Read Online The Decrypter: Secret of the Lost Manuscript (Calla Cress Techno Thriller Series: Book 1) by Rose Sandy - Free Book Online
Authors: Rose Sandy
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stimulating climates to exploit with every move, and fresh faces with every school he attended.
Packing and unpacking was part of his makeup. He had picked up his life every two to three years, undergoing awaited adventures on every new continent. He’d seen the world, its finest treasures, and its surmounting problems. The latter had affected him to the core, allowing him to develop a general sense of concern for the underprivileged.
He came from money, but nothing in his manner would reveal that fact. He liked his life simple and uncluttered.
Nash checked the rear-view mirror only to catch a glimpse of the tiny scar on his chin hardly detectable to the naked eye. That’s how he’d first met Calla, a charming, yet inhibited girl with piercing eyes, such a curious mélange of emerald and amber.
It had been at Denver International Airport, three years ago at check-in. He was traveling back from a skiing holiday and she’d been on an anthropological trip. She scuttled to the counter; certain she’d missed her flight. In her haste, she knocked over his skis.
He attempted to retrieve them, plummeted to the waxed floor and an awkward fall sliced his clean-shaven jaw.
Horrified, Calla thought she’d caused severe damage to his teeth.
She flipped her head horror-struck. “I…I’m so sorry!”
Nash cupped his chin with both of his hands.
Moments of gasps and concerned glares from the queue followed at the American Airlines counter. Then, mimicking infantile play, Nash threw his head back in humor. His laugh started as a chuckle, then a hiss and then ended in a roar. Nothing was missing or broken. Just a small cut.
Calla chuckled and begged for someone to produce a First-Aid kit. In the end, she found a Band-Aid in her cosmetics bag and placed it over the wound. “Phew. I guess no damage. By the way, why are you taking skis to London?”
The long flight back to London with adjacent seats had been one of mutual discovery. With his background in political science, languages and intelligence analysis, their conversation and reciprocated interests for travel, history and cultures were well matched.
They chatted the entire nine hours and forty minutes. By the time they stepped off the 747 flight at London Heathrow, he knew his life had changed, all thanks to crossing paths with the most arresting woman he’d ever met. A striking girl who went about life completely oblivious to her exquisite appearance.
Neither had disclosed their links with ISTF, until they found themselves a few months later working on a joint classified case in Jakarta.
Beaming with the energy of a teenager, Calla had been brought into ISTF on specialized projects equally for her deep knowledge of modern and ancient communication methods as well as for her skill in multiple languages. Impressed with the graceful, twenty something, who understood phonetics, symbols, history and cultures, bundled with an ease of working with technology systems, he was hooked. He’d never known anyone extremely brilliant, straightforward and unpretentious, coupled with a no-nonsense panache.
He let out a quick laugh. Man, she’ll impress any group of bureaucrats.
One thing baffled him though. Calla could pore over artifacts, codes, symbols and language structures with the natural ease of a gazelle in sprint, yet on occasion, she would deflate after moments of triumph and genius into quietness and allow a worrying distance between them. Nash concluded it was sadness, or even loneliness.
He once asked what he thought was an innocent inquiry - a compliment. “Where did you get your stunning dark hair?”
Caught off guard, her eyes that normally sparked with clarity darkened; the amber in them overpowering the emerald glow.
The car ahead of him honked, bringing him back to present day. He started his engine and reversed the car - letting the other vehicle out of the parking space.
He
Packing and unpacking was part of his makeup. He had picked up his life every two to three years, undergoing awaited adventures on every new continent. He’d seen the world, its finest treasures, and its surmounting problems. The latter had affected him to the core, allowing him to develop a general sense of concern for the underprivileged.
He came from money, but nothing in his manner would reveal that fact. He liked his life simple and uncluttered.
Nash checked the rear-view mirror only to catch a glimpse of the tiny scar on his chin hardly detectable to the naked eye. That’s how he’d first met Calla, a charming, yet inhibited girl with piercing eyes, such a curious mélange of emerald and amber.
It had been at Denver International Airport, three years ago at check-in. He was traveling back from a skiing holiday and she’d been on an anthropological trip. She scuttled to the counter; certain she’d missed her flight. In her haste, she knocked over his skis.
He attempted to retrieve them, plummeted to the waxed floor and an awkward fall sliced his clean-shaven jaw.
Horrified, Calla thought she’d caused severe damage to his teeth.
She flipped her head horror-struck. “I…I’m so sorry!”
Nash cupped his chin with both of his hands.
Moments of gasps and concerned glares from the queue followed at the American Airlines counter. Then, mimicking infantile play, Nash threw his head back in humor. His laugh started as a chuckle, then a hiss and then ended in a roar. Nothing was missing or broken. Just a small cut.
Calla chuckled and begged for someone to produce a First-Aid kit. In the end, she found a Band-Aid in her cosmetics bag and placed it over the wound. “Phew. I guess no damage. By the way, why are you taking skis to London?”
The long flight back to London with adjacent seats had been one of mutual discovery. With his background in political science, languages and intelligence analysis, their conversation and reciprocated interests for travel, history and cultures were well matched.
They chatted the entire nine hours and forty minutes. By the time they stepped off the 747 flight at London Heathrow, he knew his life had changed, all thanks to crossing paths with the most arresting woman he’d ever met. A striking girl who went about life completely oblivious to her exquisite appearance.
Neither had disclosed their links with ISTF, until they found themselves a few months later working on a joint classified case in Jakarta.
Beaming with the energy of a teenager, Calla had been brought into ISTF on specialized projects equally for her deep knowledge of modern and ancient communication methods as well as for her skill in multiple languages. Impressed with the graceful, twenty something, who understood phonetics, symbols, history and cultures, bundled with an ease of working with technology systems, he was hooked. He’d never known anyone extremely brilliant, straightforward and unpretentious, coupled with a no-nonsense panache.
He let out a quick laugh. Man, she’ll impress any group of bureaucrats.
One thing baffled him though. Calla could pore over artifacts, codes, symbols and language structures with the natural ease of a gazelle in sprint, yet on occasion, she would deflate after moments of triumph and genius into quietness and allow a worrying distance between them. Nash concluded it was sadness, or even loneliness.
He once asked what he thought was an innocent inquiry - a compliment. “Where did you get your stunning dark hair?”
Caught off guard, her eyes that normally sparked with clarity darkened; the amber in them overpowering the emerald glow.
The car ahead of him honked, bringing him back to present day. He started his engine and reversed the car - letting the other vehicle out of the parking space.
He
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