“Sleep well, lad,” she whispered. Planting a kiss on Sam’s cheek, she pulled up the covers and tucked the ear of his fleece blanket under his shoulder. Faint flashes of lighting illuminated the half-drawn curtains as Nina switched off Sam’s bedside lamp.
Leaving him in satisfied unrest, she headed for the living room where his pet cat lazed on the mantel.
“Hey Bruich,” she whispered, feeling quite drained herself. “Want to keep me warm tonight?” The feline did little else than peek through the slits of his eyelids to examine her intent before snoozing on peacefully in the rumble of thunder over Edinburgh. “Nope,” she shrugged. “Could have taken up your master’s offer if I knew you were going to snub me. You bloody males are all the same.”
Nina plopped down on the couch and switched on the television, not so much for entertainment as for company. Slivers of the night’s incidents passed through her memory, but she was too tired to review too much of it. All she knew was that she was unsettled by the sound that escaped the virgin when he beat his fists against her car window before Sam took off. It was like a retarded yawn, played in slow motion; an awful, haunting sound she could not forget.
Something caught her eye on the screen. It was one of the parks from her hometown, Oban, in the northwest of Scotland. Outside, the rain came down to wash away Sam Cleave’s birthday and announce the new day.
Two past midnight.
“Oh, we made the news again,” she said, and turned up the volume over the rain. “Not too gripping, though.” The news report was nothing serious, other than the new elected mayor of Oban on his way to a national assemblage of high priority and great confidence. “Confidence, my ass” Nina scoffed, lighting a Marlboro. “Just a nice name for clandestine cover up emergency protocol, hey, you bastards?” Along with her cynicism, Nina tried to figure how a mere mayor would be deemed important enough to be invited to such a high profile meeting. It was odd, but Nina’s sandy eyes could bear the blue TV light no more and she fell asleep to the sound of the rain and the incoherent, fading chatter of the reporter on Channel 8.
5
The Other Nurse
In the morning light that filtered through the window of Purdue’s window, his wounds looked a lot less grotesque than they did the previous afternoon when Nurse Madison cleaned them. He hid his initial shock at the pasty blue slits, but he could hardly argue that the work of the doctors at the Salisbury Clinic was top notch. Considering the devastating damage done to his lower body, down in the bowels of the Lost City, the corrective surgery was a beaming success.
“Looks better than I thought,” he mentioned to the nurse as she removed the dressing. “Then again, maybe I just heal well?”
The nurse, a young lady whose bedside manner was a tad less personal, gave him an uncertain smile. Purdue realized that she did not share Nurse Madison’s sense of humor, but she was friendly, at least. She seemed quite uncomfortable around him, but he could not fathom why. Being who he was, the extrovert billionaire simply asked.
“Are you allergic?” he jested.
“No, Mr. Purdue?” she answered carefully. “To what?”
“To me,” he smiled.
For a brief moment, she had the old ‘trapped deer’ look on her face, but his grin soon relieved her of the confusion. At once, she smiled at him. “Um, no, I am not. They tested me and found that I am immune to you, actually.”
“Ha!” he cheered, trying to ignore that familiar burn of the stitches’ strain on his skin. “You seem reluctant to speak much, so I gathered there had to be some medical reason.”
The nurse took a deep, drawn out breath before she answered him. “It is a personal thing, Mr. Purdue. Please, try not to take my rigid professionalism to heart. It is just my way. Patients are all dear to me, but I try not to get personally attached to them.”
“Bad experience?” he asked.
“Hospice,” she replied. “Seeing patients come to their end after getting close to them was just too much for me.”
“Holy shit, I hope you are not implying that I am about to expire,” he mumbled with wide eyes.
“No, of course that is not what I meant,” she quickly negated her statement. “It came out wrong, I’m sure. Some of us are just not very sociable people. I became a nurse to help people, not to join the family, if that is not too snide of me to say.”
Purdue understood. “I get it. People think because I am wealthy, a scientific celebrity and such, that I enjoy joining organizations and have meetings with important people.” He shook his head. “All the while I just want to work on my inventions and find the silent harbingers from history that helps clarify some recurring phenomena in our eras, you see? Just because we are out there, achieving great victories in the things of the world that actually matter, people automatically think we are doing it for the glory and the fame.”
She nodded, wincing as she peeled off the last bandage that forced Purdue to catch his breath. “Too true, sir.”
“Please call me David,” he groaned as the cold liquid licked at the stitched incision on his right quadriceps. His hand instinctively grabbed at hers, but he stopped its motion in mid-air. “Christ, that feels horrible. Frigid water on dead flesh, you know?”
“I know, I remember when I had my rotator cuff operation,” she sympathized. “Not to worry, we are almost done.”
A quick knock at the door announced the visit of Dr. Patel. He looked weary, but in high spirits. “Good morning, merry people. How are we all today?”
The nurse just smiled, applying her attention to her work. Purdue had to wait for his breath to return before he could attempt an answer, but the doctor continued to peruse the chart without hesitation. His patient studied his face as he read through the latest results, reading a blank opinion.
“What is it, Doctor?” Purdue frowned. “I think my wounds are looking better already, right?”
“Don’t over-analyze everything, David,” Dr. Patel chuckled. “You are fine and everything looks good. Just had a long all-nighter with an emergency surgery that pretty much took everything out of me.”
“Did the patient pull through?” Purdue joked, hoping he was not too insensitive.
Dr. Patel gave him a mocking look of amusement. “No, in fact, she died of an acute need to have bigger tits than her husband’s mistress.” Before Purdue could work it out, the doctor sighed. “Silicone seeped into the tissue because some of my patients,” he stared Purdue down in warning, “do not adhere to the after-treatment and end up worse for wear.”
“Subtle,” Purdue said. “But I have done nothing to jeopardize your work.”
“Good man,” Dr. Patel said. “Now, we will be starting the laser treatment today, just to loosen up most of the hard tissue around the incisions and release the tension of the nerves.”
The nurse left the room for a moment to allow the doctor to speak to Purdue.
“We are using the IR425,” Dr. Patel bragged, and rightly so. Purdue was the inventor of the rudimentary technique and produced the first line of instruments for the therapy. Now it was time for the creator to benefit from his own work and Purdue was elated to get a first hand look at its efficiency. Dr. Patel smiled proudly. “The latest prototype has exceeded our expectations, David. Perhaps you should use that brain of yours to rocket Britain ahead in the medical machine industry.
Purdue laughed. “If I but had the time, my dear friend, I would gracefully accept the challenge. Unfortunately there are too many things to uncover out there.”
Dr. Patel suddenly looked more serious and concerned. “Like Nazi-engineered poisonous boas?”
He meant to make an impact with that statement, and by the looks of Purdue’s reaction, he succeeded. His hardheaded patient lost a bit of color at the memory of the monstrous snake that had him halfway swallowed before Sam Cleave rescued him. Dr. Patel paused to allow Purdue the horrid recollection, in order to make sure that he stayed aware of how lucky he was to draw breath.
“Do not take
anything for granted, that is all I mean to say,” the doctor advised softly. “Look, I understand your free spirit and that innate urge to explore, David. Just try to keep things in perspective. I have worked with you and for you for some time now, and I have to say that your reckless pursuit of adventure…or knowledge…is admirable. All I ask is that you keep track of your mortality. Genius such as yours is rare enough in this world. People like you are the pioneers, the forerunners of progress. Please…do not die.”
Purdue had to smile at that. “Weapons are as important as the instruments that heal their damage, Haroon. It may not appear so to someone in the medical world, but we cannot go unarmed against the enemy.”
“Well, with no weapons in the world, we would never have fatalities to begin with, and no enemies trying to kill us,” Dr. Patel argued somewhat indifferently.
“This debate will reach a stalemate within minutes and you know it,” Purdue promised. “Without destruction and injury you would not have a job, old cock.”
“Doctors assume a versatile array of roles; not just healing of wounds and digging out bullets, David. There will always be childbirth, heart attacks, appendicitis and so on that will keep us employed, even without wars and secret arsenals in the world,” the doctor retorted, but Purdue sealed his argument with a simple comeback. “And there will always be threats to the innocent, even without wars and secret arsenals, too. It is better to have martial prowess during a time of peace than to be confronted by subjugation and extinction for its nobility, Haroon.”
The doctor exhaled and rested his hands in his sides. “I see, yes. Stalemate reached.”
Purdue did not want to continue on this somber note anyway, so he changed the subject to something he had been wanting to ask the plastic surgeon. “Say, Haroon, what is this nurse’s business, then?”
“How do you mean?” Dr. Patel asked while checking Purdue’s scars carefully.
“She is very uncomfortable around me, but I don’t believe that she is just introverted,” Purdue explained curiously. “There is more to her interaction than that.”
“I know,” Dr. Patel muttered, lifting Purdue’s leg to examine the opposite gash that reached over his knee onto the inside of his calf. “Jesus, this one is the worst cuts of all. I grafted this for hours, you know.”
“Very well. The work is amazing. Now, what do you mean you know? Did she say something?” he asked the doctor. “Who is she?”
Dr. Patel looked a bit irritated by the constant interruption. However, he decided to tell Purdue what he wanted to know if only to stop the explorer from acting like a lovelorn schoolboy in need of solace for being jilted.
“Lilith Hurst. She is taken with you, David, but not in the way you think. That is all. But please, by all things holy, do not pursue a woman less than half your age, even if it is fashionable,” he advised. “It is not really as cool as it looks. I find it rather sad.”
“I never said I would pursue her, old boy,” Purdue gasped. “Her manner was just peculiar to me.”
“She used to be quite the scientist, apparently, but she got involved with her colleague and they ended up getting married. From what Nurse Madison told me, the couple was always jokingly compared to Madam Curie and her husband,” Dr. Patel elucidated.
“So what does that have to do with me?” Purdue inquired.
“Her husband contracted Multiple Sclerosis three years into their marriage and rapidly deteriorated, leaving her unable to continue her studies. She had to abandon her program and her research in order to spend more time with him until he died in 2015,” Dr. Patel recounted. “And you were always her husband’s principal inspiration, in both science and technology. Let’s just say the man was a huge follower of your work and always wanted to meet you.”
“Why didn’t they contact me to meet him, then? I would have been glad to get acquainted with him, even just to cheer the man up a little,” Purdue lamented.
Patel’s dark eyes pierced Purdue as he replied, “We tried to contact you, but you were chasing after some Greek relic at the time. Phillip Hurst died shortly before you returned to the modern world.”
“Oh my God, I am so sorry to learn that,” Purdue said. “No wonder she is a bit frigid towards me.”
The doctor could see his patient’s genuine pity, and some inkling of ensuing guilt about the stranger he could have known; whose demeanor he could have uplifted. In turn, Dr. Patel felt sorry for Purdue and elected to remedy his concern with words of solace. “It does not matter, David. Phillip knew that you were a busy man. Besides, he did not even know that his wife had been trying to get in touch with you. No matter, it is all water under the bridge. He could not be disappointed about that which he did not know.
It helped. Purdue nodded, “I suppose you are right, old boy. Still, I should be more accessible. After the trip to New Zealand, I fear I am going to be slightly off-kilter, both psychologically and physically.”
“Wow,” Dr. Patel said, “I am delighted to hear you say that. Between your career whiles and your tenacity, I dreaded proposing a time out from both. Now you have done it for me. Please, David, take some time. You may not think so, but under that tough exterior of yours, you still possess a very human spirit. Human spirits are prone to crack, fold or even break, given the correct impression of the ghastly. Your psyche needs as much of a recess as your flesh.”
“I know,” Purdue conceded. Little did his doctor realize that Purdue’s tenacity had already aided his adept concealment of that which haunted him. Behind the billionaire’s smile there hid a terrible fragility, one that came at all hours, whenever he slipped into slumber.
6
Apostate
Physics Academia Meeting, Bruges, Belgium
At 10.30pm, the congregation of scientists adjourned.
“Good night, Kasper,” cried a female rector from Rotterdam, visiting on behalf of the Dutch University Allegiance. She waved at the scatterbrained man she addressed before getting into a taxi. Demurely he waved back, grateful that she did not approach him about his thesis – the Einstein Report – which he submitted the month before. He was not a man who enjoyed attention unless it was from those who could educate him on his field of study. And those, admittedly, were few and far between.
For some time, Dr. Kasper Jacobs had been at the head of the Belgian Association of Physics Research, a secret affiliate to the Order of the Black Sun in Bruges. The academic department, under the office of the Ministry of Scientific Policy, were closely working with the clandestine organization that infiltrated most powerful financial and medical institutions across Europe and Asia. Their research and experiments were funded by many of the world’s foremost facilities, while senior board members enjoyed complete discretion and a wealth of benefits beyond that of the mercenary sort.
Protection was paramount, as was trust, between the main players of the Order and politicians and financiers of Europe. There were a few government organizations and private institutions wealthy enough to have engaged with the devious, but rejected the offer of membership. Thus, these organizations were fair game on the hunting grounds for worldwide monopoly in the fields of scientific development and monetary annexation.
This was how the Order of the Black Sun perpetuated their relentless pursuit of world dominance. By garnering the aid and devotion of those greedy enough to relinquish power and integrity in the name of mercenary sustenance, they assured their positions in seats of authority. Corruption was rife to such an extent, that not even the straight shooters realized that they served crooked deals anymore.
On the other hand, some crooked arrows were aching to shoot straight. Kasper pressed the button on his remote locking device and listened for the beep. His vehicle’s small lights flashed momentarily, ushering him toward freedom. After fraternizing with the brilliant criminals and unsuspecting Wunderkinder of the Science world, the physicist was desperate to get home and attend to the bigger issue of the evening.
“Your delivery, as always,
was splendid, Kasper,” he heard from two cars down in the parking lot. Within obvious earshot, it would have been very odd to ignore the boisterous voice in pretense. Kasper sighed. He would have to react, so he turned in full charade of cordiality and smiled. He was mortified to see that it was Clifton Tuft, an insanely wealthy magnate from Chicago high society.
“Thank you, Cliff,” Kasper replied courteously. He never thought he would have to deal with Tuft again, after the bitterly embarrassing rescindment of Kasper’s employment under Tuft’s Unified Field-project. So it was a bit gritty to see the arrogant entrepreneur again, after he categorically called Tuft a baboon with a golden ring before storming out of the Tuft Chemistry facility in Washington DC two years before.
Kasper was a bashful man, but he was by no means unaware of his worth. Exploiters like the magnate sickened him, using their riches to buy prodigies desperate for recognition under a banner of promise, only to take the credit for their genius. As far as Dr. Jacobs was concerned, people like Tuft had no business in science or technology, other than to make use of what real scientists produced. According to Kasper, Clifton Tuft was a monkey with money, with no talent of his own.
Tuft shook his hand and grinned like a twisted priest. “Good to see that you are still progressing every year. I read some of your latest hypotheses about interdimensional portals and the probable equations that could prove the theory once and for all.”
“Oh, you did?” Kasper asked, opening his car door to signify his haste. “It was scooped up by Zelda Bessler, you know, so if you want a piece of it, you would have to persuade her to share.” Kasper’s voice was justifiably bitter. Zelda Bessler was the head physicist at the Bruges chapter of the Order, and although she was almost as smart as Jacobs, she rarely managed to do her own research. Her game was to scavenge off other academics and intimidate them into believing that the work was hers, simply because she had more influence amongst the big cocks.
Order of the Black Sun Box Set 8 Page 4