“I’m still not going up there with you,” old Nigel told Cecil as the officers got into their 4x4 vehicle. “You are welcome to stay another night, though, if that means anything.”
“That sounds very good, Nigel, thank you,” Cecil accepted the invitation. “See you later. I hope.”
After a short ride, the police car and the SUV pulled up to the perpetually intimidating gates of Nekenhalle. When Cecil got out of his car, he found the police officers still seated in their car.
‘Oh, don’t tell me they are also refusing to go up there,’ he thought.
“Well?” he asked.
The sergeant looked at Cecil with surprise. “Aren’t you going to open the gate, mate?”
“Oh!” Cecil exclaimed. “No, you see, I don’t have the key. We have to scale the gates to get in.”
“You expect us to trespass, then,” the sergeant scoffed. He was amused, but he was not going to be made a fool of. “Come on, mister, open the gates. We have other calls to attend to, so we don’t have time for this, alright?”
“I am not playing games with you, sergeant, I swear!” Cecil genuinely assured him. “We have to climb over. My father has the key, no doubt, but since he seems to have disappeared, I have no way of opening the gate for you.”
“You climbed this gate?” he asked Cecil.
“I did, twice,” he nodded.
The sergeant laughed and nudged his subordinate with his elbow. “If he can climb it, we can, hey?”
She chuckled and gave him a nod. “Yes, we can, sir.”
Cecil did not even mind the tasteless stab at his physical appearance. He just wanted them to do what he called them for. After the three of them conquered the mighty, rusty malice they started up the driveway.
“This place has a real atmosphere, hey, Dr. Harding,” the constable remarked.
“How do you mean?” he asked, pretending to be oblivious.
“I don’t know,” she smiled dreamily as their footsteps crunched into the black soil. “Even with the beauty of the blue forget-me-not’s, it feels as if the ground is alive, somehow, like it is a magnet that is tugging at the water in our bodies or something.”
“That’s deep, Constable,” the sergeant teased her.
“I agree with you, ma’am,” Cecil answered. “You have no idea how accurately you have just summed up this whole place.”
Halfway up they all began to tire a little, and conversation was more sporadic while their footsteps seemed to sound pronounced in the desolation of the farm. The sound made Cecil feel depressed – a lonely, blunt cadence that reminded him of isolation in a parallel universe.
“It is kind of spooky,” she said as she surveyed her surroundings.
“Of course it is,” the sergeant agreed. “This is Nekenhalle.”
From that apparently insignificant and concise statement, Cecil instantly felt his skin crawl. “Why do you say that?” he asked the sergeant. The tall, strong built Maori chuckled and sized up the ignorant stranger.
“You don’t know about Nekenhalle’s reputation, Doctor?” he asked. “And you, Constable?”
They both shook their heads. The constable took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her perspiring brow. As if the earth under them could understand, the wind died halfway up the road and the sudden silence added to the sergeant’s narration.
“Well, the place is said to be cursed. I know. I know what you think. Always curses. But this place was not a farm when my forefathers lived round here,” Sergeant Anaru shrugged. “I don’t know much of what it was before it was a gold mine, but what I do know is that people always disappeared around this place.”
He looked up at the hole in the mountain rock, his eyes as black as the sand. It was then that Cecil truly spotted the Maori in the officer. Apart from the fact that he spoke English, he resembled some ancient native storyteller to a T. His dark eyes were ablaze with knowledge and with his curly black hair brushing at his collar, there was an awesome wildness about the sergeant.
“The Maori tribes never set foot here. Why would they? We never cared about gold like the Europeans did. The chiefs always said, if you want gold from that mountain, go get it. It’s free to take, but how you get it out is your business alone. My great grandfather always called it Sin Mountain,” Sgt. Anara laughed.
“Why?” the constable asked, while the veterinarian also looked at him inquisitively.
“Because, he explained to us, the mountain was like sin,” the sergeant clarified. “It is yours to commit as much as you want, as often as you want, but in the end, the only one suffering for it, is you.”
“Ha! That is a good analogy,” Cecil exclaimed in approval. “Really, that is a good one. Makes a lot of sense, after what I heard about the mountain eating people.”
The officer looked impressed. “Oh, you know about that creepy reference! Always scared me when I was a little pisser, but I suppose that is what people dream up when they live out here in the wops, hey?”
“Um, sir?” the constable addressed her superior, stopping in her tracks. She was looking up at the mountain, and pointing to an upper window of the house. “What is that?”
The men carried on walking a few more steps, but also halted when they saw what Ballin had noticed. Up, by the blackened mouth of the mine, an old rusty Agritec tractor was slowly being dragged inside.
“Holy shit,” Cecil gasped. “What could be that strong? Look at that!”
Coolly, the sergeant replied, “I see it.”
From where they stood in the road, the old tractor moved sideways, appearing to slide deeper into the dark chasm. Its wheels had been slashed for years and its engine and gears so eroded, that there was no way for it to roll into the entrance. The thing that terrified the three onlookers most was that they could not see what it was that moved the heavy steel vehicle.
“It is sliding,” the constable speculated. She looked at the men, asking, “A mudslide, perhaps?”
Both shook their heads. “There has not been any rain for weeks up here. I know, because Nigel Cockran told me. That cannot be a mudslide, Const. Ballin. No way. Besides, that tractor has been standing there since I first got here, dead still, in its place. Why would it start sliding now?”
“I agree,” the sergeant concurred. “But I am just as worried about that, though. Heather, pull your sidearm. This is all sorts of wrong, behind that window.”
The two officers pulled their guns from their holsters and, with the weapons pointing downward, they started up the last part of the road.
“Stay here,” Sgt. Anaru told Cecil, who was happy to oblige. “Come on, Constable.”
Cecil peered up at the window where there was movement inside. The drapes impaired his ability to see what was within, but by the looks of the motion, someone was dragging the curtain with him as he moved slowly from right to left.
The police officers mounted the deck of the veranda and quietly took positions on either side of the front door. Behind the house, the tractor creaked loudly, disappearing from sight. With faces twisted in concentration, the sergeant and constable nodded at the same time, counting down their next action. Sgt. Anaru mouthed, ‘One, two, three!’
With a mighty crash they kicked in the door, splitting the lock side plank from the rest of the door under the force of their kicks. The door glass shattered on impact, dousing their identification cries from where Cecil was standing. He saw the curtain upstairs whip wildly, and then it fell back limply into its original position.
“They are coming down, officer!” Cecil screamed, keeping his eye on the mouth of the mine for good measure. If they were the accomplices of whoever hid in the mine, the terrific pandemonium of the charging officers would prompt them to confront them downstairs. “Sergeant! Hurry back out!” he warned hysterically, but it was too late. The house erupted in a mad noise of crashing glass and thumps that compelled the veterinarian to run to their aid, even though he was unarmed.
“Sergeant! Constable!” he shou
ted as he ran with all he could muster to get to the house, looking around hastily for anything that could pass as a weapon. On his way past the garage where Gary’s car gathered dust, he grabbed a small container containing paint thinners. Cecil picked took a broken broomstick he found in the dirt between the cans of spilled paint. Like a valiant hero, he ripped off his shirt to wrap the fabric around the stick.
Gunshots clapped inside the house among orders shouted by Sgt. Anaru. Shaking profusely in this moment of intensity, Cecil poured the thinners on the material and lit it with a match from the box he had in his trousers.
A hot lapping flame grew from the charred shirt and Cecil faced the disorderly commotion he was about to join in.
14
Fortress Breached
Deciphering the letter to Heike was not an urgent matter, but Purdue had set his passion on it. Like a Pitbull locking its jaws on its target, he could not let go of something he was curious about until its mystery was solved satisfactorily. This was such an instance. It was a find he had almost died for, that Sam had literally almost died for, and that alone gave it debt. Had he simply dug it up, the letter would not merit his attention in excess of a quick examination and a bit of research. However, with all the hell Purdue and his friends had endured since these Nazi remains were found, and now a young woman he did not even know personally lying in Intensive Care, he had to gut this thing right to the core.
Sam called sometime during the night, making sure that Purdue was aware of the assignment he had been hired for.
“You know I only took this gig to make sure that all information about you would be controlled, at least on my part,” he told Purdue.
“Thank you, Sam. I appreciate the shield. Incidentally, what do they want you to tell the world about me?” he asked, watching Bruichladdich sleep under the drawing room coffee table.
“I think they want a full-blown expose to implicate you, or Scorpio Majorus as a whole, in a culling scandal that is currently being perpetrated on a large scale in Australia. So far, I have only conducted an interview with Eddie Olden from the Wildlife this-and-that, but I will screen their opinions when I edit and compile the report,” Sam informed Purdue. “First have to do the second part for them in a day or two, with that Palumbo chick.”
“So, pretty much what they discussed with me,” Purdue stated. “They think one of our pharmaceutical components are used as poison to kill animals.”
“Aye. Is it true?” Sam asked.
“No,” Purdue exclaimed, swirling the whisky in his glass. “Well, it is not supposed to be used on its own, Sam. I have never before authorized anything harmful in any of my businesses to be used for such nefarious ends. Especially animals. My God, I might not have any pets, but I would never endorse such an atrocity against animals.”
“Well, you have a pet for the foreseeable future,” Sam jested.
“Oh!” Purdue chuckled. “Yes, Bruich. I am just looking at him, napping. Lily actually took a great liking to the old thing, so he is being more than pampered, believe you me.”
“Thanks for babysitting him, Purdue,” Sam said.
“No worries,” Purdue replied. “After all, my constant expeditions are mostly the reason you leave him a temporary orphan, usually. It is the least I could do. Have you heard from Nina?”
Sam sounded exhausted. After a long yawn he answered, “She sent me a text this morning about something she found in one of those books she got with the house, remember? When she moved in, she found that small library of Third Reich occult stuff…?”
“I do remember!” Purdue agreed. “And the diaries of SS officers. What did she find?”
“She told me that she was waiting for you to get that cipher book for her and then she intended to cross reference it with some of the other diaries. Apparently, a lot of those personal accounts in that library were writing in appalling grammar.”
Purdue was suddenly reminded of the terrible thing that happened around his request for that book. “About that,” he sighed. “I seem to be lawsuit chum these days. Just closely averted another.”
He briefly told Sam about the young Williams girl and her dreadful experience. “So we have lost that book to someone who knew that I wanted it. Christ, Sam! Sometimes I think the whole world is out to get me. With the laboratories leaking poison to some imbeciles to destroy my business reputation and people getting bludgeoned and left for dead to obtain my resources, it leaves me quite uncertain, you know?”
“Look, I don’t blame you,” Sam replied. “But if I were you, I would see what the common denominator is in these problems. How could someone know about the book? I hope you did not e-mail the widow. When it comes to technology – and you of all people know this – everyone is watching from somewhere.”
“We spoke on the phone,” Purdue told him, but his statement revealed to Sam that it gave birth to a notion that could present his answer.
“Aye? And?” Sam pressed.
“Sam, I will talk to you later, old boy. Have a good one and get some sleep, alright?” Purdue concluded the call, leaving Sam to speculate on his epiphany. He frantically searched his call box, the one where he had spoken to Mrs. Williams. It was the closest to him, so he started there. “They bugged my line, the bastards. They bugged my line, my secure line!”
In a midnight frenzy, Purdue jogged down to his techno-lab to get his electrical tools. He felt miserable about his privacy being violated, especially since he was a technological genius, having invented some of the world’s tightest security systems and network surveillance material. Now he found his own house intruded upon by means of what was probably one of his own systems. This was what he did not want to share with Sam over the phone, otherwise the culprit would know that he knew.
One by one, he eviscerated the five strategically places phone boxes throughout the vast mansion. He had to find it! He had to find some – any – bugging device, because the alternative implicated his own house staff and he rued such an idea. Like a madman he fiddled, fumbled, and disassembled each box. Of course, he bore in mind that tapping his phone was not the only way of listening to his conversations, but he had to eliminate this possibility first.
If his landline was not being tapped, Purdue reckoned that a more old-fashioned approach may be at work. The thought that there could be an innumerable amount of microphones hidden brought him immense dread. God knows where throughout his abode. It would take up precious time he did not have, to seek them all out.
“Nope, not this one either,” he sighed after he had ripped the second box apart to scrutinized its contents. Purdue left them like that, electing not to reassemble them until he had gotten to the bottom of the setback and detected the spy. He constantly imagined Jane abusing her privilege as his personal assistant, but he did not want it to be true. Other than her, he could not imagine dear Lillian or the sacredly loyal Charles ever doing this.
For the next three hours, Purdue spent his time clipping wires, redirecting data and coding within his own servers. By the time the sun bled over the moody morning sky, he felt much like the crawling thunderclouds that smothered the light with regular intervals. His brain was wracked. By now he had practically reintroduced his old phone system to the circuits, but still he had not found the peace of mind he sought. Yet, he had not located a definite culprit, which still left him feeling vulnerable and it was annoying him no end.
“Good morning, sir,” Charles greeted. “Sir, may I say that you look in dire need of sleep.”
“That is because I AM in dire need of sleep, my dear Charles,” the boss sighed, leaning against the mantle with a cup of black coffee for medicine. “I think someone is eavesdropping on us and I spent the night trying to find the problem.”
The astonished butler looked around the place where a mess of wires, bolts, and motherboards lay scattered. Small steel pliers and delicate screwdrivers were all over the tables and chairs and under dirt rags. Soldering irons in various sizes lay near the respective phone boxes an
d the digital alphanumeric pads displayed nothing. Charles said nothing, but his mind raced. He was trying to think of a way in which such an intrusion could be facilitated, but he knew little of the genius work his employer did.
“Shall I get you some breakfast, sir?” he asked.
Purdue looked up at him, looking positively insane. He reminded Charles of the archetypical mad scientist, with his unkempt white hair bristling around his face and his bloodshot eyes staring widely at his butler. A momentary pause almost short-circuited Purdue’s mind before he recalled the initial request. “Yes! Yes, thank you, Charles. I think I need a spot of English tea before I try to conquer this day.”
“Very well, sir,” the butler nodded, heading for the kitchen.
Purdue figured a few minutes of mental vacancy would do him well. He went to sit down in the drawing room to give Bruich a bit of a cuddle.
“Come on, old boy,” he groaned, lifting the heavy feline onto his lap. “I don’t recall you being this heavy. Maybe the lack of sleep did me in more than I thought.”
Lazily, he stroked the lush ginger hair of the big cat. “My God, I think I am prone to falling asleep if you lie on my lap, Bruich. You are so warm! And in this godless cold weather it is a godsend.”
Under Purdue’s palm, he could feel the cat exude intense heat, while its body was quivering. It was odd that it could be feeling cold while it felt this hot, but then again, Purdue had never owned a cat, so he figured that it was normal.
“Good morning, sir,” Lily chimed, tray in hand.
“Morning, Miss Lilian,” Purdue greeted, but he appeared preoccupied. Of course, the evidence of his preoccupation was making a mess of the whole house, but she could see that something was puzzling him. “How well do you know cats?”
She shrugged, “I suppose, as much as the average person, sir.”
“Are they supposed to be shaking?” he asked, and he put the cat down on the other couch, between the comfortable cushions.
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