite.”

“Nash was one of the first to notice, actually.”

“I tried to suppress those genes for years. You’re a strong operative, stronger than I thought you’d be. You’ve managed to balance that and still stay undetected for years,” he said.

“Must’ve got that from you. I’m sure it was because I didn’t know. So as they say, what you don’t know can’t harm you. Knowledge of my ancestry or the lack of protected me for years. But I can’t ignore it any longer, father. Nash’s right, I need to channel it. It must have been given to me for a reason.”

Stan glimpsed at his hands, unable to look her in the eye. “It’s always been a Cress gene and maybe a curse as your mother and I thought.”

“Is that what you think of the operatives’ responsibility, the Deveron mandate?”

“It’s what we thought.” He managed a weak smile, skirted round the other side, and watched her eye the stone. “Satisfied?”

“I just want to see what’s beneath.”

“There’s nothing there.”

A frown fell on her face. “Father, how did you ever keep your operative life undercover?”

“Thanks to MI6 secrecy customs, it was easy. And then, you learn to get on with it, until the day the mandate came looking for you. MI6 had kept our operatives identities secret, but they couldn’t’ keep our personal lives protected. That your mother and I could not handle. Anything else, we could, even face danger and death.”

They heard a small can drop behind them, followed by male voices. Two museum night workers walked by in the next room unaware of their presence. Calla held her breath. The noise ceased as instantly as it had begun. Her eyes suddenly fell on the plaque to the stone, engraved in the glass. “Wait, father,” she whispered.

“What is it?”

She reread the Rosetta plaque engraved in the glass. Calla slumped on the floor in deep thought. “You’re right there’s nothing here, because we’re looking in the wrong place.”

He smiled. “Now, you tell me. Now that I’ve nearly broken my back.”

Calla smiled to herself. “Doubt that.”

All her life, she’d wondered what it would be like to have a father and despite his mistakes and absence, she found herself adoring him more though he’d been absent most of her existence. She admired the way his silver hair showed age, but his face showed the grace of a handsome lad, who’d lost something long ago. It pained her that she couldn’t undo the things in his past. And here she was, conversing with the father she’d found barely seven months ago. “Father, come with me to find your Nicole.”

His face rouged with pain and he angled his back to her. She reached for him, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Father, once I made a mistake. One thing I learned when I was looking for you was that sometimes we give up on people close to us. Don’t do that. Let’s find her. I think it’ll give you the closure you need. Believe me, I tried ‘alone’ for so many years. I pushed away people that wanted to change that in me, thinking I had to be alone because my parents left me. But I took a chance.”

“You mean with Nash?”

She nodded slowly, carefully avoiding difficult emotions. “I couldn’t accept what Allegra and Vortigern told me. Nash’s different from me. He believes in life and living it to the full. It’s in his makeup.”

“Have you told him how you feel about him? That man would do anything for you.”

With six months in Colorado, the allure was always there, but why they’d shied from it, Calla didn’t know. Yet, they were inseparable as a unit.

Stan’s eyes were proud as he watched his daughter. “Nash has my approval. I knew that the moment I met him.”

“All the more for you not to give up on Nicole, on my mother. Whatever her mistakes in leaving you or staying hidden were, if we find her, she can help us. We can find Mason, and father, finally settle what began decades ago. We may not have started it, but we can finish it.”

She hesitated. “And maybe, just maybe, we can carve out a normal life for ourselves. Let’s challenge the mandate. Let’s find these answers together.”

Stan’s shoulders relaxed. “Where do we start?”

“In France.”

“France?”

“Why France?”

“Because the French first found the Rosetta Stone.”

Stan’s eyebrows knit. “Enlighten me, curator Cress.”

Calla fished her printout from her denim pockets. “Here, read this again.”

Stan scanned it. “Then Paris is where you need to begin. Remember this first part is an anagram. There are three and I know what she means by A-M-E-N-D-A-B-L-E T-I-L-L-E-R.”

Calla’s eyes glanced up at his photographic vision working intensely as it scoured the anagram for answers. “But that could be anything.”

“Not anything, someone. It’s Danielle Lambert’s name unscrambled.”

“Who?”

“Danielle was your mother’s partner at MI6 before we were paired. They were sent there to Paris to observe the investigation of De Gaulle’s assassination attempt in 1962. It was one of her first missions. She was barely nineteen.”

“Why would MI6 get involved?”

“MI6 always got involved. After the war, they needed eyes and ears everywhere.”

 

 

 

DOVER FERRY TO FRANCE

0120 hrs.

 

Mason drummed his fingers on the deck railing as he watched the ferry leave Dover. A waft of smoked steam brushed his skin, filling the air with a petroleum stench. His gut welcomed a sigh of relief at leaving English soil as he expected no problems before docking in Calais.

He padded his pocket having changed several pounds that Arlington delivered from his offshore account, obtaining euros at the busy bureau de change below deck. His journey would be devoid of technology–no chips, no phones, cards or byte interference, until he arrived where he needed to go.

The rocking of the large vessel aboard choppy waters triggered his motion sickness and nausea crept to his throat. The English Channel, largely gray and the smallest of the swallowed seas around continental Europe was unusually storm ridden. He leaned forward on the railing. “Shields, what am I going to do with you?”

Mrs. Hawke, a trump, middle-aged bodyguard he’d hired and trained twenty years ago, loped toward him on the deck overlooking the English coastline. “All arrangements have been made as requested.”

“How soon can we get started on the cyber files? I need everything to work without hiccups.”

“Yes sir. In forty-eight hours.”

“Did you open the files I wired as I asked?”

“Yes, we have all Cress’s files.”

“Good. That’s where we will start.”

“I also have the other problem taken care of. You know the one at the NSA and the US Embassy.”

Mason glanced at her. The woman had aged vehemently in seven months, possibly gained some weight. However well she’d served him, he couldn’t let this one slip. New blood was needed, the kind to stand up to the operatives.

He sighed deeply. Everything was right on schedule.

So much was at stake and he knew exactly who he could use to pierce Cress and Shields where it hurt the most.