Order of the Black Sun Box Set 6

by Preston William Child

  “Great news! Paddy called. Purdue was spared on condition,” he shouted, evoking a chorus of irate suggestions from his neighbors to ‘shut the fuck up, Cleave’.

  Nina’s face lit up. “What is the condition?” she asked, firmly ignoring the continued hushing from everyone in the complex.

  “I don’t know, but apparently it concerns something historical, so you see, Dr. Gould, we will be needing our third,” Sam relayed. “Besides, other historians don’t come as cheap as you do.”

  Gasping, Nina lunged forward, hissing with mock-insult, jumping on Sam and kissing him like she had not kissed him since those vivid folders in her mind. She was so happy to be included again that she did not notice the man standing beyond the dark edge of the compact yard, watching eagerly how Sam pulled at the string of her bikini top.

  13

  Eclipse

  Salzkammergut Region, Austria

  Joseph Karsten’s mansion stood in silence, brooding over the emptiness of the vast gardens where no birds would sing. Its flowers and brushes populated the garden in solitude and quiet presence, only stirring when the wind deemed it so. Nothing thrived higher than mere existence here and that was the nature of control Karsten had over what he owned.

  His wife and two daughters preferred to stay in London, choosing to abandon the striking beauty of Karsten’s personal residence. It suited him well, however, so that he could have privacy while conniving and running his chapter of the Order of the Black Sun unperturbed. As long as he acted on his orders from the British government and managed Military Intelligence on an international level, he could maintain his position in MI6 and use its invaluable resources to keep a waking eye over international relations that could aid or mar Black Sun investments and planning.

  By no means did the organization lose any of its nefarious power after the Second World War, when it was forced to immerse itself in the underworld of myth and legend, a mere sour memory to the oblivious while a true threat to those who knew otherwise. Those like David Purdue and his associates.

  Having excused himself from Purdue’s tribunal, fearing he would be pointed out by the one who got away, Karsten had accumulated some time to finish what he started from the sanctuary of his mountainous nest. Outside the day was miserable, but not in the conventional way. The sun was bleak over the normally beauteous wilderness of the Salzkammergut Mountains, painting the immense carpet of treetops in a pallid green, unlike the deep emerald of the woods beneath the canopies. The Karsten ladies lamented their neglect of the breathtaking Austrian landscapes, but the natural beauty of the place lost its luster wherever Joseph and his comrades were involved, forcing them to limit their visits to Salzkammergut’s loveliness.

  “I would do it myself, if I did not hold a public position,” Karsten said from his garden chair, clutching his table telephone. “But I have to be back in London in two days to report on the Hebrides Launch and its planning, Clive. I will not be back in Austria for quite a while. I need people who can get things done without supervision, you understand?”

  He listened to the caller’s response and nodded. “Right. You can check in with us when your people have completed the mission. Thank you, Clive.”

  Across the table he peered for a long while, scrutinizing the region he was blessed to reside in when he did not have to be in grimy London or densely populated Glasgow.

  “I will not lose all this on your account, Purdue. Whether you choose to be silent about my identity or not, this will not spare you. You are a liability and you have to be done away with. You all have to be done away with,” he muttered to himself as his eyes surveyed the majestic white capped mountain rock faces that surrounded his home. The rugged stone and the endless darkness of the forest soothed his eyes while his lips quivered with vengeful words. “Every single one of you who know my name, who know my face, who killed Mother and knows where her secret hiding place was…all who can implicate me by association…you all have to be done away with!”

  Karsten pursed his lips; reminiscing about the night he fled like the coward he is, from Mother’s house when the people from Oban showed up to spring David Purdue from his claws. The thought of losing his prized quarry to common citizens vexed him immensely, a bruise to his ego and an unnecessary clout to his affairs. Things were supposed to have been concluded by now, but instead, his troubles were doubled by these developments.

  “Sir, news on David Purdue,” his assistant, Nigel Lime, announced form the doorway of the patio. Karsten had to turn to look at the man to make sure the strangely fitting subject was indeed being presented and was not a figment of his thoughts.

  “Odd,” he replied, “that I was just wondering about that, Nigel.”

  Looking impressed, Nigel came down the steps onto the patio under the netted shading where Karsten was having his tea. “Well, maybe you are psychic, sir,” he smiled, holding a folder under his arm. “The trial committee asks that you be present in Glasgow to sign the plea so that the Ethiopian government and the Archaeological Crimes Unit can proceed to facilitate Mr. Purdue’s penalty.”

  Karsten lit up at the notion of punishment for Purdue, even though he would have preferred to be the one enforcing it himself. But his expectations were perhaps too brutal in his old-fashioned hope of vengeance, as he was quickly disappointed at the revelation of the penalty he so wished to learn of.

  “What is his sentence, then?” he asked Nigel. “What is it they need to facilitate?”

  “May I sit down?” Nigel asked, doing so at the wave of Karsten’s approving hand gesture. He placed the dossier on the table. “David Purdue opted for a plea bargain. In short, in exchange for his freedom…”

  “Freedom?” Karsten roared, his heart throbbing fiercely in his newfound rage. “What? He is not being sentenced to prison at all?”

  “No, sir, but let me inform you of the details of the findings,” Nigel suggested calmly.

  “Let’s hear it. Make it short and make it simple. I just want to know the highlights,” Karsten growled, trembling in the hand as he lifted his teacup to his mouth.

  “Of course, sir,” Nigel replied, hiding his annoyance with his boss behind his tranquil demeanor. “In short,” he said deliberately, “Mr. Purdue agreed to pay the damages to the claim of the Ethiopian people and return their relic to the place he took it from, after which, of course, he will be banned from ever entering Ethiopia again.”

  “Wait, that’s it?” Karsten scowled, his face gradually growing more crimson in hue. “They are just going to let him walk?”

  Karsten was so blind with disappointment and defeat that he did not notice his assistant’s quizzical expression. “If I may, sir, you are taking this rather personally, it seems.”

  “You may not!” Karsten yelled, clearing his throat. “This is a wealthy crook, buying his way out of everything, charming high society as he goes into remaining blind to his criminal activities. Of course I am absolutely upset when people like that get off with a warning and a bill. The man is a billionaire, Lime! He should be taught that his money cannot always save him. Here we had the perfect opportunity to teach him, and the world of grave robbers just like him, that they will be held accountable, punished! And what do they decide?” he fumed. “To let him pay his goddamn way out of his punishment again! Jesus Christ! No wonder law and order means nothing anymore!”

  Nigel Lime just waited for the tirade to come to a close. There was no sense in interrupting the raging MI6 leader. When he was sure Karsten, or Mr. Carter, as he was known to his unwary subordinates, had finished his rant, Nigel dared to shove even more unwanted details on his boss. He gently shoved the dossier across the table. “And I need you to sign this immediately, sir. It has to be couriered to the committee today still, with your signature.”

  “What is this?” Karsten’s blubbery face quivered as he received more trouble setback in his efforts concerning David Purdue.

  “One of the reasons the tribunal had to concede to Purdue’s plea was the illeg
al seizure of his estate in Edinburgh, sir,” Nigel explained, welcoming the emotional numbness he felt in preparing for another outburst from Karsten.

  “That property was seized for a reason! What in God’s name is going on with authorities these days? Illegal? So a person of interest to MI6, concerning international military matters, is sided with while no investigations into the contents of his property is lodged?” he shouted, chipping his porcelain cup as he pounded with it on the wrought iron tabletop.

  “Sir, the lads at MI6 field offices had combed the estate for anything incriminating and they found nothing to implicate military espionage or illegal acquisition of any historical objects, religious or otherwise. Holding Wrichtishousis ransom was therefore unfounded and deemed illegal, since there was no evidence to support our claim,” Nigel clarified plainly, not allowing the fat face of the tyrannical Karsten to shake him while he made things plain. “This is the release order for you to sign to restore Wrichtishousis to its owner and to rescind all orders to the contrary, as per Lord Harrington and his representatives in the seat.”

  Karsten was so livid that his replies came in soft words, deceptively calm. “I am being overruled in my authority?”

  “Yes, sir,” Nigel affirmed. “I’m afraid so.”

  Karsten was beyond angry at the thwarting of his plans, but he elected to pretend that he was professional about it all. Nigel was a sharp lad, and if he got a whiff of Karsten’s personal reaction to this matter, it might shed too much light on his involvement with David Purdue.

  “Give me a pen, then,” he requested from Nigel, refusing to show any trace of the tempest ravaging his insides. As he signed the order to restore Wrichtishousis to his nemesis, Karsten felt the debilitating blow to his elaborate plans, thousands of Euro’s later, pulverize his ego and reducing him to some impotent organization head with no potent authority.

  “Thank you, sir,” Nigel said as he took the pen from Karsten’s shaking hand. “I will send this out today so that the dossier can be closed on our side. Our legal staff will keep us posted on the developments in Ethiopia until their relic has been returned to its rightful place.”

  Karsten nodded, but he heard little of Nigel’s words. All his thoughts yielded was the prospect of starting over again. Trying to wrack his brain, he attempted to figure out where Purdue kept all the relics he, Karsten, had hoped to uncover on the Edinburgh properties. Unfortunately, he could not implement an order to enforce searches of all Purdue’s holdings, because it would be based on intelligence gathered by the Order of the Black Sun, an organization that was not supposed to exist and especially not run by a high officer of the United Kingdom Military Intelligence agency.

  He had to keep to himself what he knew to be true. Purdue could not be arrested for his theft of prized Nazi treasures and artifacts, because revealing this would compromise the Black Sun. Karsten’s brain ran in overdrive, trying to get around it all, but still the same answer came on all accounts – Purdue had to die.

  14

  A82

  In the coastal town of Oban, Scotland, Nina’s house remained vacant while she was away to attend to the new excursion planned by Purdue after his recent legal matters. Life in Oban carried on without her, yet she was quite missed by a few resident there. After the ugly business of abductions that made headline news in local newspapers a few months prior, the place had returned to its blissfully uneventful existence.

  Dr. Lance Beach and his wife were getting ready for a Medical Conference in Glasgow, one of those gatherings where it was more important who knew who and who wore what than actual medical studies or grants for those experimental medicines pivotal to progress in the field.

  “You know how I despise these things,” Sylvia Beach reminded her husband.

  “I know, darling,” he replied, wincing at the effort of getting his new brogues on over his thick wool socks. “But I only get considered for features and special inclusion if they know I exist and for them to know that I exist, I need to show my face at these stuck-up to-do’s.”

  “Yes, I know,” she moaned through parted lips, talking with her mouth open while applying her rose dew lipstick. “Just don’t do what you did last time, and left me with those hens club while you went off. I just don’t want to stay too late.”

  “Noted,” Dr. Lance Beach mustered a smile while his feet screamed in the confines of the tight new leather. Before, he would not have been patient with his wife’s whining, but after the scare of losing her during the time she had been abducted, he had learned to appreciate her presence more than anything. Lance never wanted to feel like that again, never seeing his wife again, so he put up with a bit of bitching with glee. “We won’t be long, I promise.”

  “The girls are coming back on Sunday, so if we make it back a bit sooner, we have a whole night and half a day alone together,” she mentioned, glancing quickly at his response in the mirror. Behind her on the bed, she could see him smiling at her words with a suggestive, “Hmm, that is true, Mrs. Beach.”

  Sylvia chuckled as she pushed the pin of her earring through the right lobe and gave herself a quick gander to see how it looked with her evening dress. She scoffed in approval at her own beauty, yet she did not look at her reflection too long. It reminded her of why she was kidnapped by that monster in the first place – her semblance to Dr. Nina Gould. Her equally petite frame and dark tresses would fool anyone who did not know the two women, and to boot, Sylvia’s eyes were almost like Nina’s apart from being narrower in shape and more amber than Nina’s chocolate colored eyes.

  “Ready, love?” Lance asked, hoping to sever the bad thoughts his wife no doubt suffered when she stared too long at her own reflection. He succeeded. With a little gasp, she snapped out of the staring contest and briskly gathered her purse and coat.

  “Ready to go,” she affirmed abruptly to negate any suspicions he might have as to her emotional well-being. And before he could say another word, she flew gracefully out of the room and down the corridor to the hallway at the front door.

  The night was foul. Above them the clouds muffled the shouts of weather titans and wrapped the electric streaks in blue static charge. Rain poured down and turned their walkway into a brook. Sylvia skipped over the water as if it would keep her shoes dry at all, with Lance simply walking behind her to hold the large umbrella over her head. “Wait, Sylla, wait!” he hollered as she moved swiftly from under the cover of the brolly.

  “Hurry, slow poke!” she teased and reached for the car door, but her husband would not be mocked for his slow stride. He pressed the immobilizer of their vehicle, locking all the doors before she could open it.

  “No man who owns a remote control needs to rush,” he bragged with a laugh.

  “Open the door!” she insisted, trying not to laugh with him. “My hair will be a mess,” she warned. “And they will think you are a negligent husband so you have to be a bad doctor too, see.”

  The doors clicked open just as she was really starting to worry about her hair and make-up being ruined, and Sylvia jumped into the car with a cry of relief. Soon after Lance got in and started the car.

  “If we don’t leave now, we’ll really be late,” he remarked, peering through the windows at the dark and unrelenting clouds.

  “We’ll make it way before, darling. It is only 8pm now,” Sylvia said.

  “Aye, but with this weather it’s going to be fucking slow going, I tell you, slooowww goin’. Not to mention the Glasgow traffic once we hit civilization.”

  “True,” she sighed, flicking down the passenger seat mirror to fix her runny mascara. “Just don’t drive too fast. They are not important enough to get us killed in a car accident or something.”

  The reverse lights looked like beaming stars through the downpour as Lance maneuvered their BMW out of the small street and into a main road to get them started on their two-hour journey to Glasgow’s elite cocktail party, hosted by the Scottish Premier Medical Society. Finally, after careful work in the car�
�s incessant turning and braking, Sylvia had corrected her messy face and looked pretty once more.

  Much as Lance did not want to take the A82 at the split of the two available routes, he simply could not afford the longer route as it would make them late. He had to take the dreaded main road that lead past Paisley, where his wife was kept by her abductors before she was moved to, of all places, their destination, Glasgow. It pained him, but he did not wish to bring it up. Sylvia had not been on this road since she was in the company of evil people who made her believe that she would never see her family again.

  ‘Maybe she will think nothing of it if I don’t explain why I took this route. Maybe she will understand,’ Lance thought to himself as they travelled towards the Trossachs National Park. But his hands were clutching the wheel so tightly that his fingers went numb.

  “What is wrong, love?” she asked suddenly.

  “Nothing,” he frowned casually. “Why?”

  “You look tense. Are you worried that I would relive my trip with that bitch? It is the same road, after all,” Sylvia asked. She spoke so nonchalantly that Lance was almost relieved, but it was not supposed to be easy for her, and that left him concerned.

  “To be frank, I was actually worried about that,” he confessed, stretching his fingers a bit.

  “Well don’t, alright?” she said, rubbing his thigh to comfort him. “I am fine. This road will always be here. I cannot avoid it for the rest of my life, you know? All I can do is tell myself that I am driving it with you, and not with her.”

  “So, now this road is not scary anymore?” he asked.

  “Nope. Now it is just a road and I am with my hubby, not some psycho bitch. It is a matter of directing fear at that which I have reason to fear,” she theorized dreamily. “I cannot be afraid of a road. The road did not hurt me or starve me or cuss me out, right?”