“Listen, can we just crash first and try to sort this out tomorrow?” Nina asked Sam.
“Of course,” he said. “Besides, there is nothing any of us can do right now. Let me just call Purdue and let him know we managed. Can I tell him about the kidnapping?”
“We have to tell him. I have a feeling we are going to need Purdue to sort this clusterfuck out. There is something about this scabbard business that tells me they are after Excalibur,” she speculated. “Why would they kidnap an entire family and threaten a child for something his grandfather did?”
“Tomorrow we will all have fresh minds,” Sam said. He stopped his truck in front of the complex where he lived and called Purdue. While Nina and the boy went into his apartment, Sam waited for Purdue to pick up, but only his voicemail was active. “Hey Purdue, just checking in to tell you we have collected Nina’s friend from Glasgow. Listen, tomorrow first thing, call me. We have a problem and we need your help.”
24
Lost
To Sam’s dismay, Nina elected to sleep in the living room with Brian, leaving him abandoned in his cold, big bed.
“I cannot believe Purdue is the only one scoring tonight,” Sam moaned.
“He is a child, Sam,” she whispered. “I cannot let him sleep alone on the couch like that. We can catch up on…pleasantries….once he is safe again. Come on. He is terrified and lonely.”
“And apparently invincible,” Sam reasoned like a juvenile. Had Nina not been so annoyed with his whining and insensitivity to Brian’s plight, she may well have found Sam’s argument cute – and valid.
“Just tonight. Tomorrow night, if I am still in Edinburgh…” She tried to finish the sentence, but Sam’s lips locked over hers. It had been too long since he spent some time with Nina, other than babysitting strangers and attending mutual parties.
“There is someone by the window,” Brian said suddenly, breaking things up and pissing Sam off to the fullest. The boy was standing in the corridor, looking through the open door of Sam’s bedroom. In his arms, he held Bruich. The cat was completely content in Brian’s embrace.
“That is my cat,” Sam sneered.
“Sam, shut it,” Nina whispered. “I will come see what you are talking about.”
She left the room, leaving Sam vexed and frustrated. The boy smiled at Sam before he followed Nina, an open invitation to warfare, in Sam’s opinion. “Where is your stupid scabbard now?”
“In the living room,” Brian replied.
“Put it on. You are going to need it, you brat,” Sam threatened playfully. He lunged forward in a mock attack that had the boy squealing with glee. Sam laughed and yelled out after him. “She is too old for you!”
As Sam got undressed and ready for bed, he decided to admit defeat for this night. However, by no means was he going to let the pre-teen brat steal Nina’s attention. Besides, the boy had big ones for taking all that initiative, Sam had to admit to himself. That was admirable in his book, so he would let this one slide. At last, Sam’s good night cry out went unanswered, a testament to how exhausted all of them were. Apart from the television’s unending babbling, the apartment fell silent for the night, and Sam was fast asleep before his eyes were properly shut.
Nina felt her lips turn ice cold. Still wrapped in a dream state, she clearly felt as if she had dipped the bottom of her face in a pool of ice water. Trying to pull out her face was futile. Was this a dream? She tried once more to pull her face out of the cold water, but someone held it there. When she tried to utter a scream, her jaw remained dead and heavy. It was a moment later that she came to, realizing what was happening.
Against the wall, she could see the Jules Joseph Lefebvre painting gifted to Sam by Purdue after the trying Inca adventure. This was proof that she was still in Sam’s apartment, but other than the painting serving as her anchor for the ensuing chaos, she could find nothing else familiar. Somewhere in the haze, she heard two men conversing in Greek. A man’s hand was locked over her mouth and nose while his other hand was firmly cradling the back of her skull in a vice grip. Much as Nina struggled and fought, she was no match for Yiannis.
Deep into her nostrils, the choking odor of chloroform invaded her lungs, making her whole body as frigid as her face. No matter how Nina tried to hold her breath, it was as if the vapors found their own way in. Her throat felt thick as her eyelids fell shut. To her left, her phone was charging. Nina’s hands explored the thick carpet until she could feel her phone lying under the sofa, where she had plugged it into the wall socket. Feeling the buttons with her fingertips, she tried to find Sam’s speed dial before the chloroform could do its thing.
Accidentally she pressed the voice recorder, capturing some of the conversation. But she kept trying to find the number 7 button – Sam’s speed dial code. Vaguely she could hear Brian’s whimpers, but she could not find him. She succumbed to the drug within a minute, making it easier for Yiannis and Kostas to carry her and the boy out through the front door.
Sam’s brain jolted from the shrieking sound of his cell phone ring tone. Inadvertently, he sat up straight in his bed. “What the fuck!” he whined, wiping his eyes. The caller ID said it was Nina.
“I am going to beat the snot out of you, Brian!” he yelled. Convinced that the boy was playing a prank, Sam switched off his phone and went back to sleep. A soft, hefty weight fell on his chest, waking him again. It moved around on his chest, keeping him from slumbering. Sam’s eyes shot open to the sight of Bruichladdich making himself comfortable.
“Hey, grew tired of the brat, did you?” Sam asked his cat. He smiled for the small victory, and ran his hands through the big feline’s fur. Massaging the cat’s pelt was soothing for Sam too. He started dozing away when his hands felt the awful wetness o the cat’s back. Again, Sam shot up in bed, having a terrible image of blood in his head, but there was no blood. Instead, he smelled whisky on his cat. This was most peculiar, prompting him to investigate the source of the wetness.
When Sam stumbled into his living room, he found both couches vacant and the liquor bottles on the counter toppled. Where Nina was sleeping on the floor, he could see her phone blinking from under the couch. Although Sam was not someone to jump the gun, he immediately felt a dreadful notion grasp his heart.
“No,” was all he said, before he seized Nina’s phone. She had called his number but a few minutes before. “Jesus, no!” His eyes grew wide as he looked around the living room, the stench of chloroform still prevalent. The large sheath the child took everywhere with him was also missing.
Heaving, his chest could not contain his racing heart as he checked Nina’s phone for new activity. Apart from her missed call to his phone, there was a voice message captured. With trembling fingers, Sam navigated his way to the clip and listened. He recognized the language, but naturally had no idea what the voices said. All he could discern was the street name.
An idea sprung to mind and Sam quickly ran for his landline phone. He could hardly control his shaking hands, but he carefully punched in the number of an old acquaintance whose number he had in his rolodex. “Prof. Helen Barry?” he stammered. He could not believe that she actually answered the phone at this time of night.
“Yes?” she affirmed. “Who is this?”
“Prof. Barry, this is Sam Cleave. We worked together on the location of the Medusa Stone a few years ago,” he rambled.
“Oh, yes, the journalist. Are you in New Zealand?” she asked.
“N-no? Why?” Sam frowned, trying to get past the banalities.
She raised her voice and snapped, “Because only there it would be a good time to call me at my house! Do you have any idea what the time is?”
“Prof. Barry, I am deeply sorry, but I need your help right fucking now, otherwise three women and a boy will die,” Sam begged. “Please! Please.” His tone was one of hopeless panic, not aggression, which was why Helen Barry allowed him the benefit of the doubt.
“Okay, okay, what do you need?” she asked.
“If I play you a voice clip in Greek, can you translate it? It is a matter of seconds long, and what is said here could help me find the victims,” Sam explained hastily.
“Shoot,” she answered. “I am listening.”
He played the short eleven-second clip, holding the speaker of Nina’s phone to the mouthpiece of the landline. When it was complete, he listened to the professor. She took a moment and then requested, “Again.” Sam obliged, wishing he could speed up time to get the answer already. He looked at the wall clock. It was almost dawn.
“Sam?” she said.
“Aye.”
“Listen, I cannot make out everything. It is a bad recording, but what I do hear is that they are supposed to go to the blue house of Court or with Court, something,” she started.
“A courthouse?” he asked quickly.
“No, no. Listen. From what they say, they use ‘court’ as a noun or name, and they are going to a blue house on Maverick Street. That is all they say between the two of them. Sounds like they were arguing where to go first, but that could just be my bad judgement, you know, being practically still asleep and all,” she ranted.
“Yes, yes, I apologize profusely, Professor. And I am eternally grateful for the help,” Sam said.
“Good. Now go and help those people,” she said, and just hanged up on him.
He jotted down ‘courthouse’ and ‘blue house’. From his cell phone, he looked up Maverick Street and found that it was in a low rent neighborhood in Glasgow. With his trusty notebook containing vital information, Sam pulled on his jeans and sweater in record time. With only three hours sleep and a night of drink barely slept out, he jumped in his truck and headed for Glasgow. The meager sun bore up through the clouds on the horizon, taking a peek at the world before being smothered for the rest of the rainy day.
25
Court’s War
When Sam arrived in Glasgow, he set his GPS to take him to Maverick Street. The morning was still relatively dark and sleepy. Traffic was lighter than in the week, which helped Sam make good time. Into Maverick, he noticed the long row of cars parked in the street, lining it with color on both sides because of the lacking parking space of the poor man’s buildings and houses. Slowly he cased the entire length of the street, looking for a blue house. He was fairly certain that there would be no courthouse in such a residential area.
The small blue house with the ivy screen appeared to his right. “Bingo,” Sam muttered, and doused his cigarette in the ashtray. He double-parked his truck in front of the house. It was alright, he reckoned. He was not planning to stay long. The place was dead quiet, while most other houses had some lights on. In fact, the door was slightly ajar when Sam came up the five steps to the front porch. His hand fell to his side, just to make sure his gun was strapped to him.
Inside there was movement, but no talking, which indicated that it was an intruder like himself. Either that or the two kidnappers were operating in silence. Sam entered the house with his gun pulled. Inside, his heart was pounding and his hands sweaty on the trigger, using the barrel to point the way through the house. Near the bathroom, Sam heard a commotion under the floor. It sounded like wild rummaging in the work light hanging from a rusty hook on the wall of the cellar-come- crawlspace, and Sam dropped softly to his knees to peer into the trapdoor.
As he did, he could hear the mad muttering and sobbing of a lone man, on his haunches, desperately trying to find something. His head and face were badly bruised and the bandages on his hands were bespeckled with old blood. Sam took aim at the man before clearing his throat to announce his presence. The man turned, facing Sam with tears streaming over his face.
“I cannae find it. I swear to Christ, this is where I put it. But it is gone. It is lost! We are all lost now! All for a fucking sword from a storybook!” the man raged. “Just go ahead and kill me, man! Just fucking do it, but you let my wife and daughter go! They did nothing!”
“Wait, wait,” Sam answered, holding up his hand in surrender, allowing the gun to swing from his finger. He could see that the frantic man was not a threat. “My name is Sam. I am just looking for Brian.” Sam hoped that the mention of the boy in his own house would establish some sort of trust with the man, and as usual, the seasoned journalist’s instincts were dead on.
“Who? Br-b…you know Brian?” the man gasped. He propelled himself forward to where Sam was lowering himself. “How do you know Brian? Is he alright? He is alive?”
“Aye,” Sam affirmed, dusting off his jeans.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, thank you! Thank God!” he huffed, wiping tears and sweat from his face. “How do you know of him?”
“One of the teachers from his school is harboring him,” Sam said, keeping his voice calm and even. “I just thought they would be here.”
“No! Oh God, no. Do not let him come here!” the man warned. “They have a man here waiting for me to delve out the thing they want. How did he not see you? I thought you were him when you looked down through the hole.”
“No, I did not see him when I came in,” Sam assured him. “And you are?”
“Oh, Court. Court Callany,” he answered, and shook hands with Sam. A bell went off in Sam’s head. ‘Of course! The Court that Prof. Barry was speaking of!’
“What are you looking for?” Sam asked, while his other senses remained perked for any movement or sound up top.
“The bloody scourge of my existence,” Court moaned. “Listen, I need to tell you something, just in case they kill me…which they are going to if I do not give them what they want right now. They have my family, Sam. Until I give them an antique sword thing, a sheath, they will not let my family go, you make?”
“I make,” Sam agreed with Court. “What is Brian to you? Your grandson?”
“Aye,” Court said. “My boy. Jaysus, I am so glad he is alive. All this is my fault. I stole that sheath, along with some other stuff from this rich bloke called Hall.”
“What?” Sam gasped. “The guy who died during the robbery?”
“Aye. A mate who organized the raid…Paul Willard, he was killed during the robbery. Sam, I do not give a flying fuck how insane this sounds, but the sheath thing kept me from getting shot by the cops that night. That thing is…I dunno, magic or something. That is what I have to give them and I cannae find it!” he raved. “The men who abducted my family, they say it is the sheath that held Excalibur! Excalibur, the sword from King Arthur? That is what they are looking for!” Sam put his hand over Court’s mouth and pointed upward, gesturing the danger of being heard by shaking his head.
Sam whispered. “Court, your grandson had the scabbard. That is why you cannot find it.”
Court’s eyes stretched wide as his mouth fell open. “W-What?” he whispered. “Alright, so where is he? We have to find him.”
“Look, if they are actually hunting Excalibur, the why bother with the sheath at all?” Sam asked him.
From the hole in the trapdoor floor, a voice answered. “Because the Warkadur holds the way to Excalibur. Without it we could not find the sword. Of course, now, we have it. That makes you and your family expendable, Mr. Callany.”
By the look of raw horror in Court’s face, Sam reckoned that the man behind him was one of the kidnappers. He did not turn around; for fear that the man would see his weapon. Court shook like a reed at the confrontation, and Sam realized that the man had to be the one who gave Court his fresh scars.
Court’s tears wet his face again. “I guess that teacher did not protect my grandson well enough?” he whispered to Sam.
“Turn around, Mr. Cleave,” Yiannis ordered. “Or else I stab Court in the eye and skull-fuck him.”
Sam obeyed. There was little else he could do right now. He turned, looking straight down the blade of an enormous dagger, half the size of a machete. Sam recognized the weapon from ancient warfare.
“Jesus. A makhaira?” Sam whimpered at the sight. What he expected was a gun, but he figured that a gunshot would draw atte
ntion in this residential neighborhood. The huge man in front of him looked exactly as he had imagined. Recognizing Yiannis’ voice on the voice clip, Sam knew that he had Nina and Brian.
“You know me?” Sam asked.
“Yes, we know all of you. Friends of David Purdue are never under our radar,” Yiannis told him slowly, pinning Sam with his cold, black eyes.
Sam was not intimidated. “You do realize that you are not Aryan, right? Working for the Back Sun makes you a bit of a cretin,” he informed the Greek.
“Unlike the man I work for, I am not slave to some ideology, Mr. Cleave. I only work for him until my contract is up. Do you know what an enforcer is? Do you know what a condottiere is, Mr. Cleave?” Yiannis wanted to know, playing with the tip of the makhaira under Sam’s eye.
“A mercenary,” Sam answered swiftly.
Yiannis smirked. “I like you. You know your weapons. Maybe, when my contract is up, if you are still alive, maybe you or your friend Purdue can hire me to be your enforcer.”
“A master with a price is just a slave to money, mate,” Sam shrugged. His stone face did not show it, but he was terrified. The man’s forearm boasted tattoos of various Eastern European and Hellenic death squads – not a man to trifle with in close range.
“We are all slaves to something,” Yiannis replied. Sam knew that the only method of escape against a man like this would be misdirection or surprise. Yiannis pulled Sam’s gun from his belt and tucked it into his own. “On your knees,” he ordered both men.
“Whoah, you would have to buy me dinner first, pal,” Sam mocked him. As soon as Sam finished his sentence, Yiannis struck him with the back of the hilt, just hard enough to knock him down with a little bit of incentive. Sam yelped in agony as a bolt of pain shot through his skull.
“What is going on?” Court asked.
Order of the Black Sun Box Set 8 Page 33
