As if he could pick up on her sorrow, Bruich returned from her bedroom and leapt up on her lap, nuzzling her.
“I miss him, Bruich,” she sniffed profusely. “God, I miss him!” Nina put her goblet down and pulled Sam’s cat closer, holding the purring feline against her cheek and enjoying his fluffy warmth. Nina was a mess all over again, as alcohol tended to heighten whatever emotion she harbored when she started drinking. And this was not a good emotional state to have started the unhappy hour with.
“I could have done something,” she wailed as quietly as she could. “If only I knew where he was…if he was alive at all. Is he dead or just…gone…?”
Softly, Bruich pushed the cushions of his right paw against Nina’s mouth as if he wanted her to stop talking. He pulled away and placed it back again, this time on a slightly different spot where her dimples used to show when she still smiled.
“I swear, if you are trying to tell me something by doing that I am going to have to call Animal Planet, Bruich,” she told the cat with snot-impaired speech that just made her feel stupid. Nina took another chug of sherry, prompting the cat to desert her instantly. Contrary to his name, Bruichladdich detested the whiff of alcohol. He bolted down the hallway, leaving a lethargic Nina on the couch in the slamming beats of the New York City rap punks as she drifted off blissfully to the chants of No Sleep till Brooklyn.
A loud knock jerked Nina unceremoniously from her dreamless blackout. With her eyes sandy and her brain exploding, the knock sounded louder than a clap of thunder on the open sea. Again the door shuddered under the persistent rapping, propelling her from the couch with hellfire on her tongue reserved especially for whoever was on the other side.
“Jesus! What do you want?” she shouted over the pounding beat on the computer speakers. “If I wanted visitors I would throw a cocktail party!”
She rushed to get to the door before having to endure another bout of annoying pounding. Typically Nina would have first checked the peephole to see who was calling, but given the way she felt now any prospective rapist-killer-Jehovah’s Witness was bound to be in for a world of pain.
In her flight of fury, she briskly glanced at the mantle clock.
“What?” she murmured while stumbling toward the door. “Six hours? Really?” she kept mumbling during her careless attempt at fixing her hair. Nina opened the door prepared for war, but what she saw on the other side stopped her in her tracks. It rendered her practically sober.
“Purdue?”
“Hey Nina,” Purdue smiled. He knew that he was not welcome, so he kept his distance from her threshold. His tall frame blocked out her view of the ocean and in his hand, he fumbled his car keys. Regardless of his stylish attire, Purdue looked like a self-conscious beggar. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I had to see you. How have you been?”
Nina was speechless. Her anger took a step back in favor of bewilderment and maybe just a little cheer to see an old friend – even if he was a reckless asshole. She had never seen Purdue nervous. He just was not the anxious type. Always the life of the party, always in control, Purdue always had a calm demeanor because he always had a way out. Tonight he was less so.
“Um, do you want to come in?” she stammered, still nursing a splitting headache.
“Thank you,” he replied. It was awkward between them for the first time since they barely survived the expedition to Wolfenstein years ago. In the years between they had grown close, endured trying times fleeing from dangerous people, had furious fights and shared passionate nights in each other’s arms. Now they felt like strangers, hardly able to string sentences together. He closed the door behind him.
“It is pitch dark in here,” he exclaimed over the blaring music. Nina was on her way to turn it down, switching on one of the standing lamps in the corner as she trudged.
“I only woke up now, Purdue. I fell asleep somewhere in the afternoon,” she explained. One by one she lit the other four lamps and the kitchen light to illuminate the place. On the kitchen table, she saw the damage she did to the bottle of sherry, leaving it open with barely enough to cover the bottom.
“Geez, no wonder I feel like a shit storm on legs,” she whispered to herself.
“No wonder you did not answer my calls,” Purdue mentioned as he took a seat. Nina threw the bottle in the trash bin by the back door. Bruich strolled into the kitchen, tangling his body in between the small historian’s feet to remind her that he has not had dinner yet.
“Oh shit. Sorry Bruich,” she gasped. “I just have to feed the cat, Purdue. Do you want some coffee or something?”
Purdue was surprised that she was so cordial, but he was not about to complain.
“Coffee, thank you,” he said from the kitchen doorway behind her.
“So, why are you here?” she asked outright, as the old Nina would.
Purdue took a moment to formulate his words correctly. “Nina. I know this is the last thing you want to hear ever again, but I need your help.”
11
In Edinburgh, it had been raining for days.
Costa Megalos was preparing to leave, having completed his work at the University and having visited all the people he had been there to see. His ticket back home was lying on the pillow of his hotel room while he showered. He liked the rain, relishing the droplets from the shower head pattering down on him to the sound of the rain against his window.
He did not hear the room door unlock, having no idea that his things were being rummaged through by some stranger looking for something. The restless Scottish weather only aided the intruder in their task, masking the noise they made when opening and closing the cabinet doors. Carefully, Costa’s clothing was lifted and replaced exactly as it was found. His laptop was left untouched. The intruder was not looking for data or information. They were looking for something quite concrete, an object he was said to be in possession of.
Costa’s phone rang, alerting the unsuccessful burglar to flee. In the bathroom, the water was cut off, and Costa rushed to get the call, not bothering with a towel drying or covering. As the door barely shut, the art professor appeared from the bathroom, racing to find his phone in the bundle of luggage he had left on his bed.
“Yes,” he answered slightly out of breath.
“Hello, Professor Megalos?”
“Yes?” he frowned, unable to place if he knew the female caller.
“I hope you are well, and I am sorry to bother, but my boss asked me to get in contact with you. My name is Claire, from the British Museum in London,” she said.
Costa was surprised, as he had not dealt with this institution before.
“Oh,” he said more amicably, “how can I help you?”
She sounded a little coy, like a smitten admirer. “Well, we know you by reputation, so to speak. I work for the curator of the museum, and she gave me your number to find out if you would possibly be able to consult for us?”
Coast felt flattered. “Really? By reputation? When exactly did you need me to help and how long were you hoping to use my services?”
“Soonest, actually. Yesterday,” she replied. “It is quite urgent, but we heard you were lecturing in Scotland for a bit, so I hope I am not interrupting your…”
“No, no,” he interrupted. “I am done in Scotland with my…uh, business, but I can travel to London before I return home to Greece.”
The friendly lady on the phone sounded elated. “You are done with your lectures? Perfect! However, you would not have to come to London, Professor. Our benefactor, the man who needs your assistance, is currently in Edinburgh.”
“Oh! That is convenient,” Costa agreed. “I can be there as soon as I check out of the hotel.”
“Excellent,” Claire replied. “Let me give you the details. Do you have a pen?”
“Uh, give me a second. I am naked and wet,” the Greek mentioned without a second thought. He upturned his leather case to get something to write with.
“Excuse me?” Claire exclaimed, sounding fl
ushed and humored by his revelation.
“Oh,” he chuckled, “I was in the shower when you called.”
He heard Claire giggle, “Aaah, I see.”
After he took down the details and got dressed, Costa packed up and checked out of the Old Town Chambers, waiting in a coffee shop for his lift to arrive. The hired car’s driver helped him load his luggage in the light drizzle that had replaced the previous hour’s downpour.
“All done. Where to, Professor?” the driver asked.
“I am not sure how to pronounce this, actually,” Coast admitted. “And I am confident that I spelled it hideously wrong too.” He passed the shred of paper he had scribbled on to the driver who took a moment to decipher what it could be. Then his face lit up.
“Oh! I think you mean, ‘Wrichtishousis’?” he exclaimed.
“That’s it!” Costa nodded cheerfully. “Is that an actual place?”
“Aye, sir,” the driver smiled. “Home of billionaire playboy inventor and explorer David Purdue, it is. You are in for an interesting time, I’m sure.”
“Why?” Costa asked as the car pulled away.
“The man is a world renowned explorer, as I have mentioned. He is always involved in groundbreaking discoveries, most of them quite controversial too,” the babbling driver informed the professor like a tour operator. “Wrichtishousis is his mansion up there near the University of Edinburgh, so you should be familiar with the area, I suppose.”
The art professor was impressed, but having no idea who this wealthy man was he could not help but feel a measure of apprehension about the matter he was summoned for. Costa had no problem with new faces or places, but he always felt a tad nervous when he was about to meet influential people.
“How do you know I would find the area familiar?” the professor inquired, sounding a little defensive. “I am a foreigner, and I have only been to Edinburgh twice in my life.”
“Please, don’t take offence, sir,” the driver apologized. “I merely assumed you would know the area because you have been lecturing here for two weeks at the University. Same area.”
“Oh, so you know who I am? How do you know that I was lecturing at the University of Edinburgh?” Costa frowned. He was feeling somewhat vulnerable because he was by no means famous and the driver looked the farthest thing from an academic with an interest in Greek Art.
“Um, well, actually my daughter told me all about you. She is a student at the University,” the driver clarified, leaving Costa feeling a hell of a lot better. “Her name is Abbie, and she attended your lecture the other night,” the man smiled. “You must be an excellent teacher. Over the weekend, she could not shut up about you!”
12
In the soundproof safety of his study, Purdue was completing a phone call on his tablet. He did not want staff or his accountants to find the number on registered lines. It was strictly off the record. This call was his own business.
“Please let me know how the operation went, doctor. And if there is anything you and your team need to speed up his recovery or better the task, please contact me. And, as always, the utmost discretion is imperative. Thank you, doctor. Thank you very much.”
Purdue was waiting for the last two people he lined up to join the excursion that would probe the origin and authenticity mysterious stone statues and whatever method was used to make them. He could not resist the unshakable fascination he had with such an anomaly, the works of the impossible, and he had to know what the phenomenon was all about.
Outside in the pouring rain, the massive gates to his estate remained open with only two security guards on duty to keep an eye on the entrance. Inside the vast mansion, Purdue was entertaining those he had already employed officially to join him in the search. His first order of business was to locate the warehouse Dr. James Heidmann had spoken of to get better insight as to the cause of the calcification and to make a record of any identification symbols or names the statues might hold.
It was late afternoon, but the dark grey skies of the vicious storm had draped Edinburgh in dusk. Fires were lit in the hearths of the first floor, and dinner had just been started by Purdue’s head cook, Grützmacher. Purdue had elected not to leave Dr. Heidmann’s statues at the British Museum because he did not need any other agents to discover what he and his colleagues had. So, as to avoid any untimely surprises, Purdue arranged for the statues to be transported by his own people at Pinnacle Regent Transport, of which he was the owner. They had already collected the sculptures and were en route to his estate.
“This is some excellent Scotch, Dave, but I would kill for a Guinness, actually!” he heard from the billiards room. It was Donovan Graham, the huge and rugged archeologist who was grittier than the terrain he excavated during his own digs.
“You have no refinement, my friend. None at all,” Purdue smiled as he gestured for one of his house staff to come over. “Please Janet, could you go down to the wine cellar and check one of the fridges for …” he sighed, shaking his head facetiously, “…some Irish beer for my friend, Dr. Graham?”
The servant smiled amusedly, “Certainly, Mr. Purdue.”
“Guinness! Thank you, Janet!” Don shouted after her. He walked over to where Purdue was standing from where he was looking out from the window that overlooked the driveway. “So, who else are we waiting for, besides Zorba the Greek?” Don asked Purdue.
“Heidmann is late. We are just waiting for the two of them. Then we can start arranging our plans, get the logistics and visas sorted out,” Purdue informed him.
“How much of this story do you believe?” Don asked.
“How do you mean? You saw that broken body with your own eyes,” Purdue replied, taken aback by his friend’s doubt.
“No, I get that. But do you believe Heidmann’s story of how he acquired the pieces? It just sounds a little too cut and dried to me. For instance, how did he and his laborers get back to the compound and managed to steal those pieces without being detected at first?” he scowled, trying to make sense of the details. “I don’t know. If someone stole my secret victims, especially a huge historically significant find like that, I would have pursued them to the ends of the earth.”
Purdue nodded, “I see where you doubt all that. But right now, all we can do is take this as far as we can so that we can unravel this thing. However, if Heidmann does not show up tonight, we will know that he was lying and that he cannot be trusted.”
“I second that,” Don agreed. He saw the staff lady bearing a box marked with his favorite logo. “Excuse me,” he told Purdue, “I have to go and alleviate that poor woman’s burden over there, being the gentleman that I am.”
Purdue chuckled as Don eagerly eased the box from the woman, but his attention was stolen by the headlights coming up the driveway.
“Ah! Smashing!” he exclaimed and went to welcome the occupant of the taxi. “Professor Megalos, how kind of you to agree to help us out,” Purdue smiled as the Greek professor cowered up to the front porch of the massive manor with the hood of his coat pulled forward to cover his forehead.
“It's good to be here, Mr. Purdue,” he panted as he and the driver crossed the front door threshold. Only after he tipped the driver for bringing in his luggage could he finally remove his hood and give his host the proper attention. “Costa Megalos, at your service,” he said charmingly and shook Purdue’s hand.
“Is it Heidmann or Zorba the Greek?” they heard Don shout from the billiards room. Purdue looked mortified, but Costa had a hearty chuckle.
Don peeked in and did not flinch at the sight of the professor, not worried in the least that he may have offended. He shifted his bottle of stout into the other hand and extended a hand, “Donovan Graham from Dundee. Archeologist. Nice to make your acquaintance.”
Costa grinned and wiped his hands before shaking Don’s hand. “Zorba the Greek from…Greece. How do you do!”
Purdue had to smile at the professor’s welcome sense of humor. One had to be thick skinned and have some
crude affability to keep company with Dr. Graham after all.
“How was your trip through the city?” Purdue asked as Costa shed his coat and opted for a brandy near the fireplace.
“Good, good, thanks,” Costa said. “It is not the climate I am used to back home; that is for sure. But the cool rain was a welcome change I must say.”
Shortly after, Heidmann arrived. After all the introductions, Purdue filled them in on the basic plan for his expedition which he called Operation Medusa. He briefed them by just touching on his outline.
“The only snag I have at the moment, gentlemen, is that we cannot yet plan out the rest of the excursion until we know more about the first location. Until we have investigated the warehouse and its contents we will not have a clear idea where to go next,” Purdue lectured while his colleagues took their seats on the casual seats around the snooker table. “All I know is that I am getting Dr. Graham’s forensics people to analyze the composition of the organs found in the broken piece so that we can ascertain how the mysterious transformation occurs. From there on, we will know how to go about the rest.”
“So this other statue was a man from the Second World War? Correct me if I did not understand correctly,” Costa inquired with great interest.
“That’s right,” Heidmann affirmed. “The two entwined figures, which I think Mr. Purdue should have by… tomorrow?” he looked quizzically at Purdue, who nodded to confirm, “… are apparently two much older specimens of the same phenomenon. The statue that broke, however, was from a Nazi concentration camp, from what we could surmise.”
“But you do not know for sure?” Costa asked.
Heidmann shrugged, “We are pretty certain of that.”
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