Order of the Black Sun Box Set 5

by Preston William Child

  Purdue sighed, shrugging at his unbelievable bad luck of late.

  “Why are you on my side in this?” he asked.

  “Only because I distrust other people more than I distrust you, Mr. Purdue,” the officer joked. “Look, I concentrate on the evidence at a scene, and although the struggle and the presence of a murder weapon in your room at Sinclair was a bit difficult to blame on either party, the fact that the security camera had been disabled tells me that you weren’t the architect of the fake therapist’s attack. Another thing,” he cleared his throat to gesture the obviousness of the matter, “the therapist was an impostor of a dead man.”

  “I understand,” Purdue said. “Forgive me for saying so, but it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure that out.”

  “Too right, mate,” the officer slapped the desktop in agreement. “It’s a very clear-cut case. However, with our lack of a suspect and only circumstantial evidence on record, it is ironically the justice system standing in our way here. The law and its rigid rules are always a bitch to bend, even to cold, hard logic.”

  “Just my luck,” Purdue replied. “The victim being charged for protecting himself.”

  “Not to worry, Mr. Purdue. I have five days to prove that someone entered Hopkins Memorial for the explicit purpose of killing the victim to preserve anonymity,” the investigator told Purdue as thunder rumbled over the precinct. The flashing lightning that pulsed on the officer’s face gave the trouble Purdue was in an unnecessary nuance of horror.

  “Now, as for the folder this bloke had on you,” Campbell said. “Can you tell me what it was he was effectively jotting down about you that looks like a long division nightmare? And please, explain it slowly, I’ve never been good at numbers.

  Purdue sniffed and smiled. “Those numbers he recorded were not for mathematical use, Lieutenant. Regrettably, they were numeric codes that the so-called doctor…” Purdue halted to find the right words to explain the ludicrous theory, “…harvested from my brain.”

  The two men sat staring at one another for several seconds while the storm raged outside the window. Chewing on his tongue before speaking, the lieutenant finally articulated his understanding. “So, he…downloaded…information from your brain in the form of number codes?” Then Campbell burst out laughing. “Oh my God, I’m sorry Mr. Purdue. I just sound insane, don’t I? But that’s what my comprehension told me you conveyed here.”

  Purdue did not laugh. “You are not insane, sir. That is precisely what I was telling you. The mind, like a computer, functions on codes. We don’t know this consciously, but with the right kind of programming the human brain will follow orders to a fault when commanded with certain numerical sequences.”

  The police officer gawked at Purdue as he continued to clarify. “During my apparent therapy, he removed that information from my mind and jotted down what commands were connected to which code strains. For that I am grateful to him, but those records are the Holy Grail for the Order of the Black Sun and therefore, Lieutenant Campbell, they have to be destroyed.”

  “Holy Mary,” the officer said plainly, his eyes still reading Purdue’s to ascertain if the man was bullshitting him. “You’re dead serious, aren’t you?”

  “I am. If you’re in possession of those medical reports, you have to make them disappear. If the people who did this to me, the people who killed their own scientist to cover this up, find this information, they can brainwash the entire world and use people like puppets to do their bidding.”

  “Are you talking mass hypnosis?” Lieutenant Campbell asked in awe.

  Purdue’s urgent expression convinced Campbell that he was involved in something huge. He leaned forward on his elbows and whispered, “I’m talking about the global domination by the fruit of the Nazi Party without even bothering with World War III.”

  15

  Lieutenant Campbell’s eagerness to investigate the Sinclair Facility was renewed after he’d spoken to the former patient of the institution. He even ignored the destructive and dangerous weather to go and see the security officers again.

  When he walked in, he was immediately confronted with standoffish behavior from the young acting administration manager, Melissa Argyle. It was nothing he hadn’t expected; in fact, he’d been counting on it.

  “Good morning, Miss Argyle,” he said as he signed in at the Reception desk.

  “Oh, hello Lieutenant,” she replied. “I thought you got all you were looking for last time.”

  “I did from you. Thanks,” he answered in his usual condescending way. “But I’m not here to see you, so no need to worry about my taking up too much of your time today.”

  He expected her to be relieved, but Melissa looked unsettled by his revelation. “Oh? Who, may I ask, are you here to see then?”

  “Respectfully, Miss Argyle,” he replied, “not you. And that makes my visit none of your business.”

  Clearly furious, she smiled at him before disappearing behind the partition of the first office. She entered her office and slammed the door. On a hunch, the investigator peeped over the counter at the switchboard at the Reception desk. He smiled when he saw the red light next to her extension light up. She was making a call.

  “May I help you, Lieutenant?” the receptionist asked, recognizing him from the last time he was there to investigate the attempted murder of Dave Purdue. Lieutenant Campbell smiled kindly. “Actually yes, you could. May I please see your logbook for the 22nd of January? I need to check all the sign-ins for that day.”

  Melissa Argyle was on the phone in her office, hoping to get in touch with Guterman, the person she reported to. “The nosy police officer is here again.”

  While at the Reception area, the investigator was also asking for the phone records of the day, so that he could trace the number Melissa had called after he’d left her office. He had an inkling that the person she’d called after he’d left had promptly orchestrated the assassination of the impostor.

  In fact, the investigator deliberately made sure that Melissa saw him there. Applying the heat on her would no doubt prompt her to contact whomever was behind the hit on Dave Purdue, just as she had the day she learned that this police officer was sharp enough to recognize the sabotage of the CCTV system.

  Without fail, the young administrator – who was remarkably unskilled at clandestine practices – played right into the investigator’s hands. By using the institution’s landline to call her villainous superior in London, she’d left a trail of breadcrumbs in plain sight. Lieutenant Campbell smiled when he saw the pulsing light on the PABX system, delighted that he would soon be able to move in on the perpetrator and spring Dave Purdue from the legal bear trap he’d been caught in.

  “Here you go, sir,” said the general manager who perused the warrant Campbell handed him. “If you check here,” he explained the index of the log book for January, “you’ll see that this is the page for all the visitors that day. Dr. Helberg signed in…there, see?”

  “Thank you very much. I will have to confiscate this logbook for evidence, as well as the phone records the warrant mentions,” Campbell said kindly. “I’ll wait. As long as I have that list of numbers when I leave here.”

  Melissa grew ice cold as she stood, listening to the demands of the police officer. Realizing her mistake, she knew that she too would be killed once Guterman found out that she’d led the police right to him and his organization. Running into her temporary office, she quickly grabbed all of her personal belongings and her raincoat. Flight seemed to be the only way out now. She didn’t know what to do, and her heart was pounding under the strain of panic. And rightly so. Guterman, a German national running several assassination cells for the Anglo-Aryan Coalition, was known for his reckless extermination of friends and foes alike. He never needed much encouragement, especially once he felt that someone had screwed up.

  “Are you ready to work with us, then?” Campbell asked from behind her. Melissa screamed, her legs buckling under her. The officer scooped
her up just as she fell to the ground. Then he laid her shaking body on the couch.

  “Oh my God, he’s going to kill me! He’s going to kill me before the weekend!” she ranted hysterically. “Please, Lieutenant, you have to help me! I needed the money, so I agreed to work for him on the side. He…h-he never said he was going to kill Mr. Purdue. I t-th-thought that Reusch was just supposed to get information during the sessions, I swear!”

  Lieutenant Campbell towered over her like a judge, but she’d take that over an executioner any day. His hands rested at his sides. “Relax, Miss Argyle. If you turn state’s witness and help us bring in Reusch’s killer, you might just survive the wrath of Walter Gateman.”

  “You know him?” she gasped, as tears came streaming over her cheeks.

  “Let’s just say, I do my homework,” he bragged. “Walter Guterman has been on the Most Wanted list of every anti-criminal website in the known universe since 1968. A war criminal and Nazi ideology propagator, he’s pretty notorious amongst black operation commanders.”

  Campbell sat down next to Melissa. “So, Miss Argyle, how did you get involved with such an unsavory character?”

  Suddenly Melissa choked and abruptly ceased her crying. Her wet eyes danced with a miniature madness as she tried to give a normal answer. Slowly she started to shake her head, reaching for a tissue and wiping her nose. Looking world weary, Melissa said, “Lieutenant Campbell, if I told you, you’d never ever believe me.”

  While Purdue was flying back to Edinburgh with Nina’s medical file and payment receipts, his phone rang. The number was prefixed with ‘298’, a number even the world traveling billionaire was not familiar with. Usually he did not feel comfortable answering unknown numbers, especially after learning that he was the target of a hit while admitted at the Sinclair Facility. However, on the other hand, Purdue reckoned that not many people knew his personal phone number, resident on his uniquely produced tablet, so he answered.

  He would never admit it out loud, but the sound of Sam Cleave’s voice brought him a great amount of joy, cheering him considerably.

  “Hey Purdue, how’s it hanging over there?” Sam said quickly, but before Purdue could answer he carried on talking. “Have you even checked your e-mail, my friend? I sent you some fantastic pictures from the Faroe Islands last night. Did you get them?”

  “Sam! Sam, Sam,” Purdue chuckled. “Hose yourself down, lad. I’m on my jet at the moment, so I don’t know how badly I want to see bloody beaches and dead whales right now.”

  “No, that’s…no,” Sam replied. “That’s not all this place is about, Purdue. You have to see the Second World War monuments and ruins they have up here. It’s amazing. Check your mail.”

  Purdue smiled.

  “I shall, Sam. It sounds riveting, really. But I’m a bit tied up in serious matters at the moment,” Purdue explained. Still, he decided not to tell Sam about everything that had come to light since they’d last spoken. The journalist sounded way too excited about whatever he’d discovered and Purdue decided to keep the awful truth about their mutual friend, and love interest, to himself until he could tell Sam face to face.

  “Oh, alright then,” Sam replied, sounding a little disappointed. “Well, let me know what you think when you’ve had a look. I CC’ed Nina in on the pictures too, by the way, and have heard nothing back from her, either. Is she still in Hampshire doing that teaching gig?”

  “I believe so, yes,” Purdue answered. His stomach knotted up at the mention of her name.

  “Her phone is on voicemail every time I call. I hope the feisty little thing is okay. Sometimes her long silences concern me,” Sam admitted.

  “I’m sure she is alright. If I speak to her I’ll tell her to just drop you a line.”

  “Probably not my business, Purdue, but you don’t sound like yourself today,” Sam remarked off hand. Purdue hated keeping the truth from him, even if it were to shield him from a bad emotional crash.

  He sighed and let out a small chuckle to set Sam at ease. “I’m just tired, old cock. Had a rough bunch of days dealing with a lot of crooked people.”

  Sam paused, leaving the line hanging in dead air limbo before speaking again. “Um, crooked people as in…you know, those people?”

  Sam’s reference to the Black Sun organization was undeniable. Purdue wanted to tell him, but again he elected to let the journalist enjoy his time up beyond the North Sea for now.

  “Those people are everywhere, son,” Purdue pretended to joke, evading a fib with cleverly fashioned wording. “I’ve just been inundated with obstacles. Life stuff, you know.”

  “Aye,” Sam replied evenly. Purdue could tell that Sam was withholding.

  After another few moments, Sam sighed, “Right. So, uh, get back to me about the photos when you have some off time. Cheerio, my good man.”

  “Bye Sam. Have a good night,” Purdue replied and hung up. He laid back in his comfortable jet plane seat, bringing a glass of Johnny Walker to his lips. There was a long journey ahead of him; not one of flights and driving, but one of experimentation, trial and error, and the immortal chase against the evil arms of the clock. Purdue felt tired already as he wracked his brain for a way to reverse time. It was Nina’s only hope and it was his duty as her friend - although their friendship had dwindled severely – and as a scientist – to defy science and employ his great command of physics and technology to save her.

  His jet was too close to Edinburgh for him to get any rest, so he surrendered to Sam’s imploring and laid his tablet on his lap to check the pictures. If anything, he hoped that some beautiful views and professionally taken images of historical sites would cheer him up a bit.

  The screen opened up from the center and flowed outward until the entire image filled it to the extent of the frame of the device. Sam’s attachments rung up a total of fifty-two images, but Purdue first read the short message Sam had written in the e-mail body.

  Purdue’s heart caught in his throat when he read the message, even though he figured it was just his own desperate hope tricking him to make a connection between what he needed and what Sam was reporting. The billionaire sat up as the jet entered Edinburgh air space and glared at Sam’s words, reading them a hundred times over to make sure he saw what he thought he saw.

  “Holy shit! That’s it! Talk about Kismet…” he whispered as he read the words again.

  Hi Purdue

  Here are some awesome pictures from the breathtaking Faroes and a lot of British war remnants I captured as best I could. But I tell you, there are things I can’t convey through images. Enjoy!

  PS: The women are gorgeous and the firewater is deadly! No wonder I can’t get over how these people stay young forever. I swear, time stands still here.

  Sam

  “A place where time stands still,” Purdue gasped. “Quantum physics meets medical application. Of course! How could I not see that?”

  As the captain’s voice announced that they were about to land, Purdue forgot his fatigue. His heart raced because he could not wait to get started. At last, Purdue smiled.

  16

  Thus far Sam had only sent Purdue and Nina the images from the ruins at Akraberg, those he snapped before Johild and old Gunnar had showed up with the others. He intended, however, to record all the sites of historical value throughout the islands by the time he was scheduled to return to Scotland. After all, his extended stay merited more footage than just some interviews with locals about the done-to-death whaling debate.

  Old Gunnar owed Sam an explanation about his defensiveness towards the journalist. He had to give Sam some clarity on what he was protecting. For Gunnar it was a real problem, because either he had to lie or he had to, God forbid, trust the Scottish tourist. Having already been to Eggjarnar’s station, Heri and his family offered to take Sam to the next site while Gunnar told his story.

  “There are places here that belong to only us, the descendants of the old Norse people, Scotsman. We just don’t like intruders. It’
s very simple. There’s nothing to hide, but some places,” he shrugged, “just should be left alone, left to the children of the land.”

  “I understand,” Sam replied, and he wasn’t being flippant. He honestly did understand that sometimes you just needed to have your own special place. Sam could see Johild and her cousin exchanging surprised looks.

  Even Gunnar had expected more of a fight. Sitting in the back seat next to his daughter, he’d remained quiet since Sam accepted his explanation. Still he could not accede that the journalist was satisfied with just that. The car was abnormally quiet as they drove north inland. Sam, seated in the front next to Heri, spent the next while looking out the window at the wild and ancient beauty of the rocks atop the cliffs wearing hoods of emerald

  Suddenly Sam spoke. “Gunnar?”

  At once the interior of the vehicle came alive with voices of affirmation. Heri, Johild, and Gunnar mumbled in agreement that they knew there would be more. “Yes?” Gunnar deigned.

  “What’s this?” Sam asked as he turned in his seat to face the old man seated behind Heri. He passed his cell phone to Gunnar. Upon the large screen of the cell phone there was just one image – a still shot he’d taken from the center of a flattened British World War II ruin at Hvalba during the night, after he’d concluded the day’s interviews. Gunnar looked shocked. He pretended to scrutinize the image while he tried to think of a way to dismiss the presence of the peculiar green, blue and pink light particles appearing to hover above the circles of the demolished stone.

  Heri tried to peek by craning his neck to use the mirror, but he was unsuccessful. His cousin’s wary expression upon seeing the picture concerned him, but he had to watch the road and contain his curiosity until the impending discussion would reveal the subject.