“Burnt Island should do. There’s a small seafood restaurant where we can have a pint and...” he looked at Sam with reprimand, “...compose ourselves.”
“I don't want to go out that far. That’s Paddy’s turf,” Sam admitted. “It’s too close to Kirkcaldy and that‘s where I might just run into my...ex-friend,” Sam forced out, feeling the fresh hell in his heart still healthy.
“Don't worry, we aren't going out that far, Sam,” Norris assured him. The crown of his bald head almost touched the roof of the car, but his body was in great shape. Sam had noticed that the young man he’d taken under his wing so long ago had become everything in appearance that he was in status. A suit and open button shirt with a scarf dressed the tough-looking freelancer. He’d never been handsome, but his features looked good in fine style. By his Cartier watch Sam could see that the underworld was a lucrative destiny for Norris, but he still wouldn’t trade places with him.
“We don't have much time,” Sam said, looking decidedly tense as he stared ahead on the road. “I need this information yesterday, Norris. Now, I know I cannot afford you and I don't exactly have any favors to call in on you, but this is a child's life at stake.”
“I see,” Norris replied, checking his rear view mirror again. Every few seconds he would do this, making him appear even more covert than his reputation dictated. Sam just had to chuckle.
“What?” Norris asked as they turned into the small road near the beach were the restaurant was located. The car eased around the corner, rocking like a space ship under Sam before it came to a halt in front of a quaint rectangular wood building perched up on large posts. Its huge windows stretched most of the length of the sides, which made for breathtaking views of the Firth of Forth and its azure appeal when the weather was mild. He switched off the engine and looked at Sam's amused face, looking a bit uncomfortable.
“What, Sam?” he asked again with a bit more gusto.
Sam shook his head and smiled, “You really have made a good life for yourself, you know, Norris. I’m impressed at how far you've come since...” He stopped short of mentioning the atrocious incident that ruptured all morality and compassion Norris possessed, but the young man was sharp and quite indifferent about propriety.
“That time when they killed my family and got away Scot free? Aye, I suppose I’ve advanced since then, Mr. Cleave.” He comforted Sam's apologetic notion by being especially nonchalant about it. “And not just financially. You do know that if you’re seen with me your reputation will be shot to hell, don't you? A prominent investigative journalist cavorting with a crook wanted by several government agencies and terrorist organizations? Your laurels will never pull you out of that heap, my friend.”
Sam scoffed, a sorrowful and empty smile crossing his face as his eyes stared into space. “Aye, my reputation, my pristine certification of name and loyalty,” he said monotonously, “by which accords are struck and promises are forged.” But when his eyes met Norris' the freelancer recognized a particular look in Sam; a look he too had once known well.
That sheen in the eye was the silent messenger of despair, the eyes carrying tidings that the soul had forfeited all condolence of innate consideration; the individual was at the end of their tether, yet could not end the purgatory. “You know who you remind me of, Sam?”
“Who?” Sam asked. “And if you say Carl Kolchak, I swear to Christ I will snap your neck right here in your Mercedes.”
Norris rarely laughed, unless he’d just sealed someone's fate or successfully robbed a financial conglomerate with a worm virus. But Sam Cleave could always provoke a fit of laughter from him. The Scottish journo had such quick wit with dry undertones that he could conjure a laugh out of him in a second, an admirable feat in Norris' opinion. “No, not Kolchak, although...”
“Norris, I swear,” Sam warned, unaware that the sudden turn in conversation had lightened his heart's heavy burden considerably.
“You remind me of Prometheus,” Norris revealed plainly, as if the mythical Titan actually existed as a material being; as if he was an old acquaintance. Bewildered, Sam stared at Norris, but that soon changed into something acceptable once Sam reminded himself of the tale.
“You think I'm a Titan? Of course you do.” Sam winked.
“No, seriously. This thing with you and your friend parting ways is killing you. I’ve not laid eyes on you for close to, what, about eight years? And it took me all of two minutes to pick up on the predicament your psyche is in because of what you told me,” Norris explained. “Listen, Sammy-boy. It’s clear as fucking crystal that you’re in a state of torment. Whether you do it to yourself or not, you keep getting up after to see if you can fix the problem, but just as the next day comes you fall back on that rock and a bloody raptor eats your guts. I can see it in your face. And you know what? When my guts were wrenched from guilt and heart-sore and all the tallied sins I blamed myself for, I got worse by the day. By the day, Sam! If you keep playing martyr like this it will kill you inside of a week.”
“That’s why I need you,” Sam frowned. “You’re my only hope at breaking the curse, Norris. You’re my Heracles, mate. Only you can give me the information that will help me get off the mountain. I cannot redeem myself until I’ve done something concrete to help Paddy find his daughter, understand?”
“I get it. I do,” Norris assured him, watching the surroundings outside the vehicle as he spoke. “But you have to take it easy, man. Jesus, maiming muggers is not exactly going to help you stay like, undercover and shit, you know? You have to just stop this burn-out bullshit and focus on what you have to get done.”
“Look at us,” Sam scoffed. “I used to give you advice on how to outrun the devil.”
“Aye, and see how it made me flourish,” Norris bragged, slipping a brand new cigarette in between his lips. He offered the pack to Sam, pulling it away just as Sam reached for one. “Just one thing...no burning anybody's fucking eyes out, eh?”
“I cross my heart,” Sam amused him. “Now, can we discuss the deal?”
Norris lit Sam's fag and nodded. “Right, what do you need from me?” He quickly reiterated something he had made clear before on the phone. “Just remember, I don't do the wee barras, you hear me? No children in my projects, hey?”
“Relax,” Sam said. “It’s no different from tailing a target, Norris. You track down the fucker who took this girl and the other woman, and you tell me where to find him. Chop-chop.”
“Good. That I can do,” Norris said, exhaling a long stream of smoke out his car window. “Just don't want to directly track sprogs. Hate the little tykes. Never liked 'em. But still, I'm not a monster. I don't want to hunt them or do a hit on them—nothing like that.”
“I know. Just talk to the roaches and dig up that maggot for me. I'll do the rest,” Sam commanded. “What's your fee for this? Just the service, not the hit.”
Norris looked out the window, sucking on the butt between his thumb and index finger, taking his time to calculate the risks involved to name his price. Eventually he sighed and looked at the journalist with the bloodshot eyes. “I tell you what, Sam. You just keep the Secret Service and Interpol off my track and I'll do you this solid.”
“That's it?” Sam gawked. It was unusual for Norris to provide a service without mercenary rewards. In fact, the man rivaled Scrooge himself when it came to greed and thrift. That was clear by his clothing and accessories. Granted, freedom was of utmost importance for a wealthy criminal of his caliber, so the request was reasonable.
“That's it. Just this once. And I better stay a ghost, eh? If I as much as get a whiff of Pollis or the Queen's sniffers like that mate of yours, you'll be missing more than a liver, Sam. I canna have my operations compromised, not even for a good cause.”
“Aye, Norris, I'm aware of that. I’ll make sure nobody knows who my source is. You just get me his position and you can walk away, rob the Pope, fuck the Dutchess of Killakee, whatever you wish. Our business only goes that far.”
>
“Alright,” the freelancer agreed, flicking his cigarette out the window.
Sam sighed, “Great, we drove all the way out here to talk in the restaurant, and we conclude our terms in the car.”
“Oh, no, Sam,” the young sniper chuckled as he flung his door wide open. “The pubbing was not for business, mate. Now we grab a few gigots and have some chow, you and me. I'll take you back on a full stomach. It's the least I can do until the vulture comes to eat your guts again tomorrow.”
16
Purdue collected the readings from his bug device while Nina waited, having no idea what the alpha-numerical mess on the screen of his tablet was revealing. It was by watching his face alone that she could determine whether it was good or bad, but even that was uncertain. Rubbing his chin with his thumb while the columns of information populated the screen, Purdue seemed to be concerned by the readings and Nina could no longer speculate.
“So, is it going to melt our faces off?” she quickly asked.
Purdue slowly looked up at her with a blank expression that frustrated her. He was surprised that she’d become so engrossed in the discovery that her urgency exceeded even his. One more time he looked at the tablet before declaring, “According to the chemical composition contained herein, we will keep our faces, my dear. What disturbs me somewhat is not what curse could be inside, but what my readings disclose are inside.”
“And what would that be?” she scowled impatiently.
“Biological matter,” he announced, looking a bit spooked.
“Biological matter?” she asked in disbelief. “So...it's a coffin?”
“I believe so,” Purdue replied. “However, by the size of this artifact, whatever is inside is either chopped up in pieces to fit, which in itself is too macabre, or...or I'm afraid this could be the body of a child.”
Nina's hand came over her mouth. From behind it Purdue could hear a muffled, “Oh my God. I don't know which prospect is worse.”
“I know, but we know now it doesn’t contain any toxic gases, which means we can open it and have a look. Admit it, gross as it is, the suspense is killing you too,” Purdue said.
“Aye, let's open it,” she agreed fervently and grabbed a crowbar off the bottom shelf where Purdue kept loose steel tools.
“No!” he yelled protectively. “A crowbar would destroy it, Nina.”
“Who cares?” she frowned, holding the curved end of the prying tool up in front of her in a ready stance. “It is not the Ark of the Covenant, remember? Even its gold adornments are fake, Purdue. It's a goddamn makeshift coffin probably built to fool a tribe of poor, unwitting villagers.”
Purdue slowly and gently clutched his fingers over Nina's hands, gripping the tool so that she could not swing it unexpectedly. “You’re right. It’s not the Ark, but have you considered that this thing could perhaps only resemble a very famous religious relic while in actual fact being tenfold more powerful? Imagine if this chest held something far more potent than the true Ark itself, only nobody paid attention because it was an obvious counterfeit. How do we know whomever made it did not do it like this deliberately?”
Nina had to concede. After all, the carvings did consist of some seriously irreligious symbols and etchings that were not decidedly unholy, but far from anything Biblical. That alone merited investigation.
“Okay, open it your way,” she surrendered. “But please do hurry. We need to find out what you have here so that we can get Sam out on an expedition before he loses it.”
Purdue flung the crowbar aside and it clanged into the various other heavy-duty tools. “Could you please bring your laptop down here, Nina? We might find something significant that you may not have encountered before or might not know of, if that is even possible.” He smiled. Nina rolled her eyes and turned on her heels. As she left the room he could hear her shout, “I saw right through that!”
He smiled at her playfulness, more than visibly delighted that Nina was once more in his home, in his company, and in his life. Like the good old days before the Amber Room catastrophe, she was once more her feisty self with him without being hostile. That was precisely the intangible quality in Nina that first had made him fall for her, her beauty being the obvious first attraction. It was good to work with her again, even if that meant he had to be concerned for her safety the whole time. She was worth the extra trouble.
“Good morning, sir,” Charles spoke from the hallway. “Would you like some breakfast?”
“Hey, morning Charles!” Purdue beamed, the sight pleasing the butler. “Yes, could you get Lily to fix me two rye sandwiches with cottage cheese and gherkin, please? With black coffee?”
“Of course, sir,” Charles obeyed.
“And do ask Dr. Gould if she wants something.”
“He already hooked me up, thanks,” Nina said with a mouthful of biscuit. Her laptop bag was slung over her shoulder while her hands were occupied with a fresh mug of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies. “Lillian is going to undo all my hard training in one bloody day, I tell you.”
“It would take more than cookies to undo that perfect rump, my dear,” Purdue said matter-of-factly, hardly noticing that he was flirting.
“Oh, can it. I'm not twenty-five anymore, Romeo,” she teased. “Open the bloody chest already. I’m not going to lie—as much apprehension I feel for the contents, my excitement matches it.”
“Don't worry, me too. It’s rather light, considering its size. So, apart from the biological tissue in it there could hardly be anything else in there. Would you prefer to wear a mask and gloves?”
“Absolutely. It is too antique to take chances with. Foreign agents could easily be dormant inside until exposed to oxygen and light. Rather safe than sorry,” Nina advised.
They put their food and drinks on Purdue's corner desk a good distance away, which he usually used to separate scrolls and papers from the towers of stored history that lined the shelves of the dusty, hidden storeroom. Both slipped on surgical masks and dressed their hands in latex gloves, just in case the decayed tissue carried harmful bacteria or exotic agents.
“I stayed up all night devising a way to open this chest. Let's hope it works,” he said.
“Between the two angels?” Nina asked.
“Yep,” Purdue affirmed as he flicked a switch on a steel arm that was attached to an electrical box fixed to the wall. “Between the angels, right where their wing tips meet, that is where I must apply the Power of God.”
“Sorry, what?” she asked with a deep frown on her brow.
Purdue smiled, “Lightning. The energy field between the lid and the container needs a powerful charge to disrupt the magnetic hold governed by the elements in the angel wings.”
Nina was in awe of the science behind the mundane-looking box. “Goosebumps,” she whispered as the machine hummed into life and the clapping sound of charging electricity started. “Whoever fashioned this relic had to have an above average knowledge of physics and applied science, and judging by the age of the wood it had to be a civilization from antiquity.”
Above the seams of the white masks they exchanged looks before Purdue lowered the pen-shaped end of the arm to a few inches above the lid, pointing it downward to meet the summit of the invisible triangle formed by the two statues. It rested there when Purdue pressed the button to lock it in place. “Maybe the civilization it was guarded by was not responsible for its creation,” he speculated. “This kind of engineering would take precision instruments to conduct lighting into a current no thicker than 7mm moving straight down. I doubt it could be employed or controlled by mere villagers. Now, Nina, close your eyes.”
She didn’t question Purdue. When it came to arcs and currents it was best to trust his judgment. The beam hissed, brightening the room around them. Outside Charles waited with Purdue's breakfast. Knowing his master, the door was closed for a reason and the blinding illumination flashing under the door was a sure sign to wait. He had to hide his curiosity behind his professional rig
idity, but he often watched the fascinating developments in his boss' laboratories and workrooms. Working for a genius would naturally be intriguing, but Charles worked for the genius, the restless and flamboyant billionaire Dave Purdue and his brilliant facets of business.
He loved his job and he was not going to lose it.
Inside the electric room Nina shrieked from the discharge that messed with her body's electrolytes and the static of her hair. “Stand still!” she heard Purdue cry out.
“It's going to fry me!” she protested.
“Only if you move and change the dynamic of the charge,” Purdue explained casually, leaving Nina in a frantic panic.
“Great! I feel much better now, rooming with a bolt of lightning that's feeling me up and all,” she whined sarcastically. “How long is this going to go on?”
“I set it for one minute, but we won't know until the current stops if the lid is dislodged yet,” Purdue shouted, suddenly bellowing his words into dead silence as the machine shut off. “Oh,” he said softly. “Shall we see?”
“Aye,” Nina replied, slowly opening her eyelids in slits to make sure there was nothing out to blind her. “It looks okay. Is the lid open?” Again, as she asked, the lid of the relic shifted a few inches by itself, just enough to present a niche into the box. Nina started at the supernatural feel of it all, but Purdue only smiled.
“That’s just an electromagnetic field disturbance pushing it aside—opposite poles, that's all.”
“If you say so. I say it’s that fucking genie inside we just liberated,” she cautioned, to Purdue's amusement. “If it is, I wish first.”
“Your breakfast, sir,” Charles announced behind the door. Purdue lunged to open the door and get his food so that he could free up Charles' time to get to his other chores.
“Thank you kindly, Charles,” Purdue said hastily. “I'll call you if we need you, alright?”
Order of the Black Sun Box Set 6 Page 9