Order of the Black Sun Box Set 8

by Preston William Child

  “I will keep it short, Sam,” George said. “I cannot explain now, how I know all this, but just trust me that I do.” Noting that the journalist was just staring at him without expression, he continued. “Do you still have the footage of the Dire Serpent, Sam? The footage that you recorded while you were all in the Lost City, do you have it on you?”

  Sam thought quickly. He elected to keep his answers blurred until he was certain of George Masters’ intent. “No, I left the footage with Dr. Gould, but she is abroad.”

  “Really?” George replied nonchalantly. “You should read the papers, Mr. Renowned Journalist. Yesterday she saved the life of a prominent member of her hometown, so either you are lying to me or she is capable of bilocation.”

  “Listen, just tell me what you have to tell me, for fuck’s sake. Your shitty approach had me writing off my car and I still have that shit to deal with when you are done playing games in the play park,” Sam barked.

  “Do you have the footage of the Dire Serpent on you?” George reiterated with his own brand of intimidation. Each word was like a hammer on anvil blow to Sam’s ears. He had no way out of the conversation, and no way out of the park without George.

  “The…Dire Serpent?” Sam persisted. He knew little about the things Purdue asked him to film in the gut of the mountain in New Zealand, and he preferred it that way. His curiosity was usually restrained to that which interested him, and physics and numbers was not his thing.

  “Jesus Christ!” George raged in his slow, slurry speech. “The Dire Serpent, a pictogram made up of a succession of variables and symbols, Cleave! Also known as an equation! Where is that footage?”

  Sam threw up his hands in surrender. People under umbrellas noticed the raised voices of the two men, peering out from their shelters, and hikers turned to see what the commotion was about. “Alright, God! Relax,” Sam whispered hard. “I do not have the footage on me, George. Not here and now. Why?”

  “David Purdue must never get his hands on those pictures, do you understand?” George warned in a raspy quiver. “Never! I don’t care what you have to tell him, Sam. Just delete it. Corrupt the files, whatever.”

  “That is all he cares about, chum,” Sam informed him. “I would go as far as saying that he is obsessed with it.”

  “I am aware of that, pal,” George hissed back at Sam. “That is precisely the goddamn problem. He is being used by a puppet master much, much bigger than him.”

  “They?” Sam asked sarcastically, referring to George’s paranoid theory.

  The man with the molten skin had had it with Sam Cleave’s juvenile display and he lunged out, grasping Sam by the collar and shaking him with terrifying power. For a moment, Sam felt like a small child being flung around by a St. Bernard, forcing him to remember that George’s physical strength was almost inhuman.

  “Now you listen and you listen well, mate,” he hissed in Sam’s face, his breath smelling like tobacco and mint. “If David Purdue gets hold of that equation, the Order of the Black Sun will triumph!”

  Sam tried in vain to pry the burned man’s hands apart, only pissing him off eve more. George shook him again, and then let him go so abruptly that he staggered backwards. As Sam struggled to find his footing, George stepped closer. “Do you even realize what you are causing? Purdue must not work on the Dire Serpent. He is the genius they have been waiting for to solve that fucking math problem since their previous golden boy designed it. Unfortunately, said golden boy grew a conscience and destroyed his paper, but not before a chambermaid copied it down while cleaning his room. Needless to tell you that she was an operative, working for the Gestapo.”

  “Who was their golden boy, then?” Sam asked.

  Astonished, George looked at Sam. “You don’t know? Ever heard of a bloke called Einstein, my friend? Einstein, the ‘Theory of Relativity’-guy, worked on something a little more destructive than the atom bomb, but with similar traits. Look, I am a scientist, but I am no genius. Nobody could complete that equation, thank God, and that is why the late Dr. Kenneth Wilhelm jotted it down inside the Lost City. Nobody was supposed to survive that fucking snake pit.”

  Sam recalled Dr. Wilhelm, who owned the farm in New Zealand where the Lost City was located. He was a Nazi scientist, unbeknownst to most, having gone by the name of Williams for many years.

  “Alright, alright. Suppose I bought all this,” Sam implored with his hands raised again. “What are the repercussions of this equation? I will need a really concrete excuse to deliver to Purdue, who, by the way, must be planning my demise about now. Your mad pursuit cost me a meeting with him. Christ, he must be livid.”

  George shrugged. “You shouldn’t have run.”

  Sam knew he was right. Had Sam simply confronted George at his front door and asked, it would have saved him a lot of trouble. Above all, he would still have had a car. Then again, grieving over shit that already transpired was of no benefit to Sam.

  “I am not clear on the fine details, Sam, but between me and Aidan Glaston, the general consensus is that this equation will facilitate a monumental shift in the current paradigm of physics,” George conceded. “From what Aidan managed to find out from his sources, this calculation will cause havoc on a global scale. It will enable an object to punch through a veil between dimensions, causing our own physics to clash with what is on the other side. The Nazi’s were experimenting with it, similar to the Unified Field Theory claims that could not be proven.”

  “And how would the Black Sun benefit from this, Masters?” Sam asked, putting to use his journalistic talent for sifting through bullshit. “They live in the same time and space as the rest of the world. It is ludicrous to think they would experiment with shit that would destroy them with everything else.”

  “Maybe so, but have you tapped in on even half the weird, twisted shit they actually enforced during the Second World War?” George retorted. “Most of what they tried to do had absolutely no use in general, yet they still carried out atrocious experiments just to cross that barrier, believing it would advance their knowledge of the working of other sciences – those sciences we cannot grasp yet. Who is to say that this is not another preposterous attempt at perpetuating their insanity and control?”

  “I get what you say, George, but I sincerely do not think even they are this insane. If anything, there has to be some tangible reason for them to wish to achieve this, but what could it be?” Sam argued. He wanted to believe George Masters, but his theories had too many holes. On the other hand, by the man’s desperation, his story was worth checking out, at least.

  “Listen, Sam, whether you believe me or not, just do me a favor, and look into it before you allow David Purdue to get his hands on this equation,” George begged.

  Sam nodded in agreement. “He is a good man. If these claims have any gravity, he would destroy it himself, trust me.”

  “I know he is a philanthropist. I know how he fucked the Black Sun six ways to Sunday when he realized what they were planning for the world, Sam,” the slurring scientist explained impatiently. “But what I cannot seem to get through to you, is that Purdue is unaware of his role in the destruction. He is blissfully oblivious to the fact that they are using his genius and his innate curiosity to steer him right into the abyss. It is not about whether he agrees or not. He is better off having no idea where the equation is, otherwise they will kill him…and you and the lady from Oban.”

  Finally, Sam caught the hint. He decided to stall a bit before giving the footage to Purdue, if only to give George Masters the benefit of the doubt. It would be difficult to get clarity on the suspicion without leaking vital information to random sources. Apart from Purdue, there were few people who could advise him on the danger held within this calculation, and even those who could…he would never know if they could be trusted.

  “Take me home, please,” Sam requested of his abductor. “I will look into it before I do anything, alright?”

  “I am trusting you, Sam,” George said. It s
ounded more like an ultimatum than an oath of confidence. “If you do not destroy that footage, you will regret it for the short stretch of what would be left of your life.”

  12

  Olga

  At the end of his wit, Kasper Jacobs ran his fingers through his sandy hair, leaving it standing erect on his head like an Eighties pop star. His eyes were bloodshot from reading all night, the opposite of what he had hoped for the night – to relax and sleep in. Instead, the news of the Dire Serpent’s discovery had him frantic. Desperately, he was hoping that Zelda Bessler or her lapdogs would still be oblivious to the news.

  Someone outside made an awful noise, a din he tried to ignore at first, but with his concerns for the sinister world looming and his lack of sleep, he could not bear much today. It sounded like a breaking plate and some subsequent crash out in front of his door, followed by the whine of his car alarm.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, what now?” he shouted aloud. He rushed at the front door, ready to take out his frustration on whomever disturbed him. Jarring the door aside, Kasper bellowed, “What in God’s name is going on here?” What he saw at the bottom of the stairs leading down to his driveway, disarmed him instantly. The most ravishing blond woman was crouched next to his car, looking mortified. On the paving in front of her was a mess of cake and globs of icing, previously belonging to a large wedding cake.

  When she looked up pleadingly, her pristine green eyes stunned Kasper. “Please, sir, please do not be angry! I can wipe all of it right off. Look, the smear on your car is just icing.”

  “No, no,” he protested, holding his hands out apologetically, “please don’t fret about my car. Here, let me help you.” Two yelps and the push of a remote button on his key set rendered the howling alarm mute. Kasper hastened to assist the sobbing beauty in picking up the ruined cake. “Don’t cry, please. Hey, I tell you what. As soon as we have cleaned this up, I will take you to the local home bakery and replace the cake. On me.”

  “Thanks, but you cannot do that,” she sniffed, gathering up handfuls of mushy batter and marzipan ornaments. “I made this cake myself, you see. Took me two days, and that was after I handmade all the decorations. You see, it was a wedding cake. There is nowhere we can just get a wedding cake at any shop.”

  Her bloodshot eyes, drowning in tears, broke Kasper’s heart. With reluctance, he placed his hand on her forearm and rubbed it softly to convey his sympathy. Completely taken with her, he felt the sting in his chest, that familiar sting of disappointment that hit when confronted with sore reality. Kasper ached inside. He did not want to hear the answer, but he was desperate to ask the question. “Is…I-is the cake f-for your…wedding?” he heard his lips betray him.

  ‘Please say no! Please be a bridesmaid or something. For the love of God, please do not be the bride!’ his heart seemed to scream. He had never been in love before, apart from technology and science, that was. The delicate blond woman looked up at him through her tears. A small choking sound came from her as a crooked smile forced its way onto her beautiful face.

  “Oh God, no,” she shook her head, sniffling along with her silly giggle. “Do I look that dumb to you?”

  ‘Thank you, Jesus!’ the elated physicist heard his inner voice rejoice. He suddenly gave her a wide smile, feeling utterly relieved that she was not only single, but that she had a sense of humor as well. “Ha! I cannot agree more! Bachelor over here!” he babbled awkwardly. Realizing how stupid he sounded, Kasper thought of something safer to say. “My name is Kasper, by the way,” he said, extending a messy hand. “Doctor Kasper Jacobs.” He made sure that she took note of his title.

  With enthusiasm, the pretty woman grasped his hand with her own sticky icing fingers and laughed, “You sounded like James Bond just then. My name is Olga Mitra, um…baker.”

  “Olga, the baker,” he chuckled. “I like that.”

  “Listen,” she said in seriousness, wiping her cheek with her sleeve, “I have to have this cake delivered to this wedding party in less than an hour. Do you have any ideas?”

  Kasper gave it some thought. Far was it from him to leave a damsel of this degree of splendor in peril. This was his one chance to make a lasting impression, and a good one, at that. At once, he snapped his fingers and an idea sprung into his mind, sending clumps of cake flying. “I might have an idea, Miss Mitra. Wait here.”

  With new found zest, the usually down Kasper leapt up the stairs to his landlord’s house and implored Karen to help. After all, she was always baking, always leaving sweetbreads and bagels in his loft. To his delight, the landlord’s mother agreed to help Kasper’s new lady friend to salvage her reputation. They had another wedding cake ready in record time after Karen made a few calls of her own.

  After a race for time to get the new wedding cake done, which, fortunately for Olga and Karen, was modest to begin with, they had a quick sherry to toast their success.

  “Not only have I found a lovely partner in crime in the kitchen,” the graceful Karen cheered as she raised her glass, “but I have made a new friend too! Here is to cooperation and new friends!”

  “I second that,” Kasper smiled slyly as he clinked glasses with the two chuffed ladies. He could not take his eyes off Olga. Now that she was relaxed and happy again, she sparkled like champagne.

  “Thank you a million times over, Karen,” Olga beamed. “What would I have done if you did not save me?”

  “Well, I believe it was your knight over there who made it all happen, dear,” the sixty-five year old redheaded Karen said, motioning toward Kasper with her glass.

  “That is true,” Olga agreed. She turned to Kasper and looked deep in his eyes. “Not only did he forgive me my clumsiness and mess on his car, but he saved my ass too…and they say chivalry is dead.”

  Kasper’s heart jumped. Behind his smile and cool exterior, he was flushing like a schoolboy in a girl’s locker room. “Someone has to save the princess from stepping in mud. May as well be me,” he winked, surprised by his own charm. Kasper was not unattractive by any means, but his passion for his career made of him a less than outgoing person. In fact, he could not believe his luck in finding Olga. Not only did he seem to win her attention, but she practically showed up on his doorstep. Personal delivery, courtesy of Fate, he reckoned.

  “Will you come with me to deliver the cake?” she asked Kasper. “Karen, I will be back in a whiz to come and help you clean up.”

  “Nonsense,” Karen shrieked playfully. “You two go on and get the cake delivered. Just bring me back a half-jack of brandy, you know, for my trouble,” she winked.

  Ecstatic, Olga kissed Karen on the cheek. Karen and Kasper exchanged victorious looks at the sudden arrival of the walking sun ray in their lives. As if Karen could hear her tenant’s thoughts, she asked, “Where did you come from, dear? Is your car parked nearby?”

  Kasper gawked at her. He wanted to remain ignorant of the matter that had crossed his mind as well, but now the outspoken Karen voiced it. Olga lolled her head and answered them without reservation. “Oh, yes, my car is parked in the street. I was trying to get the cake from my apartment to my car when the uneven driveway made me lose my footing.”

  “Your apartment?” Kasper asked. “Here?”

  “Yes, next door, through the hedge. I am your neighbor, silly,” she laughed. “Did you not hear the racket when I moved in on Wednesday? The movers made such a noise, I thought I was going to get a stern talking-to, but nobody showed up, luckily.”

  Kasper looked at Karen with an astonished, but satisfied smirk. “You hear that, Karen? She is our new neighbor.”

  “I hear that, Romeo,” Karen teased. “Now get going. I am running out of libation.”

  “Oh shit, yes,” Olga exclaimed.

  Carefully, he helped her lift the base of the cake, a sturdy coin shaped wooden panel covered in pressed foil for show. The cake was not too elaborate, so it was easy to balance between the two of them. Like Kasper, Olga was tall. With her high cheekbones, fair skin
and hair, her slender frame to boot, she was a typical Eastern European stereotype in beauty and stature. They carried the cake down to her Lexus and managed to get it in the backseat.

  “You drive,” she said, tossing him her keys. “I will sit in the back with the cake.”

  As they drove, Kasper had a thousand questions to ask the stunning woman, but he elected to play it cool. He took directions from her.

  “I must say, this just proves that I can drive any car without struggling,” he bragged as they arrived at the back of the reception hall.

  “Or my car is just user-friendly. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to drive it, you know,” she jested. In a moment of despair, Kasper recalled the Dire Serpent discovery and that he still had to make sure David Purdue did not study it. It must have shown on his face while he was helping Olga carry the cake into the kitchen of the hall.

  “Kasper?” she pressed. “Kasper, is something wrong?”

  “No, of course not,” he smiled. “Just thinking about work stuff.”

  He could hardly tell her that her arrival and her gorgeous looks wiped all priorities from his mind, but the truth was that it did. Only now did he remember the urgency with which he was trying to contact Purdue without letting on that he was doing so. After all, he was a member of the Order, and if they found out that he was in conspiring with David Purdue, they would surely end him.

  It was a nasty coincidence that the very field of physics Kasper was head of, would be the subject of the Dire Serpent. He feared what it could bring if applied correctly, but Dr. Wilhelm’s clever interment of the equation had Kasper’s mind at ease…until now.

  13

  Purdue’s Pawn

  Purdue was furious. The normally even-tempered genius had been behaving like a maniac since Sam missed his appointment. Since he was unable to locate Sam by e-mail, phone or satellite trace on his car, Purdue was caught between feeling betrayed and terrified. He had entrusted the investigative journalist with the most important information ever hidden by the Nazi’s, and here he found himself hanging on by a thin thread of sanity.