Order of the Black Sun Box Set 8

by Preston William Child

  Carefully, Sam responded in agreement. “I believe that is the consensus among all men concerning the women they love and live with!” he chuckled. Fortunately for him, his hostess appreciated his humor, even if he sided with Carlos. “Having said that, I must admit that, right now, your ‘woman-ness’ at keeping my attention on those three seconds of wrongdoing, as you put it, forces my progress greatly.”

  “That is good. You found a use for a woman’s…what is the word…pedantic? Pedantic nature?” she asked.

  “You English is by far better than you initially thought, Sonia. As is your daughter’s,” Sam praised.

  “Carlos wanted us to know the language well, just in case we had to communicate with the outside world,” she confessed. “I always thought he was being annoying, but now I see the use of it.”

  Sam sighed, looking over the statement made to the police by Franca and her family. It was so vague, lacking any tangible clues as to the identity of the old man. “I just wish I could know where…” He stopped. No matter how Sonia wanted him to say things outright, it would be too deep to the lash.

  “Where what?” she asked the question he feared. Sam tapped on the paper with his Biro, unable to formulate the words, but he knew she would insist until he said it. He looked at her and said it quickly. “I wish I could know where Mario’s body first sank.” Even his own tongue felt like a whip as he spoke the words, so he followed up briskly to lighten the blow. “If I knew where on the beach he entered the water, I could get a position where the yacht was.”

  “I know where his kite went down,” a small voice started them both. Carla was standing right behind her mother, her eyes bloodshot and swollen from the emotional agony of the past days. “I know where I saw his kite fall,” she repeated. “It fell the moment my brother died.”

  Sam cringed, but she carried on talking. “I know, because he would never ever let it fall right down, not while he could see, not while he had it in his hands.”

  For the first time Sonia caught her breath and looked away to avoid them seeing her tears. Even Sam thought it was a horrible raw take on the boy’s last moments. Dreadful, yet poetic, in a sense. It was a long shot, but it would also distract the widow and her daughter from all the death they had been surrounded by, if he suggested a minor road trip. Even more, it would make them feel actively involved in finding Mario’s killer.

  “Ladies, will you come with me to the beach to show me where the kite fall?” Sam requested in that light tone, akin to excitement, that he had been cultivating to assert his support.

  “The…the beach?” Sonia asked, looking reluctant.

  “I will go! I will show you, Senhor Cleave,” Carla offered excitedly.

  “How will this help?” Sonia asked with a deep frown.

  “It might come to nothing, but, if Carla can show me exactly where Mario was on the beach, I can mark it,” Sam explained. He retrieved from his camera bag, the palm sized communication device Purdue had given him some time ago. “See this? It runs on a satellite system that can map a location that usually cannot be marked. Places with no beacons,” he tried to elucidate in plain language. “Where there are no trees or a lighthouse or something that marks a place?”

  “Oh!” Sonia nodded. “Yes, I understand. You can mark a place in a desert or on the sea, where everything looks the same?”

  It was crooked, but Sam comprehended her reasoning. “Aye! Just like that!” he exclaimed. “Once Carla show me, I can put the satellite on and mark the place on the beach where Mario was before he went on the row boat with the stranger.”

  “And then?” Carla beat her mother to the next question.

  “From there, we contact the coast guard and find out which yachts were anchored there on that day between those hours,” he smiled, impressing even himself with this inadvertent idea. “From there, we get the names of the people who own those yachts.”

  “And see which of the owners had something to do with the Perceval Chapter!” Sonia shrieked, suddenly seeing a solution to the dead end they had been facing. “Yes, Sam! Let us try that!”

  The three of them drove to Peniche, for once feeling positive about the case. Sam was elated to hear the two girls talk about normal things while he drove with the radio on. He was content to have been able to give them hope, at least for now, and to offer a solution to their obscured torment of not knowing. At the same time, he was looking forward to present Peter Carroll with a concrete clue, perhaps even a name for the suspect.

  On the beach in Peniche, Carla and Sonia both felt the awful atmosphere of that day, but neither was going to show it. New developments in finding the brute who killed Mario was giving them more hope than the resident despair the beach held for them. Although approaching the spot where she saw her brother the last time troubled young Carla, she persisted and pointed out the place on the beach.

  Sam showed them the marvel of David Purdue’s technological invention as he tapped on the black screen. A pulsing red dot appeared. Carla gasped in delight. “Is that where we are?” she asked.

  “Aye,” Sam affirmed with a smile. He pressed another button on the keypad and opened a separate screen, where he accessed a GPS system. Feeding the information from the red dot screen into the second screen’s bar, the device rendered a string of numbers and directions. “See?” he told Sonia and Carla. “There we have the coordinates of that piece of water where the kite fell. Now I shall contact the local coast guard and yacht association to confirm which vessels moored here that day.”

  Carla was ecstatic, but Sam saw Sonia glance back longingly at the very spot where her son was killed. He could only hope that his idea would yield a positive development, but until then, he tasked himself with keeping the Cruz family’s spirits up.

  23

  A Last Supper

  Miss April was elated to learn that David Purdue wanted to see her. He had called the next afternoon from the fundraiser, asking if she would be interested in meeting him for lunch in Edinburgh.

  “Of course, David! I do not mean to sound so silly, but I really enjoyed chatting to you the other night and hoped that you would call,” she told him on the phone. “Do you mind if I bring a friend of mine to meet you too? He is an educator and history lover, who wishes to contribute to your Round Table fund raiser, if it is not too late?”

  “Absolutely!” Purdue cheered. Contrary to what his staff and friends thought, he had learned by now that the women he attempted to woo always turned out to be vindictive femme fatales with deadly ambitions. The thought of her bringing a gentleman with, a scholar no less, was a relief.

  “Shall we meet at Da Vinci’s?” she asked, referring to the quaint little restaurant in Old Town.

  “I shall be there shortly after 7pm. Are you sure I should not send a car to collect you both. It would spare you the drive to Edinburgh,” Purdue offered.

  “Nonsense,” she replied. “Driving through is the least we can do, since you are picking up the lunch bill.”

  April was gesturing to Mr. Willard who was sitting at the far end of the dining room, watching her act like a high school girl. Had he not had his own agenda, the school principal would have dismissed her from his house altogether. Normally, Miss April and her shrill voice was a bit of an annoyance to tolerate, but now that she was fawning over the well-known Edinburgh kingpin, she had become downright insufferable.

  “You are too right, my dear. I shall accept your way,” Purdue chuckled.

  “Perfect, David. See you soon!” she sang in a sexy tone.

  The skinny teacher had shown up in the morning of the day after Mr. Willard had disclosed his plan to her, the plan he had just improvised on to deceive her and keep her blind to his true intentions. Mr. Willard was going to bide his time before taking action, but since Miss April presented such an open invitation, he could not see why not. Far was it from him to deny the spoils of a desperate spinster to serve David Purdue on a tray.

  “Come on, Mr. Willard,” she said. “We have
to get ready.”

  “I thought we are going to his house, April,” Mr. Willard sneered. He was by no means hiding his disappointment. The current meeting would profit him no revenge, being in a public place. “How the hell am I supposed to steal Excalibur when I am eating a goddam pasta dish in Old Town?”

  She hurried over to where he was sitting in his favorite chair, pissed and impatient. “No, you cannot worry about that, Mr. Willard. I am not as dumb as I look.” He gave her a look that questioned her statement. “Oh, come now!” she protested. “We are going to have a nice dinner, during which you will tell him how fascinated you are with Arthurian legend. Naturally, David will insist on showing you Excalibur. Naturally, he will invite us to Wrichtishousis. He is too vain in his accomplishments as an explorer and collector, not to want to prove it to you.”

  Mr. Willard thought about it. Miss April had a point. According to what he had heard and read about David Purdue, this was true. The billionaire genius knew how good he was at everything and he did not have to be asked twice to flaunt his accomplishments. Besides, who would not boast about attaining the legendary Excalibur?

  “Alright,” he said, finally. “I have to ask you to carry the explosives in your bag, though, so take that big one you always take on field trips with the children.”

  “How are you going to plant the summer house bomb, Mr. Willard?” she asked, sounding concerned. “The other will be easy to set, the one near the toilet, as you said.”

  “One of us will have to get that done, April. We will have to wait and see how things progress once we are there. It is no use to establish a plan which can change at any moment. We make do with what we have as we go along,” Mr. Willard lectured. “Trust me. Every plan I have ever followed have presented unforeseen obstacles. It is better to leave a margin for error and adjustments, in reality.”

  “I hope you are right, Mr. Willard,” she sighed, gathering up her things. “I am going to head home so long to get dressed and get that bigger purse you need.” She rolled her eyes. “The one that completely clashes with my outfit.”

  “Oh, stop whining,” he said. “Do you want to steal Excalibur or make the cover of a women’s magazine?” He shook his head and ushered her out gently. “See you in an hour. Do not dawdle. We cannot let him wait too long. I do not want him to change his mind. I shall be at your house in exactly an hour, April.”

  “Okay, okay! I get it. An hour,” she moaned as she walked off to her car. Miss April was never late for school, but she was notorious for showing up late for social gatherings. Mr. Willard could attest to that. She had frequently showed up almost an hour late for faculty gatherings, because, he thought, she probably did not deem them important enough to be on time for. However, he knew she would not be late for David Purdue.

  24

  Margin for Error

  “I bet you they would want to see Excalibur,” Purdue told Jane on the phone.

  “I fear you venture far too much when you have had a few, Mr. Purdue,” Jane reprimanded in her mild manner. “Look at how you paid no attention to my warnings about that woman, how you could not even recall that I relayed that Jason gentleman’s message to you at the party and how, even now, you risk bringing two strangers into Wrichtishousis to show off your sword.”

  “That is not true, I will have you know,” he countered, sipping at a sweet brandy at Da Vinci’s. “They are not strangers. I have met April, have I not?”

  “Mr. Purdue,” she tried, but he interrupted her.

  “Jane, I appreciate the warning, but remember that it is entirely based on your boyfriend’s gut feeling. Not exactly worth breaking off a new friendship over,” he defended. Jane had no retort. She only hoped that he would be careful with the women he attracted. A man of his standing and wealth would always be cursed with the uncertainty of women’s intentions, never knowing when someone loved him for what he was, not who he was.

  “Just take care, sir,” she said. “I will see you on Monday.”

  “Alright, my dear,” he smiled. “Goodbye.”

  No sooner had he fended off Jane’s suspicions, than who should stroll into Da Vinci’s, but April and her friend. Introductions went swimmingly, the food was exquisite, even for basic Italian cuisine and Purdue seemed to get along so well with Mr. Willard that April felt left out somewhat. In the later stages of lunch, the roles appeared to have reversed. Mr. Willard was hanging on every word Purdue spoke, while April just wanted to get to the mansion.

  “When are we going to see your amazing collection of historical artifacts, David?” she asked.

  “Most of my collection, or my hoard, if you will, are in museums throughout Europe, my dear,” he explained. But my personal collection I keep at my home, of course.”

  “The sword of King Arthur?” Mr. Willard enquired with interest. “That has always been my favorite hero from childhood reading, you know. The knights. The chivalry. The Round Table. To think that Excalibur really exists is certainly a difficult thing to believe.”

  “Well, then, my friend,” Purdue smiled, gesturing to the waiter for the bill, “…allow me to prove its existence to you.”

  April smiled and lightly clapped her hands in excitement. Never once did Purdue mistake her eagerness for treachery. Mr. Willard and Miss April exchanged glances so briefly that nobody, who did not know what they hatched, would ever have suspected anything.

  “Follow me, and keep up,” Purdue chuckled as he issued the challenged Mr. Willard. Miss April hopped into Purdue’s Bentley with him, while Mr. Willard would follow in his BMW. He could not tell Purdue, of course, that he had been up to Wrichtishousis before, so he played dumb and followed like a lost novice. The night was still young and Purdue looked forward to entertaining his new acquaintances.

  Even though the school principal had seen the mighty mansion before, it did not cease to grip him in awe when he pulled up the hill to the grand black gates. “Only two security guards?” he said to himself as they passed through the gates, greeting the men with a polite nod. “This is so easy, it is almost embarrassing.”

  To the left of the immaculate old house, half hidden in the trees to the back garden, Willard saw the transformer station masquerading as a summerhouse. The faux gazebo was the only impediment in the plan for the evening, but the old school principal was not to be perturbed by a strategic flaw. All he needed to do was to get April to go outside with her purse and plant the explosive that would serve as decoy while he assassinated Purdue.

  In fact, none of this preparation was in favor of April or her sword. Mr. Willard did not give a rat’s ass whether they managed to take the sword or not, whether April survived the night or not. All that mattered was breaking Purdue’s neck and making it look like an accident. It would be easy to believe that the master of Wrichtishousis fell down the stairs during the power failure.

  To this end, Mr. Willard had created the two explosive devices with little more than a kick to the electrical circuits. The minute amounts of TNT he was using in the amatol compound would refute any suspicion of a deliberate attack by a terrorist organization or militia. When the electricity blew, Willard would kill Purdue and take the body to the top of the laboratory stairs. To make the broken neck and fall believable, he would toss the corpse down the stairs to sustain the necessary bruising.

  Both vehicles stopped in front of the main doors, where the grand mansion lurched over those who looked up at its massive stature. Willard got out of the car to admire the architecture, hearing April’s shrieking voice breaking through from within Purdue’s Bentley. “My God, David, how do you stand that voice all the way from the restaurant?” Willard muttered by himself. Purdue’s butler greeted them when he opened the doors, welcoming his employer and his guests. The place was breathtaking inside, but it is one room in particular that drew Willard’s eye as soon as he traversed the first few marble slabs of the floor.

  “My God, there it is!” he gasped, his eyes unable to look away. Purdue smiled as he joined Willard
in basking in its glory. Upon the opposite wall inside the dining room, the magnificent sword of King Arthur adorned the rugged stone. “It is absolutely glorious!”

  “Thank you,” Purdue grinned.

  “This must be your best piece in the whole house!” Willard successfully baited Purdue’s ego. “I do not care what other relics you have here, my friend. Nothing will beat Caliburnus here.”

  “You even have a Round Table, just like Arthur,” April remarked, running her slender hands along the expertly carved wood. “I agree. Excalibur must be the holy grail of your relics.”

  “Are you willing to venture a bet on that?” Purdue winked. “First, something to warm the arteries and belly.” He summoned his butler. “Charles, if you will?” Purdue made his way to one of the chairs and pulled it out to seat the lady before sitting down. Charles poured the three of them some red wine and replaced the bottle on the velvet mat placed on the table for it. “One drink,” said Purdue, “and then I will treat you to a tour of some interesting finds.”

  “Sounds amazing,” Willard smiled. “A treat, indeed.”

  April looked at the school principal for instruction. Ever so slightly, he lifted his fingers as to prompt her to wait a tad longer. “The table looks authentic, David,” he chatted as he fished for more information.

  “That depends, old boy, in what authenticity it belongs. I am pretty sure it was not the actual table where the knights convened,” Purdue speculated, “but it would be nice to think so.”

  “I have to powder my nose,” Aprils chipped in out of the blue. Even Willard could not fathom the sudden announcement, one which he would have expected her to make only some glasses of wine later. However, it was out and he would have to adapt.

  “Certainly, my dear,” Purdue chuckled. “Charles, you show the lady to the guest restroom, please?”