“They put you down here? If you are wisdom, you could surely devise a way to escape,” Agatha challenged the librarian again. Her curiosity was steering her attitude in a dangerous direction.
“Escape from where? I am not restricted to geographical location like you are,” it argued.
“That must be really neat,” Agatha smiled with a nod of approval.
“Oh, it is,” the librarian replied.
“Excuse me,” Purdue interrupted, “what do you mean we came here the hard way?”
“You utilized the physical option, when you could have employed what the Nazis did when they hid the library from the world for their own gain. They used something very similar to unified field theory—physics. Remember the experiment on the USS Eldridge?” the voice asked, sounding a bit like an old woman through its electrical vocal cords. “Only there, the aim was invisibility, while these officers and scientists used a wormhole.”
“Bending space,” Purdue marveled to himself.
“Correct. I suppose you do not possess the information missing from this library, then,” speculated the librarian.
“Missing information?” Purdue asked.
“In 1939 the records contained herein were ransacked by three SS officers and one Allied turncoat, said to be part of some clandestine operation to use the properties of physics and science to commit global genocide and return the Earth to its former masters,” the voice rambled, while Purdue reached into his diving suit for a pod-like device he had invented for situations just like this one. It had but one switch, fitted on a pod the size of a tennis ball, and its deflective materials made it impossible to detect by any tracking device or electrical interference.
“That sounds familiar,” Agatha remarked.
“It is happening again, I assume,” the librarian said, and Agatha affirmed with a nod.
“How did they get away with the information? Why did you not kill them?” Purdue asked.
“They wrote it down in boxes of paper sheets bound together. It was undetectable by the advanced electromagnetic currents of the library, but once they were discovered they used their miniscule acquaintance of the Einstein-Rosen bridge theory to teleport elsewhere,” the librarian revealed.
“Books. Common books foiled your defenses?” Agatha asked with a measure of self-righteous boast for her beloved books versus her brother’s technology.
“Yes, but there was a price, of course. All three German soldiers—Mannheim, Schaub, and Kretz—disappeared without a trace, obviously failing to predict the outcome of their space-time wormhole. They took their books with them to wherever they ended up. But they used the Allied officer to obtain passage through the portal. A sacrifice, if you will,” it continued its sermon to satisfy their curiosity.
“Did he die? The Allied soldier?” Agatha asked.
There was a long silence.
“His flesh did, I suppose. But the consciousness is energy and cannot be destroyed,” the librarian explained, and with more distinct emphasis on its words, it added slowly, “Only when its energy is displaced or its properties altered, could it be undone from its current state.”
Purdue took note of its deliberate message. And with a flick of the switch, the eccentric inventor pushed his sister out of the way and placed the pod on the floor. The electromagnetic pulse rendered the librarian and all electrical currents powerless and the Library of Forbidden Books was unguarded for Purdue’s scavenging.
Less than twenty kilometers away, on the haunted island of Poveglia, as the locals called it, ARK was completed. And by exclusive radio frequency modules, all the members of the Order of the Black Sun were notified. The activation of Final Solution 2 was imminent and they all had approximately three days to make their way to ARK before the Longinus would be released on the planet’s population. Any human lacking the Aryan chromosome or its genetic markers inhaling XT8 would instantly be depleted of the iron in their hemoglobin and would suffocate within a matter of seconds. Dr. Alfred Meiner was just waiting for Renatus to bring him the final part of the formula before splicing together the deadly strain.
Arriving on Aeroporto Marco Polo Di Venezia, Nina and her companions sought the best way to get to Venice. It had been three days since they escaped the wretched submarine and its monstrous attacker. Sam had arranged the flight and travel details with a contact he refused to disclose, to Nina’s annoyance. Naturally she assumed it was a woman he had sheltered as informant or fuck-buddy, but Sam paid no mind. He knew she would simmer down once they were engaged in a feat to stop the Library of Forbidden books from being discovered by the Black Sun’s consorts.
“We have to get to Hotel Rivamare so that we can work out how to find the library,” Sam said. “I booked us there already.”
“Great! Let’s go,” Nina sighed. She could not believe that she was once more involved in a Black Sun plot, but she figured she should get it over with, so she could return to her freakish house in Oban and seal up the well. There was no way she was going to give up the house she just sank every penny into just because it harbored some portal to other worlds. It was her house and no damned creature was going to intimidate Dr. Nina Gould.
When the four of them arrived at the hotel they had a good lunch, discussing their next move. Philips ate like he had never seen food before, and Sam challenged him every step of the way.
“So, how are we going to find the library before the order tries to finish the code?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know. But what worries me is that the order doesn’t need a lot of information to complete it. What we have might just be a guideline, you know?” Nina speculated. She had just washed down an extra helping of good old-fashioned fried chips with a large Coke and brandy. Her stomach was aching, but it beat being as ravenous as she had been in Aberdeen just before they took Sam to the hospital to bring him back from the brink of death. She could not remember ever being that hungry and she joined the others in a feast of steak and kidney pie with mash offered by the nursing sister who put them up for two nights in Kirkhill.
“No worries,” Richard told them through a mouthful of calamari, “I have enough here to get us right into the library without moving a finger.”
They all looked at the skinny man who ate on eagerly, but for some reason they knew he was onto something. There was no way anything could surprise them anymore.
39
Jaap Roodt received his transmission on his car radio, on his preset frequency. He was on his way to his cabin in Schijf, where his wife would be brought soon. It was going to culminate in a rapid housecleaning for Jaap Roodt. Now that he was rid of Don Korsten and soon to be rid of Katrina Roodt, he had little time to flee the Netherlands in his private plane, the one he kept safely where the cabin was situated. He was not dumb enough to use one of his jets at the airstrip, now that MI6 was onto him.
He still could not believe that all his doings had been carefully recorded and leaked by a man he had trusted his life with. But, on second thought, he had to admit that it was not that unusual, considering his own endeavors and the nefarious ways he had conducted business before. Even his secretary did not know how many other women he was involved with since he had married Katrina, and she had no idea how much money he had skimmed from the Black Sun and other reserves he was entrusted with. In all fairness, he would have to admit that what Donovan did was something he, Jaap Roodt, would have done in a blink if it benefitted him. Still, the betrayal was a slap in his face.
And speaking of slap in the face, he could not wait to deal his cheating bitch wife some of that cake. It would almost have been better to keep her alive just to watch him leave for the safety of ARK, while she was locked out from his life, his favor, and his privilege. But alas, she was too much of a risk, and she had thrown his trust in the fire by fucking other men. That was the clincher that convinced him to do away with her once and for all.
“And looky here!” he exclaimed as he arrived in the small clearing that led to their cabin. Immediate
ly his quarrels and worry about the Secret Service were forgotten under the cloak of the sweet murder he was about to witness. Katrina had already lost her luster in his eyes and Jaap would lose no sleep over her demise.
She stood next to Mark, the man Jaap employed to bring her to the cabin. Jaap parked his car behind hers to make sure she had no escape, should she somehow manage to get away from Markus Hoffman, his right-hand man when it came to disposing of garbage. Mark was a forty-year-old athletic man with unfortunate looks, but his cold and reclusive personality made him an asset to criminal bosses. At the same time, Mark sent women like Katrina into a frenzy with such an air of misread enigma.
“Hello, love!” she cried with a big smile for her husband. It was evident that she was drunk again, and she leaned affectionately against her husband’s personal hit man.
“Hello, my darling,” Jaap jested as he unlocked the cabin. “How was your trip?”
“It was fine, thanks,” she slurred. “Markus is a wonderful . . . uhhh . . . conversationalist.”
Markus’ face did not twitch from her insinuation, which told Jaap that he had chosen the right man for the job. Unlike his other men, Mark was not as pussy-whipped and easily seduced by an obviously deprived skank like Katrina.
They entered the cozy house. “Mark, start a fire, please,” Jaap ordered. He proceeded to his spare wardrobe in the main bedroom upstairs where he kept replicas of all his outfits, just in case his home was ever compromised. Mark was stacking wood for the fire when Katrina stumbled into the living room, dropping onto the couch with her fresh glass of rum.
“Mark, when are you going to run away with me?” she giggled. Her long, slender legs folded easily under her, stretching her skirt so that Mark could see she was not wearing any panties. Underwear was an aversion she had always harbored. Even her buttoned shirt strained over perky breasts and hard nipples that protruded without the restraint of a bra.
“Mark, did you know that he wants to break my jaw again?” she said suddenly, playing with her glass between her two hands in a whimsical way that evoked a tiny shard of sympathy from the killer.
“I don’t think so, Mrs. Roodt,” he replied, paying fast attention to the fire he was stoking. At once the glass flew past his head and smashed violently against the edge of the stone fireplace. The flying slivers scattered all over, some lodging in Mark’s face, just missing his eyes. It infuriated him, but he was not allowed to hurt her . . . not until Jaap Roodt ordered him to. He turned to gift her with the deadliest look she had ever seen directed at her, and she sank back onto the couch with nail file in hand to buff her nails. For a brief moment she was quiet.
“I know what you are doing here!” she shouted like a teenage girl throwing a tantrum. “You are only here because he is going to kill me. I’m not as fucking stupid as I look, you know, Markus!”
“I have had no order to harm you, Mrs. Roodt. You are upset for nothing,” he assured her, calmly plucking the shards from his flesh as he spoke.
“You have to help me, Markus, please?” she suddenly begged, her voice soft and subdued, but still it maintained that aura of insanity she was known for. She approached him silently on bare feet. Before he could keep her at bay she walked over the shattered glass around him. Markus swallowed his words of warning about the glass as he watched her step into the sharp edges without even flinching at the pain. It amazed him how whatever drugs she was on could make her so uncaring for her own welfare. “Markus, please?”
“Nothing is wrong, Mrs. Roodt,” he insisted. They could hear Jaap in the bedroom, packing his clothing and locking the safe after removing his money.
“You know that is a lie,” she whispered. Streaks of smudged mascara tears rolled over her cheeks, “Are you going to save me or not? Are you going to help me or leave me to my own devices with this psychopath?”
Markus looked down the hallway and saw his employer’s shadow against the wall of the bedroom, still occupied. His deep-set gray eyes looked at her damaged face and her red eyes. Unable to word his response, he held her back with his hands on her shoulders and said quietly, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Roodt. But I cannot help you.”
Sniffling despondently she lifted her small, skinny frame off her knees in front of Markus and without another word she simply sank the nail file into his right eye socket, while slitting his throat with the broken rum bottle she crushed in the kitchen before entering the room.
“Then you are of absolutely no use to me.”
Unable to make a sound, the large bodyguard choked on his own blood while she skewered his brain before withdrawing and dropping him on the spot. Jaap came down the corridor with his travel case and coat, ready to leave in his small aircraft as soon as he made sure Katrina was dead.
“Why is it so quiet in here?” he pretended to joke, but in all sincerity he was concerned. Such silences only meant one thing where attractive men and women were left unsupervised. Hoping that he would not have to kill Markus for fucking his slutty wife, Jaap turned the corner to find his trusty assassin in a bloody heap on the carpet, staring at him through a bloody gouge in his empty eye socket.
“Jeeesusss!” Jaap shouted. His face was twisted in rage and disbelief as he swung around to look for the underhanded little lush. But a clanking sound outside behind the cabin drew his attention, right where his Cessna was locked in the makeshift hangar.
“You bitch! I have disengaged it. You can’t fly away now!” he started laughing at her idiotic sense of thinking. Now he was convinced that killing her was the best decision. This was going to be nothing short of a thrill. It was time to teach the alcoholic whore a lesson once and for all. He kicked over one of her favorite potted plants, and the pottery shattered to spill out all the soil and roots.
“Oh, I’m sorry! I did not see your precious plant there!” he laughed, trying to draw her out. She was fiercely defensive of her greenery, and he knew it pained her every time he ripped the leaves off a tree. As he advanced to the shed, he snapped her palms in half and in his stride his mockery grew louder, “Come on, sweetie! Pick up this messy heap of branches I just had to break to get through!” he could almost hear her fuming. Jaap Roodt had not had this much fun with her since their honeymoon. There was a liberating power in hunting humans, especially weaker ones.
His knees screamed in agony as a loud crack emanated from the impact of the shovel on his legs, inverting the joints out the back of the gossamer skin. Jaap fell to the ground, stunned by the excruciating pain that shot up past his hips into his back. There she stood in front of him, his wife, Katrina.
“Jeeesusss Christ!” he whined, crying like a child from the unbearable pain that whipped the breath from his diaphragm.
“Close,” she smiled, shovel in hand. “But here, my son, there is no salvation.”
Effortlessly the stone-cold sober waif with the beautiful face kicked him along the slight slant under the oak trees, rolling him downhill to the eight-foot ditch she had dug for him a few days before while she was gardening there. Every time his body rotated over on his shattered leg bones he screamed like one of the girls he used to brutalize in the back streets of Amsterdam. Finally he felt the ground give way under him as his body dropped into the cavernous muddy hole.
“You can’t kill me, you cu . . . ”
The first heap of wet compost fell on his face.
“Oh, but I can. The Brigade Apostate sends its regards, darling,” she smiled, and spat down on his face. “We know how your vaccine works, and so,” she sighed happily, “we also know that you fuckers have to be drowned or smothered to end your lives. And I must say, I like it. It is a nice and slow, terrifying demise for an abusive eunuch like you. You overstayed your years on this planet decades ago. Time for a dirt nap.”
Jaap Roodt, self-proclaimed next Renatus, could not protest as shovel after shovel of heavy dirt and worms fell on his face, allowing the insects and beetles to go to work on his nostrils and ears. In the black blindness of his covered face he shrieked in
vain, knowing that it was only a matter of time before they would find the soft tissue of his eyeballs.
40
On the rim of the hotel room’s bathtub filled halfway with cold water sat Nina, Gretchen, Sam, and Richard hand in hand in a circle, ready to test the Einstein-Rosen bridge theory after hours of preparation. It was the only way, according to the intact parts of the books he had studied, to reach the Library of Forbidden Books.
“Ready?” Richard asked the others, and they nodded reluctantly, even though they were not informed of the danger of such a journey. They could very well emerge on the other side and end up inside rock, under tree roots, or in the deepest crevices under the San Andreas Fault, but he deliberately neglected those details, lest they refuse to join him . . . and he needed them to obtain the missing information Meiner needed before Dave Purdue was to destroy it.
Sam’s cell phone sounded loudly, startling Nina next to him.
“Really?” she snapped with a frown.
“One moment, please,” Sam shrugged. “I’ll be quick.” He turned his back on the others as he answered the call, “Cleave.”
“This is Unit 13. Jaap Roodt—exterminated.”
“Thank you.”
He ended the call and shoved it back in his jeans pocket, suffering that well-known scowl from Nina. Sam shrugged, “Sorry. Okay, I’m ready.”
“Positive?” she asked without looking at him, fixing her rucksack before taking his hand again.
Richard murmured the words and in his bleeding hand, a sulfur stick was lit. With a small electrical wire attached to the top drain of the old porcelain bath they waited for the jolt to course through them, as the running tap pushed the rising water upward.
Order of the Black Sun Box Set 3 Page 45