Chapter 72

 

 

DAY 14

 

 

HOUSE OF LORDS CHAMBER

PALACE OF WESTMINSTER, LONDON

 

Allegra twiddled her thumbs as she waited for the House of Commons’ debate on cyber security to begin. She eyed Baroness Worthington, chairperson of the House of Lords’ Constitution Committee about to open the debate. To her right sat Lord Berkshire who would respond for the government. Though still a classified organization to the public and members present, the debate would determine funding for ISTF, conveniently hidden in the cyber technology research budget.

If the debate went against the government, ISTF would be written off as threatened by the PM. If only they could find some non-incriminating way to prove the strides ISTF and the operatives had taken to prevent global cyber havoc. The PM was stubborn. Too sacred for his party’s unity, he would go with majority vote and it wasn’t looking good.

Lady Baroness stood to open the debate, her fingers filing through a thirty-page report. As she took the podium, her aid sidled to her with an open laptop. She grazed her fingers over the keys and glanced at the room of eager listeners.

The House of Lords, the upper house of the UK parliament was made of 750 members, called ‘Peers’ whose duties were to scrutinize bills approved by the lower house—the House of Commons.

Allegra’s bill was in the eager hands of Baroness Worthington. They could debate the cyber research budget or reject it altogether, which would give Mason free reign in cyber space with his latest worm. The baroness keyed a few items on her laptop and glared at the expectant participants. She’d chosen to project her presentation on the back wall.

The screen fired up, then flashed gibberish, programming language, seconds later. The baroness’ confused gaze met the audiences’ and she turned to her aid, who shrugged. With no warning, one by one, members drew their cell phones out of pockets and purses when a shrill of rings wailed through the room in unison.

Allegra drew in a deep breath. “He has the government where he wants it.”

Several security guards rushed in, aiming to calm the disarray of traumatized participants. The shrill prevailed for close to sixty seconds.

In one sudden moment, the shrill of rings halted. A silence of confusion gripped the room before Allegra shot up and moseyed toward the Prime Minister, who sat with his aids, confounded like the rest of the participants. “That’s a warning from Mason,” Allegra said. “You’d better support ISTF, or let this confusion prevail on your watch. I wonder which will be worse, failure to contain a sustained cyber attack and the ability of everything from armed forces and UKSA to operate effectively or . . . failure at reelection.”

The PM’s mouth slackened. “What are you saying?”

She narrowed in his space. “I’m saying that our systems are fatally compromised due to their dependence on information and communication technology. Now let me get on with my job.”

 

 

 

Calla stood in front of Bachhaus, the first museum in the world dedicated to Johann Sebastian Bach. She scrutinized the five hundred-year-old, half-timbered house—mistakenly identified as Bach’s birth house in the middle of the nineteenth century. She squeezed Stan’s hand as they proceeded inside the yellow thatched building that used to be the living quarters.

They ambled past historic furniture, artwork, musical instruments and household artifacts. Calla gravitated toward the music instruments’ hall, where a concert of four violinists and cellist was in session. They took their seats at the back of the room as the wooded instruments filled the hall with newer renditions of Bach’s loved pieces. Calla observed as tourists relished the music. She narrowed her gaze, focusing on which of the four violinists was Frau Faust—the woman she’d spoken to on the phone.

When the concert adjourned, the musicians rose for a bow. Calla shot up and paced toward the quartet with her father and Jack. “Frau Faust?”

A woman of pale skin, hazel eyes and shoulder-length, black hair smiled and stretched her hand for a firm shake. “You must be Frau Cress. Let me pack up my violin and I’ll be with you.”

Calla turned toward the door to wait at the entrance of the hall for Frau Faust. Within ten minutes, the woman reappeared sporting a navy-blue blazer and a tweed skirt, having changed from her period costume.

“This way,” Frau Faust said, her English sprinkled with a hint of German intonation.

“Thank you for your time,” Calla began

“A pleasure, Miss Cress. I read your online British Museum resume. I worked with Veda Westall. She helped brainstorm for museum presentation ideas here, giving our work here more international profile. I’m so sorry to hear about Ms. Westall. She was a brilliant curator.”

“Thank you,” Calla said.

They passed a series of rooms housing collections of musical instruments, presented to reflect the era of Johann Sebastian. Frau Faust observed as her guest admired the surroundings. “We’ve close to four-hundred instruments, about one-fourth of them originating from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries. If we have time I’d be glad to show you—”

“That’s just it, Frau Faust,” Calla said. “We have no time. I wanted to come in person. This is my father, Stan Cress and my colleague, Jack Kleve. We work with British Intelligence and are looking for someone that you might know. According to the employee records of the museum, I understand that a certain woman called Annelie worked here.”

A flicker of apprehension coursed through Frau Faust’s eyes, probably bewildered they had access to such classified information. “You mean Nicole Cress.”

“How do you know that name?” Jack asked.

The woman glared from one mesmerized face to another. “She’s my sister.”

 

 

 

Calla stared blankly with her mouth open and turned to Stan. “Did my mother have a sister?”

Stan stepped forward, his eyebrows pinched in confusion. “Nicole never mentioned having a sister.”

“I guess she wouldn’t.” Frau Faust observed Stan’s surprised look. “Especially when you two met when working for MI6. It wasn’t protocol. Nicole’s job, as you know, didn’t take well to family. Secrecy was her way of protecting me from her work.”

Calla took Frau Faust’s hand and merely stared, tongue-tied.

“Please, come with me,” Frau Faust said. “I can take you to Nicole’s private apartment. She bought the place about thirty years ago. It’s secure there and we can talk.”

As they strolled into the sunlight, Calla’s expectation grew and she pulled out the patches of music. “Frau Faust.”

“Please, call me Elise.”

“Elise, can you think of why my mother would send these to me.”

Elise passed her hands over the patches as they walked. For several minutes, she fingered the items without a word. “Do you know what these are?”

Calla shook her head.

Stan caught Elise’s eyes. “It looks like a manuscript of music. From a seventeenth-century scrapbook from the looks of it. Probably scribbled by a copyist or a live-in apprentice of a professional composer.”

“If placed together it makes up Bach’s Herz und Mund und Tat und Leben, right?” Calla said.

“Yes, but do you know what these words below the symbols say?” Elise asked.

“I focused more on modern German,” Calla added.

“How much do you know about Bach and his life?”

Calla shook her head. “Not much.”

“This here is a signature. The copyist. Yours and my ancestor, worked for Bach when he was penning the original notes of the suite. The copyist made a mistake, so this patch was used to practice the inscription. The copyist kept this as a souvenir of his work with the master. It was found several years after his death in an old trunk in our family home.”

“So that’s how Nicole came to have it?” Stan said.

“It’s the reason I’m here and feel I have a personal connection to this place,” Elise said.

“Nicole never mentioned her lineage back to Germany. When we met, we said little about our past. Eventually, when she was pregnant with Calla, I had to tell her about the Deveron mandate on the Cress’s family line,” Stan added.

Elise pushed back a wisp of hair. “This came from a private collection of memories. Your mother inherited this through her grandmother.”

“Why would she mar it by cutting it up?” Calla said.

“It’s her way of saying the three pieces belonged together and that they told a complete story,” Elise said.

 

They strolled to the back of the building, then on Frauenberg Strasse, a stretch of boulevard that overlooked the museum. After turning in to a small adjoining street, Elise directed them up a staircase that led into an apartment building whose fragments of original Baroque architecture were still visible. Elise keyed the door and led them into the building. They clambered two flights of narrow stairs before she pushed open a front door to a large studio apartment. Spacious, with cleanliness and a contemporary feel, it housed several rustic antique pieces in its decor.

The living space opened on to a fully equipped kitchenette. A queen-sized bed adorned the far corner of the room. Clean, the apartment showed no signs of having been lived in for years. Calla moved toward the bed, scrutinizing the watercolors on the far wall. Her eyes fell to a small artist station near the dining table. A small photograph frame lay on the mantle above a dated fireplace.

Stan eased toward the frame and ran his hands along the silver edges of the picture of a baby. “Calla.”

She turned to him, his face unreadable. The words had left his lips more audibly than he’d perhaps wished. Calla took the picture frame from his hands—the only baby picture of herself she’d ever seen.

Calla rubbed her hand across her eyes.

“That’s you, taken a few days after you were born,” Elise said. Jack moved his head slightly to establish perspective, as Calla studied the black-and-white image of a baby with dark, straight hair and a pinched nose who lay sleeping in a woman’s arms. He placed an arm around her shoulders. “You all right, C?”

“Yeah.”

Jack took the picture and studied it. “She must have thought of you all these years. Tell me, Elise. Where’s Nicole?”

A look of horror fell on the thin woman’s face. “I was hoping you could tell me?”

Calla grabbed Jack’s arm. “What?”

“Nicole disappeared about five years ago, and I’ve not seen her since. She left me this note.”

Elise paced to a nearby drawer and pulled out a letter scribbled on lined paper.

 

Dear Elise,

 

You’ve always known there is much about my life I can’t disclose and in all those years, I’ve always asked you to trust me. This is one of them.

 

I have to leave. If only to protect you from the madness of my existence. My work is too dangerous to disclose. I have to leave before I can endanger your life. I promise to return one day . . . when it’s safe.”

N

 

Elise sank into a seat by the bed. “Your phone call yesterday was the first mention of Nicole since she disappeared. When you used her German cover name ‘Annelie’, I knew you had to be close to her. She always said one day her daughter would come looking for her and if so, I should help. It took one look at your picture on the British Museum website to see the resemblance between you two.”

Elise’s gazed remained meditative, possibly colored with memory. “I was so hoping you might know where she is.”