Order of the Black Sun Box Set 8

by Preston William Child

  “Did he call?” Purdue asked Jane.

  “Good evening to you to, Mr. Purdue,” she replied sharply. Unlike Lillian and Charles, Jane was not above reprimanding her boss when he acted out of line or when anything was amiss. She was usually his moral compass and his right hand decision maker, when he needed an opinion. He saw her cross her arms across her chest, and he knew he was being a jerk.

  “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I am just expecting Sam urgently. Good to see all of you. Really.”

  “We heard what happened to you down in New Zealand, sir. So happy you are still kicking and healing on,” purred Lillian, the maternal staff member with the sweet smile and naïve notions.

  “Thanks Lily,” he gasped, out of breath from the effort of the ascent up to the door. “My goose was almost cooked, yes, but I prevailed.” They could see that Purdue was extremely upset, but he tried to remain cordial. “Everyone, this is Nurse Hurst from the Salisbury Clinic. She will be attending to my wounds twice a week.”

  After a brief exchange of pleasantries, they all fell silent, stepping aside to let Purdue make his way into the lobby. He finally looked at Jane again. With a considerably less sneering tone, he asked again, “Has Sam called at all, Jane?”

  “No,” she answered gently. “Would you like me to ring him while you settle down so long?”

  He wanted to protest, but he knew that her assumption would be the way of things. Nurse Hurst would definitely insist on evaluating his condition before leaving and Lillian would insist on feeding him well before he could dismiss her for the evening. Weary, he nodded. “Please call him and see what the hold-up is, Jane.”

  “Of course,” she smiled, and started up the first floor stairs to the office. She called back to him. “And please, get some rest. I am sure Sam will be by, even if I cannot get hold of him.”

  “Yes, yes,” he gave her a friendly wave away and continued laboriously up the stairway. Lilith gawked around the magnificent residence as she assisted her patient. She had never seen such opulence in a domicile of someone who was not of royal status. Personally, she had never been in a house of such affluence. Having lived in Edinburgh for a few years now, she was familiar with the celebrity explorer who built an empire on his superior intelligence quotient. Purdue was a prominent citizen of Edinburgh, whose fame and infamy reached across the world.

  Most of the world’s high profile personalities in finance, politics and science knew David Purdue. Many of them had come to detest his existence, though. That, she also knew well. Still, his genius could not be denied, not even by his enemies. As a former student of physics and theoretical chemistry, Lilith was fascinated with the diverse knowledge Purdue exhibited throughout the years. Now she played witness to the product of his inventions and relic hunting history.

  The high lobby ceilings of Wrichtishousis reached over three stories before being consumed by the bearing walls of separate divisions and tiers, as did its floors. Marble and ancient limestone floors bore the leviathan house, and by the looks of the place, there were few ornaments younger than the 16th Century.

  “You have a beautiful home, Mr. Purdue,” she gasped.

  “Thanks,” he smiled. “You used to be a scientist by trade, right?”

  “I was,” she replied, looking a little solemn.

  “When you come back next week, I could perhaps take you on a short tour of my laboratories,” he offered.

  Lilith looked less ecstatic than he thought. “I have been to the labs, actually. Three different branches, in fact, all run by your company, Scorpio Majorus,” she boasted to impress him. Purdue’s eye glinted with a mischievous sheen. He shook his head.

  “No, my dear, I am referring to the test labs in the house,” he said, feeling the effects of the painkiller and his recent upset about Sam making him drowsy.

  “Here?” she gulped, finally reacting in the way he hoped she would.

  “Yes, ma’am. Right down there, under the lobby level. I will show you next time,” he bragged. It pleased him no end how flushed the young nurse was by his offer. Her smile made him feel good and, for a moment, he was convinced that he could perhaps make up for the sacrifice she had to make for her husband’s illness. That was his intent, but she had more in mind than a small measure of redemption from David Purdue.

  10

  Skullduggery in Oban

  Nina had rented a car to drive back to Oban from Sam’s place. It was grand to be back home in her old house that overlooked the temperamental waters of the Bay of Oban. The only part she hated about coming home after a visit away was the house cleaning. Her home was not small by any means, and she was its only occupant.

  Before, she used to hire cleaners to come once a week and help her with the upkeep of the historical heritage site she had purchased years ago. Eventually she grew tired of losing antiques to cleaners who needed some extra quid from any gullible antique collector. Other than sticky fingers, Nina lost more than enough of her beloved belongings to careless housekeepers, breaking precious relics she obtained by risking her life on Purdue’s expeditions, mostly. Being a historian was not a vocation to Dr. Nina Gould, but a very specific obsession that she felt closer to than the modern comforts of her era. It was her life. The past was her treasure trove of knowledge, her bottomless well of fascinating accounts and beautiful artifacts, fashioned by the quills and clay of braver, stronger civilizations.

  Sam had not called yet, but she had come to know him as scatter brained and always occupied with some or other new trail. Like a bloodhound, he only needed a whiff of an adventure or chance of scrutiny to get him focused on something. She wondered what he thought of the news report she left for him to watch, but she was not that zealous for a review.

  The day was moody, so there was no reason to stroll along the water or call in to the coffee shop for some sinful partaking of strawberry cheesecake – fridge, not baked. Even the tangy wonder of cheesecake could not get Nina to go out into the grey, drizzling day, which was a testament to the discomfort outside. Through one of her bay windows, Nina saw the harrowing journeys of those who did venture out today, and thanked herself again.

  “Ooh, and what are you up to?” she whispered, pressing her face into the fold of the lace curtain, peeking out in a not so discreet way. Below her house, down the steep decline of her lawn, Nina noticed old Mr. Hemming from down the road inching his way up the road in the terrible weather, calling for his dog.

  Mr. Hemming was one of the oldest residents on Dunuaran Road, a widower who had an illustrious past. She knew this, because after a few whiskeys nothing would stop him from telling stories from his youth. Whether at a party or a pub, the old master engineer never failed to ramble on until the daylight hours, for anyone sober enough to remember. As he started to cross the road, Nina noticed that a black car was speeding from a few houses off. With her window set so high above the street below, she was the only one who could see it coming.

  “Oh, Jesus,” she gasped, and rapidly darted toward the door. Barefoot, with only a pair of jeans and a bra on, Nina dashed down the steps onto her cracked walkway. As she ran, she cried out his name, but the rain and thunder prevented him from hearing her warning.

  “Mister Hemming! Look out for the car!” Nina shrieked, her feet hardly feeling the frigid sensation of the wet puddles and grass she traversed. The ice cold wind bit at her bare skin. Her head swung to the right to measure the distance of the fast approaching car that splashed along the brimming gutter. “Mister Hemming!”

  By the time Nina reached the gate in her fence, Mr. Hemming was trudging along halfway across the road, calling his dog. As it is with haste, her wet fingers slid and fumbled at the catch of the lock, unable to lift the pin fast enough. As she tried the lock, she still called out his name. With no other pedestrians crazy enough to come out in this weather, she was his only hope, his sole harbinger.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she shouted in frustration, just as the pin came free. It was her cussing, in fact, that f
inally drew Mr. Hemming’s attention. He frowned and slowly turned to see where the swearing was coming from, but he was turning anti-clockwise, preventing him from seeing the oncoming car. When he saw the beautiful historian, scantily dressed, the old man felt a strange twinge of nostalgia to his old days.

  “Hey there, Dr. Gould,” he greeted. A little smirk crawled onto his face when he saw her in her bra, thinking her either drunk or crazy, what with the chilly weather and all.

  “Mr. Hemming!” she still screamed as she ran toward him. His smile vanished as he began to doubt the mad woman’s intentions toward him. But he was too old to run from her, so he waited for the impact and hoped she would not hurt him. A deafening rush of water ensued from his left, and finally he turned his head to see the monstrous black Mercedes glide at him. On both its sides, white foamy wings sprang up from the road as the tires cut through the water.

  “Holy Ch…!” he gasped, his eyes widening in terror, but Nina had him by the upper arm. She tugged him so hard that he stumbled onto the pavement, but the velocity of her action saved him from the fender of the Mercedes. Overcome by the wave of water scooped up by the car, Nina and old Mr. Hemming cowered in behind a parked car until the jerk in the Merc had passed.

  Nina jumped up immediately.

  “You are going down for this, you prick! I will track you down and kick your ass, you wanker!” she hailed her insults at the idiot in the posh car. Her dark hair hugged her face and neck, curling over the mounds of her bosom as she growled in the street. The Mercedes turned at the bend of the road and gradually disappeared behind the stone bridge. Nina was furious and cold. She reached out her hand to the flabbergasted senior citizen, shivering from the cold.

  “Come, Mr. Hemming, let’s get you inside before you catch your death,” Nina suggested firmly. His crooked fingers latched over hers and she gently pulled the frail man to his feet.

  “My dog, Betsie,” he stammered, still in shock from the fright of the close call, “she ran off when the thunder started.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Hemming, we will find her for you, alright? Just get out of the rain. Oh my God, I am so tracking down that asshole,” she assured him, catching her breath in short gasps.

  “You can do nothing to them, Dr. Gould,” he mumbled as she started leading him across the street. “They will sooner kill you than waste a minute on defending their actions, the scum.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  He motioned with his head toward the bridge where the car had vanished. “Them! The discarded afterbirth of what was once a good municipality, when Oban was run by a righteous council of dignified men.”

  She frowned, looking bewildered. “Wh-what? You mean you know who that car belongs to?”

  “Course!” he replied as she opened the garden gate for him. “Those bloody vultures in the town hall. McFadden! That swine! He is going to end this town but the young people don’t care about who is in charge anymore, as long as they can carry on whoring and partying. They are the ones who should have voted. Voted him away, they should have, but no. Money won the day. I voted against that skunk. I did. And he knows it. He knows everyone who voted against him.”

  Nina recalled seeing McFadden on the news a while back, where he was attending a very important secret meeting, the nature of which, the news channels could not disclose. Most people in Oban loved Mr. Hemming, but most thought his political views was too old fashioned, that he was one of those veteran nay-sayers who refused to allow progress.

  “How can he know who voted against him? And what could he do?” she defied the villain, but Mr. Hemming was adamant that she be careful. She patiently led him up the sharp incline of her walkway, aware that his heart could not handle a strenuous march uphill.

  “Listen, Nina, he knows. I don’t know about technology these days, but word is that he is using devices to do surveillance on citizens and that he had hidden cameras installed above voting booths,” the old man jabbered on, as he always did. Only, this time, his babbling was not a tall tale or a fond memory of bygone days, no; it came in the form of serious accusations.

  “How can he afford all those things, Mr. Hemming?” she asked. “You know that would cost a fortune.”

  Big eyes leered at Nina from under the dripping, unkempt eyebrows. “Oh, he has friends, Dr. Gould. He has friends with lots of money who back his campaigns and pay for all his trips and meetings.”

  She sat him down in front of her warm hearth, where the fire was licking at the mouth of the chimney. From her sofa, she grabbed a cashmere throw and wrapped it around him, rubbing his arms over the throw to warm him. He stared up at her in brute sincerity. “Why do you think they tried to run me over? I was the principal rival of their proposals during the rally. Me and Anton Leving, remember? We stood against McFadden’s campaign.”

  Nina nodded. “Aye, I do remember. I was in Spain at the time, but I followed the whole thing on social media. You are correct. Everyone was convinced that Leving would win another stint in the town council chambers, but we were all devastated when McFadden won out of the blue. Is Leving going to object or propose another vote in the council?”

  The old man scoffed bitterly, staring into the fire as his mouth cracked in a morose smile.

  “He is dead.”

  “Who? Leving?” she inquired in disbelief.

  “Aye, Leving is dead. Last week he,” Mr. Hemming looked at her with a sarcastic expression, “had an accident, they said.”

  “What?” she scowled. Nina was completely taken aback by the sinister goings on in her own town. “What happened?”

  “Apparently, he fell down the stairs of his Victorian while intoxicated,” the old man reported, but his face played another card. “You know, I knew Leving for thirty-two years and he never had more than a tot of sherry in a blue moon. How could he intoxicated? How did he get so drunk that he could not walk the bloody stairs he walked for twenty-five years in the same house, Dr. Gould?” He laughed, reminiscing about his own near tragic experience. “And looks like, today was my turn at the gallows.”

  “That’ll be the day,” she sneered, mulling around the information while she pulled on her robe and tied it.

  “Now, you are involved, Dr. Gould,” he cautioned. “You spoiled their chance at killing me. You are in the middle of the shit storm now.”

  “Good,” Nina said with a steely look. “That is where I am at my best.”

  11

  The Marrow of the Matter

  Sam’s captor took the off-ramp east onward the A68, heading toward the unknown.

  “Where are you taking me?” Sam asked, keeping his voice even and amicable.

  “Vogrie,” the man answered.

  “Vogrie Country Park?” Sam responded without a second thought.

  “Aye, Sam,” the man replied.

  Sam gave the swift answer some thought, assessing the level of threat connected to the venue. It was quite the pleasant place, actually, not the kind of area where he would necessarily get gutted or hanged from a tree. In fact, the park was frequented continually, being laid out by woodlands where people came to play golf, hike or entertain their children at the resident play area. He instantly felt better. One thing prompted him to ask again. “By the way, what is your name, mate? You look very familiar, but I doubt I actually know you.”

  “My name is George Masters, Sam. You know me from ugly black and white photographs courtesy of our mutual friend, Aidan, at the Edinburgh Post,” he elucidated.

  “When referring to Aidan as a friend, are you sarcastic or is he genuinely your friend?” Sam pried.

  “No, we are friends in the old fashioned sense,” George answered, his eyes sternly on the road. “I am taking you to Vogrie so that we can talk and then I will let you go.” He slowly turned his head to bless Sam with his countenance and added, “I did not intend to chase you, but you have a tendency to react with extreme prejudice before you even know what is going on. How you compose yourself during sting operations are abo
ve my comprehension.”

  “I was drunk when you cornered me in the men’s room, George,” Sam tried to explain, but it had no corrective effect. “What was I supposed to think?”

  George Masters chuckled. “I suppose you did not expect to see someone as pretty as I am in that bar. I could have done things better…or you could spend more time sober.”

  “Hey, it was my fucking birthday,” Sam defended. “I was entitled to get pissed.”

  “Maybe so, but that is irrelevant now,” George retorted. “You ran then and you ran again, without even giving me a chance to explain what I want with you.”

  “I suppose you are right,” Sam sighed, as they turned off into the route leading to Vogrie’s beautiful environment. The Victorian house from which the name of the park came, appeared through the trees as the car slowed considerably.

  “The river will obscure our discussion,” George mentioned, “just in case they are following or listening.”

  “They?” Sam frowned, fascinated by the paranoia of his kidnapper, the same man who criticized Sam’s own paranoid reactions not a moment ago. “You mean, anyone who did not see the carnival of high speed fuckwittery we engaged in through the neighborhood?”

  “You know who they are, Sam. They have been disturbingly patient, watching you and the pretty historian…watching David Purdue…,” he said as they walked to the bank of the River Tyne that ran through the estate.

  “Wait, you know Nina and Purdue?” Sam gasped. “What do they have to do with why you are after me?”

  George sighed. It was time to get to the marrow of the matter. He stopped without saying another word, combed the horizon with eyes hidden under mutilated brows. The water gave Sam a sense of peace, eve under the drizzle of the gray clouds. His hair whipped about his face as he waited for George to clarify his purpose.