Order of the Black Sun Box Set 8

by Preston William Child

  “Very well, sir,” Charles replied, helping April from her chair. “This way, madam.”

  April loved the chivalrous tradition in which the men at Wrichtishousis conducted themselves. It was a pity that she would soon harm that peaceful and smooth-running tradition for the sake of greed and revenge. She now knew what Dr. Gould saw in David Purdue, but why the historian was not wearing his ring yet, was beyond her comprehension.

  She thanked Charles for his direction and closed the posh restroom’s door. “Good God, his toilet is fancier than my bedroom,” she whispered, gawking at the perfectly painted and tiled restroom with its unique faucets and marble fixtures. A minute later, while Willard was engaging Purdue in deep historical discussion, she peeked out of the restroom door to look for any possible witnesses. There were no CCTV cameras in this section of the house, from what she could determine on her way to the toilet. It was time to sneak out through the kitchen side door and get to the garden gazebo.

  Leaving the restroom door closed with the light on inside, April stole along the wall of the short corridor that led to the main kitchen, all the time watching her peripherals and practically holding her breath. In the distance, across the vast lobby, she could hear Purdue and Willard talking and laughing. Feeling a little more at ease, she continued into the dark kitchen, careful not to disturb any of Lillian’s hanging pots and pans and betray her location. Next to the backdoor, there was a large window through which the porch light shone, leading her in the dark.

  Checking once more for anyone present in the vicinity, April clutched the purse that held the explosive she was supposed to toss onto the roof of the transformer station summerhouse. Cringing at the light rain that was ruining her hair, she cowered under the cover of the pine trees that surrounded the pretty structure. April decided to make it quick, pulling the capsule out without hesitation and placing it in the gutter of the low roof and activating the charge auxiliary as Willard had trained her to.

  Under the clap of thunder, she hastened back inside before the real rain could start. April took a moment to calm down her raging heartbeat from the first covert sabotage she had ever undertaken. It was exciting, but also a little nauseating to be a criminal, especially against David Purdue. “Oh shit,” she realized she had been gone for a while from the company of the two men.

  In the dining room, Purdue and Willard were just getting ready to make their way to the lower ground floor on the way to the relic room. “Ah! My dear! I hope everything is alright. We were just about to come and see what is keeping you,” Purdue said, noting her moist hair.

  “Thought you fell in,” Willard jested.

  “Oh, yes,” she blushed. “I am sorry I took ages. As you can see by my hair, I was going to fix my make-up and the bloody tube of my BB cream...well…exploded when I pressed too hard. Made a mess in my hair,” she explained. “I had to rinse it out and that is why I took so long.”

  Willard looked impressed at her cover story. From behind Purdue he nodded imperceptibly and smiled, “Women, hey?” He nudged Purdue, who glanced back at him and laughed, “And all that to look pretty for us. Miss April, you have our utmost gratitude for your effort.”

  “Thank you, David,” she beamed, giving Willard a mocking look. “See? Some men appreciate my efforts,” she told her accomplice, implying the double meaning he caught onto.

  “Hey, I do appreciate your efforts, April,” Willard replied as Purdue led them down the laboratory steps to one level below the lobby.

  While Purdue was unlocking his personal showroom of artifacts from a multitude of expeditions and museum auctions, Willard and April had a wordless conversation. She lightly tapped on her purse to confirm that she had successfully planted the summerhouse’s explosive casing. All he had to do now was to excuse himself to the restroom to lodge the other which would blow the generator backup. That was the plan, but the plan could change at any moment.

  25

  Becoming the Fisher King

  Mr. Willard, Gracewell Primary principal and esteemed member of the Order of the Black Sun, elected to stray a little in the relic room before going to the restroom. This way, he thought, it would be more believable when he detonated the gazebo outside, while still in the house. Purdue could never suspect him. With a keen eye, he watched the back of Purdue’s head, still unable to believe his luck at being this close to the billionaire who had been a festering open sore on the Black Sun’s ass for so long.

  Soon he would wrap his forearms around Purdue’s head and snap his neck like a twig. Before anyone would even know what had happened, David Purdue would be dead and out of their way for good. While the playboy was bragging with one artifact after the other, Willard’s eyes wandered to Miss April Lazlo, his school’s history teacher and former secretary to two of the Black Sun’s highest ranking members. She was much in the dark as Purdue, ironically, thinking that Willard was going to steal the sword of King Arthur.

  “And this is the severed foot of a Sumerian king we excavated and catalogued for the Museum of Alexandria,” Purdue carried on.

  “That must be older than the hills,” April gasped, as a good sycophant should.

  “By Dr. Gould’s carbon dating data, it is over four thousand years old, and said to hold magical powers,” Purdue relayed with intrigue.

  “Then why don’t you use it?” she asked naively.

  He stared at her in amazement. “My dear, just because people believe in the power of relics, it does not make these items any less gruesome or any more potent than any other object. Besides, even if any of these artifacts could, by some measure, invoke power, I would have no interest in using it.”

  “Why not?” she asked again.

  Purdue smiled suavely. “No vaunt intended, dear April, but I have all the power and wealth I could ever want. I do not believe in magical cures or fanciful rites. These items intrigue me for only their historical value and heritage. Nothing here ca make kings of men and gods of kings. There can be no such delusion in a sound mind, that an object contains anything a human being cannot attain with some ambition.”

  “I like that speech, David,” Mr. Willard agreed. “Good to know that your desecration of legendary sites is not for power. That would be unethical.”

  Purdue noted the hint of snide derision, but was unsure if Willard realized what he was implying. He turned to face the principal, ready to inquire the very same, when a figure darkened the door of the relic room.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he said.

  “Charles?” Purdue frowned. “What is the matter?”

  Charles held up the capsule he had retrieved from the summerhouse. “Miss April left this outside. I thought to return it to her,” he conveyed in a stiff professional manner. “Would not want her explosives to go missing.”

  Purdue’s eyes stretched in fury. April laughed at first, a nervous cackle she used to think up an excuse, but when her eyes found Purdue’s face, she knew there would be no reprieve.

  “Charles,” he said coldly, “be a dear and call security, would you?”

  “Willard!” April screeched as Purdue gripped her firmly by the arm. “Do something!”

  “Do what?” Willard gasped. “Do you expect me to condone this?”

  “Willard! You so of a bitch!” she screamed. “You came here to steal Excalibur!”

  Willard watched Charles lock them all in, before he flitted upstairs to wait for the security guards and dispose of the bomb’s contents. Willard looked at Purdue and shook his head.

  “Are you in on this?” Purdue barked, having a time of holding the skinny harpy still.

  “Absolutely not,” Willard answered, looking insulted. “I have absolutely no intention of stealing Excalibur! That was April’s desire.”

  “You son of a bitch!” she hissed at the principal. “How dare you?”

  “I have made too many mistakes with women, April,” Purdue told her. “I told Charles to follow you whenever you left my sight. You see, I have been fucked over by greedy wh
ores for too long and lost my reputation for sound decisions because of it. This time I did not let beauty overwhelm my resistance and lo and behold…I was right again.”

  “Well, you were half right,” Willard shrugged, stepping up behind their host. “You cannot trust April.”

  Purdue did not like Willard’s tone, as the old school principal breathed in his neck, ready to pounce. In a regrettable act that Arthur’s Camelot would prohibit, Purdue punched April square in the face in order to immobilize her. He had to, because he needed to concentrate on the other guest who betrayed his trust.

  Briskly, Purdue’s long legs lunged for one of his artifacts. It was the silver shield he had used to extract Excalibur from the ground, heavy and thick in his hands. There was no indication of what Willard’s intention was yet, but Purdue knew by the steely stare in the old man’s eyes, that he was not there to raise a toast.

  “You are not here to steal Excalibur?” Purdue panted, holding up the shield to veer away any attempts by the stately enemy he faced. Willard shook his head. “Then what are you here for?” Purdue groaned.

  “I am here to kill you, David,” Willard replied casually, as he locked his fingers around the hilt of an old bronze-tipped Babylonian sickle and slid it from the shelf. Purdue smiled.

  “What?” Willard asked.

  Purdue waved the shield once in a circle in front of him. With one single song of its movement the shield’s magnetic field reacted to the minerals in the antique weapon, and ripped it from Willard’s hand. The sickle flew out of his grasp and connected with the shield with a loud clank. Even Willard’s belt buckle attested to the irresistible pull of the shield. Quickly he looked around for an object that could not be subjected to Purdue’s shield.

  “Let us see how your armor fares against leather,” Willard growled. From a table of miscellaneous items, he pulled a braided bullwhip. He lashed at the tall host, who promptly held up the shield once more, and as the tail of the whip cracked, the sound reverberated against several of the diamond and crystal-based items in the room. A deafening choir of high-pitched whistles ensued from all around them, particularly inciting the hum of Purdue’s shield. It shook so violently in the throws of the thunderous chorus that he could not hold on to it.

  Exposed to the onslaught of his murderous guest, Purdue had to dive out of the way of the whip’s crack. Through precious antique crystal and porcelain, he fell as he evaded Willard’s raging assault, sending shards of irreplaceable broken artifacts sliding across the carpet.

  “You took Excalibur from me,” Willard sneered. “You killed my allies. You turned associates against me.”

  Whip crack

  “I had to endure countless rejections within the ranks or the Third and Second Level Black Sun units every time you and your pals caused the collapse of our regional chapters! I have been waiting for this moment for most of thirteen years, David!” he shouted. “I hoped that Dr. Gould could bring me closer to you, but she failed me as well.”

  Whip crack

  Purdue was out of breath, cowered into the corner with the tail of the whip reaching into his face. “After tonight, I am going to be exalted by the Order and its Fathers! I will be the slayer of the accursed David Purdue!” the principal bellowed. He flung the whip around Purdue’s neck, twice whirling it until it bit into his flesh. Willard pulled it taut as he grimaced with a ghastly grin.

  To the left of him, Purdue noticed the scabbard of Excalibur, an item he knew could ward off injury or death for the one wearing it. Straining to breathe as the old man constricted his airways with impressive strength, Purdue stretched to grasp the scabbard, called Warkadur. It was far from him, but his long limbs served him well tonight. Extending his arm so far that it felt as if the skin was tearing from the flesh, Purdue felt the horrible pressure of Willard’s knee upon his upper back. It increased the efficacy of his strangulation by several degrees.

  Purdue could feel his face grow cold as the blood supply from his heart was denied. At his fingertips, he could feel the old leather sheath, but he feared that his eyes would soon pop out of their sockets. His vision was blurred and his head began to burn as gradually, Purdue felt his heart swell and slow inside his stinging chest. One final lunge did it. His fingers grasped the sheath’s belt and he used his failing, numb arms to fasten the scabbard to his waist.

  Yelping, the old man fell backwards, exhausted from the strain of subduing his victim. The whip uncoiled rapidly from his neck, and Purdue gasped hoarsely at air in swift short breaths that could not suck the oxygen deep enough.

  “Warkadur, I salute you,” Purdue mouthed, though his voice box had been crushed. Willard did not allow him time to recuperate, and hurried to one of the other weapons cased in an open wooden box, carved with Hebrew charms.

  At the door was Charles and Jason, the head of the security detail. The door’s system key was unlocked, but stuck due to the partial electricity supply dislodged during the altercation of the two men inside. The guards started ramming the door to pry it open in the old-fashioned way, but it proved to be tougher than initially evident.

  April woke up in the cacophony, hidden from the sight of the men at the door where she had fallen. Nursing a blinding pain in her jaw, she sat up behind the fallen cabinets, listening to the warfare of the two men she had accompanied. She peeked through a slit between two capsized bases, and saw Purdue grasping his own neck, his chest heaving desperately.

  Closer to her, Willard’s legs stumbled as he grabbed another knife from a box. At the entrance, the guards shouted, slammed and counted as they took turns to smash through the bent door. One of their arms had managed to fit through already and soon they would be inside. With the remaining capsule of explosives, the one Willard was supposed to plant, still in her purse, she hatched a plan for escape.

  From her vantage point, she saw an armed Willard approach a defiant Purdue.

  “Purdue is wearing the scabbard! The scabbard of Excalibur,” she whispered. The white-haired genius smiled through the blood in his mouth, soundlessly telling Willard that Warkadur made him invincible as long as he wore it. Tottering over Purdue, Willard shook his head and said, “Not against this, mate. Nothing survives this knife. Not even Jesus could.”

  With that, he sank the dark, tarnished spearhead of the knife into Purdue’s chest. Purdue’s voiceless screams sounded ghastly, like a death rattle amplified. Willard pulled out the knife only to plunge it deeper at the following onslaught. Purdue curled into a ball, but Willard was adamant to kill the pest once and for all, even with the guard about to break through. Roaring in rage and victory, Willard thrust the whole blade into the same wound once more, before pulling it free and discarding it. He fell away from Purdue, inching backwards to admire his handiwork.

  The knife clattered against the cabinet where April was hiding. Willard looked at her, laughing at her as she grabbed the knife to arm herself. Away from his eyes, she activated the pin, just as Purdue’s security busted through the door. Charles hastened in to aid his master while the guards darted towards the attacker.

  With them all occupied, April dashed for the door, tossing her ugly purse at Willard. With the knife in her grasp, she raced for the stairs, detonating the explosives in the purse that Willard had just caught. A tremor pulsed through the floor she ran across as the mild explosion went up in Willard’s face, killing him instantly. Skinny Miss April did not even give her beloved Excalibur a last glance as she scampered for the front door.

  “Willard’s car,” she sobbed in shock. “Thank God!” Into the pouring rain, she paid her hair no mind this time, tearing down the steps of Wrichtishousis to flee the terrible blunder she did not anticipate. Inside the majestic old citadel, carnage slept under a blanket of smoke.

  26

  Foxhunt

  “Dylan Finnigan, born 1912 in Limerick, Ireland,” Sam declared. “Member of the Perceval Chapter.” He raised his eyes from the screen and looked over the laptop at Sonia. Her eyes were dead, even at the revel
ation she had been waiting for.

  “Where is he now?” she asked blankly.

  “I do not know. That is what I am going to find out in the next few days once I get back to Scotland,” Sam explained.

  “I do not care where he came from. I want to know where he is currently. Where he is from does not help at all,” she rambled in frustration. Sam realized that the new development only aggravated her, leaving the case unresolved and aching for her.

  “Listen, Sonia,” he said, placing his hand on hers. “Remember, in the last day alone we have managed to get all the names of the yachts called in in that area, we have traced their skippers and owners, we have narrowed all those names down to the only vessel that had left Portuguese waters, yielding the name of the sole owner. He fits the description, the yacht’s registration has given us his name, for Christ’s sake, and you are still not satisfied?”

  Her eyes spat at him. “I want to know where he is.”

  Sam tried not to appear insensitive. The woman had suffered a devastating blow, but she had to understand that it would take a few more days to recover enough details to arrest the perpetrator. “You know that this is not how it works,” he told her straight out. “But what you also know, is that I am going to find him and make sure he gets what is coming to him.”

  “Sam, he is going to walk!” she wailed, her voice cracking under the coming tears. “They never get what is coming to them! You say these murders have happened all over the world, over so many years, yet nothing has been done. Why? Not only have there been no arrests in these murders, but worse, it looks like nobody even realized that these atrocities have occurred! And you want to make me believe that this time, justice will be done? Really? This time?”

  Sam cradles Sonia’s face in his large hands and looked her dead in the eye. “Aye. This time is different because this time, Sonia, Sam Cleave is on the trail. If you know anything about me at all, it is that I expose bastards like these, and sometimes, just sometimes, I make them pay without even calling the police. Do you understand me?”