by P. W. Child
Sam’s head was spinning. “What did they ask you to do?”
“To retrieve something that they want. Nina, please don’t give me that look. I am not withholding information in an attempt at mystery; I honestly do not know what it is. I know it is the painting that I have mentioned before, I am aware that it has some significance as part of the Black Sun’s history, and that I will know it when I see it. Beyond that, I am in the dark. Hence the trail of clues we have been following. They have promised me, though, that once I have retrieved this piece my position will be restored and I will be in a position to guarantee not just my own safety, but yours as well.”
Privately Sam wondered whether it was possible to be safe after everything that had happened. The Order had lost at least a dozen members thanks to them. Gradually it had begun to haunt Sam less, but he doubted that the Black Sun would forget it any quicker than he would.
“Of course, until Mr. Purdue has succeeded in his mission,” Axelle’s voice cut sharply through Sam’s thoughts, “you will remain in danger. And even once it is complete your safety will always depend on his goodwill. That is why I warned you about him before, and it is why I warn you once again now.”
She got to her feet and faced Sam and Nina. “They will not stop sending people after you. You must think carefully whether you trust this man to protect your interests. And if you do not, then your best chance of survival is to approach the Order and offer to join it of your own free will. I can tell you how to go about it. Perhaps, as a gesture of good faith, Mr. Purdue will tell you how you might find me should you decide to do so. If he does not, I will seek you out within the next twenty-four hours and hope that his decision to withhold yet more information from you will inform your choice. Now goodnight. I think the three of you have much to discuss.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There was silence in the room for some time after Axelle left. Nina drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, staring into the fire. Sam slowly sipped his whisky. When he had finished his he picked up Axelle’s untouched glass from beside her chair and started on that. He looked over at Purdue, who sat still and silent in the corner, his eyes fixed on Nina, awaiting her response.
From the depths of Sam’s mind, memories that he had not allowed himself to revisit began to force their way into his consciousness. There had only been one situation in his life that had found him in a similar position… the day he and Trish had made up their minds whether to pursue the story of the arms ring or abandon it.
They had got home in the early hours of the morning, back to the tiny flat in Stratford, still full of boxes of Trish’s belongings yet to be unpacked. Sam’s muscles were cramped and sore after a long evening spent hiding out in the cleaners’ cupboard next to Charles Whitsun’s suite in the Century Hotel in Mayfair, listening to Trish’s conversation with him over an earpiece and furiously transcribing as much as he could.
After months of wrangling her way into Whitsun’s circles, Trish had eventually succeeded in capturing his attention. She was posing as a fashion journalist, a lie that was close enough to the truth to stick. It justified her interest in his circle of friends, or at least in their designer-garment-wearing wives. It brought her close enough to him that he had – inevitably, to Sam’s mind – noticed her many attractions and started asking her out. She had hesitated at first, partly to prolong their interactions and partly out of concern that she might be compromising her ethics for the sake of a story. It was not until Whitsun dropped the first mention of a deal done in Afghanistan, a lucrative deal selling arms to the highest bidder, that Trish decided that it was worth compromising herself far enough to learn whether there was any truth in his tale.
After a couple of weeks of dinners, parties and long, late-night conversations, Trish was on the point of learning the truth. Whitsun was not a cautious man, and it was clear that he believed that this starry-eyed fashionista was attracted to powerful men with military connections. As he worked harder and harder to get her into bed, he had grown more reckless and told her far more than he should have.
Crouched in that cupboard, Sam had listened to Charles Whitsun dropping the names of rich and powerful men – politicians, financiers, newspaper editors – and regaling Trish with accounts of his close personal friendships with them, all while trying to persuade her to stay the night. Judging by the volume and the wet smacking sounds in his earpiece, Sam could only imagine that Whitsun was somewhere behind Trish, perhaps with his arms around her, sweeping her hair out of the way to kiss the nape of her neck. It made Sam deeply uncomfortable.
And then he had offered Trish the prize. In ten days, Whitsun told her, some mates of his from Dubai were going to be in town and they had asked him to cast an expert eye over some merchandise for them. He wanted Trish to meet them. He wanted them to meet her. His new girlfriend, sexier than their trophy wives by far. Of course, he made it clear that he needed to be able to consider Trish his girlfriend by that time…
She had escaped from his suite that night by pleading an early start the next day, and when they got home she and Sam had sat at the breakfast bar in their tiny kitchen, working their way through a bottle of Cava that Sam had lifted from the hotel and discussing what was to be done. This was the meeting Trish had been waiting for. This was her chance to discover the identities of the other members of the arms ring, and if they contacted the CID and Interpol she might bring it down altogether. But if anything went wrong…
“What if you didn’t?” Sam had asked her that night. “What if you just walked away now?”
Trish had twisted a loose curl around her finger, pulling it taut and then letting it spring back into place. “If I walk away he’ll wonder why. If he comes looking for me he’ll find out who I really am. He knows people, there’s every chance that he’ll find out what I’m up to, and if that happens I’m dead. He might find his way to you as well, and I’d never forgive myself if any harm came to you over this. And more to the point, these people would be able to continue doing what they’re doing unchecked. All I can do now is press on and hope that we can take them down before he finds out who I really am.” Sam remembered the pressure of her fingers as she took his hand and squeezed it. “Besides,” she had said, “if I wanted to be safe, I really would be a fashion journalist. This is what I’m here to do, Sam.”
He recalled how he had searched for an argument to counter hers. He longed to tell her that he would find a way to keep her safe, that if she just walked away from the story and stayed with him he would make sure that no well-connected enemies could touch her. But he knew he could not promise that. Nothing short of new identities and a life in hiding would have saved them by that point. He remembered the cold sensation that had washed over him like a bucket of iced water as he realized that they were in far, far too deep to turn back.
‘And this time,’ he thought, ‘even new identities and living in hiding won’t help. They’ll find us wherever we go. But this time, unlike last time, we have the option of subjecting ourselves to our enemies’ mercy…’
He watched Purdue watching Nina. He wondered if he would ever figure their relationship out – or if they would. He could not see them as lovers in the way that he and Trish had been lovers, sharing a free, easy and indisputable bond, unable to imagine life without each other. All he could see was Purdue’s determined pursuit and Nina’s desire to keep the world at arm’s length. But as he observed Purdue now he began to think that there was more genuine tenderness there than he had given the man credit for.
As if on cue, Purdue leaned forward and gently laid a hand on Nina’s, which were clasped in front of her shins, holding her folded legs in place. He said nothing, no apologies, explanations or attempts at persuasion. Just a touch. Nothing more. Nina freed a hand and took hold of his. She did not look at him. Sam, however, saw the flicker of relief on Purdue’s face as she reciprocated his gesture.
‘Whatever choice Nina makes, I’ll go with that,’ Sam decided. ‘N
o matter what Purdue’s allegiance might be, I’m pretty sure that no matter what happens he won’t let any harm come to Nina – and if that’s the case, whichever choice she makes is the right one.’
Chapter Twenty- Eight
“Sam! Get out of bed, you lazy sod!”
Unwillingly Sam forced himself to throw back the covers and pull on his clothes. The smell of cooking hit him full force as soon as he opened his bedroom door. Suddenly it seemed like a very long time since last night’s soup.
The scene in the kitchen was oddly calm and almost unnervingly domestic. Purdue was at the stove, a large mixing bowl and a pile of chopped ingredients by his side and a sizzling pan in his hand. Nina was setting out mugs of tea as Sam entered. She greeted him with a smile and then walked straight past him to get some plates.
“What’s going on here?” Sam asked, a little dazed. “When did things become so… normal?”
Nina handed the first plate to Purdue, who tipped the first of the omelets onto it. She passed it to Sam. “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die” she grinned.
Sam dropped his head into his hands. “It’s too early… And it’s usually too early for you, too. Why are you so bloody cheerful at this hour?”
“Because I’ve been up for ages, so the caffeine’s had a while to kick in.” She took a gulp of tea. “In all honesty, though, I’m just feeling a lot better after last night. Less fearful, I suppose. Just understanding things a bit better… it makes me feel like I’ve got a little bit of control, you know? Toast?”
“Give me time to wake up and I might agree with you,” Sam groaned. “And yes, please.”
By the time they had finished breakfast, Sam felt infinitely better. Purdue was by far the best cook out of the three of them, and the over-sweetened tea had worked its magic on Sam’s mood. The others no longer seemed quite as offensively upbeat as they had been. Now he began to see that Nina’s mood genuinely had lifted, and he was inclined to agree that understanding their danger made it seem less overwhelming. Evidently she had made her choice, and she had decided to follow Purdue.
“I spent a lot of last night thinking about what Axelle had said,” Nina explained when Sam at last brought the topic up. “Honestly, if our only options are to join some sinister organization under duress or trust that we’ll be safe if we find this painting that they want, I’d rather get treasure-hunting. I had enough of their recruitment games at Parashant, and I didn’t like what I saw there. As you well know I am well aware of the ludicrous and sinister methods they can resort to when they feel threatened,” she said, pushing back her sleeve so Sam could see the circular scar where the Black Sun’s redhead monster Lita and her team of Nazi doctors practiced their depravity on Nina when she was captive in the Hebrides. “I have a feeling that trying to join their ranks would end just as well as it did that time – with me trapped in some underground cell or racing against an insidious virus coursing through my veins,” Nina smiled brightly, but both men knew what hell Nina had been through at the hands of the organization.
“Besides,” she pressed on, pouring more tea, “What she was saying about our safety being in Purdue’s gift… it’s no different to it being in anyone else’s, really. Even if we could persuade them to accept us, we’d be under constant scrutiny, constant threat of having it revoked… Can you see either of us lasting five minutes under those circumstances? Really?”
Sam was inclined to agree. Purdue was dangerous, but at least he was the devil they knew. He was also sure that Nina had considered, as he had, that approaching the Order risked incurring Purdue’s enmity, and if they were not accepted by the Black Sun that would leave them with nothing but enemies.
At last, Purdue spoke. “Thank you both,” he said, his voice soft and his expression sincere. “I realize that you are both placing an immense amount of trust in me. And I realize that it is not entirely your free choice. I will not fail you. My priority is to get us all home as soon as possible, and I appreciate your help. Now, if everyone is finished, we must make a start on the next clue. Do you have the map?”
Nina nodded. “It’s in my coat pocket. Give me a minute.” She rose from the table and went to fetch it. Sam watched Purdue watching her go. ‘What happened between them last night?’ he wondered. ‘I’ve never seen them like this.’
A minute later Nina returned, her face ashen and her coat in her hand. “It’s not there. I had it last night. I remember putting the tube in my pocket just before we started to run.”
“In that case it’s either fallen out as we ran or it’s in the back of Axelle’s car,” Sam said. “Can we contact her?”
Purdue shook his head. “I doubt we’ll see her before tonight, which means we lose a day. Time is of the essence – as Axelle said, the Order of the Black Sun will not stop looking for us until they have been appeased. Can you describe what was on the map?”
Between the two of them, Sam and Nina remembered most of the details. They described the layout of the lakes and the characteristics of the house as clearly as they could, while Purdue unfolded his tablet and used it to search through a map of Bruges. As Nina described the odd arrangement of arches beneath the house, he smiled. “I think I have it,” he said, then held up the tablet for them to see. “Did it look like this?”
Sure enough, the image on the screen was exactly like the drawing on the map. The distinctive roof, the small windows, the water flowing past. “It’s a water mill,” said Purdue, “or at least it was. We shall find it in the Minnewaterpark, not far from here. Let us just hope that at this time of year, the park will be quiet.”
*
It was quiet, or at least quiet enough for their purposes. A handful of tourists prepared to brave the cold were scattered around the park, most of them watching the swans gliding across the lake. Fortunately the swans had been considerate enough to congregate at the far end, some distance from the little mill house, keeping the number of potential observers to a minimum. The house itself was instantly recognizable, a curious little place surrounded by shrubs and willow trees, with a small stream flowing past it at the front.
“Do we knock?” Sam asked. “Break in? What’s the plan?”
“The mark on the map was in one of the arches,” said Nina. “So presumably whatever we’re looking for is under the house.”
Purdue leaned over the rail, looking down at the arches. “In that case we shall have to find a way to get inside and hope that the position of the mark indicates a basement or a cellar.”
“You don’t think we’re looking for something underwater, do you?”
“I sincerely hope not. Searching beneath the water would require equipment we do not have and could only be carried out unnoticed at night. Let us hope that none of us need risk hypothermia to solve this one…”
A quick circuit of the building revealed no public entrances and nothing to indicate that it was anything other than someone’s private residence. It was as orderly and pristine as a show home, with a kitchen and a study visible through some of the windows. On other windows, the curtains were closed, giving no clue as to their contents or whether there was anyone inside. Knocking at the door yielded no results, but through the glass panes they could see that it was locked from the inside and the key was still there.
With a quick jerk of the elbow Sam knocked out one of the little panes and reached through to turn the key. The door creaked and groaned but swung open without too much trouble, letting them into a narrow, silent hallway. The house had the cold, damp feeling or a property that had not been regularly occupied for a long time, yet there was no dust, no cobwebs. The place was clearly being cared for, even if no-one was living or working there.
Laying a cautious hand on the heavy iron handle of the first door on their left, Purdue led the way into a darkened room. He flicked the light switch, revealing an unfurnished space with peeling off-white paint. It was a stark contrast to the neatness of the hallway. In the middle of the room was a cheap brown rug, half pu
shed back to reveal the outline of a trapdoor and a thick metal ring.
Sam took hold of the ring and pulled, but the trapdoor did not move. He tried again, this time with more force. He could not shift it. He looked to Purdue and Nina. “Any ideas?”
Purdue dropped to his knees and began to examine the edges of the trapdoor, looking for any sign of weakness. He leaned down, peering through his glasses, his nose inches from the floor.
“What was that?” Sam asked.
“What?” Purdue was up and alert at once.
“Lean back down again.”
Purdue did as Sam asked. All three of them were listening carefully. As Purdue got close to the floor, they heard a click.
“I think that’s it unlocking,” said Sam. “What’s triggering it? What have you got on you?”
Purdue’s face lit up in delighted realization. He unzipped his jacket and pulled out the reliquary. “This,” he smiled. “I think this is the trigger. Step over there.” He pushed Sam off the trapdoor and touched the carved box against the handle. The faint click sounded again, underneath the boards. Purdue seized the handle and pulled up on it. This time it opened, revealing a ladder down to the basement.
While Purdue held his tablet aloft, using it to light the space beneath, Sam climbed down the ladder and fumbled around until he found the light. A single unshaded bulb flooded the basement with a warm glow. A wide window was set into the exposed brick of the walls, looking directly into the murky depths of the stream outside, and the sound of the rushing water beyond the glass filled the air. At the far end of the room stood an imposing door, and in the center, carefully laid out, was the soaked, strangled corpse of Axelle.
Chapter Twent y-Nine
