Keepers of the Lost City Read online

  Purdue always retreated to his study during those rare occasions when he felt a bit defeated by the world he ran so easily. He knew the cognac was a bad idea, but with the day he had, he needed it. Lawsuits rarely intimidated him. If the mood took him, David Purdue could buy entire countries, so he was hardly ever concerned about being sued. But what bothered him about this case, apart from Miss Palumbo’s unfortunate resemblance, was the fact that a chemical meant to be used for the betterment of medicine was being abused in his name.

  Thunder rumbled gently over Edinburgh as Purdue unbuttoned his shirt. Already feeling lightheaded from the onset of his inebriation, he hastened to the shower in the en suite bathroom, to wash off the impending misery. His study darkened under the moving clouds as the night drew nearer. The hot water from the large, square aluminum showerhead soothed his skin in a cloud of steam. With eyes closed in reminiscence, he replayed the meeting at the attorney’s office several times, trying to find an explanation behind the problem.

  All he could think of was that someone was being paid once more to fuck him, but he had no idea where to start.

  ‘Let it go,’ his inner voice recommended. ‘There is nothing you can do about any of it until you get those samples back, so you may as well just relax.’

  It was good advice, he thought. Purdue hoped that Sam would know best how to delay or suspend completely, the supposed article aimed at burying his business reputation. He refused to be vilified, especially by nefarious institutions attacking innocent organizations to get to him. The Black Sun was behind it, he knew, and he knew that they would stop at nothing to force his investors and clients to turn their backs on him. They tried it by confiscating his holdings and property once, and they failed. He dried his hair, leaving the strands wet and wild before looking in the mirror.

  His pale blue eyes regarded his reflection. “And they will fail again.”

  Three days later, a special container truck arrived at Wrichtishousis.

  “What is this?” Lily, the housekeeper, asked Charles. They both stood in the upstairs lobby window, looking down at the garden. At the massive cast iron gates of Purdue’s property, the private security were checking the paperwork.

  “It is the collectors from Spain,” Charles replied dryly in his posh tone. “People from the Historical Foundation of Barcelona. They have come to pick up the collection of mummies from the boss, Lillian.”

  “Oh thank God,” she sighed, rolling her eyes in relief. “I have not been able to shut me eyes at night since those things came here.”

  He looked at her with a stone face. “Do not venture to imply that you are superstitious, Lillian.” She knew the stiff British butler well, and this was his professional swing at humor.

  “Not superstitious. Don’t be daft,” she scoffed, looking very unconvincing. “Sleeping on the same grounds as the dead is like sleeping in a bloody cemetery. Those damned things turned this grand mansion into nothing but a glorified mausoleum, Charles. Not to mention that these are the remains of godless Nazi’s!”

  He had no response, but he looked amused as he turned back to the window to see when they’d come up. “I shall go and tell Mr. Purdue that they are here.”

  The rigid butler went to call on his employer to announce the arrival of the authorities with the Spanish representatives. Purdue was already dressed for the reception of the foundation’s delegates, ready to deliver to them the cooked up footage Sam had edited from their ordeal in the Alboran Sea. Purdue had mentioned nothing about any additional finds, such as the letters, logbooks, and artifacts. These items were strictly for his own ends, to serve the investigation into their cause of death that he pursued solely for his own curiosity.

  “Thank you, Charles,” he told the butler. “I will meet them down in Storage 4.”

  Purdue had, in the last three days, emptied the storage chamber that doubled as a document analysis laboratory. All the items not listed, everything apart from the human remains he was allowed to study for a limited time, had been removed and kept in another chamber under the ground floor. Under the pale white fluorescent lights of Storage 4 Purdue waited for his guests.

  Charles led them down the sub-level staircase of cement, from where this section of the mansion was the polar opposite of the rest of the house. From lavish, large hallways and staircases, fierce high ceilings and priceless drapes, furniture and floors, the sub-level morphed into narrow mazes of arching concrete ceilings. The floors were of crude tiling to facilitate the transporting of heavy materials, if need be, and the on the left side, several doors to various laboratories and storage rooms lined the wall.

  “This is very impressive,” Purdue heard a man say, as their footsteps clapped on the hard, cold stairs. He heard them come down the main corridor toward the room where he waited. At last, two men in suits appeared at the doorway. Behind them, a group of five workmen, dressed in overalls, waited.

  “Señor Cruz, of the Spanish Embassy in Edinburgh,” Charles introduced, “and Dr. Martino, from the Historical Foundation of Barcelona, sir.” Charles gestured for them to enter, and then departed on Purdue’s silent order.

  “Wonderful to finally meet you, Mr. Purdue,” Señor Cruz smiled as he shook hands with Purdue. “I always see the headlines and hear of the adventures on your expeditions, but although we live in the same city, I have never had the pleasure.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Señor Cruz,” Purdue replied cordially. “And you, Dr. Martino.”

  The scholar from the historical foundation seemed kind, but reserved. “My English is not good, Señor Purdue. I am sorry for that,” he smiled sheepishly. “But I understand much, so you can talk.”

  “Gracias, Dr. Martino,” Purdue chuckled. He turned to the neatly piled and catalogued caskets. “Well, as promised, your inventory. We have taken the liberty of placing them in separate wooden boxes and we tried to disturb their original positions as little as possible during the examination.”

  Dr. Martino babbled to the men to start loading the boxes while Señor Cruz spoke to Purdue.

  “Did you find anything of interest during your analysis, Mr. Purdue?” Señor Cruz asked.

  Purdue vowed to keep all results secret, if any, therefore he thought it wise to assume that the investigation yielded nothing on a chemical level. Only the results Harris were working on would provide more details on that.

  “Unfortunately not,” Purdue lied, thinking of the invaluable items found on two of the mummies – the love letter to Heike and the logbook of an officer they could not identify. “But I suppose it is for the better. I am sure the German government will not want their fallen soldiers exploited.”

  The two Spanish men exchanged glances. Dr. Martino nodded as his colleague replied, “Of course, yes. We have to meet with the German ambassador in two days in Madrid to discuss the fate of the Nazi soldiers.”

  Something in the man’s voice held a hint of uncertainty, but Purdue reckoned that it was just the looming meeting with the German ambassador that made him nervous. By the time the workmen carried out the last caskets, Purdue could not help but feel relieved when he closed the door behind the delegation. Returning the remains would hopefully close the book on the death-defying chapter that he wished to leave behind once and for all. Of all the close calls he had suffered, being keelhauled was quite enough.

  10 The Fate of Miss Williams

  The book arrived by means of a timid young lady in her early 20’s. At the gates of Wrichtishousis, she implored the private security detail to allow her in.

  “I was told to only deliver this directly to Mr. Purdue,” she insisted, while the gale swept her hair up and the drizzle wet her face through the open car window.

  “Fine, Miss, but is he expecting you?” the guard asked.

  “No, he is expecting this book,” she answered. “But I have orders to give it to him personally.”

  “Miss, Mr. Purdue does not normally see anyone without prior notification, or an official appointmen
t,” the guard countered.

  “Call him. Can you call him and ask?” she persisted.

  “Listen, lady,” the stern guard said, “…if you have to hand deliver this book to him, you would have had his number yourself, wouldn’t you? That just proves that he does not know about you. He would have left his contact details with you.”

  The young woman was not one for confrontation, but her grandmother specifically impressed upon her that she was not to give the book to anyone other than the white-haired billionaire himself. Reticently, she called their bluff.

  “Alright,” she shrugged. “I will have my grandmother contact Mr. Purdue and tell him that his work is being delayed because I could not get through his gates to give him what he called for.”

  “You do that, Miss,” the guard suggested indifferently.

  “Looks like your cozy shifts up here on the hill are a thing of the past,” she shrugged, and put her car in reverse to leave. “Once he realizes that his security men make his decisions for him.”

  “Are you threatening me, lady?” he barked.

  “Good day to you,” she said as she rolled up her window, and pulled away.

  In her rear view mirror, she was disappointed to see that the guards did not run after her. Actually, they looked completely unconcerned about her threat, which knocked all her courage from her.

  ‘Go back,’ she thought to herself. ‘Just suck it up and beg.’

  “No, we don’t beg. We tell Grandmamma,” the orphaned teenager retorted aloud as the thunder crashed over Edinburgh. Her car snaked along the twists in the road going down the hill towards the city while she jousted with her wavering resolve. ‘But if we go back, both Mr. Purdue and Gran will be pissed at my ineptitude,’ her reserved inner self presented.

  By the T-junction, she turned left onto the main road back to the Old Town. Above, the clouds tore and dumped a heavy shower over the county. Gusts had now become wild gales, nudging at the vehicles that traversed the roadway. This was enough to tip the scales on the young woman’s decision.

  “Fuck this, I’m going home. Gran can call her friend herself and deal with this,” she decided, switching on the radio to enjoy some music in the miserable downpour that pelted her car. Not yet on the A7, and being late in the evening, the traffic towards the Old Tow was not too intense. The only annoyance she experienced was the blinding headlights from oncoming cars that was exacerbated by the wetness on her windshield. Light seemingly sent each droplet of water into a frenzy of illumination, starring outward and diminishing visibility to a dangerous extent.

  She thought of pulling into the local fuel stop until the storm let up, but her grandmother, Mrs. Williams, would be very upset if she returned home late. It was bad enough that she could not complete the otherwise simple task of delivering the book, so she pressed on and made sure that she lowered speed.

  Behind her, most of the cars turned off onto other roads at different intervals, apart from one. The asshole at the wheel obviously did not know that his high beams were making it difficult for her to see the road ahead. Either that, or he was just spiteful. A couple of times she found her car heading onto the shoulder of the road, her tires clipping loudly to alert her.

  “Geez! My heart!” she wailed as she sat forward, clutching the wheel to make sure she steered straight. But still the maniac behind her kept a steady distance, just enough to irritate her sight. The lights did not catch up to her; they just stayed at a fixed distance, turning when she did. Her heart started pounding at the possibilities she thought up.

  ‘What if they are trying to run me off the road?’

  ‘Why do they slow down when I reduce speed? Just go past me, for fuck’s sake!’

  ‘He is deliberately shining those high beams into my car, the bastard!’

  “Watch this, bitch,” she shouted in the dense interior, drowning her merry radio in her angry utterings. She hit the brakes hard, throwing her forward so hard that her seatbelt cut into her chest. The lights behind her drew rapidly nearer and she braced herself for the impact, but nothing happened. In the nick of time the car came to a halt, as she heard its long, loud hooter shrieking at her. The lights swerved out from behind her and the car screamed up beside her in the middle of the road where they stood stationary.

  “Oi! Are you out of your fucking mind?” a man screamed furiously from the open passenger window, as the car pulled in diagonally to cut her off. “I’m talking to you!” She did not know what to do, so she elected to sit absolutely still, hoping that the pissed off driver would just take off. With her eyes closed, she waited.

  A shattering clang pounded against her window and she heard the large figure outside her window threaten her. “What is your problem, you stupid bitch?”

  She could not pull away without clipping his car, and since it was her grandmother’s vehicle, she dared not get a scratch on it. The young woman began to cry hysterically, keeping her eyes closed, but the mad driver suddenly started jerking at her door.

  “Open this fucking door! Open it now or I’ll smash your windows in! I swear to God!” he bellowed in the din of the storm. “Okay, alright, you made your choice!” he said, and swung around to open the boot of his car.

  “Oh Jesus!” she squealed helplessly. “Oh God, no!” She grabbed at her purse, looking for her cell phone to call the police, but she was too slow. Tremors in her hands prevented her from grasping the phone in the side pocket of the purse, and before she could try again, the menacing shadow was right back at her window. It terrified her to think that this man was so angry that he did not might getting drenched in the rain. Her wet eyes glanced down to his hips and, to her horror, she noticed that he had retrieved a tire iron.

  Screaming like a piglet to the slaughter, the young Williams girl cowered with her arms over her head as he lifted the weapon to strike at her window. The blow she expected was delayed and she looked up to see where her attacker was. He towered, still, next to her door, but when the lightning lit up the clouds from behind him, she noticed another figure behind the maniac. It all happened in less than a second.

  The figure behind the maniacal attacker moved closer to him. Strobing light from the heavens practically turned her vicinity to daylight, and without warning, her attacker’s head exploded. She screamed at the sight of the gruesome vision as his head was cleaved from behind and he fell to his knees before keeling over onto the wet tar where his own car was still idling. From behind him, the other shadow leapt at her and smashed her window.

  It was a flashlight that served as weapon and the mysterious killer leaned in onto her to deal her the same fate. Screaming profited her nothing here in the mad weather of the Scottish capital, where she suffered a brutal beating at the hands of the vicious figure. Once she was bashed into unconsciousness, the stranger switched on the large, sturdy flashlight to look through her car.

  Upturning everything, the attacker pointed the sharp light of the torch at the foot space of the passenger seat to locate the item they came for. Under the pressing figure that frantically rummaged through the contents of the leather case under the seat, the bleeding Williams girl groaned. She was incoherent and the burning agony of her gaping brow immobilized her from any proper movement. The latter injury was perhaps a godsend, because her incapacitation simulated death, the end of which was the intention of her second attacker.

  In the hollow hell of her mind, the young woman heard the intruder fumble about madly as the rain hissed and the thunder clapped. Fortunately, her whimpers were doused by the noise, sparing her a follow-up beating and a certain demise. Between the roar of the skies and the pain, her mixed up thoughts came and went while her heavy body drifted through space. Occasionally it felt as if her body fell from a high cliff, only to correct itself again, sensations brought on by delirium and the teeter of life and death.

  Finally, the weight lifted from her, making her feel cold and sore. It was quiet in the car, save for the radio and the rain outside. The fearsome figure had gone, bu
t not before leaving her unable to speak. It felt like an eternity to her, even when she thought she was awake. Faintly, in the back of her mind she could still hear that horrid sound of the hooter, the port-end of the whole crime. Her heart wept at the shrill hooting, incessant and threatening, but she could not move. She could not even determine if she was still alive.

  Relentlessly, she kept hearing the hooting and a muffled shouting. The Williams girl thought she was reliving the nightmarish incident of road rage and murder, until hastening footfalls splashed toward the car.

  “Jesus Christ! This one is dead!” she heard clearly, loudly, right next to her door. “Jocky! Jocky, call the fuzz, mate! Call the fuzz! We have a right fuck-up here, mate!” The urgent appeals kept thundering through her aching head and she desperately tried to let them know that she was still alive. If she wasted any more time, she would succumb to her injuries, and she knew it. Groaning as she did before yielded no results. As the man outside kept talking to his friend, she tried to push air through her lungs to alert them, but summoned no more than a wheeze.

  Warm blood trickled from the girl’s forehead, and she could taste the fleeing fluid on her lips. Her time was short, but her breath was unwilling. Voices echoed in the distance, but she knew they were really in close proximity. Again she grunted, but it was too weak. Dismayed at her impending fate, she tried once more. Somewhere in her mind she ridiculed herself for the preposterous attempt, a sound she thought would never get their attention. Still, it was the only sound she could make right now, so she gathered her breath and hissed.

  Through the rush of the rain the sound crept, alien to the ear. Her eyes were closed, as if using them would diminish her ability to hiss, but she soon heard the men outside respond.

  “You hear that?” one asked. “What the fuck is that, mate?”

  From afar, the sound of police sirens peaked over the storm.

  Again she pushed hard, and the air screamed through her teeth in a long ‘s’ that was undeniable. Suddenly she heard the men shout to one another in excited frenzy.