The Deveron Manuscript - A Suspense Thriller

LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM

Sunday, April 22, The Present, 9:26 P.M.

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.  She searched for the nearest exit.  Within seconds, she found the bustling arrival lounge, congested with tired night travellers.  Without hesitation, she scurried out onto the busy boulevard. 

She glanced back.

St. Pancras, labelled 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 laboured breathing, and tense muscles.  She tried 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.  It stood adjacent to a barely visible underground parking. 

An intrusive tightness formed in her abdomen, shooting irritating discomfort through her tired body, 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 her blood on her bottom lip. 

You’ve got to move!

Calla found her Maserati on the lower third parking level, unperturbed 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 trembled 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 grey Maserati picked up speed, starting a sixty-mile per hour chase through London’s tight streets.  Calla manoeuvred from lane to lane endeavouring to lose her eager pursuant.  She sped through the narrow, windy medievalstreets of the eastern part of the city, past a number of fragments of the defensive Roman City Wall built 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 saw 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 Southbank, and turned into a deserted street, behind some 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 still.

To avoid impact, she slammed on the brakes. 

The abrupt decision sent her car spinning several times.  Her tyres 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 saw the stunned family scurry 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 man in dark military attire sprang out of the Rover 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 jumped 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-centimetre gash.  The blow made him quiver.

His first strike had produced an acidic taste in her moth.  Calla wiped the trickling blood off her jawline.  Though the wound stung like the fire, she shot up undeterred.  ‘What the heck do you want?’

He did not respond.

‘I don’t have it!’

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 in the 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.

THE DEVERON MANUSCRIPT is a fast-paced, on-the-edge, action-adventure seeped in history, combining suspense and a hint of the paranormal.

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