“So, no police?” Heidmann slurred.
“No, Dr. Heidmann. There are things in this world far more important to science and history than the law, and even propriety. What I saw under that tarp conclusively intrigued me, and I want to know how such a thing could come about,” Purdue shared. He had abandoned his light-hearted approach to accommodate the earnest of what he wished to uncover about the ‘Son of Zyklon-B’.
“When will I get to see it?” Don asked eagerly.
“Soon,” Purdue answered. “We will go there later and record as much detail of the specimen as we can. First, it is more important to find out where it came from and how old James here got his mitts on it.”
Dr. Heidmann looked exhausted with concern, but the liquor had rendered him impotent against the actual extent of his troubles. He shook his head despondently, coming to terms with the fact that he had to disclose his well-guarded secret now. It was a secret that was never supposed to be exposed, but an act of God thwarted his confidence and plummeted him into a world of dangerous knowledge. All he could do was to choose his allies now.
Purdue probed the mind of the archeologist under threat of incarceration if he did not comply. Dr. Heidmann had no choice but to tell the two men in his company where and how he procured the disturbing sculptures.
“Did you know when you purchased them that they were in fact calcified human beings, Doctor?” Purdue asked Heidmann.
“I…I got them from a compound, a warehouse, outside Ostrava,” Heidmann answered warily.
“Where the hell is that?” asked Donovan, ordering another whiskey. Unlike Heidmann, he could take a strong drink in stride. Even after half a bottle, he would still stay sober as a judge, at least in judgment.
“Czech Republic,” Heidmann clarified.
Purdue waited for more, but Heidmann only gave short answers. In his experience, Purdue knew that short, obscure answers meant that the speaker was dishonest, or he was hiding something. It was time to shock Heidmann into revealing more.
“Right, then the three of us will depart for the Czech Republic in the morning,” Purdue declared. Out of Heidmann’s visual peripheral Purdue and Don exchanged looks, a well-known method the two of them had employed before – the bluff.
Don joined in the charade. “Sounds perfect. I’ll meet you at the museum tomorrow morning then.”
But Heidmann’s eyes were the size of saucers at hearing all this. He could not go back to Ostrava. Never! He had to dissuade the two men immediately.
“No!” he exclaimed. “No, we cannot go yet. I would have to arrange all my paperwork first. Besides, Prof. Barry will need me here to draw up a damage report with her.”
“Alright then, tell us where to go and we will go in your stead,” Don insisted on wringing out the archeologist’s nerves some more.
“That’s right, James,” Purdue fell in. “Don and I will undertake the journey. You just pinpoint the location in Ostrava for us on the map, and we can be off.”
Heidmann’s countenance contorted in dread at the predicament that was mounting for him. Perhaps he should just come clean, he considered. Maybe he should disclose all the dirty details once and for all. He would be regarded as a charlatan, but at least he would be rid of the heavy yoke he had to bear.
9
“Dr. Heidmann, why don’t you just tell us where this oddity came from? I am not the sort of man who flourishes on the misfortune of opportunists,” Purdue explained soberly. “In fact, I admire the unorthodox greatly.”
Don shifted his body to better listen to what Heidmann was going to say, leaning forward with undivided attention. Heidmann’s bloodshot eyes had jumped between Don and Purdue before his shoulders sank limply in surrender. A deep exhale prepared him to divulge the details of how he came to be in possession of a man turned to solid rock.
“I was involved in a dig near the Czech-Polish border about a year ago. I came to know a fellow archeologist. You might say we had a bit of a fling while working together. She was also an antique collector, naturally, a lover of art and such, so she asked me to come with her for a very covert private sale she wished to conclude,” Heidmann recounted, staring at the surface of the table as the vague Led Zeppelin riff seemed to serenade him, a background score to his story.
“W a black market deal?” Don asked.
Dr. Heidmann nodded in affirmation before he continued. “Yes. It was very hush-hush.”
“That did not arouse concern in you?” Purdue wanted to know.
“Of course, it did, Mr. Purdue,” Heidmann defended.
“Dave.”
“Dave,” Heidmann repeated after Purdue. “But I had to escort her to make sure she would not be harmed, you know. I had to go with her to make sure she did not get done in with this purchase she was so adamant about.”
“So where was this deal done then? Ostrava?” Purdue asked.
“Correct. When we got there, she engaged in a heated debate as to the authenticity of a relic the Polish seller presented. I advised her to abandon the purchase, but the seller would not have that. We were in a deserted warehouse where I suppose he kept all his devilish items,” Heidmann sighed, looking more and more agitated as his tale progressed. “The stores had several full-body sculptures in stone and marble in various stages of renovation. I thought nothing of it, you know? I asked for the provenance of the piece the Pole was selling, but…”
“But what?” Don urged zealously, deeply immersed in the story.
Heidmann went on. “Long story short – and I hope you are men of an open mind for what I am about to tell you – while I was arguing with the seller in the office I heard a strange crumbling sound, like rock piling up, sort of,” he frowned in bewilderment. “The bloke pulled a gun and tried to kill me, but I managed to disarm him and scuttled through the warehouse to find Tessa, but…”
“They killed her?” Purdue asked sympathetically. But he could see that Heidmann’s friend met with a fate worse than a bullet. Dr. Heidmann shook his head as if he still could not process the nightmarish memory. When he looked up, his eyes were wide with disbelief.
“She had been turned to stone, Dave,” he whispered harshly. “I swear to God this is the truth! I know what I saw. Tessa was standing in the middle of the floor, halfway to the office where I was threatening the seller, but she was… a statue, a woman carved in rock! Her clothing remained fabric. Only her biology had been altered.”
“I’m sorry. My mind is reeling here,” Don groaned, falling back against the backrest of the booth, mulling it around.
“Donovan, I saw this stone man with my own eyes. This is very real, as mad as it seems,” Purdue assured his friend. He turned to Heidmann. “So how did you get the three statues?”
“I stole them,” Heidmann admitted nonchalantly. By now he had shed all pretenses. “I got a group of my laborers together, and we returned that night. I had to get evidence. Tessa was absent, though. We took the three I have.”
“And how did you come to name them… what you named them?” Purdue asked with great interest.
“Oh, well, the two I called Klónos², for obvious reasons. Given my affinity for ancient Greek Art and culture, I named them the Greek word for ‘clone’. Since they seemed to be twins, clones of one another, it was apt. However, the number two meaning ‘squared’ instead of just ‘two’ has a purpose too. With that I implied that there were many like them, you know, those in the warehouse,” Heidmann clarified to the two men who did not notice just how long ago they last ordered a drink.
“My God, James, I must commend you on your ingenuity,” Purdue praised him. “Seriously, that moniker holds practically all the secrets behind the piece.”
“And the one that broke?” Don asked. “What did you name him again?”
“He called it ‘Son of Zyklon-B’, a most intricate name indeed,” Purdue noted to his friend.
“Oh no, I had nothing to do with the naming of that one,” Dr. Heidmann asserted. “It was labeled that way when
I found it among the small army of sculptures in the store room that night. I have no idea what it means.”
“So some were already named?” Don asked after eagerly accepting another drink from the waiter.
“I suppose. I did not take the time to investigate because we had to get hasty before those monsters discovered us there. God, if they caught us they would have turned us into bloody garden gnomes,” Heidmann admitted humorously. “May I have an espresso, please,” he asked the waiter.
“Helen – Prof. Barry – actually brought to my attention that Soula Fidikos had examined that very sculpture of yours, James,” Purdue informed Heidmann. “She was of the mind that the clones were significantly older than the singular statue, according to the type of marble and limestone used to encapsulate it. The finish on the clone piece was apparently thousands of years old by her assessment as an expert on antiquities.”
“Is that a fact?” Heidmann gasped in fascination. “I always wondered why it has a slightly whitish sediment to it as if the marble was more weatherworn. On close inspection, it looks almost porous. Now it makes sense why it looks different from the single statue.”
Purdue was beyond curious.
“Oh shit, I know that look,” Don hummed into his glass before sipping. He was aware of Dave Purdue’s insatiable need to explore all things arcane, steeped in mystery even in the smallest way.
“What look?” Heidmann inquired.
Don gestured toward Purdue, raised an eyebrow and coughed facetiously. “You have opened a huge can of worms, Dr. Heidmann. Madman explorer Dave Purdue finds insane claims like yours nothing short of exhilarating.”
“You cannot argue that this is something unprecedented, Don,” Purdue retorted lightly. He pointed out an item on the menu to the waiter. “Would anyone like to order some food? I’m famished.”
“Are you buying?” Don asked.
“I am,” Purdue replied.
“Then I’m in,” Don announced, taking up a menu to peruse it briskly. “Come on, James, get some grub. It’s free,” he told Heidmann.
Purdue chuckled and passed Heidmann a menu. After they had ordered their meals, Purdue decided to present his idea to his two colleagues. He was positively awestruck with the new developments. Such seemingly impossible things had to be investigated, he believed. It was not about glory or money. Of that, Purdue had more than enough.
“I am still wondering what that name means,” Purdue mentioned, checking his palm-sized tablet for the words. “Excuse my ill manners, gentlemen, but it is eating me up, and I have to know.”
“No worries, Dave. I have been wondering about it myself. In fact, come to think of it, I am quite surprised that I had no bothered to look it up before,” Heidmann conceded.
“Find anything?” Don asked.
Purdue’s grey eyes darted across his screen from behind his glasses as he scrutinized the various results on his search. He neglected to answer Don at first, amazed at what he learned from the information. A slight smile played on his lips as he read. The other two engaged in small talk while they waited for him to conclude his quick study.
Finally, the food arrived. Eagerly the archeologist and the anthropologist scarfed down their meals while Purdue relinquished his hunger for lunch to his thirst for knowledge. Suddenly he lifted his eyes, looking categorically impressed with himself.
“Zyklon is a German word, first of all,” he started.
“But wait. There is more,” Don teased.
“Aye, there is,” Purdue smiled. “Zyklon-B, or ‘Cyclone B’ is hydrocyanic acid. This should provide an accurate estimation of the age of the singular piece, James. Zyklon-B was the poison used by the Nazi’s to exterminate death camp prisoners in the gas chambers! I venture to guess that your broken human was one of Hitler’s victims, but not necessarily by gassing. I think he was the subject of an experiment that was based on a very old mythological monster, my friend.”
Heidmann and Donovan were both spellbound by the shocking revelation.
“Do tell,” Don frowned, trying to match the incredible with the historical.
“My friends, our unfortunate statue was not just a victim of the Nazi’s,” Purdue smiled excitedly. “I believe he came face to face with Medusa.”
10
The caller ID on her phone was one that instilled a mixture of feelings. There was immense resentment, fond memories and a general indecision as to the limitations of contact she desired with him. Torn, her big brown eyes read his name again and again.
‘Purdue’
“Not today,” she said softly as she pressed the red button and cut off the call. Dr. Nina Gould was in no mood for company these days. After her last excursion with Purdue on the high seas of the Indian Ocean during which they lost their mutual friend to the wicked tricks of physics, Nina was left emotionally emaciated.
It had been several months since Sam Cleave disappeared along with the ominous Nazi death ship on which he was while Nina and Purdue fought against their captors on the salvage vessel towing it. She blamed Purdue for the loss of her close friend and sporadic love interest since it was his pow-wow. As always, Purdue’s adamant pursuit of strange relics and abominations of Nazi origin had put them all in peril. But this time, they lost Sam.
Sam’s abrupt disappearance had traumatized Nina into becoming reclusive. For the first few days after the coast guard rescued them, she was on auto-pilot. In the aftermath of the ordeal on the tugboat and the madness that had ensued Nina and Purdue had to use subterfuge for the official police reports and insurance claims. If they had to recount the true story of what had happened on the ocean that week, they would undoubtedly have been committed to the present day cousin of Hanwell Insane Asylum or any of Edinburgh’s finest madhouses.
Thus, they were left with their secret; one of many surfaced that week off the eastern coast of Africa. As soon as they were released and had returned to Scotland, Purdue and Nina parted ways to deal with the loss of their longtime associate and friend, Sam Cleave. Nina had sworn Purdue off as a selfish and reckless asshole who kept dragging her and Sam into his dangerous expeditions. Losing Sam was a great shock to Nina.
“Why Sam?” she muttered. “Why not anyone else?”
Nina felt a sudden melancholy as she listlessly made her tea. She had been doing so well, recovering from missing Sam, until now. Now Purdue had to remind her that he existed. Now, when she was finally getting through the day without sobbing over Sam. At first, when she returned home to Oban, she thought about Sam every day.
His voice echoed in her restless power naps. When she closed her eyes, she kept seeing his dark eyes staring into hers like he used to just before he kissed her. Nina could still smell the odor of his sweater when he wrapped her up in his arms and just held her; that familiar smell of tobacco and Castle Forbes shaving cream. All these phantom senses kept him haunting her until a few weeks ago when she started making peace with the fact that Sam was gone in body, but that her times with him would remain with her for the rest of her life.
Besides, she had gone from custodian to mother to Sam beloved feline companion, Bruichladdich. In a way, Bruich was her physical link to Sam, and that served as a palpable solace. Lately, she had started to eat properly again, gaining some much-needed weight to reinforce her health and her once strong physique. Sam was now ever-present in her home, but not in the obsessive and morose manner he used to be. Nina felt him there – just there - as light and serene as the soft breeze that stirred her houseplants.
All that was happening lately. Everything was beginning to smooth out and recover in the Gould household and now this – Purdue calling. Nina was furious and sad about the unapologetic and sobering thrust back into reality; the reality that the horrible outside world still existed beyond her peaceful sarcophagus of memories.
Purdue
The caller ID persisted, only riling her up every time it roused her ringtone.
Bruich even let out his first deep, lazy meow for the day in frust
ration. The sharp tune was adversely affecting his afternoon nap, provoking the large ginger cat to plod from the sofa and saunter away to Nina’s bedroom to attempt another snooze.
Again Nina ignored the call, yet she refused to switch it off. She was in the middle of negotiations for a position as a historical advisor for a television company in Finland and did not want to miss that important call because she was trying to avoid speaking to Purdue.
All her sour memories resurfaced all at once, overwhelming her just enough to drive her to a bottle of Baco Amontillado and a slab of Cadbury’s dark chocolate. Nina filled her goblet almost to the brim, listening to the gulping of the bottle neck as the smooth sherry spilled out. Her eyes stared blankly at the flowing sherry, but she did not see anything. Instead, her thoughts were far away, locked in reminiscence that haunted her with renewed fervor.
She remembered how Purdue helped her flee her confinement where she was kept in the bowels of the salvage vessel, how they realized that Sam had boarded the Nazi ship they were towing and how she screamed his name when the ship disappeared. So many nights she toiled over what she could have done to alter their fate, to save Sam in time before he boarded the eerie ship, yet she never came to a satisfying solution. Nothing she concocted in her mind could solve the eventual tragedy, though. In fact, most of the time Nina thankfully fell asleep from emotional exhaustion or intoxication. Otherwise, she would never have gotten any sleep.
In an attempt to liven up her surroundings, Nina put on some Beastie Boys for a little attitude. Rap Metal from the 80’s always made her feel tougher, even when all she wanted to do was bawl her eyes out.
It appeared that ignoring his calls worked. By the third helping of sherry, Nina noticed that Purdue had given up, though completely uncharacteristic of him as it was. She was relieved that his incessant calls had ceased because seeing his name again after such a long time only dumped her into a black tar pit of sadness. Nina drew the curtains to shut out the remaining sunlight that colored the wooden floor of her living room amber. It was just too cheerful right now. Barefoot, in a loose pair of office pants and a scruffy knitted blouse Nina sank into the plump cushions of her sofa and wept.
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