Order of the Black Sun Box Set 9

by Preston William Child

  Purdue never thought he would ever become a bank robber, but life threw curve balls sometimes. He just had to adapt to the unforeseen twists and turns that kept coming his way; which was easier ever since the biggest twist of all had happened. Everything seemed possible now that everything he owned had been taken right under his nose.

  Besides, it would hardly be considered a robbery at all. It wasn't one. Not really. He was just taking back his own belongings. No one was going to be robbed, and nothing was going to be stolen from someone.

  It was more of a complicated withdrawal than it was a robbery.

  Still, whatever he considered, he had to be careful in its handling. If he didn't play things right, his face would end up on the evening news and the entire country would be out looking for him. He couldn't risk that.

  INTERLUDE 1 – SAM CHECKS IN EVERY DAY

  Sam Cleave never stayed in one motel for more than a day. That was the safest decision he could make given the life-threatening circumstances he now found himself in. That call from Purdue had really shaken him to the core, but he knew better than to doubt Purdue ... especially after he heard what happened next.

  That one phone call of warning was enough for him to upend his life and take off. According to Purdue at the time, the Order of the Black Sun was coming after him, with Julian Corvus leading them. Sam had watched Julian die back in Norwich ... but he knew better than to doubt anything these days. There were no rules when it came to the artifacts they were all fighting for. It was entirely possible that psycho had Julian survived, or was somehow brought back from death.

  Purdue had warned him that the Black Sun would probably be coming after Sam too. That made sense. Julian seemed like the type of leader who would stress thoroughness in getting rid of the ancient order's enemies. So, that made Sam near the top of the Black Sun's most wanted list. After all, he'd help Purdue take that secret society down a number of times.

  It had all been so fast, and so cryptic, but right away he packed all of the essentials and took off, and hadn't stopped running since. Purdue's warning was scary enough, but the scarier part was seeing the news the next day—that billionaire David Purdue had died in a house fire at his estate. If those bastards really had managed to kill Purdue, Sam knew they wouldn't hesitate doing the same to him. He hoped their other frequent colleague, Nina Gould, was alright but he doubted it. Purdue said she hadn't picked up his call. Maybe she didn't get the warning like Sam had.

  He tried to at least count himself lucky. If Purdue really was dead, he was thankful that his friend had managed to give him a fighting chance, or at least a head start in staying alive. Sam tried to mourn Purdue in his own way after he heard the news. The two of them had shared some friction here and there throughout working together, but overall, he was always thankful to have known that spoiled, entitled, bastard.

  Sam had always been pretty adaptable to whatever curve balls life threw at him and he treated this no differently. It was just another investigation, another job. The only difference was this time, the story he was fighting so hard for was his own survival.

  The motel he was currently at was seedy, to say the least, but he was okay with it. The more rundown and inconspicuous the better. As expansive as the Black Sun was, and how good they were at finding things, they couldn't check every dusty old building on the planet. There were plenty of places to hide, and so far he was doing a good job staying out of their sights. He hoped to keep it that way.

  He lay in a rickety bed, staring up at the ceiling and—just like he did every day—tried to think of how he was going to get out of this mess. For all he knew, he would have to keep running for the rest of his life.

  He couldn't exactly fight them off. Purdue had probably tried that, and look what happened to him. He hoped he hadn't burned alive, and was already gone when the house burned. That would have been a horrible way to go out.

  If Sam didn't want to end up the same way, he just had to heed his last friend's advice. He had to avoid one of the most dangerous groups of people in the entire world for an undetermined amount of time. It would be a monumental task but it was the only way. He just had to keep moving, and hope that Purdue didn't die in vain.

  2

  THE WITHDRAWAL

  Purdue sat outside of the bank on the curb. To most people, he probably looked like some homeless man loitering and looking for some spare change. A lot of people passing by wouldn't pay him a second glance, not wanting to associate with someone supposedly beneath them. They wouldn't even notice the old book in his hands. He did appreciate the people that did stop and offer him some money. It wasn't much, but he honestly would take anything; anything that could get him even a pound closer to getting his billions back.

  When the bank opened sharply at eight in the morning, Purdue set about on his mission. It wasn't well planned, and he had few resources, but he knew that plenty of bank robbers got away with far less of a plan. Nowadays, all it took was a note asking for the money and a good disguise. So many had done something so simple and gotten away with it. The only difference was, Purdue wasn't just slipping a note across the teller line. He wasn't just threatening that he had a gun in his pocket and then would demand everything in their drawers. No, he was trying to break into the safe deposit vault.There was a great big difference between robbing a bank and breaking into one. Breaking into one required far more planning and far more skill, and he was lacking in both. Luckily for him, he had something that most people trying to steal from financial institutions didn't have—magic. A little bit of magic might be able to make all the difference in the world.

  Purdue had made the sleeping powder. He stuffed all of it into a soggy old sock he found in a dumpster, which made for a surprisingly effective storage unit for the magical tool. As the tellers inside flipped the sign to open, he approached the bank.

  He pulled down a makeshift mask he had made from a torn up winter hat he'd found. He ripped holes in it to be able to see through. It sort of resembled a ski mask, but the eyes holes were enormous and uneven, making him look far less intimidating than he hoped. If everything went well, though, there should have been no need to have to intimidate anyone. He could just stroll right on in while his magical powder did the trick.

  With his horrible disguise covering his face, Purdue pulled out a lighter he'd pick pocketed from a man a few nights beforehand. Part of him felt a little guilty since the man had clearly been a heavy chain smoker who would miss his lighter dearly. The other part of him though, felt proud to take the lighter from the man, for the man's own health. Maybe his thievery could start the chain smoker's journey toward quitting smoking. It was a terrible habit, after all.

  The lighter would be just as good for robbing banks, which was probably a healthier habit to have than smoking toxins. Purdue flicked the lighter on and held the sock full of powder up to the flame. It caught and the fire danced across the fabric. There was a strange smell starting to emanate from the sock and Purdue knew that if he didn't move quickly, he'd accidentally put himself to sleep with it. That would be a terrible start to his redemption. An attempted bank robber passed out at the front door of the bank he intended to victimize. That would be all over the news.

  With the smoking sock in his hand, Purdue opened the front door of the bank just enough to fit the sock through and he rolled the powder across the carpet. It took a moment before the powder inside really started to burn and when it did, the sock went up in a puff of smoke.

  One of the tellers noticed it and called the others to come help. It was impossible to know what she thought it could be, but Purdue would have loved to hear a guess. He doubted she would have ever landed on the correct answer. A sock filled with sleep powder from a long dead witch wasn't exactly an obvious guess, but who knows, maybe the teller was smart enough to figure it out.

  Fumes and smoke filled the bank's lobby almost immediately once the flames touched the powder. As they were surrounded by the fumes, the tellers instantly passed out and fell t
o the floor. He didn't want them hurt so hopefully they hadn't collapsed too hard. He slowly made his way around the cloud, hopping over the teller stations. He was careful not to accidentally step on the unconscious bank employees. As frustrated as he was with his current financial troubles, it wasn't the tellers' fault.

  He moved to a back room that he hadn't been in for a few years; not since he initially put a few private items inside. Nothing too grand, but far better than what he had now. Even his most boring of valuables were better than absolutely nothing at all.

  Deposit boxes lined the walls of the room and he looked down the line of them until he saw the number he had been given when he first rented the box: 324. Purdue pulled out his key, which he'd managed to salvage from his destroyed home, and opened up the deposit box.

  Its contents were exactly as he had left them: a couple of old scrolls that were rare but hardly worth his time, a large medallion he found in Egypt, and there was the chart that supposedly led to Admiral Ogden's treasure and stolen goods.

  Besides his relics that didn't quite make the cut to have been in his private vault, there was a stack of cash. A little over ten thousand pounds. At the time, it had just been spare cash to throw away on a boring rainy day. A minuscule amount in comparison to what he used to have. Now, it was his salvation—the only way he could even start looking for the treasure and the only way he'd ever be able to even get out of Scotland.

  Safe deposit boxes were meant to be confidential. As such, the room they were kept in lacked cameras, so the bank and police would have no way of knowing which box was accessed. As far as they would see, a masked man somehow lulled the tellers to sleep and then went into the back and took nothing from the vault. If they tried to do inventory on the safe deposit boxes, it wouldn't matter since they had no record or complete knowledge of what was inside to begin with. He probably could—maybe even should—take some of the money in the vault, but he had his limits. All of this was just about getting back things that were already his. There was no need to actually rob the place.

  He shoved the straps of cash into his jacket pockets and rolled up the map before closing the box back up. He left behind the other little trinkets inside. Who knows, maybe they would come in handy at some point someday. For now, better to leave something in the box to make it look like it hadn't been depleted.

  Purdue hurried out, practically leaping over the unconscious bank tellers still sprawled about on the carpet. He threw the bank's doors open and looked around, glad to see very few people on the street, and none of them seemed to notice the masked man leaving the bank. That would have gotten plenty of people's attention.

  Purdue sprinted down the sidewalk and didn't dare remove the mask yet. Any number of cameras could possibly catch sight of his face if he did. He just kept moving and took a sharp turn down an alleyway.

  It was about fifteen minutes later that he heard police sirens. The bank tellers must have woken up from their long nap. It didn't matter, though. They hadn't seen anything. The cameras wouldn't help figuring out whose face was under the mask either.

  He'd robbed a bank—sort of—and was getting away with it. He'd actually managed to get some of his belongings back, and that was a first step, an admittedly small one, toward retrieving the rest of his many possessions.

  Walton Ogden had come a long way from his days as a simple naval sailor. Back then, he followed orders. Back then, he did as he was told. Back then, he accepted that he had superiors and that he was only going to become mildly successful in life. As a sailor for the Royal Navy, he would never be famous. His name wouldn't be remembered; at best, it would just be one of many on a memorial wall one day for thousands of sailors who served the crown. He had to accept that he would never be rich. His success depended on the actions of those around him. Their choices would dictate his own.

  He couldn't stomach that. He wouldn't let his life be restrained like that. Authority was a cage, and the world was far too vast to let yourself be contained in such a small box. He would be as successful as he could be in the time he had, and wouldn't let anything stand in his way. He learned many of his comrades sailing with him felt the same way. They felt just as controlled, and they wanted some freedom. There was one easy way to get it.

  They sailed the ocean, an endless void of possibilities. The water could take them anywhere. It could take them to new places that hadn't been touched by the society that was holding them back. It could take them far from old places that they couldn't wait to get away from. They could sail the seas, never staying in one place long. They would be far away from laws and governments.

  They could do whatever they wanted. They could be whatever they wanted.

  And Walton Ogden wanted to be a very rich man.

  He rallied his supporters on their naval ship, rallying them to back him in enacting a mutiny against their stiff captain and all of his many dictations. It wasn't difficult. Most of the crew were on board with doing something for themselves rather than for the country they served. They all wanted a better life, and if they played it right, they would be able to attain the means to improve their lives. They ambushed the captain and those who refused to mutiny, tied them all together with their arms and legs bound, and dropped the whole lot of them overboard into the sea. With their combined weight, the group of them sank rather quickly.

  Walton Ogden dealt his first blow to the crown and took control of the ship, with a crew of soldiers who had become turncoats beside him. They had discarded their loyalty to the crown and any oaths they made to the British empire in favor of freedom to do as they pleased. They didn't want to live mediocre lives serving people who didn't even know their names. They wanted something better for themselves ... and this was the right path to take to find that.

  They replaced the British flag raised above the ship with a black one, and they pulled down all of the sails, replacing them with red canvas. Ogden wanted something distinctive and dramatic. He didn't want to hide that they were pirates. He wanted it to be very clear what they were and that they had no allegiance to any nation or empire. Crimson sails would stand out against the sky and the blue sea beneath them.

  With that, they raided their first vessel, a small little merchant vessel off the coast of Cuba. Taking everything of value on board, Walton Ogden officially became a criminal, and the captain of a pirate crew.

  3

  AN ODE TO THE LONG LOST PRIVATE JET

  After seeing his bank accounts be drained and erased, Purdue sometimes wished that he had enough foresight to keep more paper money around, tucked under his mattress maybe. But then all of the cautionary tales would have been true and he would have lost it all when his house burned to the ground. There really was no safe place to put his money, expect possibly buried in the ground like a pirate would do. Maybe Admiral Ogden had all of that treasure of his buried deep in the earth and all that mattered was finding a marker shaped like an X.

  It felt good to have money again. It was like flexing a muscle that he hadn't used in a while, even if his financial strength was greatly diminished since the last time he bought anything. Unfortunately, most of his money found in the old deposit box was used to charter a flight that would be private and discreet in getting him to Jamaica—the best place to start if the map was any indication.

  His passports and identification wouldn't do him much good anymore, so he needed someone who was willing to practically smuggle him into another country. He found that person in pilot Fiona Haddish. She loved flying her plane across the ocean for the thrill of it. Having to sneak into Jamaica was an impossible chance to pass up for someone like her. It would be dangerous, exciting, and memorable. Of course, despite all that, she still demanded most of the money he had due to the risks involved. She may have liked having fun, but like most people, money was still a crucial factor in her decision making process.

  Her plane was a small, two-person aircraft. Purdue sat behind Fiona and both wore headsets so they would be able to communicate during t
he long flight.

  The plane rattled during the take-off, but it went smoother once they were finally in the air. They shot through the clouds, leaving Scotland far behind him.

  Flying around in a rickety little plane made him miss the private jet he used to travel the world in. He missed the leather couches. He missed the alcohol bar. Most of all, especially now, he missed the walking space. His jet felt more like a traveling hotel room or apartment than it did a plane. It was a far grander than the cramped bucket he was stuck in now.

  He took a moment to ponder what happened to his old luxury jet. It might still be sitting on the runway but it was more likely the Order of the Black Sun had blown it to bits. They destroyed everything else he owned after all. Why not take away his favorite way to travel too? If only to further rub salt into the legacy of the man they thought was dead.

  “So...” Fiona asked from where she sat in front of him, her voice crackling into his headphones. “What is with this top secret trip to Jamaica of yours?”

  “If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?” Purdue didn't feel too comfortable sharing his secrets with a complete stranger. With his luck, she was probably a member of the Order of the Black Sun and was going to nosedive the plane straight down or crash it into a mountain peak to kill him. If that were the case, though, then making conversations wasn't going to make a difference. It would at least help to pass the time. “If you really need to know, I'm actually looking for buried treasure, if you could believe it.”

  “Oh yeah?” The voice in his ear sounded genuinely intrigued. “So, you are going to take a stroll on the beach with one of those metal detectors?”