“Look at it,” she said plainly. “Even the road looks like a Black Mamba.”
“Thank you, Nina,” Purdue cringed, making her and Louisa smile. Purdue smiled and looked in the same direction as Nina, wondering how poor Sam was doing with his admirer in the car behind them. At once, he saw what Sgt. Anaru hoped he would not. “What are those?”
The police officer ignored the question, hoping the Scottish tourist would let it slide as something insignificant. However, David Purdue was not the type of explorer who just dismissed arcane symbols on a mysterious patch of land. “Nina, look,” Purdue said, pointing into the trees. “Do you see that? Anything you have seen before?”
Nina’s dark eyes grew wide as her fascination peaked. Fortunately, the vehicle moved slowly to navigate the deeper dents and potholes in the road, allowing her to use her phone to zoom in on the strange markers.
“Clever girl,” Purdue said. “I did not think of that.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she replied, narrowing her gaze to get a good aim while the sergeant’s driving became a bit more reckless to impair Nina’s photographic flair. Louisa leaned over to see what the others were talking about. She looked less surprised than Nina, remarking, “That one is Maori in nature, but it has some Aboriginal symbols on the other side. Go figure.”
Sgt. Anaru scowled at the Australian through his rear view mirror, but he said nothing. Nina took a series of pictures as they passed the different slender markers among the trees. Purdue could see the officer’s dissatisfaction.
“What is the matter, Sergeant? Are we not allowed to take pictures?” he pried.
“You know that is ridiculous,” the short response came from the sergeant. “Of course you can take pictures. I just don’t like it when people pry too much in native affairs.”
“Not prying, Sgt. Anaru,” Louisa reassured him. “I just recognized the sigils because I work closely with some Aboriginal tribal leaders, especially in and around Adelaide and Alice Springs. The Outback has been suffering poaching too lately, so I have met with what tourists would call shamans.”
“My, that sounds interesting,” Purdue smiled. He twisted his long lean body to face her where she sat behind him. “Anything you can translate on these beacons?”
The sergeant could take no more of the exclusion. With a heavy sigh, he said, “It means that we should not mess with this land. That is what it means. As you can see, many people have no bloody respect for those markers. See the chips of red paint here and there?”
“Aye,” Nina replied. “They painted over the symbols.”
“Precisely, Dr. Gould,” the sergeant sneered. “Bloody tourists interfering with holy things.” His eyes cut into the women in the backseat just as the two cars rounded the muddy mess of the open area outside the back of the farmhouse. Both vehicles stopped as the drizzle formed sheets of ghostly veils that gave the house, as well as the gaping mouth of the looming hill, a supernatural appearance. Black in silhouette and boasting its silent towers, the house of Nekenhalle reminded Sam of a ghost ship casually emerging from the fog.
“Shall we all first head for the house?” Purdue asked the sergeant.
“Yes, sir,” Sgt. Anaru confirmed.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, reminding all that it was still crawling along the land. Both cars vacated, the group gathered on the veranda of the house. Sgt. Anaru, Cecil Harding and his brother Gary still remembered their last scrap with the farmhouse, all looking a bit apprehensive about what could still be lurking inside.
“Alright people, thank you for aiding us in the search for Lewis Harding. As Gary had told us in his statement, there is a good chance that Mr. Harding would be in the vicinity of the mine entrance, where he initially vanished from,” the stern and captivating Sgt. Anaru proclaimed. “However, as you are all volunteers, I implore you to use the buddy system, alright? Also, you can choose where you search, but do take note that the police service does not take responsibility for your safety. Wandering off is a very unwise idea.”
“I’ll look through the house,” Nina cried immediately. “Sam needs to film the interior of the house for when he does coverage for the expose on Mr. Harding’s disappearance, right?”
“Aye!” Sam chipped in quickly. “We’ll get footage inside and if we do not discover clues as to Mr. Harding’s possible whereabouts, we will join up with the exterior comb of the place.”
He looked at Nina and surreptitiously whispered. “Ta.”
“I am going up to the mine,” Louisa announced. “Who is with me?”
“You are a brave lady, Louisa,” Purdue smiled. “I shall join you and the Harding brothers at the mine’s mouth.” Purdue was wearing a technologically loaded utility vest, and on his hip he wore a sidearm, as did Sam, both for which the two Scots had presented licenses for, at Anaru’s request.
Louisa nodded amicably. Her hair was in a ponytail under a baseball cap and she carried a compact hard case over her shoulder. Attached to her belt, an extending baton hanged down the top half of her cargo pants.
Nina and Sam were dressed in jeans and flannels, similar to the Harding brothers and the elders, Herman and Sully. They trusted in their Caterpillars and combat boots to tread through the rough terrain. The native elders had Winchester rifles slung over their backs by leather holsters and they also elected to head through the brush and trees that surrounded the entrance of the mine, working their way in towards the gaping hole.
Just before Purdue left with the others, he pulled Sam and Nina aside.
“You two, be careful, please. I don’t want us to end up as statistics, which is what this farm does to people, it seems. Williams knew this place was too wicked to leave to his wife,” Purdue whispered.
“What exactly are we looking for? Coordinates? Treasure?” Sam asked under his breath.
“The Lost City is here, according to all sources, Sam,” Purdue explained. “Only Williams would have known where it was precisely from here. Find hidden documents or some sort of beacon to the city’s location. Look, we are essentially looking for an answer to the mystery of Operation Eden.”
“So we are not looking for an actual El Dorado rip-off, right?” Nina made sure. “Because I have a feeling Operation Eden did not come from some beautiful garden city hung in fruitful harvests and flowing springs over golden temples. I think it derives its name from a place where deception was wrought by a serpent, if you catch my drift.”
“Aye, that makes perfect sense. After all, when one things of Eden, the first thing that comes to mind is a woman and a snake,” Sam conceded. “Purdue, watch your back with those Aussies. If anything happens to you, you’ll be facing another lawsuit when we get home.” Sam’s jest brought a smile to Purdue’s face and Nina laid her hand on his arm to reinforce her protectiveness over her friend.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Purdue gasped, fumbling in his backpack. “Nina, I want you to take this, just for protection. You never know where the monsters can rear their heads.”
He placed the small device in her hand, explaining briefly what Sam already knew from their previous use of the Taser-type gadget in Spain. “That is a powerful jolter, Nina,” Sam supported Purdue’s gift. “That jolt will being back Elvis, I swear.”
Nina glared at the small weapon with cynicism, but accepted Purdue’s generous grant of power. “Thanks Purdue,” she smiled. “If Sam gives me any shit, I’ll turn him into a crisp.”
As if the gods heard her words, lightning flared up the dark and gloomy doorway of the farmhouse, summoning them to their diligent task.
31 Snake Eat Snake
Grange House - Edinburgh
After visiting hours at Hazelwood Private Clinic, where Miss Williams was under the best care and supervision in Europe, her grandmother returned to Grange House by taxi. It was still early, the sky virtually illuminated with cloud cover that reflected its light over Edinburgh, when the elderly lady entered her lavish home. As usual, her staff had gone home and she sat down in
front of the fireplace for a sweet sherry.
Outside the window, the wind was gently moving the trees, a sign of the serenity her granddaughter exhibited when she visited her. The small-framed heiress reveled in the warmth of the sherry, like the generous fire that warmed her legs. From the other room the sound of Tchaikovsky permeated like a sweet scent. Aptly, it was Op. 76 - The Storm overture in E minor, a beautiful and terrible composition Mrs. Williams enjoyed listening to on solemn nights.
After she emptied her copita, she set the glass down on her mantle and locked the door of the study. On her way through the late Dr. Williams’ office, she grabbed the crystal decanter with his favorite cognac and two of the set’s shot glasses. With an expression of determination and a hint of anticipation, she opened the hidden compartment door in the wooden panel next to the tall window, and disappeared into the darkness beyond. Her sure fingers flicked the switch to her right, illuminating the long decline of steps that led down to her husband’s sarcophagus under the fireplace.
“I am coming, my love,” she sang cheerfully as her small feet skipped along the cold stone floor. Down here, the outside world became irrelevant and nothing above the ground floor mattered. Her mature voice reverberated in the compact grave chamber and she came to sit down next to the commemorative plaque her husband’s name was engraved upon.
“You did not think I would forget about you, did you, my darling Kenneth?” she smiled as she poured a generous helping of cognac into the small glasses. “It is our anniversary after all. Let me see, how long has it been? Do you know?”
She took a glass in each hand and left the decanter at the plaque, strolling over to the rock wall on the opposite side of the sarcophagus. With elegance, she used her elbow to press on one of the stones, which promptly moved under her pressure. Sliding out like a drawer it presented Mrs. Williams with a human skull of some age.
“Ich vermisse dich, Schatz,” she said, and raised her glass to her husband’s skull. “But you know I had to do it. I could not have you cheating on me down there in that primitive place, not with such a lesser woman. You knew I would not allow that, didn’t you? But that is all behind us now, sweetheart. Let’s drink to our anniversary – five years since I reminded you that I am the only woman you would ever be with – and see, here you are, still with me.”
Mrs. Williams poured the cognac from one glass over the skull and took a swig of the other glass. Her eyes glimmered as she watched the wetness brighten the bone around the absent part of the back of the skull, where she had crushed Dr. Williams’ head with the same rock he was now buried in. The alcohol was stronger than she remembered it to be last year, when she celebrated their anniversary in the same way.
“Ooh! I must be getting old, darling. I cannot seem to handle my drink that well anymore,” she cooed.
“It’s not the alcohol that is affecting you, Mrs. Williams,” a voice suddenly said behind her. The widow swung around and shrieked at the sight of the giant Oleg, sitting at the sarcophagus of Dr. Williams with the decanter in his hand. He gave the amber fluid a sniff and pulled a hideous face.
“Oleg, what in God’s name are you doing in here?” she screamed furiously, throwing the glass at his face. “How dare you?” Oleg dodged the weapon of the timid little woman and laughed.
“You know, we waited for you to screw up before we took these final steps to eradicate your entire accursed bloodline, Mrs. Williams…or shall I call you Frau Wilhelm?” he asked. “When the Order of the Black Sun gave your husband this mansion to hold their secret ceremonies we could never infiltrate well enough to find out which property was given to him. When he secured Nekenhalle in New Zealand, we knew you were up to some nasty double crossing, typical of your kind.”
“Who the hell are you?” she growled as her insides began to burn from gullet to gut.
“Oleg, remember?” he snickered.
“Don’t play games with me!” she tried to scream, but the special strain of acid had already begun to eat at her vocal chords. Her eye caught the fizzy tuft of vapor that was digesting the bone of Dr. Williams’ skull bone where she had poured the drink.
“Only when our security systems in Wrichtishousis picked up your conversation with David Purdue, did we get a lock on your location. Sorry about your granddaughter. We had to use her to get you to rear your ugly head.”
“You attacked my granddaughter, you son of a bitch?” she hissed, quivering in rage.
“No, I don’t attack young girls, madam. I am not a coward. We gave that job to our operative at Purdue’s laboratory to complete. In fact,” he looked at his watch, “our insider at Hazelwood Private Clinic just finished what she started. Sharon is a very proficient agent for the Brigade Apostate and its affiliates.”
“Brigade Apostate?” the old woman seethed. “The nemesis of the Order? Made up of former Black Sun members?”
“Aye, that one,” he said casually. “As you well know, we will always short circuit the work of the Order as far as we can, so when Dr. Wilhelm almost caused the demise of the world as we know it down in New Zealand, we had to put a lid on it in 1970, but he escaped us.” Oleg smiled cheerfully as he pointed to the disintegrating skull. “Delighted to see you did it for us.”
The old woman fell to her knees as her tongue and lips began to bleed, but Oleg did not budge, nor did he offer any alleviation by putting her out of her misery. “We had to plug this shit once more, having to kill innocent delegates and blow up storage facilities just to destroy the remains from the Kriegsmarine-Zwei. And after David Purdue offers to cover all your granddaughter’s medical costs and give her the best care, you send him to his doom in the Lost City? You know, even for a member of the Order of the Black Sun that is pretty low.”
“He was Renatus and he betrayed the Order,” she mouthed, but her words came as little more than grunts and squeals. “After years of grooming him for leadership without his knowledge, he deceived us! He was to be the next Hitler, the fool!”
“Nevertheless, you used his trust in your husband to fuck him over. You offered him the cipher book that would lead them straight to the Lost City, Gloria, where you knew they would discover the Dire Serpent,” Oleg roared, now devoid of his charming smile. “You sent Purdue and his expedition team in there to die, sparing you the killing effort, but you also knew the measure of expertise and resilience these three people possess. Obviously you reckoned that, should they survive by some miracle, they would discover the Dire Serpent and inadvertently let it loose on the world – what your husband failed to do.”
The dying widow wailed in pain, her cries echoing through her husband’s tomb, never to reach a sympathetic ear. Oleg seemed to scrutinize her body’s reaction to the acid. “It is rather poetic you go out this way, by means of a strain your husband devised along with the very poison currently wreaking havoc through his pets down south. Whatever becomes of Purdue, my organization will make sure the Dire Serpent does not survive. We will once more bury it under the earth and prevail as the guardians of the lost city.”
Mrs. Williams smiled. It was unclear whether her grin came from the acid consuming her lips and cheeks, baring her teeth, or from actual pleasure. Inside her body, the deadly substance gradually liquefied her innards, but she had one more thing to say. “Purdue will die or he will unleash the Dire Serpent, Oleg. Either way…we win.”
32 Unearthing the Truth
Nekenhalle, South Island
On their way through the trees toward the higher cascades of the mine hill, Purdue asked Herman about the markings that Sgt. Anaru was so defensive about. With the police officer heading into the mouth of the mind with his weapon drawn, he could not keep Purdue from getting the information he wished to obtain.
“Why red paint, though?” he asked as they sauntered past the markers. The elders exchanged glances. After a brief pause, Sully answered the Scottish explorer’s question.
“Nazi’s.”
Purdue did a double take to make sure the Samoan leader was
not laughing. His face was straight and serious, prompting Purdue to react in the same way as most people.
“Excuse me?” he frowned.
“The red paint,” Herman explained, “is what is left of the symbols the Nazis painted over the guardian etchings of the tribes. We never knew if it was to claim the land as theirs or if they thought their little sun would counter the ancient sigils of this land. Idiots.”
“Sun? They painted a sun?” Purdue asked, playing dumb.
“A sun, mate, a sun with lightning rays. Every one of these markers were painted in red and black back then. After the fall of the Third Reich the locals scraped that shit off,” Herman recounted. “Williams probably did not feel like bitching about it, because he did not repaint it or anything.”
“Why would he?” Purdue wondered aloud, but his inquiry was deemed unimportant. The elders ignored him and instead pointed out to thick thorns or slide soil to avoid. Near the top of the ridge is where the steep hill started. Up at the top the gaping mouth of the entrance looked like a screaming monster, but it was Purdue’s curiosity that drove him onward to join the others at the cavern. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked Herman and Sully.
“No ways,” Herman shrugged. “If you want to die, you go ahead. We came to look for Mr. Harding, so we will check this whole farm…except that part.” He pointed to the mine entrance.
“Why would you come to search for a dead man?” Purdue whispered, having made up his mind that Lewis Harding could not possibly be alive.
“He could just be lost,” Herman answered. “That is where this city gets its name, mate. It is a city of the lost, not some grand golden ruin of diamonds and gems. That is what makes this place hellish, its ability to make you lost.”
Sully gave Purdue a long warning stare. “David, the gold in those ores…you know that is not the legendary Lost City, the City of Gold, right? That city is not worth losing your life over, mate. Stay out here with us.”
Keepers of the Lost City Page 18
