Order of the Black Sun Box Set 9

by Preston William Child

“Possibly,” Purdue said. “We'll have to see, I guess. It all depends how reliable my source is. And that source wants to speak with us in person in Ireland.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as we can. In fact, I'm on my way to pick you up right now.”

  Nina glanced out her window, half-expecting him to be standing there. Thankfully, he hadn't arrived just yet. She could at least start to get ready for this impromptu excursion. She should've known better than to think it would be a quiet day around the house. There was never a moment to rest when you were friends with a man like David Purdue.

  Sam Cleave packed his bags but had no idea how long he should plan for. That's how trips with David Purdue were: you pack your things, expecting to be traveling to one destination, only to end up on the polar opposite side of the world, trying to survive certain death. It made for quite the story to tell later, so Sam appreciated that.

  Most writers would only be able to tell such stories in fiction, fantasy even. Sam's adventures with Purdue, on the other hand, were entirely true. There was something so much more satisfying writing about thrills when you experienced them firsthand. Sam had won awards for his work; and people treated his works like they were something marvelously outlandish, but really he was just sharing his own life experiences with the rest of the world.

  Whatever quest Purdue had in mind, he hadn't seemed as certain about it as usual. It all seemed dependent on the lead that had sparked this new venture—some man in Ireland named Galen Fitzgerald.

  Sam was admittedly a curious mind, and spent the hour after Purdue had called looking up anything and everything he could find about Galen Fitzgerald. It wasn't hard. Everything about the man was public information. Especially given that Fitzgerald had published an autobiography—and it was pretty much narcissism converted into a physical form.

  Glaives, Guns, and Guinness: The Life and Discoveries of Galen O. Fitzgerald.

  It was published only a few years ago, but had been far from a success. The online reviews alone were an onslaught of negativity, and no ratings Sam saw ever went above two-and-half stars. Some reviewers saw it as nothing more than a rich man patting his own back for three hundred pages.

  The ego was understandable, given Galen's history. Sam wasn't surprised that a man with his upbringing had grown up to be an egomaniac. He'd been born with everything he ever wanted. He came from one of the oldest families in Ireland. He spent his formative years in expensive schools having his every whim tended to.

  As an adult he'd made a name for himself as a collector of weapons. He had a sweet tooth for any arms and ammunition from every time period. The older, the better it seemed. As the foreword of his pompous, self-loving book so eloquently said:

  “Weapons have been the instruments of change throughout human history. Civilizations were forged, conquered, and defended with them. Everything of significance can be traced back to the swing of a sword.”

  Sam didn't really agree with that notion. It kind of minimized the importance of peaceful resolutions and treaties, but with rhetoric like that, Fitzgerald surely had some backing from weapons developers. The way he made it sound, they seemed like the architects of the future.

  The expeditions that Galen described in his book weren't unlike Purdue's own, although Galen seemed to only go on ventures where the prize was a rare piece of weaponry, and his quests seemed less about preserving artifacts than it was about exploiting them. All that mattered was showing off what you found to the highest bidder.

  And since everything he searched for was a weapon, Galen's finds had very little variety compared to the ones Sam had been a part of. It was like Galen only had tunnel vision as a collector. Anything else in the world was barely there. No matter how rare it or priceless it was, it didn't matter unless it could kill someone with ease.

  Although, like many other spoiled, self-entitled brats that grew into their inheritance, not all of Galen's past was clean. He had been involved in a number of legal troubles, which the book poetically described as “misunderstandings” and “a bunch of jealous babies crying that they weren't ever going to amount to anything.” He topped it off by claiming that everything bad that had ever been published about him was completely unfounded.

  Apparently not all of his expeditions were sanctioned by law, and he didn't always carry them out in ways most people would consider professional. There were a number of people and organizations that claimed he had used extortion and blackmail to convince them to hand over their valuable artifacts. Then there was the trespassing, and the violations of international airspace. A number of arrests that he always made sure was swept under the rug afterward.

  With the kind of money he had, he could make sure that he never looked bad. And it was clear that he only ever wanted to look great.

  The rest of the book was just Galen patting himself on the back for all of his accomplishments. An entire chapter dedicated the awards ceremonies he had attended and to the number of times fans had come up to him on the street. The amount of women—and even some men—who had thrown themselves at him, succumbed to their insatiable desires to be with a specimen like him.

  In short, it all seemed like a wonderful piece of fiction ... or at least embellishment.

  One thing was for sure. Sam was really not looking forward to working with the almighty Galen Fitzgerald.

  But at least he had some idea what they were going to be after now. If Galen was the one launching this expedition, then that meant they were looking for some kind of weapon. It was easy enough to figure out. If it wasn't a weapon, then according to his own book, Galen wouldn't be caught dead trying to find it.

  Sam zipped up his bags, knowing no amount of packing was going to be enough to prepare him for whatever adventure was ahead of him.

  He hoped he survived this one like he had somehow survived the rest.

  2

  Spearheading The Journey

  Nina had never fully been convinced of the idea of holiness. It always seemed ludicrous that an inanimate object could be given some sort of greater significance with a blessing or a splash of water.

  She'd only recently seen that maybe things weren't that simple, when she saw the power of the Holy Grail. And here she was, off on yet another crusade for some so-called holy artifact that had biblical ramifications.

  She wanted to hit Purdue for dragging her along on such short notice, and with so very little to go on. For all Purdue knew, this Irish guy Galen was pulling their legs and just wanted an excuse to have some company. From how Purdue talked about him, she wouldn't put it past Galen to just do this as some elaborate prank. To get Purdue's hopes up about recovering his lost spear, and then tearing him down.

  “You're glaring at me,” Purdue said from across the aisle of the private jet. “Feel like I'm turning to stone.”

  Nina narrowed her eyes and stared a little harder. “Sometimes I wish.”

  “Without me, your life wouldn't be nearly as much fun,” Purdue leaned back in his seat, like he had just spoken the ultimate wisdom of the universe. “You remember that.”

  “You really think this guy actually has anything of value?”

  “Galen is a cheeky bastard, but he never jokes about these kinds of things. He wouldn't have called if he had nothing, and he's the kind of guy who would make sure he's not chasing ghosts. Hell, he seemed like he was shaking with giddiness.”

  Nina really didn't want this to be a waste. “You better be right.”

  “Aren't I always?”

  Sam came stumbling out of the jet's bathroom. He steadily stepped down the aisle and took a seat close by. “So how is it you know Galen Fitzgerald? From what I read, he's got a head the size of Saturn. Maybe Jupiter.”

  “We used to run in the same circles,” Purdue said. “He comes from a long line of wealthy leprechauns. He's very rich...” Purdue snickered to himself and shrugged. “...though he's a few zeroes short of being in my league ... his entire family for generations have been very influential i
n Ireland. They're rich enough that when the famine was driving the rest of the Irish off the island, they were sitting at home nice and comfy, like it was any old Wednesday afternoon. Didn't lift a finger to help their fellow countrymen but hey, I guess that's why they're still quite well off. It all works out in the end.”

  “So, you know him because you're both rich...” Sam seemed disappointed.

  “As I said, he's rich. I'm richer,” Purdue said with a smirk, just to reinforce his own ego. “Though I wouldn't say we know each other because we both have money. It just gave us the means to pursue our passions. You're well aware of mine. His is quite similar, but he's a bit more into military history. For example, if I held an ancient long-lost scroll from the Xia Dynasty from thousands of years ago, Galen wouldn't bat an eye. Actually, he'd probably yawn. But if I showed him a flintlock from just three hundred years ago, he'd act like he just discovered the meaning of life. He's all about his blades and bullets, that one.”

  “You said you used to run in the same circles. Used to.”

  “As I'm sure you'll see, Galen can be difficult to be around for long periods of time. He enjoys making noise. Eventually, I just decided to turn down the volume and cut him from my life altogether. Wasn't a huge loss, to be honest.”

  Sam, ever the inquisitive one, asked another question. “Why would he call you if you haven't spoken in so long?”

  “Why else?” Purdue waved his arm to indicate his clothing and the luxurious jet around them. “He needs more money, and he knows that he has something that could entice me to give him some. Teaming up with us would give him my backing and support, and if he doesn't want to risk too much of his own resources, then of course he'll want to use mine. He's devious and cheap that way.”

  “You didn't tell me what it was,” Sam said. “Some kind of weapon, right?”

  “Not just any weapon, Sammy. The Spear of Destiny.”

  “I think I've heard of it,” Sam said with a snicker. “Only saved your ass from dying from it. Remember?” He winked at Nina who shared his enjoyment and rubbing that in. They'd saved Purdue, and he still owed them for it. “It stabbed Jesus on the cross. And it stabbed you in your house. Must be odd ... you and Christ being the only two people in history to get stabbed by it.”

  “Hurt like hell,” Purdue said honestly. “Some believe it has his super-duper holy moly messiah blood on it. They think the spear is blessed with power that most normal weapons don't possess because of where it's been. And having felt it in my chest, I can tell you it's not a ludicrous idea.”

  “And if he does have something on the spear?”

  “Then we back him, we work together, and we find it just like we've found all the others. That's a big 'if,' mind you. People have been looking for the Spear of Destiny for thousands of years. Some even claim they have it. Rome. Armenia. Poland. They all claim to have it. I've bought my way into seeing them all for myself at one point or another. But the one I had, the one that April stole, that was the closest I've seen to the real deal. The rest are all just toothpicks.”

  3

  Bullets On Bookshelves

  “Is that a panzer?”

  Sure enough, it was. An old German tank from the second World War just parked on the lawn like it was supposed to be there. It stood out among the few trees and bushes. In fact, it was hard to even look at other parts of the front yard when there was a tank just sitting there.

  “Don't be too impressed,” Purdue said. “It's just Galen pulling down his pants. I'm sure this place is just full of displays like that.”

  The enormous Fitzgerald house was an armory. The walls were lined with swords, axes, and pikes from a variety of time periods and from a number of different cultures. There were few paintings on the walls, but the ones that were there depicted long ago battles.

  Galen's passion for weaponry was apparent the moment they stepped through the doors. He must have woken up every morning and walked through his home, surrounded by hundreds of remnants of battles throughout history. It wasn't the most cheerful thing to see every morning. After all, many of those weapons might have once been in the hands of dead men.

  They came to the enormous front doors of the house. Even the door handles and knockers were shaped like flails, the chain part of the ball and chain serving as the handles. Galen really liked to play up his public persona. Or maybe was just that fascinated with killing tools.

  Purdue grabbed hold of the chain and knocked hard on the door. With a huge house like that, it would be a wonder if anyone could hear it. But Purdue knew better from his own home. People like him and Galen ... they always had people around to let in the guests.

  Sure enough, the door opened and a beautiful woman opened the door. She looked like she belonged in a super model magazine or something. With a bright smile that's only rival was probably the sun.

  “You must be the guests Galen was expecting. I'm Matilda. He's been so looking forward to this meeting.”

  Purdue stepped forward and straightened his posture. “I'm David Purdue. These are my colleagues. If you don't mind me asking, miss ... just who are you exactly?”

  Matilda flashed another smile and they were all almost blinded. “I take care of the house. The errands. The clothes. All kinds of things really.”

  “So, you're ... his butler—er, maid?” Sam asked.

  “We haven't really put a label on it. I'm just his help. And between you and me, Galen needs all the help he can get sometimes. Please come in, he'll be so happy that you've arrived.”

  Matilda was certainly a far cry from Charles. Purdue was immediately pondering what it might take to upgrade his help from old butler to beautiful multi-tasker. Then again, the super model greeting party might not actually be real help at all. Just a shallow display of prowess from Galen. He liked giving people the impression that he was the definition of perfection. For all they knew, Galen could just be paying her for the day to welcome them. Purdue knew him fairly well, and that seemed like something Galen wasn't above doing.

  They followed Matilda into the manor and walked through a large room with dozens of shields lining the walls. They were all kinds of shapes, sizes, and with emblems from all over the world painted on them. There were rectangular shields of Roman legionnaires. There were circular, leather coated shields of invading Norsemen that had probably been part of quite a few shield walls in their time. Some of the shields bore the crosses of holy orders of crusading knights.

  The room would be perfect if they were hiding from a rain of arrows, but Nina doubted the room was meant to be functional. Instead, it was a bombastic display of prizes that had probably cost a fair bit of money.

  Purdue wondered if Galen had any actual things of value that he kept to himself. It seemed like any item that was worth anything was proudly thrown right into any visitors' faces when they came to the manor.

  A voice surprised them from the corner of the room.

  “That can't be Davy, can it? Have you put on some weight, old friend?” Galen Fitzgerald stepped around an old fourteenth century cannon.

  He was a short man with well-kept curls on his head and dressed from head to toe in expensive clothing. Every part of him looked to have been carefully calculated to present him in a good light. He probably spent hours in front of the mirror trying to exude the right amount of success. Anyone near him was supposed to feel inferior.

  Nina didn't. All she saw was a little man with a big ego.

  “Galen,” Purdue said with a curt nod of his head. “Everyone this is Galen Fitzgerald himself. Please withhold your applause.”

  “Let me guess.” Their host pointed at Sam. “I bet you're the award-winning journalist, Mr. Sam Cleave. You've got that inquisitive glint in your eyes. Which means you are unquestionably Dr. Gould.” Galen took Nina's hand and kissed it. “Positively charmed, doctor.”

  Nina pulled her hand away. Galen wasn't nearly as endearing as he seemed to think he was. There was an oiliness to him. The way he moved. The way he spo
ke. And the way he had held her hand. It was all very rehearsed. Like he was trying too hard to be popular with some invisible audience. He reminded her of Purdue, except Purdue had some actual charm to back up his confidence.

  “Nice to meet you,” she lied.

  “Was that a panzer out in your front yard?” Sam asked, having been wondering since they arrived. A large tank had been sitting near the front doors of the mansion and Sam could hardly believe it, despite everything he had read about Galen.

  “It is,” Galen said with pride. “Long out of commission. Tracks took a hard hit in Poland back during the second World War. Plucked it from a museum for a fair price.”

  “You couldn't just buy a garden gnome?”

  “I did,” Galen winked. “Who do you think is inside the tank?”

  Nina rolled her eyes. It might have been charming if it was anyone else, but Galen trying to be witty just came off as fake and insincere.

  Galen stepped away and moved onto Purdue. He pulled him into an embrace but Purdue glanced to her as they hugged, with a face that said please help me.” Galen, on the other hand, was holding his guest tightly and when pulled back, smacked Purdue on the arm like they were as close as brothers.

  “How the hell have you been? You're still gallivanting all over the world, from what I hear. Would have thought you'd get bored of that whip cracking Indiana Jones routine by now.”

  “It's been far from boring. Seeing the things we've seen ... getting the results we've had. It's been a ride and would be hard to be bored by. As for this trip, though ... we'll have to see how boring it is. Depends on what you have for me. Your phone call didn't give me much to go off of.”

  “Paranoia, Davy. Just my paranoia. With you here, I can see your face and I know no one's listening in. Can never be too careful, aye?”

  “We know that all too well.” Nina muttered.