The Seventh Secret (Order of the Black Sun Book 11)

by P. W. Child

  “No problem. I’ll contact you soon,” Sam said, and ended the call, leaving Billy in the miserable silence of his empty house.

  Once he had been a flourishing academic, publishing papers and serving as a guest speaker all over the world. He had had tenure at one of the biggest institutions in Cape Town and a house full of lavish amenities. Now his belongings merely comprised a bed and a desk in his bedroom, his spare room used as storage space, his living room furnished with only a couch and an armchair, a television in a cabinet and a potted palm that was always teetering on the edge of demise. Had it not been his only company he may have neglected to water it at all.

  Malgas felt the effects of the cheap rum coursing through him, gradually urging him to drink more and care less. His body felt as numb as his feelings. In Billy's mind, his reputation was one brush away from non-existent anyway, and if his little hoax was exposed it would do little to destroy what was left of his professional career. Even if the plan were a success, he would still be in debt, and his house would still be empty because he knew full well that there was not real treasure or actual historical significance he could profit from.

  As a matter of fact, the only upside to the entire charade was that interest in his classes might be restored. Big deal. A knock on the door jerked Billy Malgas out of his self-pity bubble and forced him to compose himself over the alcohol and the listlessness of his current mood.

  ‘Good going! Listen to that knock, he thought to himself as he stumbled to his feet. That’s a knock…because you had to take down the fancy intercom when you lost your consultant position at Heyward’s.’

  He made his way to the door on his socks, shirt unbuttoned with the shirt tails hanging out of his pants.

  “Relax! I’m on my way,” he yelled in his half drunken state as the knock grew more urgent. Just short of the front door he took up his 9mm from the antique bookshelf. He lived near the university, on the southern side of Summerstrand, a neighborhood right on the edge of the city bordering on the scenic ocean route and the local nature reserve. Its slightly secluded location made it dangerous, and it was not the kind of area where one would just open a front door when someone knocked.

  “Who is it?” he grunted.

  From the other side of the door, he heard a very familiar, sweet voice he had thought he would never hear again. It jolted him into sub-sobriety and for the first time in a while Billy felt pure joy.

  “Dr. Malgas, I have come to say hello!” she said cheerfully, feigning it well.

  "No way," he said to himself, and then he replied out loud, "I cannot believe it! Cheryl? Is that you?" He opened the door, and there she stood, still in her formal clothing Zain had made her wear, fresh from following Malgas and his assistant from the auditorium.

  “You guessed it!” she smiled genuinely. It was wonderful to see Dr. Malgas, so Cheryl’s cheerfulness was not just based on her need to sell her deception. She was genuinely happy to see Dr. Malgas. Being in his presence took her back to the good times when she still had a future when both he and she still reveled in the delight of the past and the fantastic wealth of artifacts that it had left behind.

  "I cannot believe my eyes!" he exclaimed, almost completely sober at least in disposition and he flung his arms around her. They had embraced each other for a long while before he invited her in.

  “Please excuse the state of my home. I had no idea that I would be getting company,” he said, clearing his throat.

  "Oh come on, have you forgotten that I don't care about such trivial things, Dr. Malgas?" she chuckled, addressing him formally in jest. As he ushered her inside, she cast one last glance back to the corner of the street where Zain's car stood like a heavy shadow. It leered at her, as heavy and hard as her conscience. In the car, she could see the two silhouettes watching intently. Now that they knew where Dr. Malgas lived, she could do even less to escape them. Otherwise, they would target him, and that was something she would never allow.

  “Have a seat. I’ll make you some coffee,” he smiled, still mildly dizzy from his inebriation. “I haven’t seen you in months…probably, what, a year?”

  “Just about that long, yes,” she answered, surveying his house as she spoke to memorize its layout. “But I looked you up to share the good news with you.”

  “Oh?” he exclaimed. “Do tell! You have no idea how I need good news today.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you do,” she said under her breath. Then she recited her carefully fabricated cover story in a strong voice to sound ever more healthy and energetic. These were the attributes she felt he needed most at the moment and simply had to appeal to him.

  “I have been clean and sober for over eight months now! Got my act together and now work as freelance consultant in…the…” she had to think quickly of an institution he would not be familiar with, “…field of Maritime History, for a museum in Namibia.”

  ‘Good God, what a reach! Will he fall for this shit’? Her anxious thoughts hounded her as she spoke.

  “That is marvelous, Cheryl!” he cried, elated to hear the good news. He came back into the living room with two mugs of coffee, mostly for him to sober up at the same time. “How many? Eight months?” She nodded. “My God, that is fantastic! To be honest, the last time I saw you, I really thought you’d be dead within a month the way you were going on.”

  "I know, but I got stronger and decided to kick the habit," she chirped all the while clenching her fists. It was way past her last fix, and it was beginning to be unbearable. She needed a hit, and she needed one soon. Oh, the irony! She thought as she bit her lip at the smell of the java brew.

  “So, tell me about your work,” he smiled, truly interested in Cheryl’s recovery.

  "After I got out of rehab," she lied, "I got a job as an assistant in the acquisitions department of a research facility off the coast of Madagascar." He nodded intently, listening to her new credentials thinking of perhaps procuring her services to help with his hoax.

  “And what did you do there?” he asked. “Madagascar. I had no idea they had a research branch in any line of historical or archeological avenues?”

  “Oh, they have since closed down. They were owned by a Swedish professor,” she said quickly. Her heart pounded as she jumped from lie to lie, careful to leave untraceable facts hidden under undetectable names far from his academic and social reach.

  “The Swedes, interested in marine finds off Madagascar,” he pondered out loud, trying to make sense of it while trying to recall any Swedish acquaintances he had in the field. But Cheryl knew his facial expressions, and the face he pulled right now was a dangerous one. It was the countenance of contest.

  "Well, one of them was from Sweden, I remember. But I worked mostly with local people on the filing and administration side so that I could be mistaken," she rambled on rapidly. Quickly she changed the subject before he could exercise another thought, "And how about you, Billy? I have been wondering what exciting stuff you are busy with."

  It worked.

  He snapped out of his relentless train of thought and at once he looked both weary and coy at the prospect of telling her. The desperate lecturer explained that he had discovered a sunken Nazi vessel and that he was certain it contained valuable details of a Nazi faction clandestinely integrated within the Allied Forces in Simonstad, just as Mieke had prepared the false narrative.

  Cha pter 8 – Sam Arrives at Wrichtishousis

  Nina and Crystal were sitting on the study balcony, having tea, and while Crystal chose to enjoy the view from the third story of the house, Nina was scribbling seemingly nonsensical notes on her writing pad. She had been researching South African maritime history involving the Second World War though it was few and far between on the websites she had perused. Sam was due for their meeting today, and Purdue had gone to the airstrip to pick him up. They engaged in a bit of small talk, but in secret Nina was extremely curious about Crystal's real involvement in the project. Being a very direct person, usually, the historian woul
d have simply come out and asked, but for some reason she did not want to appear as if she was prying. Finally, she could not hold back any longer.

  “Crystal, tell me, what exactly is this expedition about?”

  “Dave didn’t tell you?” she asked Nina. Crystal was genuinely surprised.

  “He did, but you know him. He told me about Sam’s old acquaintance and how he apparently discovered a historical wreck off the coast of Africa. And he gave me the job to consult on the find and so on and so on…but, what I want to know, is…” she hesitated, but Crystal was sharper than she had thought she was.

  “—what am I doing here?” she smiled charismatically at Nina, who nodded with a sheepish shrug and grin. “Well, I am more than just a lawyer. In fact, Dave is using me on this expedition for anything but my legal prowess.”

  “Sounds vaguely sinister,” Nina sniggered.

  “It really does, doesn’t it?” Crystal answered amicably. One thing Nina had to grant her was that she had a great sense of humor and was not an ounce as snobbish as she came across at first glance. “But earnestly, I am a professional salvor. I specialize in the salvage of historical wrecks, both marine and aircraft. My diving school is in Tönning, in Germany, where I live.”

  Nina was impressed. Now Crystal’s presence made far more sense.

  “That is fascinating!” she replied, chewing on the back of her pen. “I have been on a few dives, but I am far from a professional.”

  “You really should take one of my courses, Nina. You have the body of a good swimmer. I bet you would be a stellar diver once you got into it,” Crystal nodded, looking quite impressed.

  “Aye, I love water, but I have to admit that the times I had to dive always kind of put me off. Let’s just say…” she thought of her past exploits in dangerous situations, “…it always merits great care and vigilance.”

  “Then this one should be no different,” her companion sobered her.

  “What do you mean?” Nina frowned. “I will not be wreck diving. That is what Purdue pays the crew for, the engineers and you, doesn’t he?”

  Crystal shook her head, “My darling, you will have to come down with us to ascertain the significance of the insignia and the like. From what I have heard so far, the ship lies too deep to take particularly good pictures.”

  Nina was suddenly distraught and twisted the pen between her fingers while she pondered on the nasty currents and the cold blue depths she had had to brave before. She hoped that Crystal was joking, or, at least, uninformed what Nina’s role within the expedition team was going to be.

  “How much do you know about this find?” she asked the elegant lawyer who poured more Earl Grey from the porcelain pot.

  “Actually, I am pretty much still in the dark about it. And I mean that quite literally. Before I have a team out on a survey ship to give me a sonar map of the wreck and its surroundings, I have absolutely no clue. I feel blind, literally, to the project and the vessel itself. Hopefully, the meeting will clear everything up," she explained.

  “Shit, I hope Purdue knows what he is getting into here. He has never been one to sweep up ventures he has not seen himself,” Nina said with a tone of concern.

  “Don’t fret. I’m sure he knows what he’s doing,” Crystal consoled nonchalantly. Nina gave her a suspicious look, “You sound like you know him quite well.”

  “I do, indeed,” Crystal smiled, still, attending to her tea without affording Nina even a glance. Her manner annoyed the historian, just like the first time Nina saw her talking on the phone. Frustrated by the way in which Crystal implied that she was close to Purdue, who had once been Nina’s lover, Nina felt a sickening turn in her stomach.

  ‘Christ, how I’d love to slap that smirk off her face’! Nina thought as she broke the edge of the pen with her molars. If there was one thing she could not stand, or trust for that matter, it was people with perpetual smiles on their faces. The condescension and the underlying confidence usually meant that they were up to no good and had the means not to care about it.

  “Ah, there they are!” Crystal exclaimed suddenly, breaking Nina’s sinister stare. She stood up and pointed to the tall gates, where the luxury car waited for the security guard to open. At once, Nina felt relieved. Sam would be more forthcoming toward her. She would not feel so dull next to the posh wench who apparently knew Purdue so well, she thought. With Sam in the mix she, Nina, was bound to feel more adequate.

  “Have you met Sam before?” she asked Crystal, hoping to all things holy that she was not in for another sobering clout.

  “No. No, never met him before,” Crystal smiled. “Do you know him well?”

  Nina could not believe the incredibly well-placed question she childishly answered, "I do, indeed." She knew she was acting like a juvenile, but sometimes adults indulged in the smallest of infantile pleasures to feel better about themselves – even professional ones.

  The Bentley pulled into the driveway in front of the main doors of the mansion while the two ladies descended the stairs to meet Purdue and Sam in the foyer. Nina still had her pad and the ravaged pen in her hand. When the door opened, and the two men came in, she felt a rush of intrigue of unknown origin overcome her. It was a curious sensation, that of seeing an old friend at a school camp, but at the same time she could not deny feeling an impression of apprehension surrounding Sam’s presence.

  He looked dashing, she thought, in a wild way. The last time he had sported this look had been when the two of them had shared the adventure with the motorcycle gang that guarded Valhalla. Nina could not help but notice before she even greeted him. With arms outstretched she said, “Shall we get you some rum and a tricorn hat, eh, Laddie?” Sam wrapped his strong arms around her and whispered, “Aye, don’t make me throw you in my brig, wench. I tend to do my worst.”

  “Great to see you again, Nina,” he said out loud as he let go of her. His eyes fell on the beautiful woman next to her, and he looked spellbound. "And you must be the priceless gem Purdue told me about, Miss Meyer,” he charmed her. Nina bit her lip at the sight of Crystal’s perfectly groomed fingers mingling with Sam’s big, strong hand. Irately she made for the dining room to get a whisky without a word and in passing caught Purdue’s stare. He looked sympathetic to her obvious disgruntlement, but he did not follow her.

  In Nina’s opinion, it was time for a stiff drink. Her last hope of being the “meat of choice” had squibbed at Sam’s obvious attraction to the tall lawyer. Suddenly the morose feeling in her chest grew stronger than ever, and she felt that something about the whole expedition was amiss, but, of course, she could not make such a ludicrous claim until she knew more about it.

  Purdue silently kept his eye on Nina. He could see the hurt Sam’s attention toward Crystal had inflicted. In his own selfish way, it amused him because this would present the perfect opportunity to win Nina back from Sam, no matter how adamant both were in denying their obvious love. If Sam kept flirting or even engaged with the admittedly beautiful, promiscuous lawyer, it was bound to send Nina straight into the arms of the playboy who had lost her once and vowed never to stop trying to reverse the unfortunate turn. If not, Purdue still had Crystal to own. With their past and his exuberant lifestyle, she would be easy to annex like an uncharted island for the taking.

  Crystal was instantly taken with Sam. The fact that he was an investigative journalist, a Pulitzer Prize winner, and pretty renowned author turned her on. After all, she spent her spare time in perilous seas, capturing the treasures of the past from the claws of oblivion, storms, and ruthless treasure hunters.

  His black hair fell on his collar and tousled strands fell into his handsome face. Evidence of at least two days of shaving tardiness colored his jaw and chin with a coarse shadow that starkly contrasted his big, gentle dark eyes.

  "Where did you get the tan, Sam?" Nina asked, tumbler in hand while her eyes rivaled the fire in the hearth.

  “A week in Malta and two days after that chasing a tale for a client in
Milan. Do you like the bronze?” he winked.

  “Looks like sunburn,” she remarked flatly, evoking a chuckle from Purdue, who had just entered the room with a few folders in hand. That tone and look were all too familiar, and Sam knew right away that once again he had done something wrong. What it was would probably transpire as soon as they were in trouble again, Nina’s favorite time to disclose her feelings.

  “Right, people, have a seat. Let’s arrange this excursion in the correct manner to make everything run smoothly. We don’t have much time on this one, not until we get it into international waters undetected,” he revealed. Nina and Crystal exchanged glances of equal confusion.

  “It is an illegal salvage?” Nina asked.

  Purdue and Sam looked at each other, acutely aware of the sense of right and wrong both women possessed.

  “Look, it’s not the first time we’ll do something a little south of proper," Purdue explained. "This find is of tremendous significance; we just can’t pass this one up.”

  “How much do you know about this wreck, Dave?” Crystal asked. “Nina was barely able to find anything about it, apart from two, maybe three lines somewhere in a historical article about the naval town of Simonstad that mentioned something about a vessel, but not more.”

  Nina nodded in agreement.

  “My client, my… an old friend has assured me that he has seen the wreck and that he is fairly certain that it is the Admiral Graf Spee,” Sam said. “I trust his judgment. As archeologist and anthropologist, he knows what he is talking about. Billy Malgas is no fool.”

  Nina shifted forward to lean her elbows on the table, “The article says that the Admiral Graf Spee was a Nazi pocket battleship that passed the Cape of Good Hope toward the east and sank several Allied ships without getting hit at all. It says that not one single shot was fired at it, but that’s all it says about it. There is no mention of where it sank, or even if it did.”

  “Well, now we have reason to investigate. And since Crystal is both a salvor and a lawyer, she is indispensable as legal advisor on Maritime Law and as a master diver,” Purdue clarified.