by P. W. Child
Sam would hopefully be able to interview Jari and determine who the sculptor was, so that they could find his connection to the Odinist Nazism displayed on the chain. Perhaps, Sam hoped, he could even learn what the golden chain was for—provided Purdue’s Finnish peddler even knew about it. Maybe it was not a good idea to mention the extra gold he sold to Purdue at a loss.
“Ready?” Purdue asked, when Sam sauntered into the lobby, looking less than exhilarated.
“You just don’t learn, do you?” Nina smiled.
“Hey, I have my gear set up convincingly and I have my questions prepared,” Sam defended his condition, “so I’ll thank you not to question my professionalism.”
“Convincingly, you say?” Purdue asked as they headed for the car. “I’ll have you know that this subterfuge is not entirely that. You are, after all, there to get information and if the opportunity presents itself, you are there to gather footage of anything pertinent, my friend. Don’t write off the authenticity of your deceit just yet.”
“You almost lost me there for a bit. Semantics can be effective, but please reserve it for less-fatigued brains,” Nina playfully slapped Purdue on the arm.
Dark green, lush trees consumed the small street in Gustavelund that snaked in the direction of Lake Tuusula. This time Purdue opted for the backseat, claiming that he needed the trip duration to check his emails and calibrate a new device he had designed especially for this mini-expedition. Sam was driving
“Here, number eight,” Nina announced, and Sam stopped the car reluctantly.
“Are you sure?” he asked her.
“Aye,” she answered, double checking the post for the number she had on the address.
Nina scrutinized their surroundings and Sam looked perplexed. Purdue did not look up, embroiled in what he had on his tablet’s screen.
“Are we there?” he asked them without looking up.
“I don’t know,” Sam said.
“Why?” the billionaire mumbled.
“Because there is no house here . . .” Nina said.
Purdue looked up and confusion shifted his face.
“There’s nothing.”
Chapt er 14
“You mean to tell me that she actually managed to find one of the generators?”
The woman asking the question was gaunt and small, her age long past seventy years. She was dressed in a pale brown jumpsuit that showed off her youthful shape and her hair was up in a gray bun that only reinforced her fierce and petulant countenance. A most hideous hag she was in personality, and not much less repulsive on sight. Her name was Beinta Dock and she was the current head of the Vril Society of present day.
“You know we cannot allow anyone outside our inner sanctum to have that item, right?” she shouted, her voice bending into a semi-hysterical screech. In her office in Stockholm she was feared by all her staff, even her own bodyguards. With her elongated old finger, she tapped the surface of the desk as she listened to what was a dire excuse on the telephone.
“That’s a lovely analogy, but I am not here for dogma. I am a goddamn scientist! There was a time not long ago when you were one too! Now you listen to me,” she growled as she leaned forward over her desk to speak softer, “you had better find a way to seal that site back up or there will be hell to pay!” Beinta slammed down the phone, her mouth twitching like a writhing knife wound from sheer discontent. The old woman could not believe that a member of the Black Sun would have the audacity to steal the technology her predecessors and consorts so carefully worked to perfect in the past century.
Before her sat one of her loyal colleagues, Hilda Kreuz—Vril Youth Society. The young woman had eyes like steel, not in color, but in intent. A genius and active chemical engineer, Hilda was an adept follower of Beinta Dock. She was as livid about the precious energy generator being obtained by a civilian. Although one of many, its properties were of a higher level of intelligence and not for the average human mind.
“Being the current captain of the ship, it is my burden to keep the world from discovering our unmatched technology and knowledge. Now the generator had been stolen!” she told her cold subordinate. “Oh, Hilda, I am gravely concerned that it might become public. If it should be analyzed, you know the governments of the world would harness the inexhaustible energy it produces, or worse yet, it would pass into the hands of just one country to rule others!”
Beinta’s eyes were bloodshot and brimming with anxiety about the matter that could expose her organization. Hilda gave it some thought and nodded in agreement.
“There is no doubt that such a catastrophe would cripple the entire global energy market in record time, even plunging the world into a premature third world war,” she added. “That level of destruction is imminent anyway.”
“But not at the expense of the Vril Society . . . and our hard-earned supremacy over the feeble intellect of the earth’s superpowers. Good God, the word itself is ludicrous!” she exclaimed.
When such a war would come, it had to be about monopoly and religion, not technology. That was reserved for the New Order that would come, the coming race that would subjugate the nations of the world with its infinite power over science and physics. So far the plan was running smoothly. Vril was a myth. The hollow Earth theory was just that and nothing more.
While the media, affiliate corporations, and selected governments were implementing organized terrorism through covert atrocities, the world population would be deceived and attention diverted. And it was successfully taking effect, just as the Second World War was a mere distraction while the clandestine Nazi societies could efficiently work on their pursuits. Genetic research and experiments in the unified field theory, among others, were sufficiently practiced while occult branches tested the powers of physics in conjunction with the instruction of ancient master beings waiting to reenter the world they used to govern.
Everywhere secret Nazi bases accumulated resources and wealth, building shelters for the Aryan race while waiting for the advent of the Fourth Reich. Beinta rose from her chair and walked to the window that overlooked the beautiful Swedish capital.
“Hitler was but a puppet to demonize and distract the masses. Now, in the year 2015, history is repeating itself under the guise of social media and the doctrines of celebrity,” she said.
“But it is working well in our favor!” Hilda reminded her superior. “Acts of terrorism are exceedingly easy to perpetrate by governments to conform and sway the masses now. Guilt induced by religion had adequately brainwashed citizens to fear questioning the most illogical of acts, for fear that they be chastised . . .” she smiled, “by the faithful followers of belligerent gods, that members of each faction believe love them. Why would a deity bother to reward a lesser being for devotion? The world is beautifully divided and the best trick is that it has become so for ideologies that were devised by callous parties for precisely that reason.”
“At least the Aryans knew that Odin existed as a man, walking the earth. We can serve a god who employed the very wisdom and interdimensional trickery the world has not even mastered in the present! Imagine killing in the name of a god that was created solely to turn you into a pawn, or dying for a god thought up by your own enemy, only because you did not have the courage to question the undeniable contradictions,” Beinta gawked. Her actions were not from condescension but of sincere disbelief.
“I know. But it is good for us that they are so engrossed in the mundane and cretinous doings of worthless morons on pedestals, worshiped by influential idiots on pedestals, that they are blind to what is coming,” Hilda smiled.
“Yes, I agree. And that is why they cannot have that generator, Hilda,” the old leader impressed on her underling.
“And on that note,” Hilda said, as she got up and ceremoniously patted her Parabellum, “I have a Scotsman to hunt.”
Chapt er 15
Nina got out of the car. It was not acceptable that she got the address wrong, she had to see the plot for herself. S
am followed her into the open field that displayed an eerie scene. One singular wooden pole, marked “8,” stood by the small inlet from the street that led into the property. Other than that there was nothing but long grass, weeds, and trees. The place was dead silent, save for the breeze and the occasional car that passed en route to the lake.
“This is very Twilight Zone, Sam,” Nina frowned, still convinced that they were just missing something, apart from a whole house, of course. “I’m getting flashbacks to Baciu forest.”
Sam shivered visibly at her statement. He could still vividly remember being caught in some surreal time lapse in the notorious Hoia Baciu forest with Nina when they helped a Czech academic chase down a secret left by her family in Romania.
“Please don’t bring up that ominous clearing,” he pleaded. “I still have nightmares about that bloody night . . . or . . . day . . . we were stuck there.”
“Sounds intriguing,” Purdue said behind Sam, prompting the journalist to jump.
“It was not in the least bit amusing, I’ll have you know. It was damn terrifying,” Sam told him. “What’s in your hand?”
Purdue looked utterly impressed with himself as he lifted the small silver brick level with his eye line. He pressed a button. Sam and Nina waited for flashing lights or some sort of antenna, but all the thing did was to beep in a steady cadence. With a childlike grin Purdue started to step forward onto the field, holding the device fixed.
“Come,” he told them.
“Where are you going?” Nina asked.
“Come, Nina,” he repeated. “Sam!”
“I’ll just stay put, thank you,” Sam protested.
The little machine started to hasten its rhythm, beeping faster as Purdue advanced over the enormous grass patch. His smile stayed fast, almost looking like a painful wince, but he was too excited to abandon his foolish expression.
“Why is it speeding up?” Nina asked, her small frame laboriously navigating the uneven ground and high weeds as she tried to keep up with the lanky, tall billionaire and yet another of his inventions.
“Because we’re getting closer,” he replied, keeping his eyes straight ahead.
Sam had to admit to being intrigued. He bolted off into a firm jog to catch up with them and joined Nina in Purdue’s wake.
“Closer to what?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know, but it is right in front of us,” Purdue marveled. “I call this invention the seeker. What it does is much like echolocation, identifying invisible objects.”
“Oh! Those pesky old invisible objects,” Sam exclaimed, but Purdue did not entertain his mocking, as usual.
Sam looked at Nina with a befuddled frown. She just rolled her eyes and told him, “I don’t know, Sam. You know how he is.”
Purdue smiled as if he had a sweet secret, “It has a few other features as well, I might add, but I won’t bother you with those right now.” He stopped momentarily, still keeping the device steady, but he looked at them to explain briefly. “Look ahead of you. What do you notice? Anything peculiar catch your eye?”
Sam sighed heavily, “I’m too hungover to think this much, Purdue. Just tell me.”
“Do you not see the nose of our vehicle sticking out from the trees ahead of us, even though it is parked behind us?” he asked Sam.
“Mindfuck 101,” Nina remarked, clearly spooked. “I see it! How? Wha—” she stuttered.
Sam saw what Purdue was talking about. He stopped in his tracks, looking thoroughly perturbed. He picked up his Nikon D7200 and snapped a few frames. He passed Nina his video camera, to do the honors. This was too weird to entrust to reminiscence. It was something that had to be documented.
“I get it,” Nina said suddenly. “It’s a giant mirror.”
Purdue pointed at her, delivering an imaginary gold star for her bright perception.
“What?” Sam shrieked. “Where would this giant mirror end then? And where are we in this reflection? I would notice a strapping lad walking toward me.”
Nina laughed as she filmed, “Right there! That is why there is only a fraction of our car visible ahead. That’s where the mirror ends! And it is tilted over here in front of us. I’m sure it is not just one big mirror, Sam. Looks like several tilted at all angles, like a disco ball.”
“Am I the only one who finds the notion of this immensely creepy?” Sam asked his chuckling friends.
“Aye,” Nina nodded, her beautiful auburn locks rocking on her shoulders as she did so. Sam pointed his lens toward her when she wasn’t looking. He could not resist capturing her dark splendor, especially now that she was smiling. So many times he thought he would never hear her giggle again; and times when she was upset with him, when he wished he could just see her smile at him one more time.
The pulse of Purdue’s seeker grew rapid until it sounded out so frequently that it finally became one long tone. He stopped and motioned for them to join him. Carefully he reached out and his fingertips touched the edge of something paper thin.
“If this thing suddenly shows me a giant image of us I’m going to soil myself, I’m tellin’ ya,” Sam puffed nervously.
“Thanks for sharing, old boy,” Purdue smiled, tipping the edge just enough to make it slant ever so slightly, “just . . . enough . . . to make the reflection of the trees shift.”
“Just enough to make the alarm go off!” Sam chimed in as a deafening wail assaulted their ears. In agony the three stepped back from the mercury sheets, plugging their ears. At first they did not notice the furious old man charging at them with two dogs by his side. Only when he disengaged the vociferous alert did they see him on their right, holding two vicious beasts on leashes, one on each hand.
“Good morning!” Purdue smiled. “So sorry about the intrusion, but we had no idea how to get to your house.”
“That is the idea, mister,” the man replied angrily in a heavy accent.
“We are looking for Jari Koivusaari,” Sam mentioned almost directly after the man responded.
“Why?” he roared.
Nina left the camera running, just making sure that he could not see her lifting the lens to get him in the frame.
“We are writing a small book on obscure artists and their works,” Sam fibbed so convincingly that Purdue was stunned. “Your name came up as an expert we could interview for some knowledgeable information.”
The angry man was really quite remarkable looking and she had to get a shot of the strange old fellow. He was exceptionally tall, about sixty years of age and dressed in tidy attire, tailored for him no doubt. Nothing in a normal clothing store would fit him anyway.
Boots with steel clips running up to his calves hugged the bottoms of heavy black corduroy pants. In the breeze his turquoise coat took on a life of its own, hanging from his shoulders like a cape, rising and falling like the ocean’s waves. Under his coat he wore a pitch black turtleneck. His face was adorned with a gray moustache and beard that seemed to flow from his face like a white waterfall, ending in an impeccably neat braid that hung down to his sternum. No hair covered his scalp and Nina hoped he had a collection of beanies to warm his large cranium.
“You are a journalist,” the man said. He did not ask, he stated. Sam nodded.
“I’m Jari . . . and you are a very good journalist. You lie like a priest,” he said abruptly and pulled in his dogs to cease their ruckus. “Come in, Sam Cleave.”
And with that he left the three of them in absolute astonishment, almost forgetting to follow him. He led the way past a clump of thick spruce and birch trees and disappeared into a small canopy of thorny brushes underneath.
Purdue was fascinated by the concept and Nina kept rolling, although she kept the camera low. Sam felt such a fool for lying to a man who knew his name and tried to keep up with Jari. As they passed through the canopy, they walked into a perfectly beautiful backyard, guarded by pine trees. There stood the double-story house of rock and cement masonry, larger than life.
Nina was wary of Jari’s
two beasts. She had never been comfortable around canines and these were as exotic and irate as their owner. They stood as high as Great Danes, but had the facial features of pit bulls. Their coats were jet black and shiny like the perfect texture of race horses.
“What kind of breed is this, sir?” Nina asked hesitantly, not feeling like being the next target of his curious clairvoyance. Sam and Purdue glanced at her quickly as if she was that student who dared ask the moody teacher a question. She could almost hear Sam telling her not to provoke his wrath and fuck up the plan.
“This dog is a Presa Canario,” Jari replied boastfully. To their amazement his response was of average demeanor. “Like me, they are much taller than the rest of their breed.”
“They are beautiful,” she smiled nervously.
He smiled, revealing probably the most grotesque part of him. Both upper and lower teeth were visibly pointed, however not by cosmetic adjustment, which made it a hundredfold more disturbing. “Today beauty is um . . . what you say . . . abundance?” The three guests affirmed the word cordially. Nina thanked him in his tongue, “Kiitos.”
Jari’s face morphed into a blushing picture of elation at the thoughtful lady’s effort.
“You speak Suomi?” he asked enthusiastically.
“Sadly not, no. Just one or two words,” she replied with a shrug.
“How do you know that?” Sam asked very softly behind Nina.
She replied through teeth clenched in a smile, “Amorphis show at Ruisrock Festival. Now shut up.”
Purdue played it evenly, not drawing much attention to himself in case the perceptive old man knew him too. But Jari paid no mind, which was a relief, temporarily.
“Sit, sit,” he invited as he opened the new bottle of Virvatulet he had fetched from the cabinet. He poured three glasses for them.
“Aren’t you having a glass?” Nina asked.