Order of the Black Sun Box Set 8

by Preston William Child

  “What did they say?” Keating asked.

  Terry smiled. “Finn is planning to meet with a contact of mine, a dealer in antiques. Tonight at 9pm, they are meeting at an abandoned paint factory outside Oban. He is bringing the Grail for an appraisal!” He burst out laughing, proud of his excellent delivery of a well-oiled lie. With the new confidence he felt at being released from Keating’s claws, Terry had the guts to lead his master right into Peter Carroll’s trap.

  Keating laughed along, pleased that the overgrown child he scooped up from the mean streets had finally proven himself to be a valuable member of the Meisters. Unfortunately for Terry, it was too little too late. Keating decided to withhold the thug’s execution until after Terry had killed Finn for him and he took the Grail for himself. Now that Finn had proven to all the remaining Perceval Chapter members, that the odd child now and then could maintain vitality, Keating was ready to usurp the throne from the Captain.

  At 8.45pm, Terry and Keating showed up in a black minivan, with four other members of the Meisters inside. The eerie steel skeleton made Terry’s flesh crawl again. His hand moved over his relatively new bullet wound, courtesy of Dr. Gould, that he had never disclosed to Keating. “Shall we go in?” Keating finally sighed. “Terry, park the van and join us. We have to split up so long, take our places and load the guns, boys. Let’s go.”

  Terry did as he was told, taking note of the positions the other men took. As Nina instructed, he left his gun under the seat and checked his Kevlar vest one last time. Unlike the other men, Terry took his place at the far side of the cracked slabs of concrete, climbing up two stories worth of steel beaming.

  “What are you doing?” Keating grunted from his position below in the dark.

  “Keeping vigil. I can see what direction and how many from up here,” Terry said. “I will signal how many are with Finn.”

  Keating nodded in approval. Soon after, two cars drove up in plain sight, coming from opposite sides. Terry held up two fingers for one car and one finger for the other. Keating and his men got ready to play. What Terry did not signal, was the extra Mercedes Benz Sprinter that slowly approached behind the one vehicle with lights off, courtesy of Interpol.

  Peter Carroll got out of the car he drove and his passenger, dressed as Dylan Finn, joined him, complete with chalice in hand. From the other vehicle, a woman emerged to supposedly appraise the relic. She was Helen Grace, Great Britain Homicide Division. Terry smiled as he watched the sting operation take form and how Keating and his men surrounded the three participants.

  “Well, then, looks like you have something that belonged to all of us once, Captain Finn!” Keating roared as he approached along with his pack, guns aimed at the agent and her associates. Keating grabbed the chalice and ripped the hat off the man he presumed to be Finn, but discovered a thirty-year old Nigerian operative. “Jaysus!” Keating yelped. “What is this?”

  Peter Carroll removed his hat too, with no concern for the barrels pointing at his face.

  “Hello Kieran,” he said to Keating.

  “Carroll?” Keating gasped. “You had the Grail all along?”

  Peter looked at Helen Grace and said, “Do you see what I mean? The man actually thinks that the Holy Grail is real. He had that boy killed in Basildon to frame Norman Kingsley, so that the poor young man could take the fall.”

  “That is bullshit and you know it!” Keating hissed. “It is right here! The Holy Grail. I know what it feels like. I was there in 1944, when we all passed it through our hands. I know very well that this the Grail.”

  “See?” Peter reiterated. “1944, Miss Grace. How bloody old would that make him?”

  “You were right, Inspector,” she chuckled, ridiculing Keating. “He even knows what the Holy Grail feels like.”

  From all sides the stealth task force moved in on the Meister members. Peter could tell that Keating was about to let loose. Keating’s old face grew cold and his one eye leered at Peter Carroll. “You son of a bitch!” With a lift of his hand, he ordered the Meisters. “Kill them all.”

  Before Peter Carroll could subdue Keating, the Meister leader turned to look up at Terry Jones. “You set me up, you piece of shit!” he screamed in fury, shooting the blue-eyed thug in the throat, sending him to the ground. As a bleeding Terry Jones listened to the rain of fire, he lamented that he had no Kevlar around his neck. “Thanks for the warning, Dr. Gould,” he whispered, “but the concrete got me anyway.”

  He could hear them arrest Kieran Keating and one heavily injured member of the Meisters. Being branded as fanatical and insane, claiming to be over a hundred years old regrettably would not get Keating tried for war crimes committed in the North African Campaign. Still, he would never walk free again, and without the Grail’s powers, he would perish sooner than he had hoped.

  The rest of the Meisters were shot dead on the scene by task force snipers and Helen Grace had all she needed to appeal to have Norman Kingsley acquitted. He was released two days later with a full pardon after Interpol received a video clip statement from Dr. Gould.

  33

  The Secret of the Holy Grail

  Jane was sitting in the waiting room, her eyes swollen red. She pretended to look through a magazine, but she saw no pictures and did not read a single word. Purdue had woken briefly the day before, but he had to receive a transfusion in the evening. Still, to the medical staff’s dismay, his condition was deteriorating and an infection had set in, threatening necrotic tissue damage if the wound did not heal.

  “Jane,” she heard a familiar voice. Jane looked up. “Dr. Gould! Oh my God, I cannot believe you are here!”

  The two women embraced in the pale, cold light of the ward. “Believe me, if I could get back from Ireland sooner, I would have been here with you,” Nina assured her.

  Sam’s tall, bulky body swaggered in shortly after. He looked worried, but calm, decked out in a big overcoat and his ever-present sling bag. “Mr. Cleave,” Jane greeted as he leaned in to hug her.

  “How is he?” he asked.

  Jane could hold the tears no more. Sam pulled her back into his arms and held her while Nina went to ask the sister on duty to fill her in on her friend’s condition.

  “At least Charles is alright,” Jane sniffed. “He was discharged yesterday.”

  “That is a huge relief,” Sam said, looking toward where Nina was listening to Purdue’s medical obstacles. It appeared dire. She returned with a heavy look in her eyes. Sam and Nina engaged in an almost audible argument to decide what they were going to do. Jane sobbed through the half-sentenced, surreptitious phrased debate, trying to figure out what the two were up to. Suddenly, Nina crept over to Jane.

  “Jane,” she whispered, “can we trust you?”

  “Oh God,” Jane moaned. She knew how reckless Purdue and his friends could be and every time trust came into the discussion, it usually merited something illegal or crazy.

  “No, don’t worry. It is not illegal…I think,” Nina consoled.

  “Oh, God, oh God, what are you going to do?” Jane asked, looking up at Sam. He just shrugged and looked around. She sniffed. “Oh God, he is casing the place. I know what that means.”

  “Listen, Jane,” Nina whispered. “Can you keep the nursing staff out of Purdue’s room for just about five minutes?”

  “Dr. Gould, please, I cannot take any more. My stress levels are already through the roof,” Jane implored. Nina grabbed Jane’s upper arms and shoved her into her chair, pinning her with her eyes.

  “Jane! Can you or can’t you? Yes or no,” Nina pressed urgently.

  “I can. I can,” she told Nina. “What do I do?”

  “I have no clue. Fake a seizure or something,” Nina suggested. “Sam, he is in Room 412.”

  “Oh God,” Jane whined as Nina left her behind, joining Sam halfway down the hall to Purdue’s room. Purdue’s room was private, and fortunately, situated at the end of the corridor. When they came in, he was awake, but looked like a university medical
school cadaver.

  “My God, Purdue,” Nina shrieked softly. “I am so sorry I did not call Jane back in time to come and help.” She did not expect him to look this bad, but Sam kept his cool. He locked the door.

  “Hey, old cock,” he smiled.

  Purdue mouthed, “I cannot talk.”

  “That is okay,” Sam said, as he took a seat on Purdue’s bed with his back facing the door. He pulled the Grail from his bag and put it on Purdue’s stomach. The white-haired genius looked intrigued, even in his near-death state. His eyes jumped between the chalice and Sam’s eyes, curious.

  “Hurry, Sam,” Nina said.

  “Hold the Grail,” he told Nina. She looked at Purdue with tenderness, but she could not hide that she was deeply affected by his condition. Purdue’s eyes lit up when he heard her speak of the Grail, and he watched Sam pour a thin, red solution into the cup, just enough to fill the bottom.

  “Have a shot,” Sam winked. Purdue smiled weakly, and mouthed, “Cheers.”

  Nina lifted the chalice to his lips. “Drink, dearest.” Purdue was ecstatic to see the beautiful historian, even if she were the last vision he would see. He grimaced as he swallowed the first lot.

  “Keep going,” Sam urged. “I know it tastes like donkey balls, but it is our last hope.”

  Purdue wanted to vomit, already deadly sick and nauseated from recent anesthesia.

  “Hold it down! Hold it,” Sam instructed. “If this works, we give the rest to Charles,” he told Nina.

  “Aye,” she smiled, but the good vibe was shattered as someone tried the door.

  “Oh shit,” Sam said, as the nurse threatened from outside the door.

  “Open this door immediately or I call security!” she shouted. They heard her footsteps fade, and knew this was the only chance to make a break. With his sleeve, Sam quickly wiped the residue off Purdue’s smiling lips and Nina planted a quick kiss on his forehead before the two rushed out of the room like mischievous college kids.

  Dr. Jonas, accompanied by two security guards and the nurse, burst into the doorway.

  “Where did they go, Mr. Purdue?” she asked. Her patient shrugged slowly and took a deep, long breath. “Of course you will not tell us. By the way, your personal assistant was just arrested for flashing my colleague when he tried to enter this ward.”

  Purdue felt like hell, but he wanted to laugh. To his surprise, his chest began to lift, feeling light as a feather. The mute laugh became a sudden, audible giggle that almost frightened him, but he did not know if it was worth calling the nurse for.

  Down the passage, he could still hear the staff looking for the two intruders who ‘introduced a foreign substance into Purdue’s system, possibly in an attempt on his life.’ He fell asleep, hearing a faint hum in his head, like rushing blood with a melody, as his heart monitor showed improvement in his vitals.

  Two floors down, Nina peeked into Terry Jones’ room. He had a fractured skull, a gunshot wound to the neck, a shattered ulna and six broken ribs. Even with all that, he was cuffed to the bed.

  “Dr. Gould,” he smiled. “Thought I would never see you again.”

  “Hey genius,” she teased. “I guess the Kevlar let you down.”

  “Looks like,” he smirked, trying not to laugh, since his ribs felt like loose teeth in his flesh. “But it will heal up.”

  “I brought you a visitor,” she said. Terry had no idea who would visit him. He only ever knew the Meisters and a few goons he played snooker with now and then. From the hallway, the wiry actor entered the room, wearing an eyepatch.

  “Oh, shit, it is Kingsley!” Terry rasped in a hoarse voice. “Come to take revenge for the beating I gave you?”

  “No, just came to say thanks,” Kingsley replied.

  “For what, mate? I dragged you into this…and you are out an eye too,” Terry whined, actually sounding contrite, for once. “Look, I am sorry about that, mate.”

  “No worries,” Kingsley smiled. “Your confession got me off and free again. You did not have to do that, Jones. Thank you.” He came closer, lifting his eyepatch. Beneath it, there was no hole. No grotesque gap with skin. His eye was scarred badly, but he could see again. “Thought I’d keep this look,” Kingsley bragged. “More roles if you’re unique.”

  Terry gasped. “How?”

  Nina winked. “That cocktail the Perceval Chapter believed in? It works.”

  Terry was astonished, speechless. Nina knew what he wished for. She took the Grail out of Sam’s bag and showed it to Terry. His eyes begged her to let him touch it, the relic he defended so vehemently against her skepticism. “Give it a feel,” she jested. His calloused and scabbed hands caressed the pale chalice, feeling at the small dents and marks. A tear rolled down his cheek, but he did not care to tarnish his tough-guy image.

  “You were right, Terry,” Nina conceded. “Some relics, no matter how bloody their rituals, are irrefutably holy.”

  He nodded and said, “Amen.”

  Two weeks later, David Purdue had baffled medical professionals across the board. His recovery was cited as ‘nothing short of miraculous’. Sam and Nina donated the Holy Grail to Purdue’s personal collection, seeing as he was quite literally the Fisher King in their saga, but the entire existence of the chalice and its powers would forever remain a secret between those who were involved in its quest. Besides, with the Spear of Destiny stolen and in the hands of God knows what kind of villain, the chalice could be a very useful artifact to possess.

  The secret of the Holy Grail was not the only show of trust between allies. The murder of Dylan Finn would never be spoken of again, and Sam and Nina had an unspoken accord not to address the matter of Father Harper’s paternity any time soon. Not even when they visited the retired inspector, hero of the Keating serial killer arrest, would they speak of that horrid night in the Irish abbey of Blackvalley.

  Peter Carroll had successfully avenged his son, ended the terror of a serial killer and implicated Kieran Keating in the murder of the Basildon boy. He did not need the Holy Grail. He left the slate clean and the rest was up to God.

  ‘Whoso sheddeth man's blood,

  by man shall his blood be shed:

  for in the image of God made he man.’

  Genesis 9:6

  END