Order of the Black Sun Box Set 6

by Preston William Child

  Outside his window, there was only the muffled conversation of his downstairs neighbors as they sat outside having wine in the minutes past midnight. They had read about the grisly sight the poor French baron endured when he came home the night before to find his wife’s charred body in the fireplace of their mansion in Entrevaux upon the river Var. If only they knew that the foul creature responsible was breathing the same air.

  Below his window, his courteous neighbors kept their voices low, yet somehow Raya could hear their every word even in his state of sleep. Listening, recording what they said to the sound of the trickling cascade of the mild river canal adjacent to the yard, his mind saved it all to memory. Later, should he need to, Abdul Raya would be able to recall the information, if he needed. The reason he did not wake from their discussion was that he already knew all the facts, not sharing in their bewilderment or that of the rest of Europe who heard about the theft of the diamonds from the baron’s safe or the ghastly murder of the housekeeper.

  Newscasters all over the primary television channels reported on the ‘vast collection of jewels stolen from the vaults of the baron’s’, how the safe from which the Celeste was stolen was but one of four, all emptied of precious stones and diamonds overflowing in the home of the nobleman.

  Naturally, the fact that this was all untrue was unbeknownst to all but the Baron Henri de Martine, who used his wife’s death and the still unsolved robbery to claim an exuberant sum from insurance companies and collect his wife’s policy payout. No charges were laid against the baron, as he had an airtight alibi at the time of Madame Chantal’s demise, which granted him a fortune in inheritance money. The latter was the sum that would pull him out of debt first, so, in effect, Madame Chantal did incontrovertibly help her husband out of bankruptcy after all.

  It was all a sweet irony the baron would never comprehend. Still, after the shock and horror of the incident he wondered about the circumstances surrounding the incident. He did not know that his wife had removed the Celeste and the other two less significant stones from his safe and he wracked his brain trying to make send of her unusual death. She was by no means suicidal, and if she were even remotely that way inclined, Chantal would never set herself alight, of all things!

  Only when he found Louise, Chantal’s assistant, with her tongue cut out and blinded, did he realize that his wife’s death was not a suicide. The police concurred, yet they did not know where to begin investigating such a heinous murder. Louise had since been admitted to a psychiatric ward at the Paris Psychological Institute where she would be kept for examination, but doctors who had met with her were all convinced that she had lost her mind, that she was perhaps responsible for the murders and her own subsequent maiming.

  It made headlines all over Europe and some smaller stations in other parts of the world also featured the bizarre incident, while the baron refused any interviews, citing his traumatic experience as reason for taking time away from the public eye. The neighbors finally found the chilly night air too much for their comfort and they retreated into their apartment. All that remained was the sound of the river trickling to the occasional distant dog barking. Now and then, a vehicle would come down the narrow street on the other side of the complex, whooshing by before leaving silence in its wake.

  Abdul woke suddenly, with a clear mind. It was not a start, but it was an instant urge to wake that shot his eyes open. He waited and listened, but there was nothing that could have woken him apart from a sort of sixth sense. Nude and gaunt, the Egyptian con man walked to his bedroom window. With one look at the starry sky, he knew why he was prompted from his slumber.

  “Another one falling,” he murmured as his keen eyes followed the rapid descent of a falling star, and mentally marking the approximate position of the stars around it. Abdul smiled. “Only a few more to go and the world will fall to all your desires. They will be crying out and begging to die.”

  He turned away form the window as soon as the white streak had dissolved in the distance. In the dusk of his bedroom he wandered toward an old wooden trunk he took everywhere with him, embraced by two substantial leather belts that met at the front. Only a small porch light, off center from the shutter above his window, provided light into his room. It illuminated his lean shape, with the light on his bare skin emphasizing his sinewy musculature. Raya resembled some contortionist from a circus sideshow, a dark version of an acrobat that did not care for entertaining anyone but himself, but rather utilizing his talent to force others into entertaining him.

  The room was much like him – basic, barren and functional. There was a basin and a bed, a wardrobe and a desk with a chair and lamp. That was it. Everything else was just there temporarily for him to keep track of the stars over the Belgian and French skies until he had acquired the diamonds he was after. Lining the four walls of his room were countless charts of constellations from all corners of the globe, all marked up with connecting lines, crossing at certain ley lines while others were marked in red for their unknown behavior due to missing charts.

  Some of the large pinned maps had bloodstains on them, rusty brown spots silently accounting of the manner in which they were procured. Others were newer, having been printed out but years ago as opposed to those discovered centuries ago. It was almost time to wreak havoc in the Middle East and he relished the thought of where he had to wander next.

  The kind of people there were far easier to beguile than the dumb, greedy westerners in Europe. In the Middle East Abdul knew people would be more susceptible to his trickery, due to their wonderful traditions and superstitious beliefs. He could so easily drive them insane or make them kill one another down there in the desert, where King Solomon walked once. He saved Jerusalem for last, only because the order of falling stars made it so.

  Raya opened the chest and among fabric and gilded belts, he fumbled for the scrolls he was looking for. The dark brown, oily looking piece of parchment right against the wall of the box was the one he sought. With an ecstatic look, he unrolled it and set it down on the desk, using two books at each end to secure it. Then, from the same chest, he retrieved an athame. Curving with ancient precision, the snaking blade gleamed in the little light as he pressed its sharp end down on his left palm. Effortlessly its point fell into his skin from the mere force of gravity. He need not even push it.

  Blood formed around the small point of the knife and formed a perfect pearl of crimson that grew slowly until he removed the knife. With his blood he marked the position of the star that had just fallen while he watched, and while doing so the dark parchment eerily shuddered slightly. It satisfied Abdul, pleasing him no end to see the reaction of the charmed artifact, called ‘Corpus Codex Sol Amun’ where he found it as a young man while herding goats in the arid shadows of nameless Egyptian hills.

  When his blood was absorbed into the star chart on the bewitched scroll, Abdul rolled it up carefully and tied a knot in the sinew that held the scroll. Finally the star fell. Now it was time to leave France. Now that he had the Celeste he could move on to the more important places where he could work his magic and watch the world fall, undone by the guidance of King Solomon’s diamonds.

  12

  Enter Dr. Nina Gould

  “You have been acting strange, Sam. I mean, stranger than your darling innate weirdness,” Nina remarked after she poured them some red wine. Bruich, still remembering the petite lady babysitting him during Sam’s last absence from Edinburgh, made himself at home in her lap. Automatically, Nina started petting him as if this were the natural course of events.

  She had arrived at Edinburgh Airport an hour previous, where Sam picked her up in the pouring rain and as discussed, brought her back to his townhouse in Dean Village.

  “I am just tired, Nina,” he shrugged as he took the glass from her and raised it in a toast. “May we avoid getting the shackles and may we keep our arses pointing south for many years to come!”

  Nina burst out laughing, even though she understood the prevailing wis
h inside the comical wish. “Aye!” she cried and clinked her glass against his, shaking her head in amusement. She looked around Sam’s bachelor pad. The empty walls, save for a few pictures of Sam with once prominent politicians and high society, some photos of him with Nina and Purdue and of course, Bruich. She thought to put to rest a question she had been keeping for a long while.

  “Why don’t you buy a house?” she asked.

  “I hate gardening,” he replied casually.

  “Get a landscaper or garden services.”

  “I hate disturbances,” he answered directly.

  “You do? I would think living with people on all sides there would be plenty of disturbance,” she remarked.

  “They are seniors. They only come out between 10am and 11am,” he said. Sam sat forward and cocked his head with an expression of interest. “Nina. Is this your way of asking me to move in with you?”

  “Shut it,” she scowled. “Don’t be stupid. I was just thinking, with all the money you must have made, like we all have since these expeditions yielded good fortune, that you would use it to get yourself a spot of privacy and maybe, a new car?”

  “Why? The Datsun runs fine,” he defended his penchant for function over flash.

  Nina decided to let it go for now, but Sam’s excuse of fatigue was not cutting it. He was observably distant, as if he was doing long division in his head while discussing the loot of the Alexander find with her.

  “So they named the exhibit after you and Jo,” he smiled. “That is quite spic, Dr. Gould. You are getting ahead in the academic world now. Long gone are the days when Matlock was still getting under your skin. You sure showed him!”

  “Prick,” she sighed before she lit her cigarette. Her heavily shadowed eyes looked at Sam. “Want a fag?”

  “Aye,” he groaned as he sat up. “,’d be nice, thanks.”

  She passed him a Marlboro and suckled at the filter. Sam stared at her for a moment before daring to ask. “Do you think that is a good idea? You barely kicked Death in the bollocks not long ago. I would not wiggle that worm so soon, Nina.”

  “Shut it,” she mumbled around the cigarette as she put Bruich down on the Persian carpet. Much as Nina appreciated her beloved Sam’s concern, she felt that being self-destructive was every human being’s own prerogative and if she thought her body could handle the hell, she was entitled to test the theory. “What is scratching at you, Sam?” she asked again.

  “Don’t change the subject,” he replied.

  “I am not changing the subject,” she scowled, that fiery temperament glimmering in her dark brown eyes. “You are on about my smoking and I am on about you seeming different, preoccupied.”

  It had taken Sam a long time to see her again and much coaxing for her to visit him at home, so he was not prepared to lose it all by pissing Nina off. With a labored sigh, he followed her to the patio door she opened to start up the Jacuzzi. She peeled off her shirt, revealing her ripped back under a tied red bikini string. Nina’s curvy hips swayed from side to side as she pulled off her jeans as well, stopping Sam in his tracks to savor the lovely sight.

  The Edinburgh cold did not bother them much. It was past winter, although there was still no sign of spring yet, and most people still chose to stay inside. But Sam’s bubbly puddle of heaven had warmed water, and with the slow release of alcohol from their libation warming their blood, the two of them did not mind stripping down.

  Sitting opposite Nina in the soothing water, Sam could see she was adamant on him reporting to her. He finally started talking. “I have not heard from Purdue or Paddy yet, but there is something he begged me not to share and I would like to keep it that way. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Is it about me?” she asked evenly, still pinning Sam with a fixed leer.

  “No,” he frowned, sounding taken aback by her assumption.

  “Then why can’t I know about it?” she asked instantly, catching him off guard.

  “Look,” he explained, “if it were up to me, I would tell you in a second, but Purdue asked me to keep it just between me and him for now. I swear, love, I would not hold out on you if he did not explicitly asked me to zip it.”

  “Who else know, then?” Nina inquired, easily noticing his eyes falling downward to her breasts every few moments.

  “Nobody. Only Purdue and I know. Not even Paddy has any idea. Purdue asked that we keep him in the dark, so that nothing he did would interfere with what Purdue and I are trying to do, see?” he clarified as tactfully as he could, still fascinated by the new tattoo in her soft skin, just above her left breast.

  “So he thinks I would get in the way?” she scowled, tapping her slender fingers on the edge of the Jacuzzi as she mustered up her conclusion on the matter.

  “No! No, Nina, he never said anything about you. It was not a matter of excluding certain people. It is about excluding everyone until I got him the information he needs. Then he will reveal what he is planning to do. All I can tell you now, is that Purdue is the target of someone powerful who is an enigma. This person is walking in two worlds, two opposing worlds, and he occupies very high positions in both.”

  “So we are talking corruption,” she concluded.

  “Aye, but as yet, I cannot fill you in on the details out of loyalty to Purdue,” Sam implored, hoping she would understand. “Better yet, once we hear from Paddy, you can ask Purdue yourself. Then I won’t feel like a prick for breaking an oath.”

  “You know, Sam, much as I am aware that the three of us are acquainted mostly through the occasional hunt for a relic or expedition to find some old trinket of value,” Nina grunted impatiently, “I thought you, I, and Purdue were a team. I have always thought of us as the three main ingredients, constant throughout the historical puddings served to the academic world over the last few years.” Nina was hurt by her exclusion, but she tried not to show it.

  “Nina,” Sam said abruptly, but she would not allow him the space.

  “Usually, when two of us team up, the third is always included along the way, and if one is in trouble, the other two always get involved somehow. I don’t know if you have noticed this. Have you even noticed this?” Her voice cracked as she tried to get through to Sam and although she could not show it, she was terrified that he would answer her question with indifference or dismissal.

  Maybe she had gotten too used to being the center of gravity between the two successful, although vastly different, men. As far as she was concerned, they had a powerful bond of friendship and a profound history of life, near-death, sacrifice and loyalty between them, something she was not keen to question.

  To her relief, Sam smiled. The sight of his eyes truly looking in hers without an iota of emotional distance - being present - brought her immense delight, no matter how stone-faced she remained.

  “You are taking this way too seriously, love,” he explained. “You know that we will include you once we know what we are doing, because, my darling Nina, we don’t have a fucking clue what we are doing right now.”

  “And I cannot help?” she asked.

  “Afraid not,” he said in a positive tone. “But we will get our shit together soon, though. You know, I am certain that Purdue will have no bones about sharing it with you, once the old dog decides to call us, that is.”

  “Aye, that is beginning to worry me too. The trial must have wrapped up hours ago. Either he is too busy celebrating or he is in more trouble than we thought,” she speculated. “Sam!”

  In consideration for the two possibilities Nina had mentioned Sam’s eyes wandered in thought and found their way inadvertently to Nina’s cleavage. “Sam! Stop it. You are not going to make me change the subject.”

  Sam laughed when he realized. He may even have felt himself blushing for being discovered, but he thanked his lucky stars that she took it lightly. “It is not like you have not seen them before anyway.”

  “Might that prompt you to remind me again of…,” he tried.

  “Sam, shut you
r trap and pour me another drink,” Nina commanded.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and lugged his soaking, sporadically scarred body out of the water. It was her turn to admire his masculine form as he trod past her, and she felt no shame in reminiscing about the few times before she had been fortunate enough to enjoy the benefits of that masculinity. Although those moments were not too recent, Nina saved them in a special high definition memory folder in her mind.

  Bruich sat up straight in the door, refusing to step outside the threshold where the bubbling mouth of steam threatened him. His eyes were fixed on Nina, both the former and the latter being uncharacteristic of the big, old lazy feline. Normally he slouched about, tardy for any sort of activity and hardly focused on anything apart from the next warm tummy he could make his home for the night.

  “What is it, Bruich?” Nina asked in a high-pitched tone, affectionately addressing him as she always did. “Come here. Come.”

  He did not move. “Ugh, of course the bloody cat is not going to come to you, idiot,” she reprimanded herself in the silence of the late hour, and the soft choke of the gurgling luxury she enjoyed. Annoyed by her silly assumption about cats and water, and bored at waiting for Sam to return, she splashed her hands down into the foamy glitter of the surface, spooking the ginger cat into a flight of horror. Watching him bolt inside and disappearing under the lounge chair brought her rather more amusement than contrition.

  ‘Bitch,’ her inner voice confirmed on behalf of the poor animal, but still Nina found it funny. “Sorry, Bruich!” she called after it, still grinning. “I cannot help it. Don’t worry, pal, Karma will get me for sure…with water, for doing this to you, honey.”

  Sam came running out of the living room and onto the patio, looking furiously excited. Still half wet, he still had not poured the drinks, although his hands were outstretched as if they bore glasses of wine.