by P. W. Child
Once more he was in the room, his sensitive and feverish eyes assaulted by the meager effort of the bare light bulb. Sam was lying on his back, shivering from the cold floor underneath. From his shoulders to his calves the skin had gone numb from the unyielding temperature of the steel. Footsteps approached the chamber he was in, but Sam elected to play possum, again disappointed by his ineptitude to elicit the furious entomo-god, as he named it.
“Mr. Cleave, I have enough training to know when someone is faking. You are no more incapacitated than I am,” Klaus rambled indifferently. “However, I also know what you have been trying to do, and I must say, I admire your boldness.”
Sam was curious. Without moving, he asked, “Oh, do tell, old boy.” Klaus was not amused by the snide imitation Sam Cleave used to mock his refined, almost feminine, eloquence. His fists almost balled up at the journalist's impudence, but he was an expert at composure and held his form. “You tried to steer my thoughts. Either that or you were just adamant to be on my mind like the unpleasant memory of an ex-girlfriend.”
“Like you know what a girlfriend is,” Sam mumbled amusedly. He expected a blow to the ribs or a kick to the head, but nothing happened.
Dismissing Sam's efforts to rile up his vengeance, Klaus clarified, “I know you have Kalihasa, Mr. Cleave. I am flattered you deem me a prominent enough threat to use it on me, but I have to implore you to resort to more restful practices.” Just before leaving Klaus smiled at Sam, “Please save your special gift for… the hive.”
Chapter 26
“You do realize that it is an approximate drive of fourteen hours to Pripyat, right?” Nina informed Purdue as he stalked Kiril’s garage. “Not to mention the fact that Detlef could still be here, as you might surmise by the fact that his corpse is not occupying the very space where I stabbed him last, right?”
“Nina, my dear,” Purdue hushed her in a low voice, “where is your faith? Better yet, where is that daring enchantress you normally turn into when things get rough? Trust me. I know how to do this. How else are we going to rescue Sam?”
“This is about Sam? Are you sure it is not about the Amber Room?” she called him out. Purdue did not merit her accusation with an answer.
“I don’t like this,” she grunted as she sank down on her haunches next to Purdue, surveying the perimeter of the house and yard where they had barely escaped from less than two hours before. “I have a bad feeling he is still there.”
Purdue crept closer to Kiril’s garage door, two decrepit old iron sheets barely held in place with wire and hinges. The doors were joined by a locked padlock on a thick rusty chain, with a few inches between them from the slightly askew position of the right door. Behind the gap, the interior of the shed was dark. Purdue tried to see if he could break the padlock, but an awful creak prompted him to abandon the effort to avoid alarming a certain killer widower.
“This is a bad idea,” Nina insisted, growing steadily impatient with Purdue.
“Noted,” he said absent-mindedly. Deep in thought, he placed his hand on her thigh to attract her attention. “Nina, you are quite a small woman.”
“Thanks for noticing,” she mumbled.
“Do you reckon you might be able to wedge your body through between the doors?” he asked sincerely. With one eyebrow raised, she stared at him, saying nothing. In truth, she was contemplating it, what with time running out and a considerable distance to travel to get to their next destination. Finally, she exhaled, closing her eyes and carrying a proper look of preconceived regret for what she was about to endeavor.
“I knew I could count on you,” he smiled.
“Shut it!” she snapped at him, pursing her lips in annoyance and utmost concentration. Nina stole forward through the tall weeds and thorny bushes thorns that poked through the thick denim of her jeans. She winced, cursed and muttered her way to the double door conundrum until she reached the bottom of the obstacle that stood between her and Kiril’s beat-up Volvo. With her eyes, Nina measured the width of the dark slit between the doors, shaking her head at Purdue.
“Go! You'll fit,” he mouthed at her, peeking over the weeds to keep watch for Detlef. The house and especially the bathroom window area were clearly visible from his vantage point. However, the advantage was also a curse as it meant than anybody could have been watching them from the house. Detlef would be able to see them as easily as they could see him and that was cause for urgency.
“Oh God,” Nina whispered as she slipped her arms and shoulders between the doors, cringing at the crude edge of the slanting door that was chafing her back as she worked her way through. “Christ, it's a good thing I didn't go the other way around,” she murmured quietly. “This tuna can would have skinned me tits something awful, goddammit!” Her frown deepened as her hip dragged over tiny pointy stones following her equally afflicted palms.
Purdue's keen eyes stayed on the house, but he heard and saw nothing to arouse alert – yet. His heart pounded at the prospect of the deadly gunman emerging from the back door of the shack, but he trusted Nina to get them out of the bind they were in. On the other hand, he was dreading the possibility that Kiril’s car keys would not be in the ignition. When he heard the rattling clang of the chain, he saw Nina's thighs and knees enter the gap, followed by her boots disappearing into the darkness. Unfortunately, he was not the only one who heard the noise.
“Well done, love,” he whispered, smiling.
Inside, Nina was relieved that the car door she tried was unlocked, but she was soon devastated to find that the keys were in none of the places suggested by the numerous action films she had seen.
“Fuck,” she hissed as she rummaged through fishing gear, beer cans, and a few other items the purpose of which she did not even want to consider. “Where the fuck are your keys, Kiril? Where do crazy old Russian soldiers keep their damn car keys – other than in their pocket?”
Outside, Purdue heard the kitchen door close with a click. As he had feared, Detlef appeared from behind the corner. Purdue dropped flat into the grass, hoping that Detlef had come outside for something trivial. But the German giant kept walking toward the garage where Nina was obviously having trouble finding the car keys. His head was wrapped in some blood stained cloth, covering the eye Nina had impaled with her scissors. Knowing that Detlef was hostile toward him, Purdue decided to distract him from Nina.
“Hope he doesn't have that bloody gun on him,” Purdue mumbled as he jumped up into plain sight and made for the boathouse quite a distance away. He heard shots shortly after, feeling a hot nudge at his upper arm and another whistling past his ear. “Shit!” he yelped, when he stumbled, but jumped up and kept going.
Nina had heard the shots. Doing her best not to panic, she grabbed the small gutting knife on the floor behind the passenger seat where the fishing gear was piled.
“I hope none of those shots just killed my ex-boyfriend, Detlef, or I'm going to flay your ass with this tiny little pick stick,” she sneered as she switched on the car's roof light and keeled over to get to the wiring under the steering wheel. She did not intend on rekindling her past romance with Dave Purdue, but he was one of her two best friends, and she adored him, even though he always dragged her into life-threatening situations.
Just short of the boathouse Purdue realized that his arm was burning. A warm streak of blood ran down his elbow and hand as he raced for the shelter of the building, but another lousy surprise awaited him when he finally got to look back. Detlef was not pursuing him at all. Not considering him a risk any more, Detlef had holstered his Glock and made for the rickety garage.
“Oh no!” Purdue gasped. He knew, though, that it would be impossible for Detlef to get to Nina through the narrow gap between the chained doors. His impressive size did have its downsides, and that was a saving grace for the petite and feisty Nina, who was inside, hotwiring the car with sweaty hands and barely any light.
Distressed and wounded, Purdue watched helplessly as Detlef checked the lock and the
chain to ascertain if anyone could have breached it. ‘He probably thinks I am here alone. God, I hope so,’ Purdue thought. While the German was occupied with the garage doors, Purdue slipped into the house to retrieve as many of their belongings as he could carry. Nina's laptop bag contained her passport as well, and Sam's he found in the journalist's room on the chair beside the bed. From the German's wallet, Purdue appropriated cash and a gold AMEX credit card.
If Detlef believed that Purdue had left Nina in town and would get back to finish the battle with him, that would have been great; the billionaire hoped as he watched the German mull the situation over from the kitchen window. Purdue felt his arm numbing all the way into his fingers already, and the loss of blood was making him light-headed, so he utilized the strength he had left to sneak back to the boat house.
“Hurry Nina,” he whispered, taking off his glasses to clean them and wipe the sweat from his face with his shirt. To Purdue's relief, the German decided not to pursue the futile venture of trying to get into the garage, mostly because he did not have the padlock key. As he replaced his glasses, he saw Detlef heading his way. ‘He is coming to make sure I am dead!’
From behind the large widower, the sound of an ignition firing echoed through the evening. Detlef swung around and hurried back to the garage, drawing his gun. Purdue was determined to keep Detlef away from Nina, even if it cost him his life. Again he emerged from the grass and shouted, but Detlef ignored him as the car attempted to start again.
“Don’t flood it, Nina!” was all Purdue could cry as Detlef’s massive hands locked onto the chain and started prying apart the doors. The chain would not give. It was study and thick, much more secure than the flimsy iron doors. Behind the doors, the engine revved again but died a moment later. Just the sound of the clattering doors under the furious strength of the German rung through the afternoon air now. A metallic tear shrieked as Detlef disassembled the entire set-up by ripping the doors from their flimsy hinges.
“Oh my God!” Purdue groaned, desperate to save his beloved Nina, but lacking the strength to run. He watched the doors fly off like leaves shed from a tree as the engine roared once more. Gaining in revolutions, the Volvo screamed under Nina's foot and rocketed forward as Detlef tossed aside the second door.
“Thanks, mate!” Nina said as she floored the accelerator and released the clutch.
Purdue only saw Detlef’s frame collapse as the old car struck him full on, flinging his body a few feet away under the force of its velocity. The boxy, ugly brown sedan slid over the muddy grass lawn, careening toward where Purdue was flagging her down. Nina opened the passenger door as she ground the vehicle to a near halt, just long enough for Purdue to throw himself into the seat before she took off for the street.
“Are you alright? Purdue! Are you okay? Where did he hit you?” she kept shouting over the laboring engine.
“I’ll be fine, my dear,” Purdue smiled timidly as he gripped his arm. “It is a bloody stroke of luck that the second round missed my skull.”
“It is a stroke of luck that I learned to hotwire a car to impress a shit hot Glasgow hooligan when I was seventeen!” she added proudly. “Purdue!”
“Just keep driving, Nina,” he replied. “Just get us over the border to Ukraine as fast as you can.”
“Provided Kiril’s old clunker can handle the trip,” she sighed, checking the fuel gauge threatening to hit the Reserve line. Purdue flashed Detlef’s credit card and grinned through the pain as Nina let out a roar of victorious laughter.
“Give me that!” she smiled. “And get some rest. I will get you some bandage as soon as we hit the next town. From there we don't stop until we get within distance of the Devil's Cooking Pot and get Sam back.”
Purdue did not get that last bit. He had already fallen asleep.
Chapter 27
In Riga, Latvia, Klaus, and his small crew moored for the next leg of their journey. There was little time to get everything ready for the acquisition and transport of the Amber Room panels. There was not much time to waste, and Kemper was a very impatient man. He barked orders out on the deck while Sam listened from his steel prison. Kemper's choice of words hounded Sam immensely – hive – the thought made him shudder, but more so because he did not know what Kemper was up to and that was enough reason for emotional turmoil.
Sam had to concede; he was afraid. Plain and simple, image and self-respect aside, he was terrified of what was coming. Based on the little information he had been given, it already felt like he was doomed beyond salvation this time. Many times before he had escaped what he had feared to be certain death, but this time felt different.
‘You can’t give up, Cleave,’ he scolded himself from the pit of depression and hopelessness. ‘This defeatist shit is not for the likes of you. What harm could possibly trump the hell on board of that teleporting ship you were trapped on? Do they even have the slightest idea of the things you endured while it made its hellish voyage over and over through the same traps of physics?' But when Sam gave his own coaching some thought, he soon realized that he could not remember what happened on the DKM Geheimnis during his detention there. What he did recall was the deep despair it cultivated deep in his soul, the only remnant of the whole affair he could still consciously feel.
Above him, he could hear the men unload heavy equipment onto what must have been some large heavy-duty vehicle. Had he not known better, Sam would have guessed it was a tank. Rapid footsteps approached the door of his room.
‘Now or never,’ he told himself, gathering his courage to make an escape attempt. If he could manipulate those coming to get him, he could make his way off the boat stealthily. The locks clicked from the outside. His heart pounded wildly as he got ready to pounce. When the door opened, Klaus Kemper himself stood in it, smiling. Sam lunged forward to tackle the loathsome captor. Klaus uttered, “24-58-68-91.”
Sam's attack instantly ended, and he fell to the floor at the feet of his target. A deep scowl painted Sam's brow with confusion and fury, but as much as he tried, he could not move a muscle. All he could hear above his bare and bruised frame was the triumphant snickering of a very dangerous man who harbored deadly information.
“I tell you what, Mr. Cleave,” Kemper said in that tone of annoying tranquility. “Because you have shown so much determination I will fill you in on what just happened to you. But!” he patronized like a forthcoming teacher bestowing mercy on a transgressing student. “But…you have to agree to give me no more reasons to have to worry about your relentless and ridiculous efforts at fleeing my company. Let's just call it… professional courtesy. You cease your childish behavior and in turn, I will grant you the interview of the ages.”
“I am sorry. I don't interview swines,” Sam retorted. “Your kind will never get any publicity from me, so go fuck yourself.”
“And again, here is where I will give you one more chance to rethink your counterproductive behavior,” Klaus repeated with a sigh. “In plain language – I will trade your compliance for information only I hold. Do you journalists not crave the… how do you say? Scoop?”
Sam held his tongue; not because he was obstinate, but because he was giving the proposition some thought. ‘What harm could it do to make this prick believe you are playing nice? He is planning to kill you anyway. You might as well learn more about the riddle you have been dying to solve thus far,’ he reckoned. ‘Besides, it is better than parading around with your bagpipe for all to see while you get pummeled by the enemy. Take it. Just take it for now.’
“If I get my clothes back you have a deal. Although I believe you deserve the punishment of looking on something you apparently don't have much of, I really prefer to wear pants in this cold,” Sam mocked him.
Klaus had become used to the journalist's incessant insults, so he was not easily offended anymore. Once he noticed that verbal piss-taking was Sam Cleave’s defense system, it was easy to let it roll off, if not to return the favor. “Sure. I'll let you blame the cold for th
at,” he retorted, pointing at Sam's obviously shy genitals.
Without relishing the effect of his counter-slur, Kemper turned and called for Sam's clothing to be returned to him. He was allowed to clean up, dress, and join Kemper in his SUV. From Riga they would be leading the way over two borders toward Ukraine, followed by a mammoth military tactical vehicle carrying a container specially designed for transporting the valuable remaining panels of the Amber Room to be recovered by Sam's associates.
“Impressive,” Sam told Kemper as he joined the Black Sun commander outside the local boat yard. Kemper was overseeing the transfer of the large Perspex container, maneuvered by two hydraulic arms from the lean deck of the Polish ocean vessel onto the huge cargo truck. “What kind of vehicle is this?” he asked, examining the enormity of the hybrid truck as he strolled along its side.
“It is a prototype by Enrick Hubsch, a gifted engineer from our ranks,” Kemper bragged as he accompanied Sam. “We modeled it on the American made Ford XM656 cargo vehicle from the late 1960's. However, in true German fashion, we improved it vastly by extending the original design with 10 meters more flatbed space and reinforced tensile steel welded along the axles, see?”
Proudly Kemper pointed out the construction above the powerful tires paired along the stretch of the vehicle. “The spacing of the wheels is expertly calculated to bear the exact weight of the container with structural leniency to permit the inevitable rocking brought on by a rocking water tank, so stabilizing the truck while driving.”
“And what is the giant aquarium for, exactly?” Sam asked as they watched the enormous box of water being hoisted onto the back of the military grade cargo monster. Thick bulletproof exterior Perspex was joined at each of the four corners by angled copper plates. The water flowed freely through twelve narrow compartments which were framed in copper as well.
