Her husky chuckle was like opium to Purdue. When she looked out from the tenth story window, her flawless complexion glowed in the mild sun’s rays. Turning in her position, Purdue now noticed that she was naked, her ample breasts forcing the curtains of her white satin robe to fall from her shoulders, along her arms and draping to her ankles. All of her was in glorious view. It seemed that her robe was just an obligation.
Bits and pieces of the time with her briefly kissed his recollection before dwindling once more, and Purdue tried to relive what had to have been the best night of his life.
“Tea?” she asked.
“Thank you, yes. No sugar, please,” he requested.
“Honey, then?” she persisted.
Purdue never particularly liked honey. He had always had an aversion for its aftertaste and syrupy consistency, yet he nodded. “That would be great, thank you.”
He watched the Countess walk, so softly that she made no sound. Barefoot, with her dark hair coiling wildly, she appeared to momentarily resemble Nina. The vision of the historian was so vivid that Purdue had to shake his head to correct his perception.
“I know it is rude to discuss business so soon after morning reacquaintance, David, but I just want to make sure what is next,” she said, as she prepared his tea with her back to him. “How soon will we embark on the quest for my crown?”
Purdue remembered vaguely that she’d propositioned him at the party after the last meeting he’d attended, and that she wished for him to help her seek a lost crown in Jerusalem. Other than that, he only recalled signing a contract pertaining to the expedition, but not the details.
“Where…uh…where did I put my copy of the contract?” he asked.
She pointed indifferently to a leather-bound dossier on the sofa in the living area, stirring the honey into Purdue’s tea. He rose from the satin sheets, slipping on his trousers before collecting the document to peruse it.
“If you wish, we can travel together to the vault for your first payment,” she offered amicably. “You can have your people take it to Wrichtishousis while we embark further on our journey. In Jerusalem you will join me on the Temple Mount and use your Subgeo-location device to examine the soil for my treasure, right?”
Countess Baldwin formulated the request in such a way that Purdue would understand that she was commanding the developments in such an order. Her manner was feminine and docile, even friendly and forthcoming, but right under it all the queen spoke her orders and her will would not be challenged.
“You know about the Subgeo?” he asked, surprised and flattered. “And my home, Wrichtishousis?”
“Yes,” she smiled, looking amused at his question. “You told me all about it last night? By the stars, David, how much did you have to drink?”
“Too much, it appears,” he answered, looking over the document. At the top of it, a fascinating insignia made the document official. From the fine print under it, the deal was recognized by all financial institutions in Europe, the United States and Asia, all courts observed it as ironclad and Purdue found his signature at the bottom, sealing his accord.
“So when do we go?” she pressed a little less patiently.
“Um,” Purdue muttered, peeling his eyes from the paper before reading the terms, “we will leave in the next week, I assure you. I must just assemble some people to assist us…”
“We go alone!” she hissed, her dark eyes suddenly ablaze.
Purdue frowned at her reaction. “Alone? Contessa, you do realize that a lot of planning goes into an excursion like this. I have to obtain a permit to scout the grounds of the Temple from the Mayoral office, for one. And if we find anything, we have to have the legal documents to excavate your treasure, my dear, a feat that is almost impossible to imagine. My God, this is Jerusalem!”
Pouting like an angry child, she shoved the cup in his hand. “I will not be restrained by a bunch of foolish men holding office,” she said plainly. “Any man, or body, can be bought with enough gold. You, of all people, should know that by now, David.”
“We will have no way of digging it up, Contessa, even if we can locate it illegally and clandestinely. You forget that this city is being guarded by the cultural departments of most historical societies across the world,” he tried to reason with her.
The upset beauty began to get restless, pacing in circles in front of Purdue. Her eyes combed the carpet as she worked herself into emotional turmoil. With her movements soundless, Purdue heard her grinding her teeth in frustration, a most hideous sound of bone on ivory to a point of crushing violence. Her elegant hands were fisted like claws next to her hips.
“You have to understand that it is not a quick process, my dear,” he advised calmly, hoping that his mild-mannered tone would rub off on her. She sighed, and looked at him. Her fingers unclenched and her wild eyes softened.
“Just make it as quick as you can,” she said, looking downright miserable.
“What is the haste?” he asked. He held up his hand in surrender. “It’s just a question.”
Her eyes welled up with tears, but she didn’t look sad. After taking a deep breath she replied, “I am running out of time.”
“How?” he asked immediately, finding himself very concerned for this lady he’d only known for a few hours.
“That doesn’t matter, David.” She smiled through her tears. “Just…do me this favor, will you? Hasten the project, at least before the 24th of the month.”
Purdue winced at the close deadline. “But, that is only two weeks away.”
“Better start your planning, then,” she replied as she walked to the window where she was bathed in white light again. “I am giving you substantial rewards for this. The least you can do is own up to your reputation,” she said in a low voice, fraught with superiority, “and attain what you seek against all odds.”
It was a tall order, but Purdue had to concede that he was one of the few people in the world who could find a way past the bars of authority and law to get what he desired. The fact that Countess Baldwin saw him in such a light was enough to spur him towards success in this endeavor to find her crown. Watching her perfect curvature through the frail fabric of her robe, he knew he would move mountains to savor her again.
Purdue sat down with his tea, amply flavored with vile honey, while he looked over the contract. The lettering was blurred and mixed up, so he retrieved his glasses to better peruse the terms. However, even with the aid of his spectacles Purdue could not read the words printed in proper black ink at a reasonable font size. On the page words like ‘and,’ ‘within,’ and ‘dated’ came out to him, but most of the clearly English words made no sense. They were not in any context until he read several sentences as a collective to test his vision. Only then would they deliver a sentence or two he understood, but as soon as he read it straight, the words would appear vague in meaning, vague in view, and generally jumbled up.
“David?” Countess Baldwin called from the bright window, sounding genuinely concerned. “David, you don’t look well. Is everything alright?”
He looked up at her, at the rest of the room, and removed his spectacles to try once more, but he still had trouble reading the contract. Her hips swayed as she approached him, closing her robe and tying the belt. Looking up at her, she was in perfect focus from where he sat, as was the room and its contents.
“I am calling the doctor,” she decided, heading for the room phone. “You don’t look well at all, and I cannot lose you now. What did you drink last night? Poison?”
Purdue shrugged. “I feel fine, my dear. Nothing ails me, I promise. I have no headaches, no stomach aches, my sight is clear, and I feel perfectly coherent,” he reported as he gently pulled her hand away from the phone and placed it back on the hook. “My eyes are just letting me down. I am sure it is a temporary malady. Maybe my blood sugar is too high,” he smiled at her as she sat down next to him on the bed.
Purdue ran his fingers through her velvet hair, hoping his eyes would not let him dow
n for the next thirty minutes with her. He wanted to see her in detail, even the tiny moles and skin spots her body bore when she’d removed her clothes the last time. There was no imperfection to the Countess, regardless of her little flaws. His grasp abandoned the dossier as his will abandoned any reason. Every time she touched him, he rejoiced in the abandon of her presence, a sensation he had never felt before with anyone, not even with Nina.
On the floor, the papers of the concise contract lay sprawled in the gentle urging of the wind that came through the light drapes where the Countess enjoyed staring from the window. The seal upon the document was not that of the Bilderberg Assembly or any of the governments represented by the annual secret gathering. It was inscribed in gold ink that shimmered in the blinding light that lent Purdue the necessary light to observe every detail, every aspect of his new lover. What he remained blind to, though, was the mark on her left hand, identical to the emblem on the contract – the double border circle that held within it the inverted pentacle. And entwined within it, the horizontal eight-shape symbol of infinity.
21
The Enemy of my Enemy
“Listen, just give me a week, Harris,” Sam said, “and I will deliver Toshana.”
He was feeling like a zombie after being revived by Dr. Hooper, but he tried to hide his desperate worry from everyone. On top of everything that had happened to him in the past week alone, the summit of the dread was Nina’s taking, and he did not need unwanted attention from anyone outside his inner sanctum right now.
“Why? Why can’t you take me now?” Harris asked with her hand on her side, looking as if she expected to be shafted. Sam could not tell her the truth – or could he? If he came clean, and if he presented Harris with a good enough reward, perhaps she would understand. Maybe, just maybe, the greedy bitch would muster some decency and hold off on exposing him to the authorities until he got Nina back. It was worth a shot, he figured.
Sam tried to look more pitiful than he felt, for good measure, and softly replied, “I don’t know where Toshana is, Harris.”
“Excuse me?” she shrieked. With a look from Sam, camera man Steve knew it was time to take a walk outside and left the office.
“Listen, you assumed I knew where she was, just like that barbaric goddamn Arab you are in cahoots with,” Sam seethed, abandoning his need for pity. “I never claimed to have her with me until you started blackmailing me. Jesus Christ, Harris, how low will you go to destroy me?” Before she could respond, Sam introduced her to a side of him she did not know. “And Nina is my friend. My best friend, in fact, and I swear to God, if any harm comes to her I will kill everyone involved!” he barked, his dark eyes swimming in the welling water of his lids. He was livid, and terrified. For once, Jan Harris elected to shut her mouth and listen. “And you,” he sneered with a violently pointing finger, “you will have to watch your back for the rest of your life, Harris, because you will have been the one who helped that group of insolent bastards to corner me!”
Dr. Hooper and his staff huddled at the old reception counter, listening to the verbal altercation. They could hear Sam Cleave’s promise to waste Jan Harris and the men responsible for Nina’s abduction with the eloquence of a tempestuous warlord. “I know they were the ones who took her, and I promise you, Harris, if you expose my involvement at all, I am coming for you. I will tell Amir that you know where Toshana is, that you are holding out on him to get a story from Toshana, that you deliberately kept her from them after I told you where to find her.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop! Just fucking stop, Sam!” she finally interrupted his rant of fury with an unexpectedly mild response. Her hands were up, yielding to his spitting attack. Gradually, she dared drop them to Sam’s shoulders. “Hold on,” she said. “You have to relax or you will have a heart attack, Cleave.”
Panting wildly, the over-exerted journalist rocked on his feet. Anyone could see that he was on the edge of a breakdown. “Sit. Sit down,” she advised, helping Sam to the chair of Dr. Victor in the adjoining office. “I understand.”
“Sure you do,” Sam sneered in distrust. His eyes were narrowed and filled with defeat and anger, but Jan Harris was used to being cast such grimaces. She knew very well how hated she was by most people she engaged and she had learned to be thick-skinned to a point where even being spat at didn’t even spoil her lunch anymore.
“No, listen to me,” she insisted. “Can we get him some water, please?” she cried to the staff at reception. Dr. Hooper sent his assistant to get Sam a cup of water, while in his pocket, his hand fumbled at something he’d collected while Sam was out cold on the floor.
He had asked the man on the telephone to jot down the address and join the exhausted journalist, if only for moral support. Dr. Hooper also took the liberty of enlightening the priest on Nina’s abduction, when Father Harper informed him that he was already on his way to Barking. Hearing the scuffle during Nina’s assault, he had left soon after, redirecting calls to the church to his personal cell phone en route. All Dr. Hooper was waiting for, was for Sam to settle his tiff with the annoying reporter so that he could give him the notes Nina had left behind – the few notes her kidnappers had neglected.
Back in Dr. Victor’s office, Jan Harris was talking Sam down from the ledge, ironically.
“Listen, Cleave, I’ll amend our deal,” she started, but Sam’s bloodshot eyes pierced her with instant odium. “No, no, hear me out,” she carried on, passing him the water one of the ladies brought in. “I will hold off on the exposé, but you know I have to have some sort of scoop from this. Remember, Sam, had it not been for me, you would never even have known about this morgue, or that Nina had been kidnapped, right? Right?”
Sam nodded, too tired to swing a hook at her statement, especially since she was right this time.
“So, in the meantime, I will hold the story of the hit-and-run until you have figured out what you want to do. What I suggest is that you get in touch with Amir and tell him the truth. I will still have a story, if we play our cards right.” Jan Harris dramatized her tag line with imaginative wording for Sam. “The abduction of prominent historian in the wake of immigrants killed. Suspects flee with eight corpses during kidnapping. My God, Sam, it makes for a very controversial piece.”
“You do know that if it goes awry, you will be killed by the men you were supposed to reel me in for? Nina will have her fucking head cut off and I will surely be quartered as well,” Sam said, clarifying the big picture for her. “Are you sure this isn’t a story you’d rather just pass up? Pretend you were never involved?”
“Not me,” she said confidently. “You know me better. I’ll go to great lengths to get my scoop. Take me with you every step of the way. I’ll cut Steve loose for this one and take my own camera. Sam, give me this exposé and I will help you get Nina back.”
Sam shook his head in disbelief. “You are a fool.”
“Maybe, but I know where I’m going,” she retorted.
“Straight into one of those little fridges, Harris,” Sam smirked, pointing lazily to the morgue. “That’s the only cool cut you’re going to get.”
Harris ignored Sam’s perpetual disregard for her passion. “Well, it’s either my deal or we’re back to square one. I oust you to Amir and his animals while I broadcast your killing spree on national television and incriminate you publicly. The choice is yours.”
Sam would’ve normally aimed for her throat by now, but he had to admit that Jan Harris had him monumentally by the balls. Had he the emotional fortitude for her gloating, he may even have congratulated her on a fine chess game, but he wisely elected to refrain from praising her for the effort.
“You know how to get in touch with Amir, right?” Sam asked. She nodded, “I do.”
From the door, accompanied by Dr. Hooper, Father Harper appeared. “His name is not Amir.”
Sam’s face lit up at the sight of the huge priest who’d come to aid him. Jan Harris heard the pronouncement behind her and turned to set t
he man straight, but when she saw the attractive clergyman, she choked on what would have been a sharp riposte. Flustered, she shifted in her chair to better see the big priest, unfazed by his collar. “Excuse me?” she said, fluttering her eyelids.
“His name is not Amir. Who told you that, Sam?” Father Harper asked.
“I did, as a matter of fact,” Harris said, insisting on conversing even when she wasn’t being addressed. “As a matter of fact, I am the only one in touch with him.” Her attempt at significance was not appreciated by Father Harper, who continued to address Sam directly. He shook Sam’s hand and sat down on the edge of the desk. “His name is Ayer, not Amir. He’s a French soldier from a clandestine organization you do not want to mess with.”
“Too late,” Sam replied. “I messed with them. Big time.”
“Excuse me,” Harris interrupted. “May I ask who you are?”
“This is Father Harper from the St. Columbanus Church in Oban. Father,” Sam introduced the annoying female with visible apathy, “this is Janet Harris, a mostly freelance television reporter for British broadcasters. She has been contacted by Amir…uh…”
“Ayer,” Father Harper corrected patiently.
“Ayer,” Sam continued, “to facilitate a deal that could mean the end of me, on so many levels.”
“That is correct, Father,” Harris nodded. For the first time, the priest acknowledged her presence there, meeting eyes with her. “So, then, how is it that you know these sordid characters?” She tried to insinuate some unsavory collaboration. Sam took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was not allowed to snap her neck, at least not yet. But Father Harper was not a regular man, and her passive aggression did not bother him.
“My business is the business of sordid characters, is it not? Am I not the spokesperson for the lost and wicked, when they displease the Lord?” he asked her. “I know Lucifer, as do you. Would you grant that makes us as sordid as he?”
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