Order of the Black Sun Box Set 6 Read online

  As the helicopter lifted off, Purdue looked down to where its lights were illuminating the terrain. It broke his heart to see Adjo's bloody body left in the long grass like an animal carcass, knowing that he would never see the money he’d been promised to benefit his family.

  8

  Across the border of Ethiopia, traversing Eritrea's eastern region, northeast bound, Purdue fled with his illegitimate prize. The way he saw it, it could not be construed as a capital crime to steal an artifact that was, in fact, a cheap knock-off of the item spoken of in history. If he had stolen the Holy Grail he would absolutely be demonized by the world's academic society as a plain grave robber, but to procure a very bad duplicate of a legendary relic was hardly worthy of guilt.

  Still, he felt guilty about the men who had lost their lives and livelihoods because of his zealousness for the item, not to mention the contrition for shaking the faith of a thousand years for the men of the village. But above all this, Purdue felt only relief at his own escape. He couldn’t wait to return to his home, Wrichtishousis, in Edinburgh, to investigate the contents of the wooden chest.

  If he could find anything interesting inside it, he would feel that, to some measure, Adjo's death would be vindicated. Purdue still fully intended to remunerate the Egyptian's family as he had promised. Dave Purdue was wealthier than a sultan, yet he never forgot those who helped him or those who saved him when he’d naught but a glimmer of hope and a whole lot of craziness to go on. A sick sadness filled him when he looked over the sporadic lights on the desert surface, where only a few tents or bungalows served as shelter. The noise of the helicopter lulled him to a strange numbness, after the close calls he had endured during the day.

  First, the tabernacle had collapsed and he’d been cussed and cursed out by locals for intruding. Then he’d had to leave the failed excavation with empty hands after months of careful financial funding, followed by the bad threat under the mountain. Finally, his insatiable need to feed his curiosity and his obsession with history had caused a good man his life. It was a day Purdue wished he could redo, relive, and ultimately change to be quite different. He imagined the news of Adjo's death reaching the man's family and it depressed him deeply.

  “Where are we now, Larsen?” he asked the pilot.

  Larsen's green eyes moved to the instruments before he confirmed, “Just passed Rama, sir. We should reach the border in the next fifteen minutes.”

  “The border with Eritrea?” Purdue asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” Purdue sighed. “As soon as we get to Asmara, we can load this relic onto the cargo plane. You did book the cargo plane, right?”

  “Of course, Mr. Purdue,” Larsen replied, sounding every bit as surprised as he was that his boss still thought to ask such a thing. After all, Larsen had been one of Purdue's pilots for many years and knew the protocols of retrieval flights and jet-setting very well by now.

  “I'm sorry.” Purdue exhaled hard. “It’s just been a trying day and I want to get back home as soon as possible. Nothing more needs to go wrong on this excursion. I should know better than to hire only men from local and surrounding settlements. This time I did just that, because I’d gotten tired of putting my friends' lives in danger whenever I wanted to chase after something like this, you know?”

  “I agree, sir. Better to pay people to risk their lives, I say. That way they’re not doing you a favor or a service. That way, they agree that what is coming to them is entirely business,” Larsen comforted his boss. These were words that Purdue needed to hear, however loosely cemented they were on a foundation of sycophantic consolation.

  But what Larsen was saying was, in fact, was the opposite of what Purdue was admitting—that involving close acquaintances and friends was actually the best way to go about it. He agreed with what Larsen had said, but using strangers posed many threats: threats of betrayal, threats of assassination, and threats of employing double agents to cheat him out of his finds. “Either way is a conundrum, Larsen. Using hired hands could get me jailed or killed...have my finds stolen from under me; while using my friends for peace of mind runs the risk of baring the guilt of their possible demise in the process.”

  “It’s a difficult decision, sir. One would think mixing the two would yield the answer, but instead of doubling your capabilities during such an expedition, one would just be increasing the risk of both problems coming to fruition. I suppose it’s a gamble, no matter how you work it, sir,” Larsen explained, giving his honest opinion this time. “So what are you going to do?”

  “We cannot let them take this item from me. I have to prove it a fake if only to get to keep it. Once the authorities know that this is not the Ark of the Covenant as spoken of in legend and Biblical contexts, the Ethiopian government and the International Historical Societies will cease to write me up as a common grave robber and stop trying to arrest me.” Purdue was reciting the good alibi he’d been formulating for stealing another country's historical relic.

  As he looked into the darkness around the craft only illuminated by the lights of the controls, he continued more to himself, “It never bothered me in the past. I would flash the cash and procure a dozen willing scientists, historians, archaeologists...” he looked at Larsen, “...pilots. Now I actually care about the fate of the individuals I involve. I’ve finally crumbled, Larsen. I fear to admit this, but I seem to have become a rather humane and considerate madman.”

  A day later, Purdue and his crew touched down at RAF Milltown's lonely airstrip to return his private jet to its clandestine home under the secondary hangar marked 'Squadron Darling – SA Bulldog.' Inside the over-sized hangar lived a small 121 Model, long since as abandoned as its glory days in the RAF. But it was merely a decoy in times of emergency, when it would be hoisted up and the floor it stood on would fall away on the east side to create a ramp. This ramp was utilized by Dave Purdue's companies to access his aircraft, well out of sight of any prying organizations.

  He owned the local radius of grounds for some magnitude around, and wherein the pinnacles of radio antennas peeked out in between dry trees, reaching for the airwaves. The place had been converted for different uses over time, which is why Purdue had purchased some of it. That way, his little part of the property could not be traced under the umbrella of various owners and he had the desolate and unassuming grounds to cover his subterranean hangars.

  The purpose of the base had been quite confusing, since it had been built as a RAF bombing decoy in the Second World War. It was the perfect place for Purdue to hide his flight craft. B1- and T1-type hangars populated the flat coastal site, remnants of the base's initial services as an airfield and training unit for the Coastal Command and Bomber Command. With the Royal Navy taking command after the war and employed as the Deck Landing Training School, the compound once more sprouted a larger purpose relating to air operations, whether military or civilian.

  This historically rife location was an asset to someone like Dave Purdue, quite the find in itself for his flying endeavors, when he needed such. After his constant run-ins with the malice of the Order of the Black Sun and their abilities to reach their tentacles into any international real estate transactions they chose, Purdue had elected to go underground, so to speak. And it had been working swimmingly.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Purdue!” the third shift security guard greeted cordially as Purdue emerged from the Squadron Darling hangar.

  “Afternoon,” Purdue smiled, already feeling better about his death-trailed escaped from Ethiopia now that he was on home soil. “Will you make sure my flight crew take the shuttle I hired from this checkpoint, please?”

  “Of course, sir,” the security officer nodded. Purdue always had a shuttle available for his crewmembers to arrive safely at their own homes after a few days away. “And you, sir?”

  Purdue waved dismissively at the inquiry. “Oh, no, no, thank you. I’m taking one of the private fleet vehicles. I’ve had enough of being chauffeured about, believe me.
” He chuckled with the friendly security man who gave him the necessary log documents to fill out and sign.

  “Pardon my forwardness, sir, but aren't you taking the daring approach a bit far here?” the security officer asked Purdue.

  “How do you mean?” Purdue asked, barely looking up from the papers he was perusing.

  The man whispered, “Transporting such a priceless relic in an unguarded vehicle seems, um, a bit careless? Aren't antiques and historical valuables usually transported in some kind of...” he shrugged with a layman's look, “convoy or armored vehicle?”

  Purdue laughed slyly and finally met eyes with the concerned security guard. “My friend, that is precisely what they would expect, is it not?”

  The man's face lightened up and he smiled suddenly. Wagging an index finger at the billionaire, he chuckled, “Ah! I see! I see what you’re doing, Mr. Purdue. You’re a sly fox with a keen mind for evasion. I think the Secret Service or one of them covert government agencies should take lessons from you.”

  “Oh, believe me, officer,” Purdue smiled, “some people can be taught lessons a million times over and not learn a bloody thing.”

  “Like some sly evasive actions can be out-thought by those who recognize your psychology?” a woman's voice asked. The security officer stiffened awkwardly at the woman's remark and stepped one pace back from Purdue to regain his professional position as guard. Purdue was still signing, not bothering to look up at the guard or the woman. He simply replied, “It is my prerogative, I believe, to reveal my psychology to those whom I trust, my dear Nina.”

  Dr. Nina Gould could not help but smile while he was not looking, but the security guard noticed her smile yield to a firm expression when Purdue looked up to greet her. “You haven't forgotten my voice, I see,” she said, clumsily starting the small talk, but he tolerated it. After trying so hard to win back her trust and cultivating a renewed friendship with Nina, he would forgive her just about anything—even more than he used to.

  From the shadow of the security office the guard chuckled in amusement. He did not mean for them to hear, but he could not help but react to the revelation of the woman's identity.

  “Can I help you?” Nina asked firmly.

  “No, ma'am. Apologies,” he replied, clearing his throat awkwardly. It was plain that he couldn’t take his eyes off Nina, something she was quite used to, but there was something about his stare that unsettled her into a feisty response. “Look, officer, why don’t you just come out and say what you’re thinking?”

  The man removed his beret like a respectful funeral attendee, wringing the hat in his hands. The lady was adamant, so he was forced to oblige her. “I'm sorry, madam, but...aren't you that Lady Godiva who saved that other lady from a serial killer or something?”

  Purdue tucked his head down to muffle a giggle, though he was not aware of what had happened in his absence from the United Kingdom.

  “Aye,” Nina sighed, relinquishing her need to flare into fury for the vexing remark. At her reply the security guard looked awfully satisfied, which perplexed Purdue. He felt like he’d missed something everyone else knew.

  “Oh, do tell,” he smiled, folding his arms gleefully. To have Nina referred to as a historical nude noblewoman was just too good to abandon curiosity for. She rolled her eyes. Addressing the security man directly, Nina shrugged, “Just tell him.”

  Beaming in delight, the officer smiled, “I don't have to. I have the clip on me phone!”

  9

  Nina stood outside, dying for a smoke. Although her recovery from lung cancer had miraculously cured her of most of her underlying maladies, she didn’t want to seem ungrateful to the Powers That Be for her second chance at life. And that meant that Nina Gould had to give up cigarettes, a hefty toll indeed, but one worth pursuing in the long run. Inside the small office she could hear Purdue and the officer exclaim in awe and amusement while they watched the video clip of the naked beauty who had thwarted an abduction a few nights before. The video had since gone viral over the entire Internet.

  She waited patiently for them to get it over with, and after a short pause and silence, Purdue came out, ready to head to his home in Edinburgh. Looking more composed than he’d been while watching the news footage, he lightly touched her elbow, ushering her to the vehicle he’d prepared.

  “I’ve something you have to take a look at, Nina. Just take a look at it, please,” he said unceremoniously. Nina frowned at his odd behavior. There was no remark about the clip he’d just watched, no teasing or silly inquiries about her nudity. Then again, she reckoned, taking the piss was more Sam's thing than the astute and proper Purdue would employ.

  “What is it?” she asked, wondering if he was at all intrigued by the reason for her locating him in the first place. After all, the fact that she drove out to meet him as soon as he’d landed would have given him some indication of urgency, yet Purdue was quite preoccupied. “Jesus, Purdue, you look like you haven't slept in ages. What are you up to now?”

  He only smiled timidly. It was true that he was exhausted, both mentally and physically, but so soon after she’d forgiven him was not a good time to let loose with a story of fleeing a country in a hail of bullets after snooping for Nazi relics again. It would be the quickest way to shut her off from him. “I’ve been busy, my dear Nina. I just need some advice.”

  “Can it wait?” she asked, annoyed at his indifference to her purpose there. “I’ve something very important to talk to you about, Purdue.”

  “Um, of course,” he recovered quickly, feigning most of the interest in his tone to coax her to get his way about the relic. “Of course, I understand. I tell you what…”

  “I cannot postpone this,” she interrupted.

  “I was not going to suggest procrastination, Nina. Why don't you follow me to Wrichtishousis, and then we can discuss what’s on your mind?” He looked around, casting a few quick glances toward the sky and the horizon as they walked to the fleet car he’d ordered his Ethiopian find to be secured in. Nina knew that mild paranoia all too well, but for fear of jumping the gun she withheld her suspicions and agreed to follow Purdue with her own car.

  Just before she separated from him to collect her car to meet up at the checkpoint, Nina peeked into the large vehicle Purdue was using. Nothing was inside the car—nothing on the seats, anyway—but there had to be something inside that would merit an invitation to a modern history expert such as herself to advise on.

  “What’s in the car, Dora?” she asked, mocking him for the civilized housewife car he was taking.

  Purdue smiled, glad for her interest. “It’s too much to explain here right now. Why don't we make a night of it when we get to the estate? I’m sure what I have in this vehicle would be tremendously fascinating to someone like you.”

  Nina sighed. “Purdue, Nazi shit again?”

  He just rested a hand on her shoulder and chuckled uncomfortably. He looked past her for a moment and announced, “They’re opening the gate. Shall we take this up in a few?”

  “Aye,” she replied reluctantly. “But don't forget that we have to address the issue I’m wrestling with as well.”

  “Done,” he assured her before climbing into the high driver's seat of the soccer-mom-looking SUV, complete with a Baby-on-Board sticker and the ever-popular stick figure family so eagerly slapped onto the cars of most average suburban families. Nina only shook her head at Purdue's relentless knack for ingenuity. However, it also alarmed her. To go this far to conceal the contents or identity of the transported goods, Purdue would have to be desperate not to be detected. Usually such covertness was born from looming trouble, trouble like unlawful claims, criminal pursuits, betrayal, secret liaisons and double agents of things of historical significance. She knew what that meant.

  “Tangled with the wrong sort again, didn't ya?” she muttered as she headed for her car with the dying lights of the base in her wake. Nina didn’t have to worry, but whatever Purdue was hiding was bad news. She cou
ld feel it in her gut. As she followed him home, her thoughts raced around Sam's sorrowful predicament and Purdue's preoccupation with what she was certain was another net to draw her into the dark recesses of the secret world of reality coursing under the skin of society.

  When they arrived in Edinburgh it was close to midnight. The almost four-hour drive took it out of Nina, and she wondered if she would even be able to assess Purdue's secret cargo in the state of fatigue she was in. It had been a trying day ever since she fell out of bed. She’d had a grotesque nightmare about Paddy's daughter and the imbecile who’d taken her. Sam was not answering his e-mails, phone calls, or texts and she was not about to accost him at home if he’d made it this clear that he didn’t want to be in contact.

  That very unsettling fact had her driving to Wrichtishousis the following morning, only to find out that Purdue was out of the country on an excursion in East Africa, indefinitely. It was by sheer luck that she happened upon his chatty housekeeper, Lillian, who spilled the proverbial beans about his due arrival when she’d overheard Purdue tell his butler he would be landing.

  Naturally Nina knew that Lily deserved the third degree she would no-doubt receive from Charles the butler for her transgression. But Charles knew Nina, and he knew she was one of a handful of people David Purdue trusted with his life, so he would probably keep the reprimand mild. The master of the mansion, however, could not care less about Lily's information leak, as long as it was to those in his inner sanctum.

  The red brake lights of his vehicle bled louder in front of her tired eyes as he brought the car to a halt ahead of hers under the protective cover of the garage that was located under the kitchen and pantry floor of Wrichtishousis. Similar to the hangar arrangement at Milltown, Purdue had constructed a second carport with six bays under his house, featuring a trapdoor-like door fashioned in solid steel and copper. When activated by remote control, Purdue's garage door harbored a live current of electricity through its minerals to prevent any tampering—unless such tampering was done by something with no biological integrity.