It left him with an unusual bad taste in his mouth every time he discussed the coming tribunal with his lawyers under the supervision of Special Agent Patrick Smith.
“Just got this memo, too, David,” Harry Webster, Purdue’s main legal representative, announced. “Don’t know if this is good or bad news to you.”
Two of Webster’s associates and Patrick joined Purdue and his attorney, sitting around the dining table in the high ceiling dining room of Wrichtishousis. They had been offered scones and tea, which the delegation gladly accepted before setting out for what they had hoped to be a swift and mild hearing.
“What is it?” Purdue asked, feeling his heart jump. He had never before had to fear anything, because his wealth, resources and representatives could always solve any of his problems. However, in the past few months he learned that the only true wealth in life was freedom and he was about to lose his. A dreadful foresight indeed.
Harry frowned as he checked the fine print of the e-mail received from the Secret Intelligence Service Headquarters Legal Department. “Oh, it is probably not a huge thing for us either way, but the head of MI6 will not be there. This e-mail is to notify and apologize all parties involved for his absence, but he has had a personal emergency that he had to attend to.”
“Where?” Purdue exclaimed eagerly.
Surprising the panel with his reaction, he quickly played it down with a shrug and a smile, “Just curious why the man who ordered the siege of my estate would not bother to be there when they bury me.”
“Nobody is going to bury you, David,” Harry Webster comforted in his lawyer voice. “But it does not mention where, just that he had to go to his ancestral home. I suppose it must be in some corner of remote England.”
‘No, it must be somewhere in Germany or Switzerland or one of those cozy Nazi nests,’ Purdue sneered in his thoughts, wishing he could just disclose aloud what the truth of the sanctimonious leader was. He was secretly very relieved to know that he would not have to look into the repulsive mug of the enemy while being treated like a criminal in public, watching the bastard revel in his predicament.
Sam Cleave had called the night before to let Purdue know that Channel 8 and World Broadcast Today, perhaps CNN too, would be available to air whatever the investigative journalist slapped together to expose MI6 management to the world stage and the British government. Until they had enough to implicate Karsten with, though, Sam and Purdue had to keep all knowledge secret. The problem was that Karsten knew. He knew that Purdue knew; and that posed a direct threat, something that Purdue had to anticipate. What concerned him was how Karsten would choose to make away with him, since Purdue would eternally be a loose end even if he was to be incarcerated.
“May I use my cell phone, Patrick?” he asked angelically, as if he could not make contact with Sam if he wished.
“Um, yes, certainly. But I have to know who you intend to call,” Patrick said as he opened the safe container where he kept all the items Purdue was not allowed to have access to without permission.
“Sam Cleave,” Purdue said nonchalantly, immediately getting Patrick’s approval, but getting an odd peer from Webster.
“Why?” he asked Purdue. “We are preparing for the hearing we have in less than three hours, David. I suggest we use the time wisely.”
“That is what I am doing. Thank you for your opinion, Harry, but this very much pertains to Sam, if you do not mind,” Purdue replied in a tone that reminded Harry Webster that he was not in charge. With that, he punched in a number and the words, ‘Karsten absent. Guessing Austrian nest.’
Promptly the short cryptic message was sent via a hopping satellite line that could not be traced, thanks to one of Purdue’s innovative technological contraptions that he had installed on the phones of his friends and his butler, the only people he felt merited this kind of privilege and importance. When the message was conveyed Purdue gave the phone back to Patrick. “Ta.”
“That was bloody quick,” Patrick remarked, impressed.
“Technology, my friend. Soon I fear words will dissolve into codes and we’ll be back to hieroglyphs, at this rate,” Purdue smiled proudly. “But I’ll be sure to invent an application that forces the user to quote Edgar Allan Poe or Shakespeare before being able to log in.”
Patrick had to smile. It was the first time he actually spent time with the billionaire, explorer, scientist, philanthropist David Purdue. Before recently, all he chalked the man up to be was some arrogant rich boy flaunting his privilege to acquire anything he damned well pleased. Not only did Patrick see Purdue as the conqueror or ancient relics that did not belong to him, he saw him as a common thief – of friends.
Previously, Purdue’s name only instilled in him the disdain synonymous with the corruption of Sam Cleave and the hazards of being involved with the white haired relic hunter. But now Patrick began to fathom the attraction to the carefree and charismatic man who was in truth someone of humility and integrity. Inadvertently he had become quite fond of Purdue’s company and wit.
“Let’s get this over with, lads,” Harry Webster suggested, and the men sat down to conclude their respective addresses to be presented.
8
Blind Tribunal
Glasgow – Three Hours Later
In the bland surroundings under pallid lighting, the small congregation of government officials, archaeological society members and legal staff gathered for the trial of David Purdue for alleged involvement in international espionage and theft of cultural treasures. Still, Purdue’s pale blue eyes scouted the boardroom for Karsten’s despicable face, as if by second nature. He wondered what the Austrian was hatching wherever he was, while he knew exactly where to find Purdue. On the other hand Karsten would reckon that Purdue was too afraid of the repercussions should he dare to imply the association of such a high official, and therefore decided to let sleeping dogs lie.
The first hint to the latter consideration was the fact that Purdue’s case did not proceed under the ICC in The Hague, normally employed for such charges. Purdue and his legal panel concurred that the fact that Joe Carter persuaded the Ethiopian government to prosecute him in an informal hearing in Glasgow was evidence that he wished to keep the case low key. Such low-key court cases, much as they facilitated proper action against their accused, hardly did much to shake the foundations of international legislation pertaining to espionage, of all things.
“That is out failsafe,” Harry Webster had told Purdue before the trial. “He wants to charged and tried, but he does not want to draw attention. That is good.”
The assembly settled and waited for the proceedings to start.
“This is the trial of David Connor Purdue, on charges of archaeological crimes involving the theft of various cultural icons and religious relics,” the prosecutor announced. “The evidence given in this trial will coincide with the accusation of espionage committed under pretense of archaeological exploration.”
With all the announcements and formalities out of the way, the main prosecutor on behalf of MI6, Adv. Ron Watts, introduced the members of the opposition, representing the Federal Democratic Republic of Ethiopia and the Archaeological Crimes Unit. Among them were Prof. Imru of the People’s Movement for Protection of Heritage Sites and Colonel Basil Yimenu, veteran military commander and patriarch of the Association of Historical Preservation in Addis Ababa.
“Mr. Purdue, in March 2016, an expedition you led and funded, allegedly stole the religious relic known as the Ark of the Covenant from a temple in Aksum, Ethiopia. Am I correct?” the prosecutor whined nasally with the proper amount of condescension.
Purdue was his usual calm, patronizing self. “You are incorrect, sir.”
A hiss of disapproval echoed among those present and Harry Webster lightly tapped at Purdue’s hand to remind him of restraint, but Purdue cordially continued, “It was in fact a replica of the Ark of the Covenant and we found it inside a mountain face outside the village and not the reputed Holy Box con
taining God’s Power, sir.”
“That is peculiar, you see,” the advocate said snidely, “because I would think that these esteemed academics would be able to tell the difference between the real Ark and a fake.”
“I agree,” Purdue replied quickly. “One would think they could tell the difference. Then again, since the location of the real Ark is but speculation and has not been irrefutably proven, it would be hard to know what comparisons to look for.”
Prof. Imru stood up, looking furious, but the advocate motioned for him to sit down before he could utter a word.
“What do you mean by that?” the advocate asked.
“I object, My Lady,” Prof. Imru cried as he addressed the judge in sitting, Judge Helen Ostrin. “This man is ridiculing our heritage and insulting our aptitude at identifying our own artifacts!”
“Be seated, Prof. Imru,” the judge ordered. “I have not heard any accusations of the sort from the defendant. Please wait your turn.” She looked at Purdue. “What do you mean, Mr. Purdue?”
“I am not much of a historian or theologian, but I do know my bit about King Solomon, the Queen of Sheba and the Ark of the Covenant. From its description in all texts I am relatively certain that it was never said to have carvings on the lid that dates to the Second World War,” Purdue reported casually.
“How do you mean, Mr. Purdue? That makes no sense,” the advocate challenged.
“For one thing, it is not supposed to contain etchings of a Swastika on it,” Purdue said nonchalantly, relishing the shocked reaction from the audience in the boardroom. The white haired billionaire mentioned selective facts so that he could defend himself without revealing the underworld beneath where the law would only get in the way. Carefully he picked what he could tell them as not to alert Karsten to his actions and to make sure that the fight with the Black Sun was kept out of the spotlight long enough for him to employ any means necessary to sign of on that chapter.
“Are you out of your mind?” Col. Yimenu shouted, but he was promptly joined by the Ethiopian delegation in their objections.
“Colonel, please restrain yourself or I shall hold you in contempt. Do not forget that this is still a judicial hearing, not a debate!” the judge snapped in her firm tone. “The prosecution may continue.”
“You claim that there was a Swastika etched in the gold?” the advocate smiled at the absurdity. “Do you have any photographs to prove this, Mr. Purdue?”
“I do not,” Purdue replied regretfully.
The prosecutor was delighted. “So, your defense is based on hearsay?”
“My records were destroyed during the pursuit in which I was almost killed,” Purdue explained.
“So you were pursued by authorities,” Watts grinned. “Perhaps because you were stealing an invaluable piece of history. Mr. Purdue, legal authority for monument destruction prosecutions derives from a 1954 convention that was implemented due to the destruction caused after the Second World War. There was a reason you were shot at.”
“But we were shot at by another expedition party, Advocate Watts, led by one Prof. Rita Medley and funded by the Cosa Nostra.”
Again, such a furor erupted from his statement that the judge had to call them to order. The MI6 officers looked at one another, having not been aware of any involvement by the Sicilian Mafia.
“So where is this other expedition and the professor that ran it, then?” the prosecutor asked.
“They are dead, sir,” Purdue said bluntly.
“So, what you are telling me is that all data and photographs proving your discovery was destroyed and the people who could support your claim are all dead,” Watts chuckled. “That is rather convenient.”
“Which has me wondering who decided that I even left with the Ark,” Purdue smiled.
“Mr. Purdue, you will only speak when spoken to,” the judge warned. “However, that is a valid point I would like the prosecution to address. Has the Ark been found in Mr. Purdue’s possession at all, Special Agent Smith?”
Patrick Smith stood up respectfully and answered, “No, My Lady.”
“Then why was the order from the Secret Intelligence Service not rescinded yet?” the judge asked. “If there is no evidence by which to prosecute Mr. Purdue, why has the court not been notified of this development?”
Patrick cleared his throat. “Because our superior has not given the order yet, My Lady.”
“And where is your superior?” she frowned, but the prosecution reminded her of the official memorandum in which Joe Carter appealed to be excused due to a personal emergency. The judge looked at the members of the tribunal with stern reprimand. “I find this lack of organization alarming, gentlemen especially when you decide to prosecute a man without solid proof that he indeed possesses the stolen artifact.”
“My Lady, if I may?” the snide Adv. Watts groveled. “Mr. Purdue has been well known and well documented as having discovered various treasures in his expeditions, including the famed Spear of Destiny, stolen by the Nazi’s during the Second World War. He has donated a myriad of relics of religious and cultural value to museums all over the world, including recently the find of Alexander the Great. If Military Intelligence could not find these artifacts on his properties, then it only proves that he was using these expeditions to spy on other countries.”
‘Oh shit,’ Patrick Smith thought.
“Please, My Lady, may I say something?” Col. Yimenu asked, to which the judge motioned her permission. “If this man did not steal our Ark, against what an entire group of laborers from Aksum swears, how did it go missing in his possession?”
“Mr. Purdue? Would you like to elaborate on that?” the judge asked.
“As I have said before, we were pursued by another expedition. My Lady, I barely escaped with my life, but the Medley excursion party subsequently took possession of the Ark, which was not the real Ark of the Covenant,” Purdue clarified.
“And they are all deceased, so where is the artifact?” asked the passionate Prof. Imru, looking decidedly shattered by the loss. The judge allowed the men to speak freely as long as they maintained order as she delegated.
“It was last seen in their villa in Djibouti, Professor,” Purdue answered, “before they left on an expedition with my colleagues and I to investigate some scrolls from Greece. We were forced to show them the way, and that was where…”
“Where you staged your own death,” the prosecutor accused harshly. “I need not say more, My Lady. MI6 were summoned to the location to arrest Mr. Purdue only to find him ‘dead’ and to find out that the Italian members of the expedition had perished. Am I correct, Special Agent Smith?”
Patrick tried not to glance at Purdue. Softly he answered, “Yes.”
“Why would he stage his death to avert arrest if he did not have something to hide?” the prosecutor continued. Purdue ached to explain his actions, but to bring up the entire drama of the Order of the Black Sun, and having to prove that it too, still existed, was too much detail that needn’t be disturbed.
“My Lady, may I?” Harry Webster finally rose from his seat.
“Go ahead,” she said approvingly, since the defense attorney had not said a word yet.
“May I suggest that we come to some sort of arrangement for my client, as clearly there are a lot of holes in this case. There is no concrete evidence against my client for harboring stolen relics, as there are no persons present to testify that he did indeed report any intelligence to them to have given rise to MI6’s accusations in the espionage regard,” he preached with clarity and distinction. He took pause to pass his look to each and every representative of Military Intelligence 6 present. Then he looked at Purdue.
“Gentlemen. My Lady,” he carried on, “with my client’s permission I would like to opt for a plea bargain.”
Purdue kept his straight face, but his heart was racing. He had discussed this outcome in detail with Harry that morning, so he knew he could trust his main attorney with making the right choices. S
till, it was nerve wrecking, but Purdue agreed that they should just get it all behind them with as little hellfire as possible. He was not afraid to take the whip for his transgressions, but by no means did he like the prospect of spending years behind bars without the possibility of inventing, exploring and most of all, putting Joseph Karsten where he belonged.
“Alright,” the judge said, folding her hands on the table. “What are the defendant’s conditions?”
9
The Caller
“How did the hearing go?” Nina asked Sam on Skype. Behind her, he could see seemingly endless rows of shelves stacked with ancient artifacts and gloved people with white coats cataloguing various pieces.
“I have not heard back from Paddy or Purdue yet, but I will be sure to fill you in as soon as Paddy calls me this afternoon,” Sam said, exhaling with some relief. “I am just glad that Paddy is there with him.”
“Why?” she frowned and scoffed in amusement. “Purdue usually wraps people around his little finger without even trying. You don’t have to fear for him, Sam. I wager he will walk out without even having to get overnight lube for a local jail cell.”
Sam laughed with her, thoroughly amused at both her faith in Purdue’s abilities and her jest about Scottish jails. He missed her, but he would never admit it out loud, let alone tell her, but he wanted to.
“When are you coming back so I can buy you a single malt?” he asked.
Nina grinned and leaned forward to kiss the screen. “Aw, do you miss me, Mr. Cleave?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he smiled, looking about him self-consciously. But he loved looking into the beautiful historian’s dark eyes again. It pleased him even more that she was smiling again. “Where is Joanne?”
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