Order of the Black Sun Box Set 8

by Preston William Child

  Of course, he wondered what a billionaire would concern himself with on such a glorious night of fun, money and copious available women. The white-haired genius peered out the window, his closed fist on his mouth as his jaw rested on it. His elbow was propped on the lower frame of the window, while his other hand tapped impatiently on the seat next to him. There was a tension in his face, but not as to raise suspicion that he was troubled. Only Purdue’s staff knew him well enough to pick up on these things.

  In truth, Purdue was thinking about Nina, wondering why she was so adamant to speak to him. Since they last parted they had not spoken at all, both busy with their own pursuits. He had not been able to raise Sam either, but guessed that the journalist was probably on a drinking binge or on assignment.

  All this thinking sped up the time, it seemed, because at once, the bright lights of the yacht club came into view as the limousine drove up Lower Granton Road. To the right, the Firth of Forth supplied a fresh, though chilly, atmosphere. Fortunately, most of the guests did not mind braving the weather for a night of luxury on board the large yacht. After all, the vessel possessed all amenities and comforts one would expect from the crème de la crème variety.

  “Looks like a good turn out,” Purdue remarked satisfactorily.

  “It does, sir,” Dugal agreed. “I heard that you even hooked some politicians for this event.”

  “We did,” Purdue affirmed. “Let us hope they donate a quid for every vote they are trying to win.” Dugal nodded in agreement and smiled. He pulled up to the red carpet decked out under a temporary covered walkway to the ramp of the yacht. Dugal gawked at the massive white vessel, alight with lanterns along every tier. “My God! It is a palace on the water!” he marveled as he brought the limousine to a halt.

  On the walkway, some guests started their way up, dressed on formal wear the likes of old Hollywood awards ceremonies. Purdue was very pleased with the numbers of people who showed up and felt anxious to get the night started. “Thank you, Dugal. I shall see you in a few hours.”

  “Very well, Mr. Purdue,” Dugal replied, as he held the door open for Purdue to step out.

  The subject of a sudden eruption of applause, Purdue gracefully traversed the walkway among journalists and guests, appreciative of the welcome. Jane was the first familiar face there, wearing a dark blue dress that draped down all the way to her ankles. “Good evening, Mr. Purdue,” she smiled, holding up a glass of champagne for him to take.

  The white-haired billionaire smiled, “I knew you would not wear the red dress again. Coward.”

  Jane shook her head and laughed. “Come, let me introduce you to a friend of Dr. Gould’s. She has been dying to meet you.”

  “Hmm, morsel number one lined up,” he muttered as he followed his beautiful assistant.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, glancing back at him.

  “No, nothing,” he replied. “Just talking to myself.”

  After a long string of catastrophic ends to prospective relationships he had suffered, one would have thought that the playboy had learned his lesson by now. In fact, this was the very sentiment his own inner voice impressed upon him as he neared the wiry redhead Jane was going to introduce him to.

  “David Purdue, meet April Lazlo,” Jane said as she stepped aside for the two to shake hands. “Miss Lazlo says that she worked with Dr. Gould a few months ago.”

  “Ah, let me guess, you are a lecturer?” he presumed. Her deep set, green eyes glistened before she gave him a wink. “Almost.”

  Jane excused herself and left to attend to the kitchen staff, leaving Purdue in the company of Miss April. She was dressed for summer, although he did not complain about the amount of flesh the slender woman wished to show. Her proverbial little black number was definitely a ten on Purdue’s scale, and he drank down the champagne Jane had given him, if only to take the edge off.

  “Almost?” he asked. Purdue shamelessly observed Miss April’s dress. “I cannot think straight right now. Why don’t you tell me how you know Nina?”

  “I am a teacher,” she revealed. “A primary school history teacher. Nina joined me for a history project once.”

  He took a deep breath. “Oh, a primary school teacher. Would you be above educating adults?”

  Jane watched the business from a short distance. ‘Jesus, he is coming on a bit strong…. even for him!’ she thought, watching Miss April deflect his advances with skill. Jane’s date joined her with another beer in hand. “Your boss is a player, eh?” he said to Jane, his tone implying something unwelcome.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “You mean to tell me he never hits on you like that?” he wanted to know, looking quite amused by the scene.

  “No, John, he never hits on me. I am a professional,” Jane snapped.

  Her date had a good chuckle and raised his beer in Purdue’s direction, “So is that skinny bint, love. Trust me.”

  “How do you mean?” she gasped. “Are you impressed by that sort of inappropriate dress or conduct? It is pretty clear what she wants from this evening.”

  “I am not impressed, Janey,” he quickly explained. “All I am saying is, I know a pick-up when I see it, and that woman is not here to donate money.”

  “I get it,” Jane pouted. “She knows her game. Well, Mr. Purdue is not exactly impervious to just about the slightest female beguilement. I mean, the man gets whipped more than a racehorse.”

  “Poor bastard,” her date lamented. “She is out to whip him for sure.”

  Jane could not help but think that there was more to her date’s insinuation. She leaned against him and fished one last time. “Whip him how?”

  He humored Jane. “I am no expert on body language and timing of this sort, darling, but that woman smells like a criminal. She is a pawn. I could be way off, and I hope to God I am, but she looks like some sort of chum.”

  “Chum? As in bait?” she asked.

  “Aye,” he nodded. “That looks like a textbook diversion.”

  “For what?” Jane frowned.

  Her man shrugged. “I have no idea, but she is here to keep him distracted from something. And by the looks of his influence, I would reckon it is something major.”

  16

  Underworld

  Nina led the way with Terry in her wake. She felt strange about the whole thing, being alone with a dangerous, but religious man. So many clashing thoughts and feelings dominated the situation. She had to fear his intentions, because he had no qualms at having children killed to attain success in his missions. At the same time, coming here was normally a perilous venture for her, with vagrants rife most of the time. With him at her back, she found that she was actually a bit more relaxed. With someone like him I her company, she doubted anyone could hurt her.

  “Is it still far?” he whispered.

  “A bit,” she admitted, as they stepped carefully over discarded sheets of iron and steel in the ruins of the factory. “It is through the next warehouse and through the elevator shaft. His large had fell on her shoulder, holding her back. “Elevator shaft?” he shrieked under his breath. “Are you daft?”

  “Do you want to see the records or not, Terry?” she sighed. This question had become a regular phrase throughout their time together, especially since they had arrived at the abandoned factory and Terry began to reveal a hidden weakness. “What exactly is bothering you?” she asked him. “Is it the dark? Is it the thought of what is in the dark? What is it that suddenly has you so unsure?”

  Her enquiry was genuine and much as he did not wish to tell her, he felt he owed her that much. After all, she was right – he wanted her to bring him. “Just never liked abandoned places, you know? And big structures also creep me out. Now you have brought me to a combination of the two and I tell ya, I feel very uncomfortable about it all.”

  Nina looked over her shoulder, and true to his answer, Terry was trudging along warily, several paces behind her. She decided not to make fun of him, although she took note of
his fear. It would perhaps come in handy later, should she need to use it to escape from him. Purdue came up in her mind, and so did Sam. She wondered if they would even notice if she disappeared now, and this posed another pressing question – what would happen once Terry had his information?

  Father Harper was a Templar, yes, but what if the man Terry Jones and his people were looking for, was not in the records? Terry could hardly let her go free after sharing such clandestine intentions of his order with her.

  A sudden, deafening clatter scared her half to death. She swung around to find the big man on his ass, his foot caught in an old five-liter paint can. It was comical to see Terry waving his leg this way and that in the air.

  “What are you laughing at?” he moaned. Nina threw her head back and laughed without reservation now, grateful that his reaction was more unhappy and less psychotic.

  “You…y-you look,” she tried to compose herself. “You look like a saucy cabaret performer in a bad musical!” It was dark now, properly dark, and a small flashlight Terry pulled from his jacket suddenly shone in her face, ceasing her silliness.

  “Are you going to help me?” he said. The light blinded her, but she heard the hammer of his gun pull back, prompting Nina to jump to assist him. With a bit of hard tugging she pulled the rusty can free from his foot, but not before she saw the blood from where his ankle’s skin was torn.

  “You have to get a tetanus shot. Look,” she told him, pointing to the trickle of scarlet that seeped through his jeans.

  “Later,” he commanded. Terry waved the gun at her. “Let’s get going. I do not want to be here for long. I just want to get what I came for and leave this cursed place.”

  “Alright, come along then,” she said, and walked on to where the steel beams were bolted into a triangular arch. Rats squeaked as the two trespassers disturbed the planks and paint cans they had nested in. Terry’s narrow torch light was fixed past the side of Nina’s head to illuminate her way ahead. “There it is,” she announced. “The elevator shaft.”

  “Why in God’s name would you want to come here, Dr. Gould? Couldn’t you have kept the archives in a bloody abbey or a church cellar or something? Why here?” he bitched as they approached the faded pinkish paint chipped metal doors.

  “You just answered your own question, Mr. Jones,” she answered as she crept under a low fallen steel beam to get to the elevator doors. “Would intruders find it deeply unpleasant to break into church cellars or abbeys? No, but they will think twice to brave this kind of peril and risk being chewed on by a family of rats.”

  “Good point,” he conceded, pointing the light in a round white circle on the shut-up area.

  Against the steel doors, a sign was fixed with bolts. ‘Condemned’, it read, and emitted a sickening odor that confirmed its warning. “No shit,” he whispered. “What is that smell?”

  “Dead rats and lead paint fumes,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Step aside,” he said, suddenly overcome with overbearing superiority. He could almost hear the ancient documents call to him. He pried apart the shrieking doors quite easily and looked at Nina. “Piss easy,” he bragged arrogantly, but as he leaned forward to see the inside, a mass of iron rods and rusted shelves came plummeting down from the top of the shaft. They hailed down with a clamor, and Terry fell back just in time to avoid having his skull crushed.

  “Gee-ee-zuss!” he wailed in horror. His eyes were wide and his chest pulsed under the mad shock to his heart. Under his body, sharp things stabbed at him, nicking the skin of his legs and elbows.

  “Christ, Terry, will you let me lead the fucking way?” Nina yelled at him. “That is not the way down…unless you want to end up in a well of thinners and muck at the base of the shaft!”

  “Well, why didn’t you tell me that?” he retorted angrily, pulling himself out of the bed of screws, nails and dented containers.

  “I did not expect you to act like an idiot, that is why!” she hit back. “Stay behind me or you will never see the sun again, you hear?”

  ‘That is an idea,’ she thought. ‘Push the fucker down the shaft. Problem solved.’

  Nina liked her reasoning, but his firm grip around her upper arm snapped her out of it and jolted her round to face him. “Hurry, Dr. Gould. Your little friend Kingsley is not going to last long in that jail cell. Child murderers usually do not survive to make it to trial.”

  ‘Aye. Should have pushed him,’ her inner voice wished. She proceeded to the doors, where Terry had stood just before prying them open. With an index finger, she gestured for Terry to join her, but he was more than a little reluctant. The little bit of light provided by the peeking moon slowly bled into darkness as the clouds once more smothered it. Light rain started clattering on the partial roof of the massive corrugated iron sheets overhead, only running up the thug’s nerves even more. His recent brush with death was still fresh in his recollection.

  “Come stand here with me,” she said.

  “Fuck that,” he refused her.

  “Then we came all this way for nothing, Terry,” she sneered, rolling her eyes at him.

  “I just stood there,” he whined, “and I almost fucking died! You are up to something.”

  Nina shrugged. “Okay then,” she sighed. On the ground, a few inches from her feet, she moved a small, square covering on the concrete floor. Under it, a button protruded from a Perspex casing. When Nina pushed it, the small square plate slid back into position and a loud clack initiated a deep growl from the floor. Terry Jones jumped again, pointing his gun firmly at Nina. “What is happening?” he shouted. “What did you just do?”

  “Relax,” she said casually, as she began to shrink. Terry’s eyes flitted as he tried to adjust his sight in the light of his torch. The petite woman was slowly sinking into the ground, it seemed.

  “Nina, what is happening?” he roared furiously.

  “I told you to stand here with me,” she reminded him. It was then that he regarded the platform she stood upon, descending at its edges. Nina had sunk with half her body already, dropping deeper. Into the growl of the hydraulic trapdoor that transported her slowly downward, she cried out, “Are you coming?”

  “Ah!” he yelled. “I get it!”

  He jumped onto the platform with her, wearing a stupid look on his face. Never before had he made a fool of himself this many times in such a short time – and in front of a woman like this, no less!

  Around them, it was pitch dark, with the only light being the dwindling duskiness of the world above. On all sides, the shaft, the real shaft, was a mass of moist, reeking dirt that nauseated Terry. Nina, however, was used to the smell of dank old places. It had become part of her job to crawl around in such places sometimes, but she welcomed it. Her ability to deal with her claustrophobia had improved greatly since that first time Sam had to force her into a submarine on the expedition to find Ice Station Wolfenstein.

  Finally, the roar stopped so suddenly, that their ears popped and the silence screamed. The last two meters were soundless, as the platform came to a halt in choking matt black darkness, save for the timid little beam of Terry’s flashlight.

  “Now what?” his voice echoed in the chamber. Only floating dust appeared in the ray of light he moved around, but the darkness was so profound that he could not see anything beyond.

  “Close your eyes,” Nina ordered.

  “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Terry, when are you going to learn not to question every goddamn thing I tell you?” she asked impatiently. “Close your eyes.”

  “No way,” he protested. “There is now…”

  A sharp light engulfed them from all sides, blinding the cocky thug momentarily. With a yelp, he covered his eyes with the backs of his hands. She had switched on the light, but kept her eyes closed to adapt. With Terry confused and wailing at the stabbing pain in the sockets of his eyes, Nina took her chance. A swift kick in the balls did the trick, and Terry fell screaming to his knees while she seiz
ed the weapon from his hand.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he cried, clutching his scrotum with his eyes still pinched painfully shut. “Do not shoot me, Nina. Mr. Keating’s men are waiting to hear from me at midnight, otherwise they arrange a jailhouse assassination. I am not bluffing! I swear!”

  Nina said nothing at first but reveled in his agony. She used the moment to lean into him once more time. “You come into my house,” she growled, landing a kick to his ribs. “You disrupt my fucking life! You frame my stepbrother for a child’s murder, after you order that atrocious act!”

  She was smart enough not to keep kicking in the same place, as he would anticipate it and grab her. Nina came from behind him and used the butt of the gun to clobber him against the temple, one, two, three times. Her words coincided with her punishment until the mean East End crook curled up, writhing in a fetal position.

  “Now, you son of a whore, you are going to show me who you are looking for. You are going to tell me why and you are going to tell me everything about the people you work for,” she laid it out for him. “We are going to get to the bottom of all this right now, or I leave your miserable carcass down here, where not even your god will hear you! Get up!” she shrieked, checking the cartridge of the gun to ascertain the amount of authority she held.

  17

  Cry in the Night

  Sam thought long and hard about going to see Sonia’s husband after all. It was a monumental change of heart, but he had lots of time to think it over during the long hours of hugging the hotel room’s toilet.

  ‘Perhaps you overdid the new poison a bit?’ his common sense poked at him. He did. It was very irresponsible of him, he knew, but at the time, it seemed like a good idea, as most drunken binges usually did. Sam had spent the entire day in his hotel room, recuperating. Peter Carrol had assured him of absolute non-communication in order to allow Sam enough time to do an investigation at his own pace. Still, Sam’s allowance for accommodation was limited to five days in Portugal, before he had to return to Scotland.