Order of the Black Sun Box Set 7

by Preston William Child

  “Not that I know of,” she started saying, placing the tray on the small table next to his chair. Before she could elaborate, Bruich convulsed and proceeded to vomit profusely on the couch.

  “Oh my God!” Lily exclaimed. “What is wrong with him?”

  Purdue was speechless, feeling an inkling of panic grip him. “I don’t…know. He was shaking when I held him. What did we feed him?”

  “Cat food,” she replied. “The exact type Mr. Cleave told me to get.”

  “He appears to be sick. Lily, can you call a veterinarian, please? Charles!” he called the butler, asking him to take care of the mess and get Sam’s beloved pet to the local vet. He had no idea what ailed the cat, but he had bigger things to worry about. “Charles, don’t worry about the mess I made with the hardware. I shall clean it up myself.”

  “Are you sure, sir?” the butler asked as he lifted the sick cat off the couch with a wince. “I can do that once I have taken care of the cat. My staff will have it cleared up in no time…”

  “No!” Purdue cried. He looked stressed for a moment, before he calmed down slightly. “No, thank you. I know what was done at each station, you see, so only I know what to clear up and where to put it, understand?”

  “I see, sir. Very well,” the butler replied.

  Purdue took his tray of breakfast. Looking back at Charles, he added, “And please do not let Mr. Cleave know that his cat is ill.”

  Purdue had now lost what he maintained of his frail appetite, so he took his breakfast upstairs to eat in his study.

  15

  Pla2

  Nina was on her way to Edinburgh, about 20 minutes from Wrichtishousis, Purdue’s residence. When she bought her historical house in Oban a few years ago, she had discovered a hidden lock room of arcane books and journals in the wall of her attic. Most of the literature were banned material during World War II, but some of the journals belonged to Nazi officers and members of the High Command, including the Order of the Black Sun.

  In the meantime, while the historian was waiting for Purdue to obtain the cipher book, she ploughed through the upstairs book collection to see I she could find a similar code. Sam had called her in the morning to relay a disturbing incident that took place in Old Town two nights before. To add to the atrocity of the assaulted girl, Nina learned that the cipher book was seized by someone criminal enough to be suspected of being from the Order.

  If this were the case, she had her work cut out for her. They would have to decipher the letter to Heike before anyone else could somehow destroy the information. If they could locate and apprehend the rare book Purdue asked for, they could get their hands on the Heike letter and cover up its important contents.

  Considering the horrible week Purdue had suffered thus far, Nina had relatively good news. Up in the attic, as she told Sam, she had discovered a few other journals written in much the same vein. Being a woman of considerable intelligence, Nina had managed to use several sources in this collection to ascertain the method used to encode in this manner. In other words, she had figured out how the cipher worked.

  When she entered the gateway to Purdue’s property, she could not help but give the security people a bit of attitude. They knew her. They knew that she was part of Purdue’s inner circle and they dared not piss her off, but she made sure they bore the brunt of their dismissed colleague’s indiscretion.

  “I hope next time you bother to get of your fat asses and call the house before you turn people away,” she sneered. The two men at their post held their tongues. In fact, they had to. There was no excuse for what had happened or how it was handled. The supervisor nodded to Nina. “You bet we will, Dr. Gould,” he assured her. “That is why he lost his job. Our protocol holds that unannounced callers who insist should at least be reported to Mr. Purdue’s assistant.”

  “Good. I hope that whips up the rest of your people,” she said. “We don’t need sloppy security in our line of work, you know.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the two men sang as they opened the gates for Nina. She parked her car just as the downpour started. Nina cowered to the front door, where Charles had just opened it.

  “Welcome back, Dr. Gould,” he recited.

  “Thanks Charles,” she grunted, bearing forward to avoid the lightning.

  Under her arm she clutched a leather binder, containing some journal pages and occult books from her attic. The books would fetch exuberant prices if collectors knew of their existence, but much of Purdue, Sam, and Nina’s ventures relied on secrecy. Between the three of them, they possessed millions worth of documents, information, and artifacts. But nobody could ever know. Their treasures were rarely ever for riches. The items they hoarded were objects of wisdom, power, and mystique – subjects better not entrusted to those with the financial power to purchase them.

  “Where is Purdue?” she asked.

  “He has gone to fetch Mr. Cleave, madam,” Charles reported. “May I suggest you wait in the dining room? I have the fire going in the fireplace.”

  “Sure. Sounds great,” she huffed as she pulled off her coat and handed it to the butler. “Why not the drawing room?”

  The butler looked awkward, for once, and cleared his throat. “Mr. Cleave’s cat was sick all over the couch and we are in the process of cleaning the upholstery, madam.”

  Nina laughed heartily. “Oh shit, I knew this house wasn’t cat proof. Where is the sweetheart, by the way?”

  Charles normally had a face of fixed expression. His countenance could usually make a wax mannequin look alive, but he seemed especially pale and rigid now. “He is in kitty hospital, Dr. Gould.”

  Nina’s smile vanished, although her face betrayed that she thought he might be jesting.

  “He is where?” she asked.

  “We had to take him to the vet, Dr. Gould,” Charles reiterated. “It appears that he had been…poisoned.”

  Nina knew he was not the kidding type, and this would be a rather silly attempt at a joke, she thought. “Wait, really?” she pressed. “He was poisoned? What, rat poison or something?”

  The butler shook his head. “It is quite odd, in fact,” he explained. “The doctor asked if Mr. Cleave’s cat had been…bitten by a snake.”

  Sam lost all color in his face at the butler’s testimony. Purdue was right behind him, and heard the same shocking detail. When Charles saw the two men in the kitchen doorway, he visibly jumped back, holding his hand over his mouth. Naturally, he did not hear them enter the house from the one of the back doors of the kitchen area.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Purdue,” he apologized.

  Sam turned, suspiciously looking at his friend. “Why is he apologizing to you?”

  Purdue shrugged. “I told him not to tell you that your cat is sick, Sam. But I swear to God it is the first I hear about the snake poison.”

  Sam accepted the explanation and went to greet Nina with a hug and a kiss, as did Purdue. The three of them gathered at the bar for some medicinal bevies while Charles handed his boss the official written prognosis.

  Purdue read it aloud. “The animal exhibits at least three symptoms of poisoning, including incoherent movement, twitching muscle and vomiting.” He looked up at Nina and Sam. “I have no poison in the house. The walls of the residence are lined with infrasound devices that repel insects and vermin by means of subsonic pulses.” His companions looked horrified, urging him to elaborate. “No, it is not what you think. The currents are regulated only to disturb the biology of smaller lifeforms. I designed it myself, to influence the physiology of rats, mice, and insects.”

  “What about cats?” Sam asked suspiciously.

  “Come now, Sam. Infrasound and snake venom are two distinctly different dynamics. I don’t have to tell you that,” Purdue defended. Sam took the veterinarian’s report and read through it. The toxicology section yielded a plethora of basic scientific jargon he knew, like oxygen, hydrogen and the like. But there was something he had never seen before.

  Traces of Phosph
olipase A2 were detected – possibly fatal in sufficient amounts.

  “That is true. There must be another explanation,” Nina concurred. “Can I have an Irish coffee, please?”

  “Of course, my dear,” Purdue replied, getting behind the bar to whip one up for Nina. Charles appeared at the door.

  “Then where would he get bitten by a snake? Does your system cover reptiles?” Sam asked again. This time he had a valid question. Purdue shook his head. “No.”

  “Maybe you should get Wildlife in here, then?” Nina suggested. “They would have to comb this place for snakes. My God, even as I say it, it sounds preposterous.”

  Charles appeared at the door, already looking exhausted from the adversely adventurous day he was having. “Mr. Purdue, Dr. Harris is here to see you, sir.”

  Purdue jumped, looking excited. “Tell him I will be right there, Charles. Nina that is the tissue analyses from the Nazi remains.”

  “Excellent,” she replied as he briskly walked out of the room.

  “I guess telling him that I can decipher the Heike letter can wait,” she scoffed. She opened her arms to Sam. He looked devastated and lost, and he welcomed her embrace.

  “I swear I’m going to have a wee cry, Nina,” he mumbled in her neck.

  “So cry,” she said. “This is your roommate we are talking about, your fur family. I would be extremely emotional too.”

  “I’m not extremely emotional,” he quickly denied, typical of the tough Scot in him. “I’m just worried about my cat.”

  “We all are, love,” she whispered, running her hands gently through Sam’s hair. He relished the sensation. He missed it more than he would ever admit to her.

  In the other room, Purdue and Harris were discussing the results and at once, a yelp from Purdue peaked Nina and Sam’s interest. They heard them approach the bar room, and promptly unlocked their arms.

  Purdue came in hastily, looking sober and focused. He held up two stapled reports, one in each hand. “You are not going to believe this.”

  “What is it?” Nina asked, reaching for the sheet in Purdue’s left hand. Amicably, he pulled it away from her and said, “Wait, allow me.”

  Nina and Sam greeted the flustered Harris, who looked much as he did the last time they saw him after that all-nighter of examining the mummy tissue. Purdue looked serious, but at the same time relieved. “Finally there is some sort of correlation here,” he cried. “Now we have somewhere to start from to start making sense of all the shit we have been trying to figure out, people.”

  “Purdue?” Sam urged.

  “Okay, okay,” Purdue said. He held up his right hand. “The lab results of the mummified tissue is in my right hand.” He lifted the left. “In this hand, I have the lab results of the samples supplied to me by my esteemed opposition in the court case, Sam.”

  He addressed Sam specifically, as he was involved with the same people for the expose on Purdue. “Alright, then, what is the big finish?” he asked Purdue.

  “You will find the big finish, dare I say, of substantial value, Sam,” Purdue assured him. He placed both reports down on the bar counter and they all gathered around it as Purdue elucidated his sudden burst of enthusiasm. “Dr. Harris, would you please tell us what you found present in the dead Nazi sample?”

  Uncomfortable with the soapbox he was offered, the reluctant scientist shared his findings. “Well, after several readjustments to the testing process to yield the most potent evaluation, I found that the men in the ship died of…,” he looked at Purdue, hesitant to sound like a fool in front of Sam and Nina. Purdue nodded to him to proceed. “They died of snakebites.”

  “Jesus,” Nina responded instantly. She looked at Sam. “Bruich.”

  “The day he scared the shit out of us, he was in one of the boxes, remember?” Sam declared eagerly. Glancing at Purdue, he nodded. “He must have mistaken the bones for a snack. A rotten, gross snack.”

  “Ingesting the snake venom,” Nina concluded. Purdue began to smirk. He nudged at Harris like a zealous schoolboy, but his raging fervor had subsided somewhat. “Tell them about the poison I am being sued for.”

  Harris obliged. “Oh yes, the chemical that is reputed to have been supplied by Scorpio Majorus Holdings to poison wildlife in Australia, is the identical strain, Phospholipase A2.”

  Purdue repeated, “PLA2.”

  “That is what Bruich had in his system,” Sam remarked.

  “Neurotoxin,” Harris affirmed.

  “Fuck me,” Sam whispered, shaking his head. “So Bruich got sick from the Nazi bodies. That is about all that makes true sense here. How could they still have venom in such deteriorated tissue?”

  “That is what baffled me too, Mr. Cleave,” Harris admitted. “And to tell you the truth, it still does. It should be virtually impossible to detect such a minute amount of this compound, I think. Look, there have been exhumations of mummies as old as 700 years where poison could be detected in paleopathological and archaeological tests, but these specimens were in a completely different environment.”

  “Here is the other thing,” Nina frowned. “Explain the presence of poisonous snakes on the ship.” She addressed Purdue and Sam. “Did you find any evidence of snakes on that ship?”

  “None,” Purdue replied. “Although we did not exactly scour the vessel for snakeskins and cages, so we have no way of knowing.”

  Harris shrugged and muttered to nobody in particular. “If only we could ask them.”

  16

  This is not Australia

  What Cecil Harding saw inside the house was not what he had expected. He stormed in through the back door under cover of the enormous sycamore that had been uprooting that side of the veranda for years. Inside, he followed the mad din deeper into the farmhouse, and when he rounded the corner, he found his brother crouching in the corner.

  “Gary?” Cecil shrieked. “Jesus, Gary! What is going on, bro?”

  Gary said nothing. Upstairs gunshots rang. They could hear the sergeant barking orders at his sidekick and the whistling ricochet of bullets piercing glass and brick. Cecil crouched beside his brother.

  “You okay, mate?” he whispered. “Mate!”

  His brother did nothing in response. He stared into space, his lips chapped and his face covered in a week-old beard. Gary’s clear green eyes showed no clarity or even coherence. Dirty nails showed evidence of digging in the black sand and his filthy clothing smelled of sweat and old piss.

  “Hey, Gary, hey. What happened, bro? Please j-j…just …tell me what happened and we’ll sort it out okay? I brought the cops to help, see?” He urged his brother while the torch in his hand threatened to char his hand. The burning fabric of his shirt had begun to peel off in embers and fell on his forearm as they parted from the broomstick, but he could break from the engagement with his brother right now. “Are you hurt? I don’t see any blood on you, mate,” Cecil kept talking.

  On the second floor, the shots fired had ceased completely, and what sounded like a war zone was now reduced to the two police officers’ footsteps on the wooden floor above. “Put out that bloody fire, Dr. Harding!” the sergeant shouted as he came down the stairs. “You want to burn down the fucking place?”

  “I was going to use it to help you fight them,” he explained as he doused the makeshift torch in the fireplace.

  “You’d do better to burn your bloody hand off with thinners, mate,” the cop advised him. “Besides, we found nobody.”

  “Then what was all the shooting about?” Cecil asked, scrutinizing his brother’s condition.

  The constable looked totally frazzled. In a minor way, her demeanor almost reminded Cecil of his brother’s – shocked and frightened.

  “Oh there was movement in the back room and the broken staircase up to what I think is one of the turret attics,” Sgt. Anaru said. “We just could not see them.”

  Cecil stared at him in disbelief. Annoyed at his ineptitude at seizing and arresting the intruders, the sergeant snapped
, “Oh, don’t look at me like that! I am not saying the bastards are invisible. They just moved really fast and we could not catch up quickly enough to plant them. When we got to the staircase they were just gone.”

  “Even though the rusted padlock on the trapdoor at the top of the smashed stairs was still intact,” the constable muttered to herself. The men gawked at her confession. It was true. It was true and terrifying to think the attackers were still inside the house and knew it well enough to evacuate so smoothly.

  “We have to get out of here,” Sgt. Anaru commanded. “Now, before they bring their friends. I will call back-up from the squad car and get a few extra men up here in a jiffy so we can smoke them out.”

  As the police officers staggered out of the house, Cecil tried to help up his brother. “Gary, where is Dad?”

  Suddenly Gary reacted for the first time. He looked at Cecil with the fear of God in his eyes. His dry lips quivered as he tried to speak for the first time in a week, but he could utter nothing but grunts. Tears drowned his eyes and trickled over his face before his face changed from terror to abject sadness. From outside the house, the sergeant yelled for the two brothers to join them.

  “Come on, mate, let’s get somewhere safe. Then you can tell me all about it, alright?” Cecil reluctantly coaxed his brother. In truth, he was dying to know, right now, what had happened to their father. He wanted to know, right now, who the intruders were and what they had done to his brother. All these things had to wait, though, because the immediate threat was greater than information. With a struggle, he pulled his brother’s unwilling body up to his feet. Gary’s body felt like a sack of lead; dead weight in the arms of his desperate brother, but he made a small attempt at walking.

  With every step further away from the house, Gary’s feet moved faster. His burden on his brother became less as he started to move on his own. The four of them trudged hastily downhill towards the foreboding gates of Nekenhalle, each with their own sense of misery attached to recent experiences. The sun licked at the horizon, soon to fall away and introduce the night. Over the treacherous frame of corroded iron and steel, the four people struggled to scale their way to safety.