Authors: Rose Sandy
Tags: #The secret of the manuscript is only the beginning…The truth could cost her life.
The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: TRUTH OR FICTION
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The Decrypter:
Secret of the Lost Manuscript
Copyright © 2012 Rose Sandy
All rights reserved.
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E-book ISBN: 9781301287635
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Cover design: Jason Sandy
Cover images:
© lassedesignen | © chesterF | Fotolia.com
©Davide D’Amico
THE DECRYPTER: SECRET OF THE LOST MANUSCRIPT
(previously published as The Deveron Manuscript) is a work of fiction. Names, places, organizations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations are entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Dedicated to:
To one who has a spirit of adventure, is curious about our world,
its history and the technology that runs it.
The Present, 9:40 P.M.
London, United Kingdom
When Calla Cress stepped off the train at St. Pancras International, she glanced over her shoulder.
He was following her.
She increased her pace and hurried through immigration. Calla’s apprehensive haste took her through the station’s main concourse as she searched for the nearest exit. Within seconds, she found the bustling arrival lounge, congested with tired night travelers. Without hesitation, she scurried out onto the busy boulevard and glanced back.
St. Pancras, labeled the ‘cathedral of railways’ and one of the most eminent Victorian structures in Britain, towered above her with its wrought-iron framework and arched glass covering, evoking a feeling of paranoia.
She pressed on with labored breathing and tense muscles, trying to shake off the numbness in her hands and the slight tingling in her feet. Calla felt like an animal in chase, only she was the target.
Her legs weakened. Even so, she proceeded with resolved steps and crossed Euston Road towards Camden Town Hall that stood adjacent to a barely visible underground parking.
Intrusive tightness formed in her abdomen, shooting irritating discomfort through her fatigued body and reducing her concentration. She shook her head as if to snap out of a trance and hustled her heavy feet. Her tongue tasted the vinegary sting of blood on her bottom lip.
You’ve got to move!
Calla found her Maserati on the lower-third, parking level, undisturbed where she had left it just that morning. Aware of her fervent pursuant, she jumped in, revved up the ferocious engine, and sped out into London’s night traffic.
She stopped at a red light, her sweaty palms trembling on the sticky leather of the steering wheel. Every so often, she peered into her rear-view mirror.
Her eyes caught his blinding headlights.
Brute!
Her foot hit the accelerator.
The chasing Range Rover hastened towards the rear bumper of her vehicle.
Oh no you don’t!
She swerved round a white Toyota. Her gray Maserati picked up speed, starting a sixty mile per hour chase through London’s tight streets. Calla maneuvered from lane to lane endeavoring to lose her eager pursuant. She sped through the windy, medieval
streets of the eastern part of the city, past several fragments of the defensive Roman City Wall constructed around London in the third century. Despite numerous turns and accelerated speeds in the vibrant streets, she could not shake off the Range Rover.
She checked her rear-view mirror again, and sped down Bishopsgate’s banking district towards Monument. The Range Rover increased its speed. Ahead of her, she caught sight of London Bridge, the flyover that spanned the River Thames.
What does he want?
Her Italian sports car raced across the box girder structure, high above the river, reflecting the city lights below.
Certain she would make her escape, she arrived on the South Bank and turned into a deserted street, behind several, old warehouses along the Thames. The Range Rover tailed close behind, and cornered her further into a one-way street, lined with empty office buildings.
A startled young family stepped out of a parked Vauxhall station wagon at the end of the street ahead.
Calla’s car zipped forward, still at focused rapidity.
Wide-eyed, the family stood motionless.
To avoid impact, she slammed on the brakes. The abrupt decision sent her car spinning several times. Her tires squealed a shrill of terror until the car came to a prompt halt in front of the towering Shard skyscraper.
Calla lifted her head. She turned off her engine.
Ahead, she caught sight of the stunned family scurrying towards London Bridge Station. Behind her, the Shard stood menacingly above the streets of London, like an ominous glowing glass pyramid, whose peak disappeared into the thick London fog.
There was little movement about
.
Except for him!
She heard the tinted Range Rover rev its hungry engine. Then, the headlights of the steel beast dimmed.
Calla frowned.
Hmm…are you waiting for me?
She jumped out of the car. A firm confidence sent her marching in the direction of the waiting car.
Get off my tail!
A figure in dark military attire sprang out of the Rover and onto the dimly lit street. His face was concealed behind what looked like a visor ski mask. She watched him move forward with his hefty build.
He lunged at her.
She evaded his clenched fist.
He struck again.
The brusque strike slammed into her shoulder. She lost her balance and fell backward. With bold resolve, she sprang to her feet and tore at him with an uppercut punch.
Her fist caught him in the jaw.
He landed on the rough gravel, opening a one-centimeter gash. The blow made him quiver.
His first strike had produced an acidic taste in her mouth. Calla wiped the trickling blood off her jawline. Though the wound stung like fire, she shot up undeterred. “What the heck do you want?”
Silence.
“I don’t have it!” she said.
No response.
Fearless, she reached for the side of his neck. She would not be intimidated, not after coming this far.
He caught her hands mid-air and gripped them in a lock. He slowly reached for the bag she had strapped around her waist before leaving Paris. Her eyes followed his extended hand.
So, that’s it!
She gasped. The Deveron Manuscript was secured within. She read his intent.
Too late.
“Give that back!”
He bolted, racing towards the Shard’s entrance, and scuttled inside Europe’s tallest building.
Calla debated whether to go in after him.
She had no choice.
She wanted it back.
FIRST
CHAPTER ONE
DAY 1
Ten Days Ago…
4:50 P.M.
Watergate House, ISTF Offices, London
“Please settle down. We’ve only got an hour for this brief,” said the meeting chairman. “Several of you will get a turn to articulate your thoughts on the Deveron Manuscript.”
The chairman tugged at his collar and scanned the stuffy conference room. One by one, the eager participants took their seats and settled down to hear new revelations about the Deveron Manuscript. Numerous questions inundated their minds. Was it real? Could ISTF really find it? Who amongst them could decipher it?
After several seconds, the lights dimmed signaling the commencement of the clandestine discussion at Watergate House in Central London. Thirty people crammed in the twenty-seat room. Those standing turned to compare notes and views; those seated examined the luminous pictures projected on the presentation slides. Voices began to murmur in disagreement. The commotion rose over the validity of a top-secret, ancient manuscript, yet renowned amongst the gathering - a two toned scripted, seven-page document. Written in tainted burgundy and black ink, the neat, calligraphic symbols filled the entire surface area of the tattered square pages.
